by Lyn Horner
“This will have to do,” he said, showing her the torn black t-shirt he’d come up with. He squatted in front of her and began wiping her feet and legs. Sparks shot upward at his touch, making her want to squirm on her rocky perch.
“I can do that,” she said hoarsely.
“I don’t mind … unless, am I hurting your injured leg?” He looked up, concern knitting his brows.
“No, no, but you don’t have to –”
“But I want to.” He winked then returned to his self-appointed task. “Your feet are cold.”
“Uh-huh,” she muttered, fighting the fiery sensations that shot up her legs. Not trusting herself to say anymore, she watched, entranced as he slipped her socks on, smoothing them up over her calves to just below her knees. When he reached for her brace, though, the trance broke.
“I’ll put it on,” she said, attempting to snatch it from him.
He refused to let go. “Lara, you don’t need to be self-conscious with me. Let me do this for you.” He held her gaze and she gave in, reluctantly.
He fitted the brace around her leg and fastened the strap, being careful not to make it too tight. She realized he was right; she should stop being so self-conscious around him and around others too. If anyone didn’t like the way she looked, they could look elsewhere.
As Conn carefully slipped her foot and the bottom of the AFO into her shoe, she studied his bent head, watching the breeze ruffle his dark hair. Fisting her hands in her lap, she resisted an urge to run her fingers through those coffee-brown waves. Wrapped up in her wayward yearning, she didn’t notice he’d finished tying her shoes until he looked up and caught her staring at him.
His nostrils flared and his gray eyes grew molten hot. She caught her breath as he rose to sit beside her on the boulder, never releasing her gaze. When he reached out to draw her close, her heart hammered with anticipation.
“Lara,” he whispered thickly. Then his lips captured hers. Sliding between her parted lips, his tongue danced over hers coaxing a response she couldn’t deny him. She twined her arms around his neck and pressed against him, ablaze with his blistering kiss and the feel of his hands traveling over her.
Terror struck like a gong resounding in her head. She broke off the kiss with a petrified gasp and clutched Conn’s shoulders as cold, clammy fingers of fear crawled down her spine, freezing her blood, nearly making her pass out.
“Lara, what’s wrong?” Conn demanded. His alarmed voice penetrated the fog of fear.
“They’re here! The evil ones, I feel them.”
He glanced sharply right and left. “Where? I don’t see anyone except that jogger with his dog.”
“Not here!” She shook her head violently. “At the cottage! They’re there, I’m certain. Oh my God! Una!” she cried in a panic.
Conn hastily toweled sand from his feet and jammed them into his boots, not wasting time with socks or words. He stood, hoisted her into his arms and ran for his bike, surefooted stride trouncing the sandy ground.
“Put your helmet on,” he said, depositing her on the Harley. He did likewise and a moment later they were speeding up the narrow road to the village.
Clinging to his waist, Lara uttered not a word as he raced through the hamlet, narrowly missing cars and pedestrians. All she could think of was Una alone at the cottage, facing those devils who’d come for her, not the Irishwoman. She should have warned her of the approaching danger, but she’d been afraid Una might think her crazy and quit. How she would get along without her help, Lara didn’t know, but she had no right to endanger the poor woman. If anything happened to her, she would never forgive herself.
Although the distance to the cottage was relatively short, the ride seemed to go on forever. By the time they finally arrived, Lara was sick with worry for Una. Conn drove through the open gate, which they’d left closed, straight to the cottage. He stopped outside the front door.
“Stay put,” he ordered. He’d barely stepped off the Harley and dropped the kickstand when the door flew open, slamming back on its hinges. Una stood there, looking pale and terrified.
“Thank the saints ye’re back!” she cried, hands ringing the folds of her apron.
“Did they hurt you?” Lara blurted.
“Nay, but … ye know about them?” Una stared at her incredulously.
“Yes. I’m so sorry,” she said, deeply regretting the fright the older woman had suffered. “I should have warned you. I came here to escape –”
“You can explain later,” Conn said. Turning to Una, he asked, “How many were there?”
“Two. They asked was me mistress home. I said no and did they wish ta leave a message. Their answer was ta shove me out o’ the way and march in as if they owned the place. I shouted for them to get out, but one, a cold-eyed bligeard with hair the color o’ dirty snow, ordered me ta shut me gob or he’d shut it for me.”
Una bent her graying head. “I feared ta try and stop them, mum.”
“You were right not to antagonize them. I wouldn’t want you to be hurt.”
“But, mum, they made a terrible wreck o’ the house. They seemed ta be lookin’ for somethin’.” The older woman gave her a questioning stare.
Lara looked away, not knowing how to reply.
“Let’s get inside,” Conn said abruptly, much to her relief. Lifting her off the motorcycle, he carried her into the house. He stopped in the hall by the parlor, and she gasped at the state of the room. It was a shambles of overturned furniture, broken nick-nacks and torn upholstery.
“Mr. McCracken isn’t going to be happy about this,” she muttered, thinking aloud.
“Who’s Mr. McCracken?”
“The owner of the cottage.”
“I thought you owned the place.”
“No, I’m only renting it. Where’s my wheelchair, Una?”
“I pushed it inta yer office, mum, so I could sweep the hallway. ’Twas just before they came. The wicked devils pulled it apart, I’m sorry ta say.”
“Oh no! Please take me in there, Conn.”
He did as she requested and her already throbbing headache pounded harder at the sight of the chair lying in pieces on the floor. The ‘wicked devils’ had pulled apart the metal frame, obviously thinking she might have hidden the precious scroll inside one of the cylindrical parts. They’d thought wrong. Luckily, they hadn’t torn the upholstered seat and back rest, and Conn was able to put the chair back together in a matter of minutes. When she was settled in it, Lara asked Una to help her into the bathroom attached to her bedroom. After that necessity had been met, she excused herself, saying she needed to lie down for a while.
That was true enough but once her bedroom door closed, she maneuvered through clothes and personal items strewn across the floor, to her secret hiding place. Desperate to see if the scroll and code book were safe, she sagged in relief when she found both items undisturbed. The Hounds had left empty-handed, thank God.
Una, bless her heart, had already put the bed to rights. Undoing her braid, Lara shook out her hair and swallowed two aspirin from a bottle the fiends had left untouched. Then she collapsed on the bed and closed her eyes, giving the aspirin a chance to dull her throbbing headache. It had struck on the way from Rossbeigh Beach, triggered by her frantic worry for Una. She didn’t expect to sleep, but amazingly, she awoke some time later to a knock on her door.
“Yes?” she called, sitting up.
“It’s me. We need to talk,” Conn said, deep voice muffled by the stout wooden barrier.
“Come in. I’m decent.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed and raked back her tousled hair as he stepped into the room.
He paused to study her then walked over to the bed. “You mind if I sit?” he asked, indicating a spot next to her.
She shook her head, but her stomach fluttered when he sat down, so close that she felt the heat of his body. His rugged masculinity called out to her even now when she ought to think only of how to keep the scroll safe.
; A sudden, loud clatter rang out, making her jump.
“It’s all right,” Conn said, patting her knee. “That’s just Una straightening up the mess in the kitchen.” Perhaps seeing her stare at his big, warm hand, he removed it and cleared his throat. “I checked upstairs. They went through my stuff too. They know there’s a man here with you.” When she nodded uncertainly, he continued. “I parked my bike out of sight in the shed and brought this in.” Reaching behind him, he pulled a handgun from his waistband and showed it to her.
Lara caught her breath. “You’ve had that the whole time?”
“Yeah. I stash it under the car seat or in one of the Harley’s saddlebags when we go out, and I keep it handy at night in case of trouble. Could be I’ll need it tonight.”
“You … you think they’ll come back?”
“Did they find what they were after?” He stared into her eyes, waiting for an answer.
“No,” she admitted, unable to hold his gaze. Bound by her sacred oath to never reveal anything about the scroll to outsiders, she didn’t dare say more, even though she longed to share her burden with him.
Conn sighed heavily. “Then yeah, I reckon they’ll come back.”
A cold chill slithered down Lara’s spine. Wrapping her arms around herself, she asked, “What will we do?”
“We’ll eat whatever Una can salvage for supper. Then the two of you are gonna hole up in here. I’ll keep watch, after I set up a few surprises for our friends.”
“I should have gotten those motion detectors you suggested, but Mr. McCracken didn’t like the idea when I spoke to him about it. He thought the neighbors might grow alarmed if they saw the equipment being installed. I didn’t argue. Now I wish I had.”
“No problem. I’ll rig some old fashioned alarms.” Tunneling under her hair, he gently massaged her neck, bent close and kissed her. He kept it short and light but still made her tingle all the way to her toes.
CHAPTER SIX
Hunkered down in a corner of the dark parlor, Conn guessed it must be close to midnight. He shifted quietly on the floor, easing stiff muscles, and scrubbed a hand over his face to ward off sleep. With his other hand he loosely gripped the Glock lying on his thigh. So far there’d been no sign of the men who’d ransacked the house and frightened Una, but he’d bet his last buck they would show up before the night was over.
The two women were locked in Lara’s study with orders not to come out until he said it was safe. Toward dusk he’d rigged a couple trip wires outside, one across the front entry and one across the back. Not high-tech, but they ought to give him a few seconds’ warning when the Hounds returned. He’d also loosened every light bulb in the house and had directed Una to sweep broken whatnots from the parlor into the hall around the front entry. That plus the unlocked door ought to tell the bastards they were walking into a trap. Maybe they’d have second thoughts, although he doubted it from the way they’d stormed in here and bullied Una.
Were they really after some family heirloom or was it something more? He respected Lara’s reluctance to break her promise of secrecy to her uncle, but refused to believe anything could be worth her life. It also irked him knowing she didn’t fully trust him. Oh, she claimed to, but she’d proved otherwise, not letting him see what was in that package from New York.
Did it matter? He’d be gone in a few more weeks. He couldn’t stay here forever, playing Sir Galahad for the damsel in distress. He had a job waiting back home and there was also his mother to consider. Her health had deteriorated to a point where it wasn’t safe for her to live alone. He’d finally convinced her to hire a live-in companion and the woman had worked out well, but Conn made a point of dropping in every so often to ensure his mother was getting good care. It was time to pay her another visit and share the results of his search for their Irish kin.
He smiled, thinking of his O’Shea cousins and Granny Kate. Meeting them was a pleasure, more so with Lara’s company. Without her prodding, he wasn’t sure he would have accepted Jocelyn O’Shea’s invitation. His boss lady could be mighty convincing.
Had she gotten any more responses to her ad for a chauffeur and bodyguard? He’d asked her once, about a week after moving in here. She’d said no and he hadn’t brought up the subject again. What if somebody did come along who wanted the job? His gut roiled at the thought. For sure, he’d do a background check on the guy, the way Lara should have done on him, even if he hadn’t set off her inner alarm bell. Any applicant for the job would also have to prove he could handle trouble, or Conn wasn’t about to trust him with Lara’s safety. With her life.
The truth was he didn’t want anyone guarding her but himself. He clenched his teeth imagining another man lifting her in and out of the car, holding her in his arms, spending nights close to her in this house. But he had to return home in a few weeks. He had no choice.
Should he take her with him? Would she go?
A heavy thud on the front stoop brought him to instant alert. It was followed by muttered curses. Lara’s unwanted guests had arrived and one had fallen over the trip wire. Pushing into a crouch on the balls of his feet, Conn released the safety on his Glock and prepared to greet them.
The front door opened with a creak and they walked in. Broken glass and pottery crunched under their shoes, drawing more cursing – in Cajun French, Conn recognized. They gave up trying to be quiet.
“We know you’re there, salaud!” one said in a high-pitched voice. “Come out and maybe we don’t kill you, eh?”
Conn waited, not making a sound. He heard them feel around in the hall for a light switch. When they flipped it without producing any light, another round of foul words made him grin in satisfaction. After a whispered exchange, one man headed down the hall toward the back of the house. Hearing him pause to try the locked study door along the way, Conn held his breath.
“The putain’s door is locked,” the thug called out.
“We’ll get ’er open. Check the kitchen first,” his partner ordered, crossing to the parlor with crushed breakables telegraphing his approach. He stepped over the threshold and banged his leg on the edge of a low table Conn had placed there.
“Merde!” he snarled in his nasal voice. “I’m gonna make you pay for dat, fucker!”
Tense as a coiled rattlesnake, Conn didn’t move while his prey maneuvered through a maze of furniture set up to draw him close. When he stepped on pieces of a broken vase lying directly in his path, Conn lunged, driving into his midsection. A shrill cry exploded from him and he toppled backward. His gun went off when he hit the floor, the bullet going wide by a country mile. Managing to grab his wrist, Conn prevented him from getting off another shot and clouted him on the head with his Glock. The guy went limp as his pal came running.
“Louis, you all right?” he called from the hall.
Conn kept still, struggling to quiet his rapid breathing.
“Louis? Answer me!” When the punk got no reply he muttered something and dashed to the front door, pulverizing what was left of the broken mess in the hall. He was obviously more interested in saving his own skin than Louis’s.
Hearing the door bang shut, Conn scrambled to his feet, stepped over his unconscious foe and started after the runner, determined not to let him get away. He made it into the hall then halted at the sound of Lara’s door opening.
“Conn?” she whispered.
“I’m here. Get back in there and lock the door.” He didn’t wait to see if she obeyed, slamming out of the house in pursuit of his quarry.
*
“Ye’d best do as Mr. Connor says, Mum,” Una urged. “’Tisn’t safe to go out there until he gives the word.”
Lara gathered from the repeated slamming of the front door that at least one of the villains had run out and Conn had gone after him. She wheeled partway into the hall, desperate to know if he’d been shot, but there was no way to tell until he returned.
“Come back in here, Mum, please. One o’ the bligeards could still be in the house.�
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Reluctantly, Lara backed her chair into the study and locked the door again. She didn’t believe Conn would go off and leave them in danger if one of the Hounds was still a threat, but there was no sense in arguing with the older woman.
They waited in tense silence for what seemed like forever. Finally, there came the sound of the front door opening and closing followed by footsteps moving up the hall. Una grabbed Lara’s hand, holding on tight.
“Ladies, it’s okay, you can come out now,” Conn announced.
Both of them exhaled in relief. Reclaiming her hand from Una, Lara went to unlock the door and draw it open. Conn had tightened the bulbs in the hall sconces, making her blink fast until her eyes adjusted to the bright light. Hearing him move about in the parlor, she maneuvered in that direction, stopping short of the broken glass and ceramic for fear of getting shards stuck in the chair’s rubber tires and possibly cutting her hands.
Conn had also restored light to the parlor and now knelt on one knee, binding the wrists of a Hellhound who lay sprawled face down on the floor. The man groaned and uttered a groggy protest.
“Shut up or I’ll clock you again,” Conn barked.
“Are you all right?” Lara asked when he glanced at her.
“Yeah, I’m fine. This guy won’t give you anymore trouble, but the other one got away. They had a car parked up the road and he took off before I could stop him.” Frowning in obvious disgust, he finished his task and pushed to his feet.
“Shall I phone the Garda, Mr. Connor?” Una offered, standing beside Lara. “Uh, the Garda are our police. D’ye want them to come and take that feckin’ swine away?”
Lara gaped at the older woman, shocked by her language.
Conn’s lips twitched. “I sure do, Miz Una. Go ahead and give ’em a call.”
With a nod, Una marched down the hall to the kitchen, where a wall phone was located. Watching her, Lara jumped when Conn whispered next to her ear.
“Did she just say what I think she said?”