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

by Zara Keane

  “Then allow me to enlighten you, Spoons. You and two of your pals ripped off a Chinese takeaway on Capel Street a few nights back.”

  Spoons shifted in his seat and farted. “What of it?” he demanded. “I’m not saying I did. I’m not saying I didn’t. Either way, it’s got nothing to do with Big Mike.”

  Shane grinned. “See, that’s where you’re wrong. The guy who owns the shop owes Big Mike. And you stole the money he was going to use to pay his last installment.”

  The weedy man’s eyes bulged. “How was I supposed to know that?” he spluttered. “A drinking pal of mine had a job planned and asked for my professional assistance.”

  “Your professional assistance being cracking a safe?”

  Spoons shrugged. “Maybe.”

  Despite his appearance, Spoons had one talent. He was an excellent safecracker. Unfortunately for his criminal career, he was lousy at everything else. Unless he teamed up with a brainier partner, Spoons had a tendency to get caught.

  “Since when do you hang out with Murph and Dec?” Shane asked. “Aren’t they a bit young to be drinking pals of yours?”

  Spoons’s right shoulder twitched in what might have been a shrug, albeit a half-hearted one. “Ah, you know. Sitting at the bar, you get chatting to people.”

  In other words, Murph and Dec had needed a safecracker for their harebrained scheme and figured Spoons would be a cheap option.

  “What’s your cut of the deal?” Shane demanded.

  Spoons sniffed as though this were a sore point. “Twenty percent. Thieving bastards. They promised me an even third and then they went and stiffed me.” The man pointed to the cash strewn across the floor. “You can’t blame me for helping myself to a bit extra. The two eejits even told me where they were stashing the cash. What did they expect?”

  “Where is the money?” Lar asked, rifling through bags and boxes.

  “Do I get to keep my share if I tell you?” Spoons asked. “And no hassle from Big Mike?”

  “No,” Shane and Lar said in unison. “But you will get to keep your kneecaps,” Shane added. “Always a plus.”

  For a long moment, Spoons’ belligerent stare didn’t waver, but then he relented. “Ah sure, feck it. The money’s in that there sports bag.” He gestured to a ratty-looking sports bag in the corner of the room. Lar unzipped it. Sure enough, the bag was stuffed with cash.

  Lar picked up the bag, and Shane added the notes from the floor.

  “Ah, come on, lads. Show some pity. Can’t I have a bit of cash? Even a fifty? How am I supposed to live?”

  Shane pulled a fifty from his wallet and tossed it onto the mattress. “Don’t spend it on drink,” he said to Spoons. “Come on, Flash. Time to go.”

  Outside in the lane, the damp drizzle of earlier had given way to heavy rain, making the cobblestones slick and slippery. Shane turned up his collar and tugged on Flash’s lead.

  As they trudged toward the end of the lane where the car was parked, Lar turned to Shane and shook his head. “Of course Spoons will bloody well spend that money on drink. You’re such a sap.”

  “Maybe. I’d rather be a sap than so hard-hearted I’d lost my humanity.”

  Lar scowled. “Is that comment directed at me?”

  Before Shane could answer, Flash began to bark. Shane stopped dead. A prickle of unease settled on his shoulders. They weren’t alone. Slowly, he turned around. Shadows moved toward them, but the lane was too dimly lit for him to see faces.

  “Fuck,” Lar’s voice was a harsh whisper. “I’m guessing Murph and Dec have come looking for the money. And looks like they’ve brought a couple of friends.”

  But the faces that emerged from the shadows weren’t Spoons’ partners in crime. Reuben Kowalski stood before them, flanked by four large men. His lips drew back in a snarl. “I’ve been looking for you.”

  20

  Ruthie glanced at her watch and drummed the steering wheel. What was taking them so long? Thanks to the lashing rain and the crap street lighting, she couldn’t see much through her car windows. Shane and Lar sure knew how to pick a shitty night to hang out in an even shittier area of town.

  After Travers’ ultimatum, Ruthie had paid a couple of low-grade street hoodlums to tail Shane and Lar. She hated relying on paid informants, but she couldn’t be everywhere at once. With a tight deadline, she needed results. If the Jarvis Agency was desperate for info, they wouldn’t balk at her list of expenses.

  At ten-thirty that night, a hash dealer named Rashers texted her to say that Shane and Lar were in a back lane in Cabra, up to goodness-knew-what. Despite not knowing if Lar and Shane’s late-night trip was worth investigating, Ruthie decided to risk it. She’d borrowed her father’s car and driven to the spot where Rashers had last seen the cousins. Sure enough, Lar’s car was parked at the end of a deserted lane in a part of Cabra not even the drug addicts wanted to know. Ruthie parked across the road and hunkered down to wait. She looked at the time again. Fifteen minutes had passed since she’d arrived.

  “Fuck this.” Whatever the lads were up to, they were taking an age. If she wanted useful intel to report to Travers, she’d have to risk being seen. She pulled up the hood of her raincoat and stepped out of the car.

  At that moment, a black SUV screeched to a halt, blocking her view of the lane. Five men tumbled out of the vehicle, all heavily armed. What the hell? Her pulse quickened, and the hairs on the nape of her neck stood on end. When one of the men turned and scanned the surroundings, Ruthie ducked behind her car, but not before she’d gotten a good look at the man’s face.

  Reuben Kowalski.

  She swore beneath her breath. Shane had kept the details to a minimum, but she’d been with him when he’d received Kaylee’s text message last Sunday. When she’d asked how Kaylee was doing, he’d said Kaylee and her sons had moved out of the family home. It didn’t take a genius to connect the dots. Reuben didn’t strike her as the kind of guy who’d treat his wife well, and he’d be livid at the idea of her leaving. Even if the weapons hadn’t tipped Ruthie off, Reuben’s menacing expression would have done the trick. He was here for Shane and Lar, and he didn’t have a friendly conversation in mind.

  Ruthie crept around to the passenger side of the car and opened the door. Unless her dad had changed the habits of a lifetime, there’d be a gun under the passenger seat. Unregistered, natch, but she wasn’t in a position to split hairs. Sure enough, a pistol and a box of ammo were wedged under the seat. Ruthie checked the gun. It was loaded, thank goodness. She slipped the ammo into one pocket and the gun into the other, and drew her own pistol from its holster. If the fight got messy, having a second firearm could tip the balance in her favor. Courtesy of her agency training, holding her own in a gun fight was a newly acquired skill, and one that she hoped she wouldn’t need to put into practice tonight. Still, it paid to be prepared.

  Pistols at the ready, Ruthie jogged across the street. She paused at the entrance to the lane and scanned the terrain. No one was in sight. Then she slipped into the lane and inched her way along the side of the wall, moving in the direction of Reuben and his cohorts. With the poor lighting, it was hard to see what was right in front of her face, never mind twenty meters away, but she was in luck. They came to a halt under the lone streetlamp. Reuben gestured to the others, and they all retreated into the shadows.

  They didn’t have to wait long. A moment later, one of the garage doors swung open, and Lar and Shane stepped into the light.

  Reuben was upon them in an instant, flanked by his flunkies.

  A switchblade swished through the still air, its metal glinting under the streetlight. Reuben let out a roar of rage and stabbed at Shane.

  Ruthie’s feet were moving before her brain could register their action. She hurled herself at one of Reuben’s flunkies and struck him in the kidneys. The man landed face-first in a puddle. The two guys on either side of him spun around to face Ruthie. In one fluid movement, she kicked the man brandishing a gun in the wrist while
punching his pal in the heart with her left fist. Both men went down in a howling heap, dropping their weapons before they fell.

  Ruthie pocketed the gun and the knife in the seconds before the fourth man went for her, his switchblade at the ready. She stuck her gun in his face. “Might want to rethink that move.”

  Before the man had a chance to react, Lar took him out with a kick to the back that propelled him forward. Ruthie leaped to the side before he fell, and then finished the job by knocking her opponent unconscious.

  “Nice work,” Lar said.

  “We’re not done yet.”

  Reuben was up in Shane’s face, yelling and waving a revolver. “Where are they? What have you done with my family?”

  Shane’s impassive demeanor gave nothing away. She’d give him full marks for remaining calm in a crisis. Travers would love him. “Keep your hair on, Reuben,” Shane said, deadpan. “Given the state of your hairline, you can’t afford to lose any more.”

  “Smart arse,” Reuben snarled. “Where’s Kaylee and the boys? I know you hid them somewhere.”

  Shane raised an eyebrow. “Why would I do that? Oh, wait…your fist, Kaylee’s face.”

  “She’s my wife,” Reuben bellowed, spittle flying. “I have a right to know where she is.”

  Shane’s expression darkened. “You gave up all rights when you hit her.”

  One of the men on the ground groaned and made to push himself up. Ruthie kicked him in the ribs, and he collapsed back down. “We need to get out of here,” she whispered to Lar. “When they come around, we’re outnumbered. And for all we know, they have backup on the way.”

  “I agree,” Lar said. “Come on, Shane. Time to move.”

  “Not before I have answers.” Reuben pressed his revolver against Shane’s forehead. “Where is my family?”

  Sweat snaked a path down Ruthie’s back. If she moved, Reuben would pull the trigger. But if she didn’t do something, he might pull it anyway.

  The next seconds occurred at lightning speed. Ruthie took a step forward at the same moment Shane punched Reuben in the solar plexus and grabbed his arm, twisting the man’s wrist so the gun was pointed toward the sky. A shot rang out before Reuben released his grasp on the weapon. The revolver tumbled to the ground and landed on the cobblestones with a clatter. Shane was on top of Reuben, punching him in the face over and over.

  “Hey,” Lar yelled and tried to pull his cousin off the man. “You’re going to kill him.”

  “No more than he deserves,” Shane said darkly. “No one hurts my sister and gets away with it.” He drew his elbow back to deliver another blow.

  “Please, Shane,” Ruthie said, her voice high and laced with panic. “Get up and walk away. This isn’t the way to deal with Reuben.”

  Shane hesitated, indecision flickering over his handsome features. Then his stance relaxed and he hopped to his feet. “Let’s get out of here,” he growled, “before I change my mind.”

  They legged it to the end of the lane and onto the street where they’d parked.

  When they reached Ruthie’s car, Shane grabbed her arm. “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded, fury etched across his face. “You could have been killed.”

  “If I hadn’t shown up, you’d be dead. Reuben meant business.”

  “Maybe not dead, but seriously injured,” Lar amended.

  “Whatever,” she said. “You could at least be grateful.”

  Shane’s anger ebbed. “I am grateful for your help, but I still want to know what you’re doing here. Did you follow Kowalski?”

  No, but she’d roll with that story. Ironically, it was more plausible than the truth. “Yeah. I don’t trust him not to pull another stunt on Kevin.”

  “Stay away from him, Ruthie. Pay him his money and leave it at that. Kowalski’s not a man to fuck with.”

  “Bit late for that, don’t you think?” Lar asked in a bone-dry tone.

  Ruthie shivered inside her thin rain jacket. “I’m sorry you’re mad at me, Shane, but can we take a raincheck on this conversation? Literally?” She indicated the puddles that were forming around their feet. “We’ll have plenty of time to talk at the party on Saturday.”

  “She’s right,” Lar said. “We’ve gotta move before Reuben and the gang stagger our way.”

  Shane grunted, not entirely pacified. “Okay. We’ll talk on Saturday. Just promise me you’ll stay away from Kowalski between now and then.”

  “No promise needed.” She flashed him a mischievous smile. “I have zero desire to hang with that motherfucker.”

  21

  Ruthie tugged at the plunging neckline of her dress and faced the mirror. She sucked in a breath at the sight of her reflection. “Wow.”

  “Wow indeed.” Emma stood beside her, a broad grin on her face. “You look gorgeous.”

  A stranger stared back at her. Emma had lined Ruthie’s eyes with a smoky eyeliner and highlighted her brown eyes with subtly blended purple-and-gray eyeshadow. A light application of foundation was topped off with the mauve lip tint Gen had spotted at the store. Emma finished working her magic by coaxing Ruthie’s straight hair into gentle waves, leaving it loose to skim her shoulders.

  “Well done, sis.” Gen nodded in approval. “The makeup is perfect and the dress is stunning. Shane won’t know what hit him.”

  Ruthie slipped her stockinged feet into the strappy sandals she’d picked for the occasion. The heels were high enough to give her a boost, but not high enough for her to have trouble walking. “Thanks, ladies. I appreciate your help.”

  “See? That wasn’t total torture, was it?” Emma’s grin was infectious.

  “No, even if I usually associate dressing up with weddings and funerals.”

  Gen refilled their wineglasses. “Get this down you while I call a taxi.”

  When Gen disappeared into the next room, Emma and Ruthie clinked glasses. “To a great night for all of us,” Ruthie said. “I’m truly grateful for your help. I’d have made a hash of it on my own.”

  Emma’s smile was infectious. “I enjoyed dressing you up. My sisters won’t let me loose on them with my makeup kit.”

  “It doesn’t look as though Gen needs help in that department,” Ruthie said. “She’s always impeccably turned out.”

  The other woman’s smile faltered. “No, I meant my other sisters. I was adopted.”

  Shit. She’d put her foot in it. “Yeah,” Ruthie said, choosing her next words with care. “I heard you and Gen had only recently gotten to know one another as adults.”

  The other woman cleaned a smudge of red lipstick from her glass and sighed. “Word travels fast. I suppose Shane told you.”

  He hadn’t needed to. Ruthie had already gleaned the story of Gen and Emma’s reunion from their respective agency files. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “No worries. It’s still fresh, you know?” Emma smoothed the front of her forties-style red velvet dress and took a generous swig from her glass. Her gaze darted to the closed door that separated them from Gen. “To be honest,” she said in a low voice, “I’m grateful for your company. I’m nervous about spending a whole evening with Gen and her friends.”

  “I thought you were one of the gang.”

  Emma shrugged and gave a wan smile. “If I am, I’m a brand-new member.” She bit her lip. “I’ve only known Gen a few weeks. It’s silly to be self-conscious, but I can feel people watching us when we’re together, like they’re wondering if there’s awkwardness between us, or what it’s like to be reunited with the sister you thought was dead.”

  “People are curious. Kilpatrick is officially part of Dublin now, but it’s still got a village mentality, particularly among the older folk. Everyone knows everyone else’s business.”

  Emma glanced up and met her gaze. “Is that why you left?”

  “Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know.” Ruthie laughed. “Okay, it was a contributing factor.”

  “I’ve lived in Ireland my whole life. The farthest I�
��ve traveled is Holyhead on a school trip.”

  Ruthie’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you serious? Do you not like traveling?”

  Emma shrugged. “I haven’t done enough of it to know. When I moved in with my adoptive family, I never wanted to leave. It took Mum twenty-four years to nudge me out of the nest, and even then I only got as far as Dublin. I guess I’m a homebody at heart. I get my kicks from my job, and then I’m happy to head to my family for Sunday lunch.”

  “You’re close, then?” Ruthie asked.

  “Yeah.” Another glance at the closed door. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to get to know Gen. It’s just…awkward. Sometimes I don’t know how to act. Take this party for example. Siobhan added me to the guest list because I’m Gen’s sister, and that automatically makes me one of her own. Only, I don’t feel it, you know? It’s a lovely gesture, but I don’t know how to act around the Delaneys.”

  “Neither do I,” Ruthie said, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. Emma would have been less inclined to confide in her were she not halfway through her third glass of wine. “I’m betting Gen feels equally unsure. The Delaneys are a big family, and she hasn’t been with Lar all that long.”

  “True, but—”

  Whatever Emma had been about to say was cut short by Gen’s reappearance. “The taxi just pulled up outside. Grab your bags and let’s go party.”

  By the time the taxi dropped them off at Dan’s gym, Ruthie’s alcohol-fueled courage had worn off. Her feet felt alien in her strappy sandals. Her stomach performing acrobatic twists, she tugged self-consciously at her dress.

  “It’ll be fine,” Emma said, squeezing her hand. “You’ll knock him dead.”

  “I think she’d prefer to keep him alive,” Gen interjected with a wicked grin, leading the way to the door. “Dead men make lousy lovers.”

  A rush of warmth flooded Ruthie’s face. Part of her yearned to have sex with Shane, and to hell with the consequences. The other part, the piece that contained her conscience, warned her to not succumb to temptation. She swallowed past the lump in her throat and pulled herself together. She’d worry about sex if and when the subject arose. In the meantime, she had sleuthing to do. “Let’s go party. Do you have Siobhan’s present?”