Kiss Shot (Dublin Mafia: Triskelion Team, Book 2)

by Zara Keane

  “I do not,” Emma said indignantly. “What is this? Secondary school? All I said was that the man had muscles.”

  “And tattoos,” Gen added with a mischievous smile. “You mentioned those as well.”

  “I just happened to see him training with his shirt off when I collected you from his gym the other day,” Emma said. “If I stopped to admire the view, who can blame me?”

  “Not I,” Ruthie said. “He’s hot.”

  “And interested in Emma.” Gen laughed at her sister’s spluttered protests. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

  “He glares at me,” Emma said. “He’s sexy, but he terrifies me. There’s no way he’s interested in me.”

  “He broods. He’s definitely not glaring at you.” Gen grinned at her sister. “Dan likes to get his grump on, but I’m sure you can persuade him to smile.”

  “Dan is a decent guy,” Ruthie admitted. “A definite plus with all the scumbags strutting around Dublin.”

  “And many of those scumbags frequent Dan’s gym, unfortunately,” Emma said dryly. “I don’t know how you two tolerate them.”

  “We rarely see them,” Gen said. “I train with Lar early in the morning before anyone comes in, and Ruthie has started to do the same.”

  “Dan is reluctant to let us use the gym while the regulars are there until he builds a separate changing area for women,” Ruthie explained. “As long as I get my training in, I don’t mind. I’m not keen on showering with those Neanderthals.”

  “They’re not all idiots,” Gen mused, “but some are best avoided. I’m not fond of the Connolly boys, for example, even if they are Dan’s pals.”

  Ruthie snorted. “Those fuckers? They were sexist arseholes back when I knew them. I doubt the intervening years have changed them for the better.”

  “They’re now sexist arseholes with a major grudge,” Emma added. “Did you hear someone gunned down their father?”

  “I heard.” According to the agency’s files, the culprit was still at large, and the police were baffled. With gangland killings on the rise, the police had attributed Jimmy Connolly’s murder to an unknown rival. “Do you have any idea who did it?”

  Gen’s expression remained impassive, but Emma shook her head. “None. I guess Connolly pissed off the wrong person.”

  “Now that we have your dress picked out for Siobhan’s party,” Gen said, drawing the conversation back to the task at hand, “it’s time to add shoes and underwear.”

  The next half hour passed in a blur of heels and frills. Ruthie asked questions about the Triskelion Team, careful to keep them casual. Gen was all smiles and happy to talk about her boyfriend’s new private security firm, yet Ruthie wasn’t fooled. The woman was a pro. She gave the minimum of information in answer to Ruthie’s questions and became vague and distracted when Ruthie asked if they had any interesting assignments at the moment.

  “Oh, you know,” Gen waved a hand airily. “Nothing terribly exciting. Of course, they all have confidentiality agreements, so I can’t give details.”

  “It sounds intriguing.”

  “Your life interests me.” Gen’s gaze sharpened, yet her lips retained the friendly smile. “What’s it like moving from place to place? Shane said you’ve lived all over Europe.”

  “Pretty dull, to be honest. I did the mixed martial arts circuit for a couple of years, but I had to give it up due to a knee injury. Most of the travel involved swapping one hotel room for another. I didn’t get a chance to see much of the countries I visited.”

  Gen nodded, apparently satisfied with her answer. “Are you back in Dublin permanently?”

  “No. Just staying with my dad for a while.” Ruthie fingered the sheer material of the underwear set she’d chosen. “What brought you to Dublin? Was it Lar?”

  Gen’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “In a manner of speaking.”

  “Dad said you used to go out with Lar years ago,” she said breezily. “I love second chance romance stories.” Ruthie’s father had said fuck-all about Lar Delaney’s love life, but Gen wouldn’t know that. Unless they impacted on him or his, Big Mike’s interest in other people’s affairs was precisely zero.

  “Word travels,” Gen said, checking that Ruthie had all the items of clothing necessary for the party.

  “Ah, you know. People love to gossip, especially around here. Lar’s considered quite a catch.”

  Gen laughed. “People don’t gossip with me. I’m an outsider with the wrong accent.”

  “I get it. I’ve been gone too long to be considered a local.” And even before she’d left, she’d never fit in. She was too different to slot into any particular group. She wasn’t pretty enough or sporty enough to belong to the popular crowd. She wasn’t smart enough or nerdy enough to hang with the geeks. Sometimes, teenage Ruthie had felt she wasn’t enough. The irony was that her sporting prowess hadn’t come into its own until she’d been in her late teens and had taken up kickboxing and mixed martial arts. And even then, her talent had been considered freakish and unfeminine.

  “You’ve made a conquest of your own in Shane,” Emma added, interrupting her trip down memory lane. “Is that another second chance romance?”

  Ruthie shifted her weight from one leg to the other. “Not exactly. Well…maybe.” Like, in her dreams.

  “Hmm…” Emma teased. “Sounds intriguing.”

  Gen picked up Ruthie’s clothes. “I think my work here is done. Over to you, sis.”

  “Excellent. Now it’s my turn to work my magic on you.” Emma gave Ruthie an impish smile. “Let’s hit up the makeup counters.”

  Emma carved a path through the crowds to the makeup department. With a sinking stomach, Ruthie scanned the sleek displays with their colorful array of cosmetics. She had no clue where to start. The names of the various cosmetic companies meant nothing to her.

  Emma, thankfully, knew what she was doing. She made straight for the Bobbi Brown counter. “Her colors will suit you, and she has plenty of neutral options. If you’re not used to wearing makeup, we’ll go for a subtle look.”

  “See any shades you like?” Gen asked and picked up a lipstick. “This mauve lip tint would go well with the dress.”

  “I have no idea what I’m looking at,” Ruthie confessed. “I don’t wear makeup.”

  Gen eyed her thoughtfully. “Are you sure you want to buy cosmetics? We can skip them if you prefer. You have gorgeous skin. You can easily get away with not wearing foundation.”

  Ruthie stared at her short nails. “Thanks, but if I’m going to the trouble of dressing up, I might as well go the whole hog.”

  Gen stared at her curiously. “Haven’t you experimented with makeup before?”

  “Yeah, and it ended in disaster. When I was a teenager, I managed to stick a mascara wand in my eye.”

  Gen and Emma roared laughing.

  “It took me a while to get the hang of it,” Gen said. “My mother—my adoptive mother—didn’t believe in makeup. Her disapproval made me all the more determined to master the craft.”

  Ruthie averted her gaze. “My mother was very glamorous, but she died before I was old enough to care about makeup.”

  “I’d be happy to show you the basics,” Emma said. “We could even help you get ready for the party. Right, Gen?”

  Gen nodded. “Sure.”

  Guilt gnawed at Ruthie’s stomach. She hated subterfuge, especially lying to people who might have been her friends under other circumstances. “I can’t ask you to do that. It would take you ages and probably be an exercise in frustration.”

  “I’m sure it wouldn’t be that bad,” Emma assured her. “I love messing around with makeup. We can choose a few basic colors today, seeing as your coloring is so different to mine and Gen’s. And then we can meet up at my place on the evening of the party, and I’ll show you how to put it on. How does that sound?”

  It sounded like Ruthie’s idea of torture, but she plastered a smile on her face. “Sounds great. Thank you so much.”r />
  Knowing her luck, Gen and Emma would give her up as a lost cause after a few minutes, and she still wouldn’t have had a chance to pump them for information. But this sort of opportunity was what she’d been angling for, and she had to make the best of it, however crappy the deception made her feel. One way or another, she’d convinced them to trust her, Emma more than Gen. With a bit of luck, that trust would lead to useful information.

  Gen’s cool blue eyes met her brown ones, and a prickle of fear crept down Ruthie’s back. If she didn’t know better, she’d say the woman could read her thoughts.

  “Well,” Gen said with a bright smile that didn’t meet her eyes, “let’s get shopping.”

  18

  When Ruthie got back to the house, the lights were on. “I’m home,” she called, dropping her shopping bags onto the hallway floor and shrugging out of her jacket.

  Her father stuck his bald head out of the kitchen, and his bulldog face creased into a smile. “Hello, love. Fancy a cup of hot chocolate?”

  “I’d love one.” She indicated the bags at her feet. “I’ll just put these upstairs.”

  Her dad chuckled at the sight of the labels. “Siobhan mentioned that Shane had invited you to her party. Did you find something nice to wear?”

  “I hope so.” Ruthie scrunched up her nose. “You know me and clothes. Shopping isn’t my favorite pursuit. Why didn’t you tell me you were seeing Siobhan?”

  Her father turned beetroot. “We’re not seeing each other. We’re just…getting to know one another.”

  Ruthie grinned. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

  “Get your mind out of the gutter. We’re nowhere near that stage.”

  “Yet,” Ruthie added, enjoying seeing her father go even redder. “Play your cards right, Dad. I like Siobhan.”

  “So do I.” Her father cleared his throat. “I’d better make sure I don’t burn the hot chocolate.”

  “I’ll join you in a minute.” Ruthie jogged up to her room and deposited the bags on her bed. As Emma and Gen had instructed, she unpacked the dress with care and hung it in her wardrobe. The makeup and other stuff could wait until later.

  Back on the landing, she glanced at Kevin’s bedroom. The door was closed, but the strains of punk rock seeped into the hallway. She knocked on the door. “Kev? Dad’s making hot chocolate. Do you want to join us?”

  “I’m going out in a minute,” he called through the closed door. “Maybe another time.”

  A wave of disappointment washed over her. For once, she’d like them to do something as a family, not just sit across from one another to eat a meal they’d have consumed anyway. “Suit yourself. If you change your mind, you know where we are.”

  Down in the kitchen, her father had set two steaming mugs of hot chocolate on the table.

  Ruthie took a seat and cradled her mug in her hands. “Thanks, Dad. This smells divine.”

  “Looks like the summer came and went. I was freezing when I got home. I thought this would warm me up.”

  “It’s the damp. It gets into your bones.” Surely small talk about the weather wasn’t going to be the sum total of their conversation?

  The grooves on her father’s forehead deepened. “Listen, Ruthie…”

  Ah, here it comes. He wants to talk about Kevin.

  “I’m sorry I snapped at you the other day,” he said. “I shouldn’t have walked out on you like that.”

  “Don’t worry about it. If I hadn’t needed to go out straight after, I’d have come out to the yard and talked to you then.”

  Her father brooded into his mug, cradling the ugly pottery as though it were porcelain. “I feel like we’ve fallen into a pattern of tiptoeing around one another, and I don’t want it to be like that. I’m sorry I shut you down the other day. I want us to be able to talk, even when we don’t like what the other has to say.”

  “Fair enough. I want that too. What I want more is for us to be able to talk to each other even when I’m not here.” She took a deep breath and plunged into the conversation she’d wanted to have with her father for years. “Why don’t you call me more often, Dad? If I don’t make the effort, it takes you a couple of months to get in touch.”

  Her father shifted in his seat, exuding discomfort. “I’m not good on the phone, love.”

  “Then email me.”

  A hint of a smile played at the corners of his mouth. “You know me and computers. I can barely type.”

  “See, you always have an excuse.” Ruthie placed her mug on the table and looked her father straight in the eye. “You don’t visit me because you don’t like to fly. You don’t call because you don’t like talking on the phones. It hurts to be made to feel unwanted.”

  Her father jerked back in his seat. “Of course you’re wanted. I love you to bits. You, Brian, and Kevin mean the world to me.”

  “Then why don’t you keep me in the loop?” she demanded. “This family has too many damned secrets.”

  “You heard about my heart attack.” It was a statement, not a question. “Did Kevin tell you?”

  “Yeah. If he hadn’t, someone else would have mentioned it eventually. Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

  Her father spread his palms wide and dropped his eyes to his hot chocolate. “I didn’t want you rushing back to Ireland, thinking you needed to look after me. I didn’t want you to feel obligated.”

  “Of course I’d have come home,” she said in exasperation. “You’re my father. I’d have wanted to be with you while you were sick.”

  “When my mother was dying, she expected my sister to look after her, simply because Jackie was the only girl. I don’t hold with that bollocks. You’ve got to live your own life.”

  “Don’t be daft, Dad. I know you wouldn’t expect me to drop everything to play nurse.” She reached across the table and took one of his meaty hands. “You still should have told me you were sick.”

  “You’re right. I should have called, or asked Kevin to contact you.” His eyes met hers. To her surprise, they were moist with unshed tears. “Your mother wouldn’t have made such a stupid decision.”

  No, she wouldn’t have, but dwelling on Mum’s absence was a huge part of this family’s problem. “Promise me you’ll tell me if something important happens in the future.”

  “Okay, love.” He took a deep breath. “I’ve thought about what you said. About Kevin.”

  Ruthie stiffened. “You have?”

  “I’m not going to put Kevin in a hospital, but I am prepared to make seeing a psychiatrist part of the deal if he wants to keep living at home.”

  Ouch. An ultimatum could backfire dramatically. “You’re going to have to be careful how you phrase that, Dad. You don’t want Kev to leave in a huff.”

  Her father stiffened. “I have no intention of blurting it out. I’ll bring it up gradually. Warm him up to the idea.”

  “Whatever you think, just…be careful, okay?”

  “I will, love.” Her father drained his mug and heaved himself out of his chair. “Time to take the dogs for a walk. Do you want to join me?”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to say yes when her phone vibrated with an incoming call. One glance at the display turned her blood to ice. “Sorry, Dad. Another time. I need to take this call.” She waved goodbye to her father and raced upstairs to her room, taking the steps two at a time. “Travers,” she said the instant she closed her bedroom door. “What do you want?”

  “We have a problem.” The man’s detached calm didn’t match his words.

  “What sort of problem?” she demanded. “I told you I’d send you my next report after Saturday’s party.”

  “You can hand in your last report when you get back to Geneva. Your flight leaves on Monday evening. I’ll email you the details.”

  Ruthie dropped onto the bed, and her fingers around the phone turned numb. “You’re pulling me out?”

  “We have no choice.”

  She stared at the phone, stunned. “Bu
t why? You told me I had all month.”

  “A situation has arisen that makes your extraction expedient.”

  Could the guy sound any stuffier? “What situation?”

  “I’m not at liberty to tell you,” he said with a haughty sniff. “Suffice it to say, you’re off the case as of Monday evening.”

  “What about the bonus I negotiated?”

  “The bonus is payable if you provide us with information that leads to a significant breakthrough. So far, you’ve given us diddly-squat.”

  Diddly -quat? Did anyone over the age of five use that phrase? “If you think I’ve given you fuck-all, it might have to do with the fact that I just arrived. You’ve done undercover work. You know these things take time.”

  “Time is what we don’t have, Ms. Reynolds,” Travers snapped, his smooth veneer showing chips. “We thought we could wait until the end of June, but that’s become impossible.”

  Ruthie sucked air through her teeth. “Let’s not fuck around, Travers. I need that money. I didn’t get specific, but I have no doubt that you know all about my brother’s debts. What do I need to do to get that bonus?”

  “We need specifics on what the Triskelion Team knows about the shootings at The Lucky Leprechaun. We need to know why they’re digging for information after all this time.” A pause. “I’ve been given permission to send you Shane and Laurence Delaney’s complete files.”

  “What the hell? Are you saying the files you gave me in Geneva were edited? How did you expect me to do my job without knowing all the facts?” The rat. He’d set her up to fail.

  “You saw what we needed you to see at the time and no more. With the situation escalating faster than any of us had anticipated, we’re prepared to share the full files with you.” Travers sniffed. “Not that I think they’ll do you any good. Shane Delaney is only of interest to us because he’s the Triskelion Team’s internet research person. However, the extra information in his file might help you identify his weak points.”

  Ruthie stomach flipped. The last thing she wanted was to pry into Shane’s private life. Going after information he’d dug up for the Triskelion Team was one thing, but if his uncensored file contained personal details she’d rather not know, she was happy to live in ignorance.