a Touch of Revenge (Romantic Mystery - book 6): The Everly Gray Adventures

by L. j. Charles

  “Possibly.” He was wearing his serious face, but his eyes shimmered with laughter.

  Of course he wasn’t getting it. How could he? “The fish and chips. The wind is blowing toward us in a direct line from The Moon and Star pub, and every time the door opens we get a whiff of whatever secret ingredient they put in their batter. It’s fabulous.”

  He tugged on my hair. “Or you’re hungry.”

  I couldn’t deny my tummy rumblings, so took his hand and zigzagged through the tourists who were either searching for last-minute bargains before the shops closed, or stopping at one of the pubs for a taste of the local delectables.

  “Come on. We’re here.” When the door closed behind us, I paused for a minute, letting my eyes adjust to the dim light, then beelined for an empty booth in the back corner.

  We settled across from each other on the well-worn wooden benches, and I gave him an intimidating stare. To the casual observer, it probably looked like I had a bad case of gas, but I gave it my best shot. “So, where’d you get the GPS?”

  His grin was instantaneous. “I know people who know people.”

  Not only couldn’t I argue with that, but I didn’t even bother to probe, because my curiosity was more interested in something else. “How soon do we need to get the Citroën back to your mother?”

  And there it was. The exact shuttered expression I’d been watching for. My vision had completely adjusted to the pub’s low lights, and the Tiffany-style lamp on our table provided a clear view of the sudden pallor that took over Pierce’s face. My ESP fingers weren’t needed to establish his distress. The man had family issues. Didn’t we all? As much as I wanted to poke into his private business, I had to respect that it was just that—private. And since we were going to be glued at the hip until we found out what Fion Connor was up to, I could afford to back off and wait it out.

  However, when he returned that car, I’d be snuggled so tight to him we’d be sharing an aura. It’d be the next best thing to turning my fingers loose on him. Well, hell. Didn’t that thought bring up a flash of heat? Embarrassing. Maybe Pierce wouldn’t notice.

  He tipped his head to the side, eyeing me. “When I’m done with it.” He tossed the words out, casual, then narrowed his gaze. “You’re flushed. Sick?”

  I was saved from answering when a young, gangly man stepped up to the booth. “Welcome to The Moon and Star. I’m Jon. What would you like to drink?”

  I didn’t have to think about that one. “A hard cider, and I’d like the fish and chips with mushy peas, no tartar sauce. Would you bring us a bottle of malt vinegar as well, please?”

  He winked. “A woman after my own heart. The chippies are nothing without a splash of the malt.” He turned to Pierce. “And for you, sir?”

  “Same.” There was a warning in his tone, and it took me a very long minute to place it as jealousy. Surely that couldn’t be right. Pierce jealous of a college kid flirting with me? Every womanly cell in me did a happy dance, and then skidded to a libido-shattering halt. Bad, bad, bad, Everly. You’re not ready. Not. Ready.

  Jon had long since left to place our order before I realized that Pierce was waiting for me to say something. I ran through my internal tape of our conversation. Sick. He’d asked me if I was sick. The heat spreading through me intensified. Where the heck was my hard cider? “I’m fine except that I haven’t seen Cait yet.”

  Pierce shifted his body, scanned the room. “Description?”

  “Dark brown hair, bordering on black, and her eyes are a deep blue. Young. Pretty. And she has a nice smile. Solid, you know. Like she really means it.”

  Jon strode back to our table, interrupting us. “Hard cider for both of you.” He placed a bottle of malt vinegar and pile of napkins on the table. “Chippies’ll be up shortly.”

  He turned toward the kitchen, but before he took a full step I caught his arm. “Is Cait working tonight?”

  Jon’s mouth tightened. “She is. It hasn’t been her best night, but I can send her over if you’d like.”

  The concern in his voice sent a shiver of trepidation under my skin, and I cut a glance at Pierce. He nodded. Subtle. “When she has a moment, but please let her know there’s no rush.”

  Pierce took a long drink of his cider, grimaced, then set it down with a thud. “How do you drink this stuff?”

  I sipped mine, licked my lips. “I’m not all that big on most beer, although they have an excellent lager here, and Diet Coke doesn’t go with fish and chips. This is a tasty compromise.” I attempted to cover up my babbling by giving the dining area another once-over. “There’s something wrong. I didn’t like the way Jon sounded.”

  Pierce slid his glass of cider toward me, then stood. “Uh-huh. I’m going to get something to drink. Stay out of trouble, Hot Shot.”

  I ogled his backside as he made his way across the eating area to the bar, and a sigh welled up from my toes. I liked it a lot better when Pierce called me Belisama. There was something…distant about Hot Shot. Was he trying to separate us? Or maybe he was reminding me that my detective skills weren’t all that polished yet? Whatever, it left an empty feeling in my chest.

  I was chugging a swallow of cider when the kitchen door swung open, bounced off the wall with a bang, and a tray-laden server stormed out. Cait stood in the opening, hands on hips, leaning toward someone I couldn’t see. The door closed briefly, but its momentum kept it moving in the other direction until I got another clear view of Cait. She was obviously yelling at someone, but I couldn’t make out what she was saying over the Irish stepdance music playing on the pub’s sound system, the undercurrent of restaurant conversation, and the normal banging and clanging from a busy kitchen.

  Pierce slid into our booth, his attention riveted on the swinging door. “That Cait?”

  “Yes.” I planted my palms on the table, lifted my butt off the bench seat, and craned my neck to get a different angle on the scene. “Maybe I should wander into the kitchen, by accident of course, and get a look at who ticked her off…”

  Jon slipped through the swinging door, two cardboard platters in his hands, his attention on us. Pierce tapped the back of my hand. “Sit.” He had squinty eyes and pinched lips, a sure sign I shouldn’t argue.

  I sat. Jon placed steaming plates of fish and chips on the table, the scent was heavenly, and my stomach was not in a mood to be denied. “Looks good,” I said, slipping a quick glance at the kitchen.

  Jon shuffled his feet. “Might be a while before Cait gets free. She’s had a visitor and is taking a bit of a break from serving.”

  “I, ah, noticed she seemed upset. Is there anything—”

  Pierce kicked my foot, snagged the bottle of malt vinegar out of my hand, and glared at me. “Might be best if we stop by to say hello at a more convenient time.”

  Jon grinned at Pierce with obvious relief. “Yeah. I’ll mention you were here before she leaves for the night. You want me to give her a phone number? Anything like that?”

  My body twitched with curiosity-gone-wild, so I inhaled a humongous breath, and rested my fingers on Jon’s arm. Sensations and images bombarded me. I jerked my hand back. Well, damn. It had been so long since I touched someone with the intent to sneak a look at their personal space, I’d forgotten to prep my mind. “Sorry. I…”

  Pierce, bless his super-spy training, had jotted something on a napkin and handed it to Jon, covering my faux pas. “Our number—”

  “Did you put my name on it?” My brain had snapped back into gear. “Everly Gray. Cait calls me El.”

  Jon glanced at the napkin, slipped a pen from his apron pocket, and added my name. “Got it. I’ll pass it along to Cait when her…when she gets off shift.” He pointed to our plates. “Enjoy. Flag me down if you need anything else.”

  Pierce nodded to Jon, then raised his pint of brown ale to me. “Welcome back, Everly.”

  “Huh?” Obviously I’d mastered eloquence one-oh-one. Wait. Pierce had called me Everly. He only did that when he was real
ly serious. I turned my hand over and stared at my fingertips. Had Pierce been waiting for me to integrate my new Annie-and-Whitney-type skills with my intuitive gifts?

  Slowly I met his gaze. “Shutting down a major part of myself wasn’t the answer, was it?” I lifted my glass, clinked the rim against his, and drank. The cider was cold, the taste crisp and heady.

  Pierce shrugged. “You can’t put a rush on—”

  “Healing. I know that. Should have known that. No wonder Aukele has been giving me more space than usual.”

  Pierce splashed malt vinegar on his fish and chips, then handed the bottle to me. “What did you see?”

  “Nothing about Cait, at least not that I could decipher. It was more a tangle of emotions about Jon’s parents and control. He probably still lives at home, so it sort of made sense.” I forked a bite of mushy peas. “What I really need to do is touch Cait.”

  Pierce was chewing his first bite of fish. I’d probably never know if his groan was a comment on the exquisite taste of our supper, or on my newly awakened resolve to start touching stuff again.

  We dedicated the rest of our meal to savoring the flavors of the seriously good chippies, and we were both stuffed by the time we left The Moon and Star.

  The air had chilled enough that my muscles did one of those weird, uncontrolled shivers. “I hate when that happens.”

  Pierce raised an eyebrow.

  “The gooseflesh kind of shiver, like someone’s walking over your grave. I hope it wasn’t an omen.”

  We were halfway down the block when the steady thuddity, thud, thud of running footsteps came up behind us.

  “El, wait. I need to talk to you.” The frantic edge in Cait’s voice rooted me to the spot.

  “Cait? We just left a message for you with Jon.”

  Her gaze zeroed in on Pierce, and she stepped back.

  I slipped my hand into his. “This is my fiancé, Tynan Pierce. Honey, this is the woman who introduced me to The Moon and Star chippies. Cait—”

  “Connor. Nice to meet you.”

  ELEVEN

  CAIT’S GAZE HADN’T HELD STEADY on either Pierce or me for more than a second, but darted around the area, taking in everyone who wandered by. She hitched her shoulders, clutched my arm in a death grip, and then stepped back onto a narrow path that ran off the main road. “This way. She can’t see me talking to you.”

  Panic seized my insides and held on. Cait Connor. Fion Connor. It couldn’t be.

  Pierce freed his hand from mine, unfastened the snap on his Taser pouch, and moved to block Cait and me from the view of anyone passing by.

  A rush of adrenaline hit me. I stuck my hand in my purse, found my blade, and palmed it. “Who can’t see us talking, Cait?” My voice was clear, steady—in complete contrast to the muddle of emotion and thoughts bombarding my mind.

  “My mother. I saw you today. At the estate.” She glanced behind her, then backed deeper into the deserted side road and scooted into a doorway. “Come on. She left the pub a few minutes ago, but she could be anywhere around here. She can’t see us together.” The desperation in Cait’s voice grated along my nerves.

  Pierce nodded, then seemed to shrink into a normal-sized person. “Do you need protection, Cait?” It was the same tone he used with me right after Mitch was killed. Gentle. Protective.

  “No. I…” She shuffled tight against a brick building. “I’ll be fine. There are places I can go if I need to.” Cait dismissed Pierce with a shrug, and turned to me. “It’s you who’s in danger, El.”

  Her fear bit into me. Connor hadn’t hired Mitch to protect me, then.

  “From?” The demand in Pierce’s voice was tight as strung steel.

  “My mother. Fion Connor.”

  Another surge of adrenaline hit my muscles with the need to fight, to slam my fist into something hard and unforgiving, something I could crush with determination and my bare hands. My body shook with need. “She’s here? Nearby?”

  Pierce dropped a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Why is El in danger, Cait?”

  He sounded calm, reasonable. It pissed me off, and I shrugged out from under his hold. “I’m not in danger, but Fion Connor is at the top of my hit list.”

  Cait’s eyes went blank, and then her chin dipped to her chest. “I-I’m sorry. She’s my mother, but she’s not…right.”

  “Look at me, Cait.” Pierce used his command voice, and Cait responded like a well-trained soldier, staring right at him.

  She lifted her arms, let them drop. “This morning I found…I broke into…she was acting so strange, mumbling about red hair, poison, and demons. I couldn’t help but think of you, El… Oh, gosh. I didn’t mean you’re a demon. It was the red hair, and—”

  I waved her apology away. “I understand. Go on.” It hadn’t come as a complete surprise that Connor was evil, but letting go of the idea my mom had set up a scheme to protect me was tough. The fantasy died hard, leaving a bitter ache in my heart.

  Cait sucked in a breath. “Anyway, I picked the lock on a door in her study, one she’d never, ever let me get near…she’s always threatened me with severe bodily harm if I tried. Once, when I was about six, I made the mistake of attempting to get in when I needed a sticking plaster and couldn’t find her anywhere. I’d scraped my knee pretty bad.”

  Cait’s breathing was labored, and it must have worried Pierce because he patted her arm. She calmed down under his magic touch. I could relate.

  “When she heard me rattle the knob, she threw the door open, bashed into me, and knocked me flat on my back. I landed on the floor so hard I couldn’t breathe. It scared me bad. Then she spanked me so hard I couldn’t sit for a couple days. I never went near her study again, much less anywhere within touching distance of that door.”

  Pierce hadn’t stopped scanning the area while Cait talked, and now he signaled her deeper into the doorway. “Connor usually hang around after you’ve had a fight?” His words scraped the air with cold fury.

  “Yes. She stalks me if she thinks I’m planning to stay away from home.”

  Pierce nodded.

  I was terrified for Cait, and my curiosity and patience were on a razor edge waiting to hear the rest of her story. “Is it safe to move her to our room?” I asked Pierce.

  He didn’t bother with an answer, just stripped off his hoodie and handed it to Cait. “Put this on, pull the hood up. I’m big so it’ll cover most of you. I’m going to wrap my left arm around you, and I want you to lean near me, like we’re lovers.”

  Cait’s eyes dilated, but she cuddled into Pierce’s hoodie and moved to his left side without a word.

  “Other side of Cait, Everly.” He nodded at me, acknowledging that I’d already covered my telltale red hair under my hood. “She’ll be on your right, so leave enough room to pull your Boker.”

  I turned my hand over, showing him the blade I had at the ready. He grinned. “We’re going to move at a normal pace, stop for a minute to look in that window across the street. You know Mrs. Brumley?”

  Cait’s smile was tiny and shaky. “Everyone knows Mrs. Brumley.”

  “If we spot Connor, and I’m detained, go there.”

  “But—”

  I cut her off. The voice of experience taking over. “I’ve known Pierce for several years, Cait. There are no buts when he issues an order. Let’s move.”

  We made our way across the street without incident, stopped to window shop like any ordinary tourists would, until Cait let out a strangled shriek.

  The reflection in the shop window showed Fion Connor about fifteen feet to our rear, her search narrowed in on the three of us. I met Pierce’s gaze in the reflection, and caught sight of a stray wisp of my hair the wind had loosened from under my hood. Damn. “We need to move. If she hasn’t already, Connor’s going to notice my hair, and if I tuck it back inside the hood, I’ll draw more attention to us.”

  Pierce turned Cait toward him, planted a kiss on her forehead, and motioned us toward Mrs. Brumley’s. “Go
. I’ll take care of Connor.”

  I chanced one last glance at the reflection. Connor appeared confused, looking in all directions, tapping her foot, and muttering to herself. Wished I could hear what she was saying. I used her momentary distraction to hustle Cait toward the B and B. “I’m going to take your hand, Cait, and nuzzle into you like a lover would. If your mother comes this way before Pierce distracts her, that’s sure to throw her off. She knows you’re heterosexual, right?”

  Cait’s answer was a smothered giggle, and then she snuggled into me like we’d been intimate for years. “I like guys, El. A lot,” she whispered. “But at the moment, you’re better than any man, ever.”

  I desperately wanted to turn around and watch Pierce handle Fion Connor, but didn’t dare. Cait’s safety was my priority. I went straight for the front door, but Cait yanked on my arm, tugging me toward the alley that ran alongside Mrs. Brumley’s. “Side door. You can’t see it from the street.”

  Apparently it was unlocked, because Cait turned the knob and slipped inside like she’d been visiting the B and B all her life. A blast of warm air and the scent of chocolate chip cookies hit me. I shoved the door closed behind us, soaking up the homey safety of a well-loved kitchen. “You visit Mrs. Brumley often?”

  “She likes the pub’s chippies, and I deliver them a couple times a week. We trade. She always has fresh-baked cookies for me.”

  Confused, I shrugged out of my hoodie. “Are your families friends?” And why the hell hadn’t Mrs. Brumley recognized Fion Connor’s name?

  “What?” Cait worked her arms free from Pierce’s hoodie. “Oh, no. Not at all. She’s just a nice lady who recognizes me from working at the pub. Calls me sweetie, so I don’t think she even knows my name.”

  I breathed out a sigh. There would have been something very wrong about Mrs. Brumley being deceptive. “Let’s get to my room before I have to come up with an explanation for why we’re hovering in the kitchen. I’m thinking you’d rather remain anonymous today.”

  Cait nodded, and dragged me toward the back of the house. “Did she give you the last room on the left?”