by Zara Keane
Gen held up the gift bag. “All wrapped up and tied with a bow.”
Inside the gym, the place was packed with people. With the exception of the weights room downstairs, the training areas had been cleared and replaced with tables and chairs. Trays laden with food were arranged buffet-style, and Dan had transformed the gym’s health bar into a cocktail counter.
Despite the crowd, Ruthie spotted Shane in an instant. He stood by the bar, looking devastatingly handsome in a black shirt, tie, and pants. Her heart skidded. Maintaining the façade and separating her head and her emotions was becoming more difficult with each passing day. She was no spy. Not really. Her training at the agency had been intense, but it had primarily focused on self-defense, which was a pity, because that was the area in which she already excelled. A part of her had wondered if she was being set up to fail, but why would they do that? Training a new recruit cost them a lot of money. Surely they’d want to make good on their investment?
Shoving these doubts and worries aside, she turned back to Gen and Emma. “I’m going to go over to Shane. Catch you later?”
“Sure,” Gen said. “Have fun. In the meantime, I’m going to steer Emma past Dan and make sparks fly.”
Emma turned beetroot. “You will not. If I want to talk to Dan, I’ll find him. I don’t want it to look like I’m running after him.”
Gen rolled her eyes. “You said that last weekend at the pub. By closing time, you still hadn’t moved from your bar stool. There’s a world of difference between throwing yourself at a man, and acting like he has the plague if he comes anywhere near you. Spoiler alert: the latter won’t encourage him to ask you out.”
“Dan’s over in the corner, staring broodily our way.” Ruthie nudged Emma. “Go on. I’m pretty sure it’s you he’s looking at.”
“Dan’s talking to Max,” Emma protested. “He’s not even looking in our direction.”
“Not now he caught all of us staring at him.” Gen looped her arm through her sister’s and propelled a squawking Emma into motion. “See you later, Ruthie. I have some unsubtle matchmaking to take care of.”
When the sister’s had disappeared into the crowd, Ruthie cut a path through the throng and made for the bar and Shane Delaney. His face lit up when he saw her, and he gave her an appreciative once-over. “Wow. Some dress. You look gorgeous.”
“You don’t look too bad yourself.” She fingered the tie—silk and expensive. “I don’t think I’ve seen you in one of these before.”
“I try to avoid them whenever possible.” he grinned. “I was about to order another drink. What are you having?”
“Anything that’s not a cocktail.”
He chuckled. “That can be arranged.”
“In that case, I’ll have a glass of white wine, please.”
Shane gestured to the barman. “A glass of dry white and a Guinness.”
While the barman was readying their drinks, she took the opportunity to scan the crowd. Most of the guests weren’t wearing designer clothes, but they were dressed in their best high-street gear. Siobhan, the birthday girl, looked stunning in a midnight blue dress that came down to her knees. Ruthie spotted her father standing near Siobhan, an expression of admiration on his face. She waved over to him and smiled at his blush. Her dad deserved some happiness in his life.
A mental vision of her brother clouded her sunny thoughts. If her deal with the agency became public knowledge, any hope of her father finding happiness with Siobhan would be extinguished.
“Siobhan must have invited half of Kilpatrick,” she said to distract herself from negative thoughts.
“My aunt loves a good party.”
“I joined forces with Gen and Emma and bought her bath bombs and a silver bracelet. I hope that’s okay.”
“I’m sure she’ll be delighted,” Shane said, “but you needn’t have gone to the trouble of getting her a present.”
“I couldn’t come empty-handed to her birthday party. I helped Dad pick up a gift certificate for a massage. He’s clueless when it comes to shopping for women, and I don’t know Siobhan well enough to buy anything more than a generic go-to gift.”
Shane regarded her thoughtfully. “Are you okay, Ruthie? You look stressed.”
In other words, she was babbling. His perceptiveness jolted her. At that moment, their drinks arrived. Ruthie grabbed her wineglass, relieved to have something to do with her hands. “It’s nothing. I’m just a bit tired.”
“How’s Kevin?” Shane asked carefully.
“He’s fine. We left him binge watching The Walking Dead.”
Shane laughed. “That should keep him out of trouble for a few hours.”
“That’s the plan.”
She’d asked her neighbor, Mrs. Cotton, to give her a call if she saw Kevin leave the house. While Ruthie felt uncomfortable leaving her brother unattended, she couldn’t babysit him twenty-four hours a day. If she were to have any chance of repaying his debt, she needed info on the Delaneys, and Siobhan’s party provided her with an excellent excuse to chat with the Delaneys and their friends. It also gave her the chance to persuade Shane to take her back to his apartment, where he hopefully kept his laptop and key for the Triskelion Team’s offices. If she couldn’t hack them remotely, she’d have to try to do it on the premises. Her stomach churned at the thought. She took a swig of wine to calm her nerves.
“How’s Flash?” she asked. “Has he stopped chewing up your apartment?”
Shane pulled a face. “Hell no. He ate my underpants this evening.”
She roared with laughter. “I love that dog.”
“And he dug up two potted plants. My upstairs neighbor has already threatened to tell our landlord.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m scouring the property pages for a new home before we’re evicted.”
“Any luck?”
“Not so far, but I’m going to view another house next Tuesday. Four bedrooms, two bathrooms, big garden. That sort of thing.” He reddened and cleared his throat. “You wouldn’t want to, ah, come along? Give me a woman’s opinion on the place?”
Her breath caught. She’d like nothing more than to help Shane hunt for a house, but she’d be back in Geneva on Tuesday. Back to tell the agency all the dirt she’d discovered on Shane and his cousins… What a fucking joke. A flash drive containing Shane’s expanded file was burning a hole in her handbag, and she couldn’t bring herself to open it. She’d had no problem scouring Lar’s complete file—a few eyebrow-raising facts, but mostly what she’d expected. However, when she’d seen the folder with Shane’s name, she’d switched off her laptop.
Frowning, she glanced up at Shane and froze. He was watching her, his expression inscrutable. “I suppose you want to talk about what happened the other night.”
“Not particularly. As long as you promise me you’ve stopped tailing Reuben, that man is a topic I’m happy to avoid.”
“He makes my skin crawl. I haven’t gone anywhere near him.” At least she could be honest with Shane about one thing.
A man brushed past, almost spilling his drink over Ruthie. He held his palms up in apology. “Sorry.”
“No worries,” Ruthie replied and turned back to Shane. “How do you cope with such large parties? I mean, I know a lot of these people are your relatives, but I get nervous having to talk to so many people at once.”
“I’m not a party person,” he admitted. “If it’s a party with people I know and like, that’s fine. But something this big isn’t my cuppa. Siobhan often throws family dinners and only invites the people she likes. In other words, not my dad. But for her birthday, she’s gone all out and invited everyone she ever knew.”
Ruthie laughed. “It certainly looks like that. How many people are here anyway? There’s got to be a few hundred.”
“More like a couple of hundred.” Shane grinned. “Dan put his foot down when the list got too long.”
“It’s good of him to host it. I would’ve expected the party to be held in Frank’s pla
ce.”
Shane smirked. “I don’t think Siobhan wanted her birthday party in a strip club, even if she works there. And she definitely wouldn’t be able to persuade Frank to close the place down for a night in order to host a private event.”
“Your dad doesn’t do favors?”
“My father is too fond of money to sacrifice an entire night’s takings. And there’s no way he’d offer Siobhan a decent discount to hire the place. It’s not how he operates.”
Yeah, Ruthie knew all about Frank Delaney. The man was ruthless. On the other hand, she could understand why he wanted to know what had happened to his son in Boston. Why Frank’s curiosity in the case should arouse such interest at the agency was a mystery. And Ruthie didn’t like mysteries. She liked to know where she stood, especially with people who employed her.
She drained her wineglass and stretched. Time to mingle. She touched Shane’s arm and smiled. “I’m going to go over and talk to my dad.” This was a lie. She intended to accidentally-on-purpose bump into Frank on her way over. She didn’t recall ever talking to the man before, and she doubted she’d be able to pump him for information. However, getting the measure of the man in person could prove useful, and this party might be her only chance.
“Will you dance with me later?” Shane asked.
She raised an eyebrow. “You dance?”
“Not well,” he replied with refreshing candor, “but I can shuffle around the dance floor for a bit. Besides,” he gave her a cheeky grin, “it’s a great excuse to feel you up under that dress.”
“I should have known your mind was in the gutter.”
He chuckled. “Where you’re concerned, always.”
“In that case, I’ll dance with you later, but only if you promise not to step on my toes.”
“I think I can manage that,” he said dryly and dropped a kiss onto her hand.
A frisson of sexual awareness shot through her, and seconds later, it was followed by the all-too-familiar stab of guilt. She was playing games with him, toying with his emotions and her own. She hadn’t planned to seduce Shane, or at least this was what she kept telling herself. Once Kevin’s debt was repaid, she’d leave Kilpatrick forever and never see Shane again. The thought burned a hole in her stomach. Taking a deep breath, she banished thoughts of Shane from her mind and maneuvered her way through the crowd toward Frank. When she reached him, she sent a silent thanks to the careless man who’d given her the idea. She casually looked over the crowd in the other direction and jogged Frank’s elbow, causing him to spill whiskey on his shirt.
She opened her mouth in mock horror. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” She pulled napkins off a nearby table and pressed them ineffectually to his stained shirt.
Frank eyed her with distaste and gave her a cursory once-over. “Clumsy little thing, aren’t you? No wonder you get along well with my son.”
Her chest swelled in indignation. This man was a complete and utter prick and he treated the only son who was worth anything like crap. Quashing her real feelings, Ruthie forced a smile. “It’s so crowded in here,” she said. “Someone bashed into me, and I bashed into you. I’m very sorry about your shirt. I’m happy to pay the dry-cleaning bill.”
Frank snorted and glowered at her. “You’re Big Mike’s girl, aren’t you?”
Ruthie maintained her friendly demeanor. “Yes. I was just on my way to talk to Dad.”
“Well, don’t let me stop you. Try not to cause any more damage on your way, eh?”
So much for turning on the charm with Frank. She didn’t let his taciturn manner deter her. While Big Mike didn’t generate quite the amount of terror in the local community as Frank “Mad Dog” Delaney did, she was pretty sure Frank wasn’t going to mess with Big Mike’s daughter. With a parting smile and a cheery wave, Ruthie melted into the crowd. The next chest she bashed against was accidental. Greg Delaney barred her path, a drunken leer across his face.
“Well, hello there,” he said, staring down at her with bloodshot eyes that were currently fixed on her breasts.
She tried to move past him, but he held her arm in place. Many things had changed in Kilpatrick since she’d left. Greg Delaney’s odious personality wasn’t one of them.
“We haven’t met,” he said. “I’m Greg.”
“Actually, we have. On that occasion, I gave you a black eye and knocked your brother’s tooth out.” She glared at him. “I regret the tooth, but not hurting you.”
“Well, I’ll be damned.” Greg’s examination of her person was more thorough this time. “You’re Big Mike’s girl, the lesbian. Dad told me you were Shane’s new girlfriend. Guess he got that wrong.”
Ruthie rolled her eyes. No point in getting into an argument about gay rights with a dickhead like Greg Delaney. In his world, women didn’t take up martial arts, and they certainly didn’t beat the crap out of men. If Greg wanted to believe she was a lesbian, whatever. “I’ve known Shane for years,” she said. “We reconnected recently.”
Greg smirked. “Yeah. He used to be friends with your druggie brother.”
Ruthie’s hands balled into fists, but she held her temper in check. Punching Greg Delaney in front of his father—and her father—wouldn’t be a smart move. She yanked her arm free from his grasp.
“Hey, where do you think you’re going? I’m not finished talking to you yet.”
“I don’t think we have anything to say to one another.” Again, she attempted to walk past him.
Again, Greg grabbed her arm, this time twisting it painfully. “No one walks away from me.”
“This woman does,” she snarled. “Take your hand off my arm, or I’ll break it.”
He laughed whiskey fumes in her face. “Go ahead and try, sunshine.”
“That’s enough, Greg,” said a voice behind her. Shane prized his brother’s fingers from her arm and glared at him when he saw the marks Greg had left on her skin. “Do you have to hurt every woman you meet?”
“I was only being friendly. I wanted the chance to get to know your new girlfriend. What’s wrong with that?”
“I thought you said I was a lesbian,” Ruthie pointed out.
Greg shrugged. “Maybe you swing both ways.”
Ruthie placed her hands on her hips. “If you’re referring to my right and left hooks, then yeah.”
“Getting to know someone doesn’t involve leaving marks on their arm,” Shane snarled. “Stay away from Ruthie.”
Shane took her hand in his and tugged her forward and out of Greg’s reach. “I’d like to knock that prick’s block off.”
“So would I. How come no one’s killed him yet in a neighborhood this dodgy? All those gangland killings making the papers, and Greg is still prowling around.”
“Keep your voice down,” Shane said, but he was smiling. “Greg doesn’t have many friends, true, but most people are too afraid of our father to take him on.”
“I’d heard he treated women like crap.”
“Oh, yeah. He takes pleasure in terrorizing the girls at the club.”
“What’s his problem? If you wiped the smirk off his face, he wouldn’t be a bad-looking guy. Why does he need to get aggressive with women?”
“It’s not just with women. He’s like that with everyone he feels superior to. As for his treatment of females, I’m guessing it’s in part to do with our mother leaving. And Frank is no saint where women are concerned, so he’s set a bad example.”
Greg’s interruption had rattled Ruthie more than she liked to admit. “One of these days, he’s going to get what’s coming to him.”
“Probably,” Shane agreed. “But I’d rather it didn’t come from you.” He ran his fingers over her cheek, making her skin tingle. “Now can I have that dance?”
“I haven’t had a chance to wish your aunt a happy birthday yet,” she said, the desire to stay with him warring with the pressing need to get valuable information for the agency before tomorrow morning.
“There’ll be plenty of time to do that later.�
� Shane leaned closer, and the spicy scent of his aftershave teased her senses. “Come on, Ruthie. A dance with you will make my evening.”
“If a stagger around the dance floor is all it takes to make you happy, then you’re easily pleased.”
He laughed. “In my arms, you’ll glide. It’s a promise.”
“You think highly of your dancing skills.”
He snorted with laughter. “My mother was an Irish dance teacher. We all had to learn it. And if you learn one style of dance, it’s easy to pick up others. I’m no pro, but I can get us around a dance floor, feet intact.”
“Do you ever hear from her?” Ruthie asked, genuinely curious. She had only the vaguest memories of Chantelle Delaney.
“No.” The syllable was laden with emotion. He looked away before adding, “The last I heard, she was sunning herself in Marbella with her latest toy boy.”
“Do any of your siblings have contact with her?”
“Kaylee visited her a few years ago but feels no pressing need to go back. She said Mum was her usual self-absorbed self and uninterested in getting to know her adult daughter.”
“Some people aren’t cut out to be parents,” Ruthie said.
“True, but it doesn’t make their rejection any easier.” ABBA’s “Dancing Queen” came on over the speakers, and Shane’s serious expression vanished. “This song is terrible.”
“So terrible that everyone knows the words and sings along,” she said dryly. “Looks like all the party guests are hitting the dance floor.”
Gen swung by in Lar’s arms, laughing at something he’d said to her. Over by the bar, Emma swayed to the music. She winked at Dan and held out her hand. He hesitated for a moment before a hint of a smile broke through his taciturn demeanor. Even her father had been persuaded to hit the dance floor and was currently showing the birthday girl his limited moves.
Ruthie hated dancing. But somehow, being in Shane’s arms felt right. She laid her head against his chest and inhaled his scent: a mixture of washing detergent, aftershave, and something male. His heart beat against her cheek, and his strong arms wrapped around her in a heavenly embrace. For a brief moment, she forgot about her worries. Kevin and the money, Travers and his ultimatum, Dad and his heart problems—everything faded into the background. She wanted to bottle this moment and revisit it when she was alone in her sterile apartment in Geneva.