Black Irish

by Tricia Andersen

  Maggie gently sat on the other side. Their mother took each of their hands in hers and held them close to her heart. Abbey felt Gordon’s hand touch her arm. “Let’s go check into our hotel. Give them some time alone.”

  Abbey nodded silently. She turned and started down the hall as Gordon pulled the bedroom door closed. I think it’s time for Gordon and me to finish that talk.

  »»•««

  Abbey had no idea how long she had slept. She had just laid down on the massive bed and closed her eyes for a cat nap. However, by the morning light peeking through the curtain, she could tell it had been a very long time.

  Abbey hadn’t been sure what she would find when she swiped her key card in the hotel door the night before. With the fight she had with Sloan in New York, she might have found two beds inside. Instead, she had been elated to find one very large bed in a very posh suite. Even in Northern Ireland, Sloan settled for nothing less than the finest.

  Rolling over, she found only her bags on the floor. She had slept alone. Sloan had stayed at the house. Of course, he wants to spend his mother’s last moments with her. Abbey berated herself. Will Sloan introduce me as his wife if I get a chance to meet her? She seriously doubted he would.

  Abbey sat up, feeling the nausea return with a vengeance. Along with it, her stomach growled. Despite the strong unease she felt, she knew she needed something to eat soon.

  There was a knock at her door. “Abigail?”

  She got up to answer. Gordon, Bartholomew, and Robert stood in the doorway, dressed casually in polo shirts and jeans.

  “We’re going to the house. Do you wish to come?” Gordon asked.

  “Yes. Can I change first?”

  “Certainly.”

  Motioning them in, she opened her suitcase. She tugged out a sweater and a pair of jeans before locking herself in the bathroom to change. Then, she stopped for a moment to pull her brown hair into a ponytail.

  “Grab your coat, Abbey,” Robert instructed. “It’s chilly out.”

  Nodding, she grabbed her coat lying discarded on a chair. It still baffled her how much colder it was in Belfast than in New York City. At home, she had been out and about in a T-shirt and shorts. Tugging it on, she followed the three men as they led her down the hall to the elevator.

  Abbey stopped at the little café in the lobby. The three men skidded to a halt when they found her missing. Gordon stormed back to find her. “Abigail, you need to stay with us at all times.”

  “I just need something to eat.”

  Gordon’s face lightened. “You’re feeling better then?”

  “No.” she shrugged. “But I’m starving too. Crazy that I feel sick and hungry at the same time.” She frowned at him. “When do we get to finish our talk about Sloan or Thomas or whatever his name is?”

  “When we get to the house.”

  “All right.”

  Abbey picked a cinnamon biscotti to munch on. Before she could get her wallet from her purse, Gordon handed his credit card to the girl behind the counter. As Abbey took the bag, Gordon motioned her to the door.

  Nibbling on the pastry, she sat pinned between Bartholomew and Robert in the back seat of a cab. The quick, erratic turns as they sailed through the streets of Belfast made her stomach lurch. Being squashed between two very large men certainly didn’t make it better. Finally, she tucked the rest of her biscotti in the bag for safekeeping.

  The front yard was empty as the car pulled up to the curb. Bartholomew helped Abbey out of the back seat as Gordon paid the driver. Together they quickly made their way up the walk. It wasn’t until they reached the door that Abbey noticed each man had a gun drawn.

  Liam greeted them in the foyer of the house. “Amelia’s gone,” Liam announced. “She’s with Colin and Ethan now.”

  Gordon lowered his head and shook it sadly. Abbey felt her heart sink at the news. Liam stepped aside to let them pass through.

  They stopped in the living room to take their coats off and set them on a chair. Liam continued, “Amelia left in peace now that her two remaining children were at her side.”

  Liam swept his hand toward the kitchen. Abbey followed Gordon as they wound their way down the hall.

  Sloan sat hunched in a wooden kitchen chair, his elbows on his knees. He was still wearing the suit he traveled in. His beautiful blue eyes were swollen red.

  Abbey couldn’t take it any longer. She rushed to Sloan. In one swift motion, he grabbed her by the hips and pulled her between his legs. He buried his face against her stomach as he wrapped his arms around her waist. Abbey held him close, pressing soft kisses into his thick, black locks. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she felt her husband sob.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered to him. “I love you so much.”

  Abbey clung to Sloan for several moments, digging deep within herself to find the strength for both of them. She looked up as she heard Maggie’s brogue.

  “Tom…I mean Sloan, Father Michael wants to speak to us.”

  Sloan gently pushed Abbey from him as he stood. He pressed a kiss to her lips then shuffled toward the living room.

  Maggie stood still, staring at Abbey. Abbey tried to force a smile on her face.

  “I’m sorry.” Maggie seemed flustered. She held out her hand to Abbey. “I’m Maggie.”

  Abbey shook the Irish girl’s hand. “I’m Abbey.”

  “I know. My brother spoke quite a lot about you.”

  Abbey laughed uneasily. “It was good I hope.”

  “Of course. A man should always speak well of his wife. He wanted introduce you to Ma. She really wanted to meet you. But she fell asleep and didn’t wake up.” Maggie turned as she heard her name called. “I’ve got to go. It was nice meeting you.” Abbey watched Maggie leave as her mouth gaped open. He told his mother and sister about us.

  Suddenly, Abbey found herself alone in the small kitchen. She felt completely incompetent. Her husband’s mother had died, and she was doing nothing. She thought hard for a moment before slipping down the hall and breezing past the crowded living room where everyone was deep in prayer with the small elderly priest. Abbey snuck out the front door into the cold morning without her coat.

  Wrapping her arms around herself to stay warm, she traveled the sidewalk toward the shops they had passed on their way to the house. She recalled seeing a grocer. Maybe they sold flowers. She would buy a bunch and take them back to the house as a sympathetic gesture.

  Abbey walked past a pub, the sounds of happy diners floating out the kitchen window. The smell of roasting beef and onions accompanied the merry voices. It was all too much. Covering her mouth, she dashed for the alley behind the building. She bent over, retching the meager contents of her stomach as her face grew clammy. Abbey heard the footsteps behind her as she coughed violently.

  “Miss?” a deep voice boomed.

  “I’m okay. I haven’t been feeling good—”

  Abbey gasped as her arms were wrenched behind her. The man behind her yanked her up to him. A hand clasped around her throat.

  “Finally. I got him. You’re coming with me.”

  Abbey struggled against him but it was no use. The man dragged her to his vehicle, tossing her in the backseat.

  »»•««

  Sloan accepted the priest’s gentle hug. The clergyman’s words were comforting, but they couldn’t bring back the eighteen years Sloan had been away from his Ma.

  Sloan sighed. Ma. Of all the things he had left behind, he missed her the most. She was the strongest woman he knew. All of her children had inherited her black hair and ice blue eyes. She loved the fact that they all looked like her. She had kept a house, a husband, a baby girl, and two rowdy boys under control.

  And when she lost half of her family on that one horrible day, she didn’t collapse. She pulled from her inner strength, dug in her heels, and nursed her youngest son back from death. And then lost him all over again.

  His only regret was that his Ma didn’t get to meet his beautiful Abig
ail. She wanted so much to meet the lass. They were both strong women. He greatly admired and adored both of them. But when she drifted off to sleep, she never woke up again.

  He looked around the small sitting room and sighed. Memories flooded back. He remembered wrestling with Ethan on the floor. His mother panicking that they would put each other through the coffee table. His father laughing and proudly announcing how his sons would be Ireland’s greatest fighters. More often than not, even though he was smaller, Sloan won. Little Maggie would sit on Da’s knee, giggling and clapping her tiny hands as she watched her older brothers tussle.

  The corners of his mouth turned up, but then he winced at the memory. He had cherished his family, and his family had been stolen from him.

  Feeling a hand on his shoulder, he turned to find Gordon beside him.

  “How are you holding up, son?” Gordon asked concerned.

  “All right,” he sighed. “Right now I just want to have something to eat and get some sleep. Then we can figure out if it’s safe to stay for the funeral, or if we need to get out of Belfast.”

  Gordon smiled at him encouragingly. “Sounds like a plan.”

  The sound of rather loud muttering caught the two men’s attention. Sloan’s brow furrowed as he noticed Liam and Robert deep in conversation with one of Liam’s men. The young man was breathlessly panting, his cropped blond hair damp with sweat, unusual given the chill outside. His words and actions were urgent. He was giving a report. The young man’s demeanor gave Sloan a sinking feeling in his gut.

  “Where’s Abigail?” Sloan asked uneasily.

  “She was in the kitchen the last I knew,” Gordon answered.

  Robert and Liam crossed the living room to them. “They have Abbey,” Robert growled.

  “How?” Gordon snapped. “I told her not to wander off. She was right here.”

  Terror replaced the sorrow in Sloan’s eyes. He ran his hands through his thick, black hair as he fought the nightmares running through his mind. If the wrong men get their hands on her…

  “She was heading for the grocer and threw up in the street. They abducted her then,” Robert continued.

  “Why was she going to the grocer?” Gordon demanded.

  “Why does Abbey do anything she does?”

  Sloan ripped his wool trench coat from the wooden coat tree in the hall. He stormed to the door. “I’m going to go get her,” he spat.

  Robert grabbed his arm roughly. “Like hell you are.”

  “Robert’s right,” Gordon replied softly.

  “I’m not going to let Brown hurt her! Not because of me!” Sloan shouted.

  “No, we won’t allow that.” Gordon nodded in Robert and Bartholomew’s direction. “The boys can go to the U.S. Embassy and get help. I’ll track her phone. We’ll get her back.”

  Sloan glared at them silently. Then, he angrily tossed his jacket back onto the coat tree before storming into the kitchen.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Abbey sat alone in the cold, damp room. The dim light reflected off the unpainted, concrete block walls. The only items in the room were a metal table with two chairs on each side where she sat and a TV/VCR combo mounted to the wall. One single, metal lamp hung over the table, casting a dim glow. She glanced around her. It looked nothing like the interrogation rooms she saw on TV. Am I even in an interrogation room? Or am I already in a prison cell? She looked around some more. There’s no bed.

  She buried her face in her hands. She really couldn’t understand why she was here. Who the hell was that who grabbed me? She wanted Sloan. He would make sense of this. His presence would at least keep her from falling apart. Which is what she was about to do. Or Thomas. Or whatever his name is. So much for answers from Gordon.

  Abbey jumped as the door slammed open. A tall, balding man in a tattered military uniform coldly strode into the room carrying a large file in his hand. He was intimidating. Not Sloan and Robert intimidating, but intimidating none the less. Abbey could just make out the name CMD. BROWN engraved on the nameplate pinned to his uniform. He dropped the file on the table and sat down in the empty chair.

  “Why am I here?” Abbey demanded. She hoped he couldn’t see past her false bravado.

  Commander Brown opened the file, scanning the documents inside. “You were littering, Miss…” His trailing voice searched for her name. His British accent was unmistakable.

  “Mrs.,” Abbey volunteered. “Mrs. Abigail O’Riley. Since when is vomiting considered littering? Am I under arrest? Am I in jail?”

  “Where’s your passport, Mrs. O’Riley?”

  “In my hotel. I didn’t realize I had to carry it with me. My husband’s mother just died and—”

  “Your husband?”

  “Yes. My husband, Sloan.”

  Commander Brown chuckled as he jotted a note. “Sloan O’Riley. Interesting name he chose. Do you realize what your husband is?”

  “Sloan is his name. He’s a world renowned artist. He’s an investor. He’s a businessman and a philanthropist. I’m not under arrest, am I? You kidnapped me…”

  She was cut off abruptly as Commander Brown stood, kicking his chair out from under him. He crossed the small room to retrieve the remote tucked beside the television. He returned to his chair and clicked it on.

  A video of a marketplace appeared. People darted from one store to another. Others talked in the streets while vendors sold their wares from carts. There were people eating in outdoor cafes. There was a British flag hanging on a flagpole in a park in the background, separated from the marketplace by a busy street lined with parked cars. Sunlight flooded the plaza area. It was a beautiful summer day. By the surroundings, Abbey guessed it was London. A timestamp in the bottom corner of the screen said it was nineteen ninety-four.

  Suddenly, the peace was torn apart by a ball of fire. There was screaming—horrific, pain-filled screaming. The people ran in a crazed panic out of the storefronts, shoving and pushing each other to get as far away from the bloodshed. Abbey pressed her hand to her mouth as she felt the acid burning in her stomach. Commander Brown clicked the pause button, freezing the carnage on the screen.

  “Why would you show me that?” she whimpered.

  “Do you know who’s responsible for that?” he demanded.

  Abbey shook her head.

  “Your husband,” he snarled.

  “No.” She shook her head vehemently. “He wouldn’t do that. Not Sloan.”

  The commander reached into the file. He slapped several pieces of paper onto the table in front of Abbey. There were photos, newspapers articles, and reports. She studied one photo carefully. A teenage boy with Sloan’s eyes stared back at her.

  Commander Brown tapped the image viciously. “Thomas Morrison is an Irish Republican Army terrorist. And a murderer.”

  Abbey thumped her finger on the photo. “This isn’t my husband.”

  “You are a naïve one, little girl.”

  “You have the wrong man, asshole. Now, let me go. Isn’t your war over? Wasn’t it by this point? Where the hell am I?”

  Commander Brown slammed his fists violently on the metal table. Abbey screamed, startled. She whimpered as he leaned over until his nose nearly touched hers. “Thomas Morrison, or your Sloan O’Riley, is a deadly fugitive. Get ready for a long stay, Missy,” he spat. “The coward ran after the bombing in London to save his own skin. He isn’t going to stick around for you.”

  »»•««

  The sounds of his boot steps on the cement were almost comforting. Sloan slipped the cell from the pocket of his wool trench coat as he walked up the drive. He was getting close. Any second now and I should see the welcoming committee.

  Sloan had little difficulty sneaking out of the house. Between his mother’s death and the ruckus caused by Abbey’s capture, everyone took their eyes off him long enough for him to grab his coat and slip out the back door. No one knows the backyards and the neighborhood alleys like I do.

  He stopped short at the sight o
f a rifle in his face. He held his hands up in surrender, his phone still clasped in his hand. He man at the other end of the gun snarled.

  “Get Brown. Now,” Sloan demanded.

  “Who’s asking?’

  “Thomas Morrison.”

  The man froze in fear. Amused, Sloan shook his head “I’m not a suicide bomber, you fool. I have too much to live for. Like eradicating your kind.”

  Snorting in disgust, the man dropped his rifle and grabbed the back of Sloan’s trench coat. He whipped a walkie-talkie from his pocket. “Commander. He’s here.”

  Moments later, Commander Brown arrived. “O’Riley,” he hissed.

  “Brown,” Sloan returned curtly. “Where’s Abigail?”

  “She’s safe. For now.”

  “That’s shit. Let her go.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “If you don’t, you’ll be dealing with the U.S. and the British. Are you ready to cause an international incident?”

  “I have no incentive—”

  “You have me.”

  Brown smirked at him. Sloan continued, “Let my wife go. Send her back to the U.S. I surrender. Let me take her place. You’ve been hunting for me for twenty years. You win.”

  “I’m not negotiating with a terrorist,” Brown sneered.

  “I didn’t set the bomb that killed your son.”

  “But you constructed it.”

  “Under orders. Just like you. Waste much more time and you can deal with the United States. Give me your word you’ll send her home.”

  Brown flicked his wrist. The man hauled Sloan into the abandoned brick building. Commander Brown smiled, satisfied, as he followed.

  »»•««

  Abbey collapsed on the hotel bed. She was still shaking. One moment she was ripped off the street and locked in a room by some lunatic. Next thing she knew she was dragged back outside and left in a foreign alley with no clue where to go. She wandered through the city until she caught the first cab she could and got the hell out of there.