Quinn's Deirdre

by Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy

  He had fussed and raged, but the first responders refused to back down. At Truman Medical Center, in the Hospital Hill district, the staff hustled Quinn into a cubible, leaving Deirdre with Eileen. “Call Uncle Des,” Quinn told her, while their hands were still clasped. “Tell him to come get us in a bit and tell him, please, I’m fine.”

  “I hope you are,” Deirdre said. “I love you.”

  “Aye, I love ye too, acushla,” he called as they rolled him away.

  In the waiting room, Eileen cried. Then she gathered her wits to call Neal and told him what had happened. “No, don’t ye come,” she told him with her usual blunt tone. “I’m perfectly fine. ‘Tis Quinn I’m worried sick about. He took a knock in the head and he was bleedin’ too. What? Oh, she’s fine, but upset about Quinn as well. But I’ve decided we should go home in the morning after all so pack the bags if ye would. No, I do mean it. I’ve never been so scared in all me life as I was this day.”

  Deirdre counted tiles on the floor, an effort to keep her mind occupied and prevent an emotional breakdown. After Eileen finished her call, she asked, “Do you mean it? You’re going home as planned?”

  The other woman wiped her eyes. “I think it’s for the best, as long as Quinn’s all right. Do ye think he is?”

  “I hope so. There’s Uncle Des.”

  The older man stood at the far end of the large waiting area. Deirdre waved to capture his attention, and he moved toward them with swift steps. She met him and he hugged her tight.

  “How did you know to come?” she cried. “I was getting ready to call you.”

  “Quinn called and it’s a blessing I even answered the phone,” he said. “After the bit with ye, Eileen, this morning, I turned the bell back on and it’s good I did. He sounded a little puny, if ye ask me. How is he?”

  “I don’t know,” Deirdre said. “He hit his head pretty hard and the cut bled all over. He was out but for just a minute, but the paramedics thought he should be checked out so they brought him here. They’re afraid of head trauma or concussion, I think.”

  “Ah, he’ll be grand. Quinn Sullivan is too hard-headed for either,” Desmond said. Despite his words, though, Deirdre noticed he twisted his hands together. He’s worried, too.

  “I hope you’re right.”

  Two hours later, Deirdre’s stomach had tied into tight knots. The longer she waited, the more concerned she became. Maybe his condition had been worse than she thought. She had almost determined she would walk into the cubicle where they had taken Quinn, no matter what, when he appeared. A bandage covered most of his forehead, and he walked with slow steps toward her. Deirdre leapt to her feet and rushed to him. “Quinn! Thank goodness. Are you all right?”

  He opened his arms wide and she stepped into their circle, cautious not to bump heads. “I’m well enough except for a thumping, feckin’ headache. They wanted to make me stay the night for observation, but I said no bloody way and signed their bloody papers so I could get the hell away from here.”

  Her fingers trembled as she touched his face, and her hands shook as she lowered them onto his shoulders. Touching him was vital, a necessary reassurance he wasn’t damaged. “How do you feel, sweetheart?”

  Quinn snorted. “Other than a desperate headache and the same sense of impending doom, I’m perfectly well. I nearly lost me mind back there, worried for ye. It’s likely not safe here or anywhere else.”

  Eileen and Desmond approached, then hung back. “Ye gave us a fright,” Eileen said after a moment. “I want to hug ye, but I’m afraid I’ll hurt ye.”

  “I’m not so easy broken,” he said. “But ye’ll have to take yer turn.”

  Des grinned. “I told the both of them ye were too hard-headed to be hurt much. Come then, lad, let’s get out of here. I’ll bring the van around so ye won’t have far to walk.”

  Once Quinn released her from his arms, Deirdre stuck to his side. Eileen embraced him and planted a kiss on his cheek. “I told Neal we’d go home as planned tomorrow,” she said. “I hope ye won’t mind, but what happened put fear into my heart.”

  His tone was dry as vintage champagne. “And sense into yer head, I see. I’m glad to see the back of ye and yer family, because I love the lot of ye and want ye safe.”

  “Then Uncle Des can drop me at the hotel,” Eileen said. “We’ll say our farewells on the way. The wanes can see the lights another time and with yer poor head, ye won’t need our noise the rest of the day.”

  “Thank ye, sister.”

  At the pub, Quinn winced as he climbed out of the van and Deirdre, hovering, noticed. “What’s wrong? Is your headache worse?”

  “It couldn’t be worse if the devil himself were beating it with the hammers of hell,” Quinn said. “I’m the wee bit stiff and sore, that’s all.”

  He made straight for the bar as she followed. “Wouldn’t you rather go lie down upstairs?” she asked. “You didn’t sleep much last night.”

  Quinn pulled a crumpled paper from his pocket. “They told me not to sleep just yet. Here’s the list of instructions they handed me. Ye’d think I was an invalid from the look of it.”

  Deirdre scanned the page. “This is pretty standard. Since they didn’t find any evidence of a concussion or further damage, it says you can sleep in a few hours if you’re not dizzy or sick to your stomach. You’re not, are you?”

  He shook his head. “Nay, I’m not. I want a drink, though, and maybe a bite to eat.”

  “Didn’t they give you any pain pills?”

  “No, they told me take something over the counter, as if that could touch this level of hurt,” he said with a snort. He grabbed an unopened bottle of Jameson’s from behind the bar and three glasses. Then he sat down at a corner table. “Come, sit down, both of ye. We need to talk.”

  Desmond turned around a chair backwards and sat in it. “I thought to go fix something to eat.”

  “In a moment, ye can. Sit down with me, woman.”

  She pulled her chair beside him as he poured two fingers of whiskey into each glass. Quinn lifted his to his mouth. “Slainte,” he said and drank. So did she and shuddered when the potent burst of liquor traveled through her body. “In case ye’re wondering, whatever danger lurks, it’s far from over. If ye’d been driving instead of me, love, I imagine ye’d be dead. They meant to kill ye, surely ye know?”

  “Yes,” she said and then blurted out the one small fact bothering her. “I’m sorry you got hurt and it’s my fault.”

  His blue eyes met hers. “It’s never yer doing. Ye saw something and they came after ye.”

  “Not that—there should’ve been air bags in the car, but I never had them replaced after I hit a deer and I should have. If I had, you probably wouldn’t have whacked your head so hard.”

  Quinn shrugged. “Ah, it’s no matter. What’s done is done.”

  “I’m still sorry—and scared.”

  He nodded. “Aye, I know. So, tell me—and Uncle Des here—who’s after ye and why.”

  Deirdre hated to recall the moments that sent her life into a tailspin and robbed her of everything she held dear. “You were at the trial with me, Quinn.”

  “Aye, I know and I remember plenty, but I also spent the last three years with me head shoved up me arse. Refresh my memory and tell Desmond here. He may know a little, but I doubt he knows all he should.”

  “All right. First, you have to understand a little about organized crime in KC. The old school traditional mafia lacks the power they had the in the past, but they’re still around. They’re much more low-key or they were, three years ago,” Deirdre said. “The newer, more dangerous threat is from the gangs like M13, Mara Salvatrucha. There’s also what some call ‘the Mexican Mafia’ for want of a better term and some Asian gang activity. Then there’s the Balkans, too.”

  “So what do we have here?” Desmond asked, his face schooled as innocent as an altar boy’s.

  “The men after me are part of what remains of the old mafia, the one built on the
ruins of the old Pendergast machine with ties to some of the Five Families in New York,” Deirdre said. “This bunch, though, fell in with the Balkan people. Some of them are really nasty, dangerous assholes. Of course, no one wants to say so, not aloud and in public. At the trial, the defense attornies tried to turn what I saw, an obvious execution, into murder, but it wasn’t. I was there.”

  Quinn drummed his fingers on the table with nervous agitation, then stopped. “Jaysus, that makes my head hurt all the more,” he said. “When they thought ye dead, there was no danger but now they know ye’re alive and here so they still want to kill you, it seems.”

  Scared before, the calm, quiet way he spoke about it awakened terror. “Yeah, pretty much.”

  “And they don’t seem interested in giving up.”

  “No, they don’t.”

  He sighed. “They followed us today, ye know. If we could stop the ones coming after ye, they’d likely send more, so we need to find a way to stop it altogether.”

  “But how?”

  “That I don’t know yet, acushla.”

  Des spoke up. “We’ll find a way.”

  “I hope ye’re right, Uncle,” Quinn said. “For if we don’t, my woman’s likely to be dead and me as well.”

  “I won’t see that happen, lad. Tell me, what do ye want to eat and I’ll fix it? There’s ham left and turkey, plus everything else on the menu.”

  “Maybe just bangers and mash,” Quinn said. “And whiskey though I can’t drink much more or I fear my head might split in two tomorrow.”

  “Deirdre, love, would ye like the same?”

  She didn’t care what she ate or if she did but she nodded. “That’ll be fine, Des, and thank you.”

  When Desmond’s footfalls faded away, she turned to Quinn. “I need to kiss you,” said. “I’ll try not to hurt your head any more than it is, but I have to kiss you.”

  Quinn reached up and pulled away the gauze bandage. She cringed at the hard knot on his head, divided in two halves by a nasty gash. “I thought ye’d never ask,” he said with a faint grin. “Ye worried for me, did ye?”

  “I still do,” Deirdre said as he turned to face her. She leaned forward and touched her lips to his. Her fingers were colder than January, but his mouth radiated warmth. Tenderness welled up within as she kissed him with slow, gentle precision. Although she craved the connection to reassure her fears, Deirdre’s desire roused. She did her best to ignore it, but when Quinn pulled her onto his lap and kissed her hard, the flames roared into a full conflagration. His cock pressed against her bottom through his jeans and hers. Her arm strayed to his shoulder and rested behind his head.

  He groaned and her fire died. “What’s wrong?”

  “Ah, it’s me bloody head,” he said. “Every time I try to think or do a blasted thing, the pain gets worse.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I liked the kiss as much as ye did. I needed it, too. What happened scared the shite out of me, Deirdre. I came near to losing ye again.”

  All she could coax from her throat was a whisper. “But you didn’t.”

  “No, not this time and never again, please God.” He clutched her tighter, so hard she found it hard to breathe but she didn’t complain. They remained locked together, holding one another until Des brought the food. Then they ate until Quinn griped he couldn’t stay awake much longer. “I can’t hold my bloody eyes open.”

  “Go on with ye, then, upstairs. Unless ye need me, I don’t expect to see hide nor hair of ye until morning,” Desmond said. “I’ll take what’s left of the bottle here and watch old movies in my room. Take care, Quinn.”

  “Aye, I will. Ye do the same, uncle.”

  Within the familiar, snug flat, Deirdre settled onto the couch and without a word, Quinn folded his long, lean body onto it. She placed a pillow in her lap and he lay his head there. She managed to unfold an old blanket and toss it over him. He curled onto his right side and sighed. “Are you comfortable?” she asked, knowing he was.

  “Oh, aye, I am. Ye don’t mind?”

  “Of course not. Do you want some ibuprofen or aspirin or anything before you get too settled?”

  “Ah, no, ‘tis grand the way I am and I’m not likely to want to move for love or money. Ye might sing to me, a bit, though.”

  She almost refused. With her emotions in turmoil, she would rather weep but for Quinn, she agreed. “I can if you want. Anything special you’d like to hear?”

  “I don’t know. Roddy Mc Corley, maybe.”

  Deirdre stroked his hair away from the knot and began the song. By the time she finished all the verses, she thought he slept, but she sang two more songs, both quiet and lovely. Ballinderry, though sad as sad could be, touched something deep within in her spirit and she followed it with The Castle of Dromore. By then, with her hand resting against Quinn’s back, she knew he slept. His breath cycled even and deep as she let silent tears fall. She had held them for hours and wiped them from her cheeks with her free hand.

  Although she lacked his fey sense, she didn’t need it to know trouble loomed. Eileen’s bunch would be out if it once their plane took off but she, Quinn, and Des were in mortal danger. If I hadn’t come back, none of us would be. We would be safe. For a moment, Deirdre wondered if she’d made a wrong choice, but then she shook her head. No. For good or ill, being with Quinn was right, no matter what the cost.

  Ignorance for now equaled bliss. If she could know what would happen, she would refuse the knowledge. Whatever it might be, Deirdre had the sense to grasp that it was better at the moment not to know.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ordinary routines kept them grounded, but waiting for fate to slam into their lives with the force of a sledgehammer sucked. After the pub re-opened, three days passed without any incidents, and Quinn’s headache receded to tolerable levels. He kept Deirdre close and she didn’t complain. If he tended bar, she sat nearby. When he worked in his small, windowless office, she joined him. When patrons asked about his obvious injury, he told them he’d been in a crash but nothing more. Neither of them slept much and they either ate too much or too little. With everyone except Deirdre and Desmond, Quinn lacked patience and his temper had a short fuse.

  When he drank, Quinn limited his intake so, as he told Deirdre, he would be ready for whatever came their way and quoted lines from a song. “I can drink and ne’er be drunken,” he said.

  The quote from The Barnyards of Delgaty brought a brief smile. “I hope you can also fight and never be slain,” she told him.

  His short burst of merriment evaporated. “Aye, I hope so, too. When are yer aunties comin’?”

  “Twelve-thirty,” she said. After their Black Friday mishap, Quinn suggested she should phone her family and let them know she lived. Despite their less than perfect past relationship, her aunts had been overjoyed to hear she wasn’t dead and insisted on coming to see her. Her cousin, Kevin, would join them for a lunch in the pub’s back dining room. “Are you joining us?”

  “If I can, I will.”

  Right now, with the unknown threat hanging over their heads, she needed him there. “Please, Quinn.”

  He paused for no more than twenty seconds, then nodded. “All right, love, then I’ll be there.”

  Her aunts, Frances and Angela, arrived early while Deirdre remained in the kitchen, helping Desmond. Quinn came to the doorway and beckoned to her, face sober. She startled until she saw the two women behind him, neither smiling. After removing her apron and wiping her hands, she joined them. “Hi,” she said, her nerves suddenly tight as a ball of yarn. “I’m glad you could come. Come on back.”

  “You could have knocked me over with a feather,” Aunt Frances said as they headed into the rear dining room. “I had no idea you were alive, Deirdre, but of course I’m glad that you are.”

  “Oh, I am too,” Angela added. “Kevin’ll be along in a few minutes. He couldn’t believe it when I told him the news.”

  Uncertain what to say i
n response, Deirdre said nothing until they were all seated at a round table with room for six. “You remember Quinn,” she said, since neither woman had acknowledged him. She held up her left hand to display the ring. “We’re engaged, now.”

  Both women gushed and offered congratulations. They exclaimed over the ring and made small talk until her cousin Kevin arrived. He stood in the door and stared, his dark hair beginning to show the first signs of early gray. “Deirdre,” he cried. “I couldn’t believe it until I saw you for myself. Thank God you’re alive. You have to tell us exactly what happened!”

  Her chest tightened, but she’d known they would expect some explanation. You couldn’t come back from the dead without one, she thought. Beneath the table, Quinn squeezed her hand in his firm grasp. “Oh, to make a long story short,” she said with a chirping cheer she faked. “You remember the trial where I testified? Well, I had a death threat. I went into the WITSEC program for awhile, but I missed Quinn and wanted to come home, so I did.”

  Kevin frowned. “WITSEC? What in hell is that?”

  “It’s the federal witness protection program,” Deirdre said. “Are you ready for lunch? Desmond’s made steak and mushroom pie.”

  “That sounds nice, dearie,” Aunt Angela said in a sour tone that said it didn’t. “So where on earth were you, anyway?”

  “I’d rather not say,” Deirdre said although at this point, it hardly mattered. “It was far from here and I was miserable. How’s everyone been?”

  “I have the diabetes,” Aunt Frances said. “And high blood pressure and trouble with my knees. But otherwise, I’m fine.”

  Angela nodded and as if not to be outdone, she listed a litany of her ailments. “I have terrible trouble with my stomach,” she said. “And I had a round of shingles so bad I thought I’d die, except no one does from shingles. I was in the hospital for a week last winter with pneumonia, and I’ve had bronchitis more times than I can count. But I manage, Deirdre, I do.”