by Raen Smith
“Damn it, Rich,” Liam said, averting his eyes. It was too early to see a sight like this. “I can’t bring you in like this, and I sure the hell don’t want you sitting in my van with that dirty ass of yours.”
Rich laughed. “Come on. If you let me go, you wouldn’t have to worry about it.”
“In the house. Now,” Liam ordered, pushing Rich toward the house. They walked across the yard, up the stairs, and into the house. The woman on the floor didn’t move.
“Is she all right?” Liam asked as they stepped over her.
“Yeah, she’s fine,” Rich grumbled.
“Is there anyone else in the house?”
“No one else is here. What happened to the blonde?”
“She crawled out the window just before you did,” Liam replied as they ducked into Rich’s bedroom.
“I can get it,” Rich offered, moving toward the dresser.
“Not a chance,” Liam said, yanking him back. “You know I’m only doing this as a courtesy for you. Most guys would drag your sorry ass into the station buck naked. They might give you a jacket to cover yourself with, but that’s all.”
“I know,” he replied. “What’s your name by the way? Second time’s a charm…”
“I told you the first time I wouldn’t tell you my name,” Liam said as he held on to Rich with one hand and dug in a drawer with the other. A Glock was hidden beneath his pants. Liam held up the gun and waved it in the air. “Good thing I didn’t let you dig in this drawer, huh?”
“You got me,” Rich said with a shrug. “I had to try. How much they paying you anyway? I can pay you double.”
Liam grabbed a pair of pants and t-shirt. “No, you can’t. On second thought, I’ll let you go to the station naked. You can put on your shit when you get there.”
“Come on, man,” Rich complained as Liam shoved him out of the bedroom. “Who called me in anyway? How’d you know I was here?”
“Got the call yesterday.” Liam stopped in the living room and dug inside his pocket. He retrieved a card for the clinic and dropped it on the woman’s back. Then he shoved Rich out the door and down the steps again.
“Was it my brother?” Rich asked.
“I don’t know, Rich,” Liam replied as they crossed the lawn.
“Goddamn brother ain’t much of a brother. Always rats me out,” he muttered, shaking his head.
“You got a brother?”
“Yeah, two,” Liam said, opening the back door of the van. He pushed Rich in and threw the pants and shirt next to him. “Sit on those.”
Liam slammed the back doors shut and then climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine. This was the least favorite part of his job. He really needed to get a partner. He hated keeping tabs on his clientele on the trip back to the station. They usually kicked the doors or steel barrier. There was one who even tried to kick out his window. He’d had to pull over and tie the guy’s feet and hands together. If he had a partner, he could drive in peace while his partner made sure the collections didn’t do anything crazy. The problem was that he didn’t trust anyone else.
“Well, I hope your brothers ain’t assholes like mine. You know they say blood is thicker than water, but that ain’t always the case. That line is a load of crap. I’d be happy without that damn brother of mine. He’s always getting me into trouble.”
“Are you sure he isn’t just trying to help you?” Liam asked, turning at the first stop sign. Luckily, the station was only five minutes away. He wasn’t too worried about Rich anyway. After Rich let up his struggle the first time, he conceded and rode begrudgingly in the back with no fight. He just talked the whole damn way. Liam considered getting earplugs along with the new partner.
“Help? You got to be kidding me. He’s done nothing but hurt me. I’ve got nothing but low-life traitors in my life. Loyalty is a thing of the past, my friend. Loyalty doesn’t exist, so don’t even think twice about trying to find it.”
Rich slid up to the steel barrier, just a foot away from Liam’s ear. “What’s that tattoo you got on your chest?”
“I’ve got a lot of tattoos,” Liam said, looking down at his unbuttoned Henley. His shirt must have come undone when he was taking down Rich. He buttoned the first two shut.
“On your chest,” Rich said. “I saw something like it on a guy I met in county.”
“Oh yeah?” Liam tried to hide the trepidation in his voice.
“Yeah, he was some tattoo artist or something. In for disorderly conduct or something.”
“He still there?” Liam asked.
“Nah, he was gone before I got out. I don’t remember his name or anything. Just remember his tattoos. Never seen anyone like that before.”
“A tattoo artist, huh?” Liam voice trailed off, thinking about the possibilities of the tattoo artist being one of his brothers. He had the perfect person to go to if Rich’s lead had an ounce of credibility. That was a big if. But he didn’t have any other leads, so Rich’s was better than nothing.
“Yeah, you meet all sorts of guys in prison, half of them don’t belong. Most of them wouldn’t hurt a fly. You know, they’re just doing their thing. Making ends meet. You know, guys like me…”
Liam reached forward and turned up the beat of the Dropkick Murphys to drown out the sound of the mumbling naked criminal in his ear.
***
“Sorry I’m late,” Jill gushed as she slid into the chair across from Charla at Tigerwood Cafe.
“No worries,” Charla replied, glancing up from her laptop screen. She closed her web browser before closing the laptop. “I was just looking for jobs, which is probably going to take me longer than I anticipated.”
“Find anything good?” Jill grabbed a menu from the holder on the edge of the table.
“Not really. I thought there was supposed to be a national shortage of nurses…”
“I guess everyone in Blackwell is healthy as a horse.” Jill snorted. She was a physical trainer at a large health club in the city notorious for its well-to-do members. They were mostly wealthy businessmen and their trophy wives. Jill had her fair share of fat, sloppy men whose wives dragged them to her sessions. “Did you order yet?”
“Not yet, I was waiting for you,” Charla said, pressing her hands on her laptop. She’d been waiting for Jill for the last year. She was used to it. She stopped asking Jill what always took her so long. It was a different excuse every time. The worst was that Jill claimed she hated waiting for people, so that’s why she was always late. Jill was late to every Anatomy class they had together, until the professor threatened to fail her. After the threat, Charla called Jill before every class to ensure she made it on time, and just like that, they became friends. Jill was the only friend Charla had.
“You could have been waiting all day,” Jill said with a smile, poking her head up from the menu.
Charla shook her head and waved a waitress over. “No kidding. You’re going to be late for your own funeral.”
“And wedding most likely,” Jill quipped. “Unless you do your job and get me there on time.”
“That’s what maids of honor are for, right?” she said quietly. After Jill had found out about Charla’s broken engagement to Rex, she refused to talk about her wedding, but Charla insisted she talk about it even though every mention felt like tiny razor blade cuts on her skin. She should be getting married, just like Jill. “I won’t let you down.”
“Rex is a cheating, lying, scumbag,” Jill reminded her. Charla looked up to see her best friend’s adamant eyes. “Remember that. Scumbag. You’re lucky you’re not marrying him.”
“I know,” Charla replied. “It can still hurt though, can’t it?”
“Hell yes, it can still hurt, but you’ll find someone else. Someone who will treat you right. Someone who won’t get blowjobs from some floozy blonde. Someone who will love you unconditionally, crappy Corolla and all,” Jill said with a smile. She reached out her hand and gave Charla’s a tight squeeze. “Where’s the list
?”
“I don’t want to…” Charla said, shaking her head as a red-bobbed waitress in her fifties appeared next to them.
“What can I get you ladies today?” The waitress grabbed a pen from the back of her ear and held it above her pad of paper.
“Tell my friend she’s beautiful, and she deserves more than a cheating scumbag for a fiancé,” Jill said.
The waitress leaned against the table, looking down at Charla with sympathetic eyes. “Honey, you’re beautiful. You don’t deserve a cheating scumbag for a fiancé. Trust me, I had one of those. I was married to a lying sack of shit who stole my money and ran off with a blonde half my age.”
“Why is it always a blonde?” Charla lamented.
“Hey,” Jill said, pointing to her honey yellow hair.
“I’m just saying,” Charla defended with a shrug. “It’s always the blondes.”
“Whatever. I’ll have a Greek salad with the dressing on the side and a water with a slice of lemon,” Jill said, closing the menu. “And for the record, I’m not one of the blondes who steals other men.”
“I’ll take the same,” Charla said to the waitress. “And thank you. As sad as it is, I’m happy to hear I’m not alone.”
“You’re never alone, honey. We’re all in this together,” she replied before she leaned in closer to Charla, “At least the brunettes are.” She tapped the pad on the counter and chuckled before she walked away.
“What?” Charla shrugged her shoulders at Jill’s accusing eyes and laughed.
“Get out your sheet of paper,” Jill ordered. “I’m going to keep making you do this every time you get those sad puppy dog eyes. You look like you didn’t get any sleep last night, you know that? You’re skin’s flat and your eyes are glassy. You need a B12 shot?”
“I’m fine,” Charla said. Jill was a fanatic about supplements and keeping her body in tip-top shape and it showed. She had the body of a Greek Goddess, not too thin but not too muscular. She took her profession and health to a level of dedication beyond Charla’s comprehension.
“And you’re okay with Jack and everything?”
“I had the nightmare again last night,” Charla said quietly, leaning across the table. “I’ve had it every night since Jack died. Something about watching Jack died stirred up that memory. No matter how hard I tried to erase it from my mind, I can’t.”
Jill was the only other person that knew the truth about that night.
“Charla,” Jill said, reaching over to grab her hand. “It was too late anyway. There was nothing you could have done.”
Charla closed her eyes, fighting back the tears. After her step-father’s funeral, her mother fell into a deeper state of addiction and was admitted to a rehab facility for three months. Charla moved in with her aunt for the remainder of high school even though her mother finally emerged sober and stayed that way for the next two years. Charla was eighteen when her mother went back to hitting the bottle again.
“I just wonder if things would have been different,” Charla said. “If she wouldn’t have gone back to it. Maybe she’d be in a better place now.”
“If that better place is six feet under,” Jill said. “That man would have killed her, Charla. You know that. Even worse, you might not be sitting here. And what the hell would I do without you?”
“Find a better best friend who doesn’t complain when she whips you into shape,” Charla said, making some small circles with her arms. “My arms are still sore from all those curls.”
“Beauty hurts, Charla,” Jill replied with a smile. “Get out your list.”
“I’m fine, Jill. Jesus, I’ve just had a lot on my mind with Jack and everything else.”
“Get out the list. Not only am I your personal trainer, I am your counselor since you refuse to go see anyone.”
“Fine,” Charla said, pulling a sheet of paper from her purse. She obliged because Jill was a damn good friend.
“Read it,” Jill said.
Charla looked down at the paper and recited the lines, “One, I am beautiful, strong, intelligent, and the most giving person I have ever met. Two, I deserve a man who is willing to treat me as the woman stated in number one. Three, I will, no matter the circumstance, pick myself up and be open to falling in love again.”
Charla looked up to see Jill nodding her head with her eyes closed.
“Happy?” Charla asked, folding the piece of paper and shoving it in her purse. Before Jill could reply, Charla’s cell phone rang on the table. She glanced down to see Liam Murphy’s name appear on the screen. She looked back up at Jill, letting the phone ring.
“Well, are you going to answer it?” Jill asked, leaning forward to look at the screen. “Who’s Liam Murphy?”
Charla snagged the phone off the table and held it in her lap. She didn’t want to get into everything with Jill here. In fact, she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say about Liam Murphy other than he’s a hot Irish bartender and Jack’s secret son. That would take some explaining. “No one.”
Jill raised her eyebrows and shot her an accusing look. “Who is Liam Murphy?”
Charla hit the green button and put the phone up to her ear. “Hello?”
“Charla?” Liam’s voice was even sexier over the phone than in person.
A surge of warmth sparked through Charla’s veins. “I didn’t think I’d hear from you so soon.” Her voice dripped with a surprisingly flirty tone.
Jill mouthed a big “WHAT?” She held her mouth agape as she leaned forward. Charla waved her off as she felt her cheeks flush.
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Liam asked.
“I don’t know.” Charla laughed nervously. “Just is, I guess.”
“What the hell is going on?” Jill whispered with wide eyes.
“I need your help,” Liam said. “You open the rest of the day?”
“Well, I just sat down for lunch with a friend…”
“Meet me at Dirty Leprechaun in an hour. I got a lead on my brother.”
“Sure, I …uh…” Charla licked her lips and tried to cover the stutter in her voice.
“See you then. Oh yeah, and bring my clothes.”
Click.
Charla pulled the phone away from her ear and looked at Jill.
“Who the hell was that?” Jill asked. “Did you forget to tell me something? I talked to you yesterday and the day before that and the day before that. What the hell did I miss?”
“Liam Murphy,” Charla said, sliding the phone into her purse. “And there’s nothing to tell other than he’s a gorgeous, tattooed Irish bartender/bounty hunter who also happens to be Jack’s secret son.”
“What did you just say?” Jill asked, her eyes wide in disbelief. “I swear you just spewed some day-time soap opera crap that I couldn’t dream of making up.”
“You’re right about that,” Charla replied, wondering if she would have enough time to go back to Jack’s house to shower and change before heading to Dirty Leprechaun. “You know how I feel about drama. I don’t need any more of that shit in my life.”
“Whatever you do, be sure to wear that little lace set I bought for you. Just in case.” The corner of Jill’s lips began to crack.
“In case of what?” Charla widened her eyes.
“There’s nothing better than a gorgeous, tattooed Irishman to help you forget about Rex,” Jill replied with a full smile. “Plus, I know you were thinking the same thing about the lace set, but you wouldn’t have done it without me saying so.” She broke out into laughter.
Jill was always right.
Chapter 5
Charla wiped the sweat from her brow, wishing she would have taken the extra time to shower. But Liam hadn’t given her any other choice than to be at the Dirty Leprechaun at 12:30. And she’d be damned if she was late. Jill’s tardiness had made punctuality a priority for Charla. She leaned across the seat and grabbed the small box of belongings with Liam’s clothes neatly folded on top. She straightened her tank top and
took one last look in the mirror. She smoothed the frizz near her hairline caused by the humidity, cursing the gene pool she’d inherited from a father she’d never met. Dotti had long, sleek hair when she took care of it, which was usually not the case.
I’m nothing like her, she reminded herself.
She stood on the sidewalk with the box tucked under her arm looking up at the Dirty Leprechaun sign. The name was flanked with two clovers, but she didn’t feel any sort of luck. She exhaled and finally took a step toward dealing with the mess Jack had left her.
“I’ll be down in a minute.” A man’s voice echoed from the side of the building. Charla craned her head to see a shirtless Liam leaning over a metal balcony. She inhaled sharply, admiring the thick outline of his upper body. It flexed in the warm sunlight as he pushed himself off and threw a t-shirt over his shoulder.
He’s gorgeous, get over it. She tried to steady her breathing as he landed on the concrete of the alleyway and turned toward her. His smooth skin peeked out between a pair of large wings and a long passage with scrolling letters on his chest. His dog tags bounced between the tattoos and glinted in the sun. She shifted the box under her other arm as he pulled a black t-shirt over his head and walked toward her.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said with a smile. He walked past her and opened the front door of the bar. “Couldn’t resist a guy like me?”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she replied as they ducked into the dim lighting of the bar.
“So what brought you back here?” Liam asked, walking around the counter.
Charla climbed onto a stool and slid the box to him. “Well, for starters, the box of stuff, and your clothes.”
He raised his eyebrows and flipped a glass in his hand. “Cranberry vodka?”
“It’s two in the afternoon,” she replied.
“Didn’t stop you yesterday.”
“Water.” She set her purse on the counter and sighed. “I’m here because I can’t say no. I’m a sucker for people who need my help.”
“I said the magic word, huh? Help?” Liam filled the glass with water and slid it to her. “That’s the word that will make you do anything?”