Chasing River

by K. A. Tucker

  “Rowen’s never been involved with any of that?”

  “No. He’s never even seen the inside of a prison cell, something no Delaney man for many generations can claim.”

  The trail splits off. Most visitors veer to the left. I’m not in the mood for crowds, so I head right, toward the lower of the two lakes, a trail lined with gnarly-rooted trees climbing a steep slope to the left and the lake to the right. Ahead are the soft green rolling mountains, nothing like the ones that loom from my window’s view back home, rocky and jagged and capped with snow even in the summer months. “Your mountains are so different from mine.”

  “How so?”

  “They’re softer, warmer. Not quite so threatening.”

  “You should see the Cliffs of Moher. They’re impressive.”

  “I’ve heard. I was planning on driving up there.” I only have four full days left in Ireland. I probably should have gotten there already. My days here have disappeared, consumed first by the bombing, and then by River.

  A clearing leads us down to the water’s edge, to a crop of stones that reach into the water, their surfaces dry and bathing in sunlight. It’s mid-afternoon now, and the sun is warm enough to cause a light sheen of sweat to gather along the back of my neck. I’ve always loved being near the water on a warm day. So I peel off my jacket and pick my way over the rocks until I’ve found a perch on a sizeable boulder off to the left, under the canopy of a leggy tree.

  “I’ll take you, if you want,” River offers, his strong arm swinging with a practiced angle to send a small stone skipping along the water’s surface. “To the Cliffs.”

  I don’t answer him, using that moment to take an extra-long sip from the water bottle tucked in my purse.

  Because I just don’t know.

  “Come on, Amber.” I sense him closing in, his feet finding my boulder, which is perfect for me but too narrow for two people to sit on. Unless one sits behind the other, which is what River has figured out. He settles himself behind me, and a moment later his legs wrap the outsides of mine and his chest is pressed against my shoulders, and his hand is stealing the bottle of water right out of my hand to take a sip, a move that the charming Irish bartender I knew from just a day ago would do with ease. “I’m the same person I was when you met me.”

  I sigh. Is he? I desperately want him to be. Despite everything I now know about him, he still affects me. I know that I still affect him . . . I can feel exactly how much against my lower back.

  “Please let me. You’re only here for a few more days,” he whispers, resting his chin on my shoulder, his fingertip slowly drawing a pattern on my bare thigh using a drop of spilled water.

  And then I’m off to England, Spain, France, and Italy . . . and a bunch of other countries. Will I be thinking about him as I walk through the streets of each one? Wondering what he’s doing?

  Wishing I’d just accepted these days for what they are and enjoyed his company? This was always a fling. There was always an expiration date. Yet I think, subconsciously, I hoped that the fairy tale would prevail. That somehow this could turn into more. Some romantic whirlwind that would withstand distance and time. But it can’t happen.

  “I’m never going to see you again, am I? You can never come to America. They’ll never let you in.” A spikey lump forms in my throat, because I already know the answer.

  His chest falls against mine with a heavy sigh, his breath skating against my bare shoulder before strong arms wrap around me, holding me tight.

  In the country café of a quaint village just outside Dublin—complete with curving cobblestone streets and vibrantly colored storefronts—I finally ask the one question I haven’t yet asked. “What are you going to do, River?” I dip my voice low enough to avoid the attention of the server puttering behind the counter. “Duffy already suspects your brother, maybe you. How is this ever going to end well?” I hear my dad’s influence come through in my words—I’ve heard him say the same thing to Jesse more than once. Obviously under different circumstances, but the message was still the same: Do the right thing.

  “It’s not,” he agrees, his finger tracing the bright red circles that smatter the vinyl tablecloth, a heavy weight settling onto his shoulders.

  “What?”

  He hesitates. “Duffy told me that they’re after Aengus.”

  “They?”

  “This gang that Aengus and his guys have picked a war with. The fella who runs it—Adrian Beznick—wants Aengus gone. It could be next week, or next year, but eventually someone’s going to put a bullet in my brother’s head. That’s how these things work. Back and forth, like a backward game of chess, where each side takes turns going after the top. A new person rises, then, repeat. Just read the news. It’s full of assassinations over the past few years, too many to count. Someone will get Jimmy. Someone will get Aengus. Eventually, someone will get Beznick, even while he’s behind bars. And then people will just rise up into their places.”

  I just stare at River. I don’t get this world, this kind of mentality, at all. I don’t understand how people like this can actually exist. Had I not experienced the bombing, I might not have believed that they do. “So, what is your brother going to do about it?”

  He shrugs. “I passed along the warning from Duffy. That’s all I can do. He’ll hide out, keep an eye over his shoulder. What else can he do?”

  There’s only one thing I know to do: go to my dad. He always knows how to fix situations. “You need to go to Garda Duffy. Tell him everything.”

  He chuckles. “That’s not going to stop them from picking Aengus off. That’ll make it easier for them to.” He reaches out to take my hand, running his thumbs along the lines in my palm. “I’m never going to turn my own brother in, Amber.”

  “You think you’re protecting him by staying quiet, but you’re not.” His unwavering loyalty to this asshole is beyond frustrating. “And what if you get hurt again because of something he does?”

  “Aengus is keeping a low profile right now and he knows to stay the hell away from me. I’ll be fine.”

  “I wish that made me feel better.”

  “What more can I do? Leave the country? I mean . . .” He smiles. “I guess I could wander around Europe with you for a while.”

  “Hide out in a grotto in Italy?” I murmur with a sad smile. Yesterday morning, I would have done anything to hear those words.

  “On a beach, in Greece.”

  My cheeks flush. That’s not the first time he’s made a reference to Greece. What would that be like, hanging out in hotels all over Europe with a convicted felon?

  Or just River.

  “Could you?” I hear myself ask. Am I insane?

  His mouth turns into a deep frown. “I don’t even know if I can get a passport. Plus, I can’t leave Rowen to handle the bar by himself again. As much as I would love to go with you.” He pulls my knuckles to his mouth and I let him, reveling in the softness of his lips against them.

  His phone starts ringing. “Speak of the devil.”

  I study him as he answers the phone, the hand that rests on mine never pulling away.

  “What’s the story?”

  I smile. Ivy told me that’s how a lot of Irish people say hello.

  My smile slides off as a dark mask takes over River’s face. “Don’t go home. Keep driving . . . No . . . And if they mistake you for him?”

  I squeeze his fingers and his eyes fall to mine. “Guys waiting outside our house,” he whispers to me.

  Guys? Does he mean . . .?

  River’s attention is back to his phone. “Amber . . . She knows . . . Everything. I told her everything.”

  I take a deep, shaky breath. Is it better that I know this? Had Duffy not shown up at my house yesterday, would I have made it until Sunday never finding out? Would I have climbed onto the plane with nothing more than ignorance and a broken heart?

  “Where are you right now? . . . Okay. Listen. Go back to the pub and sit tight until I get there. I’l
l call Aengus. This is his mess. He can clean it up.”

  Wait. “How exactly is he going to clean it up?” I interrupt with a hiss.

  Hesitation fills his eyes. “He’ll probably go there to find them.”

  I grab his hand. “No. Call the police!”

  He heaves a sigh full of frustration. “Gardai won’t do anything, Amber. They’ve already said that they won’t protect him.”

  “They will. Just . . .” I scramble to remember everything my dad has ever said to me. Little bits of random information, complaints about how television shows mess everything up. Anything that will convince River not to send his maniac bomber brother there. Finally, an idea comes to me. “Tell Rowen to call and report it. Tell him to say that he’s pretty sure he saw a gun. Gardai will have to check it out.”

  He opens his mouth, looking ready to disagree, but I squeeze his hands tighter, pleading with my eyes. “Please. Tell him to do it. If they can catch them with guns, they’ll arrest them. Then these guys can’t do anything to Aengus.”

  “Yeah, but . . .” He sighs, saying into phone, “Did you hear that? . . . Do it. Then wait at the bar for me . . . I don’t know! Sleep in the office.”

  I frown. There’s nowhere to sleep in that tiny place, unless it’s on the desk.

  River sees my face and explains, “He was up all night finishing an assignment for school.”

  And then River asked him to cover for him today, so he could take me to Wicklow. I sigh as the guilt settles firmly on my shoulders. “Tell him to meet us at my place. He can sleep there.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah.” I’ve officially gone insane. It isn’t even my house!

  But I’m also going to feel better knowing Rowen and River are safe.

  At least for tonight.

  Rowen’s sitting on my doorstep when River parks his car, his long legs stretched out on the walkway, his head resting against the cherry-red door, his eyes closed.

  And Ivy is sitting beside him, arms folded over her chest, a scowl comfortably settled on her face.

  Crap. This complicates things.

  “She shouldn’t be here,” River mumbles at the same time that I think it.

  This is why she texted me earlier, asking me what time I’d be home. She planned on staking out my place. I shouldn’t be too surprised after the message I left her, but for some reason I still am.

  I slowly make my way up the path to meet her flat, unimpressed gaze. “Hey, Ivy . . . what are you doing here?”

  One perfectly shaped eyebrow spikes halfway up her forehead. “Really?”

  “Look, can I give you a call later and—”

  “Nope.”

  I give River a shrug, because I don’t really know what to say, and unlock my front door to lead everyone in, kicking my boots off, my feet sweaty and sore and in need of a long soak in the tub that I’m not going to get.

  “Drink, anyone?” Rowen pulls out a bottle of Jameson before tossing his canvas backpack to the floor. “Swung by the pub,” he adds when River looks questioningly at him. “Figured I’d need it after I let that cab driver bend me over the backseat and rape me.”

  “He didn’t really,” River assures me, a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Rowen just has a thing with taxi drivers.”

  “Yeah. They’re all thieving bastards! Who wants a drink? I know I need one. Ivy?” He passes her with a knowing smirk on his way to the kitchen. She merely watches him from her perch on the armchair, having somehow slinked past us all. Her lithe body looks ready to pounce.

  And she’s entirely unimpressed.

  “I need to take a piss,” River mutters, escaping her severe stare quickly.

  It shifts, settling heavily on me. “What was that you said to me that first night? You ‘hate drama’?” She air-quotes the words.

  “I do.”

  “Huh. Really . . .” She hops off the chair, sauntering over, her eyes flickering in the direction of the bathroom. She drops her voice. “Because that message I got today? It was steeped in it. Seriously, what the hell is going on? Why would you be giving me the name of some detective garda to contact? Why would something happen to you?”

  I try to shrug it off with a joke. “Were you worried about me?”

  She rolls her eyes, but the wariness is still there. “Should I be?”

  “No. I’ll be fine.” Physically, anyway. Although I’m not sure how much damage River will have done to my heart by the time Sunday rolls around.

  “Okay.” She nods slowly, checking over her shoulder to make sure Rowen is still occupied at the kitchen counter. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

  “I can’t, honestly. All I can say is that it’s bad.”

  “Of course it is. You Welles kids, always getting into trouble.”

  I snort. “I can’t believe it, but you’re right. I can’t just blame Jesse anymore.” Which reminds me . . . “I need to talk to Alex. I should probably go and do that, seeing as that bottle of gasoline that Rowen’s pouring over there is looking pretty good right about now.”

  “This must be really bad.” Ivy nods toward the stairs. “Go ahead. I’ll stay down here. I have nowhere I have to be.”

  “Do me a favor? Keep them downstairs.” I’m not sure how this conversation is going to go, but I can’t have River pressing his ear up against the door.

  Ivy reclaims her perch. On guard. “I’ll keep them occupied.”

  She really is a fantastic wing woman. Though I’m not sure I want to know what “keeping them occupied” means. Hopefully it doesn’t involve spray paint.

  Dismissing that worry, I run up the stairs.

  Hey, Alex. How could you be with a criminal?

  The second Alex’s pretty russet-colored eyes find mine on her laptop screen, I bite down on my tongue. Though I know that her husband was a bad guy and likely involved in plenty of illegal activity beyond what he did to her, we’ve never really talked about it. Alex seems intent on putting that all behind her, and focusing on her wonderful new life with Jesse.

  Who I know has broken the law on more than one occasion.

  She frowns. “What happened to your lip? It looks a bit puffy and,” she taps her own bottom lip exactly where the cut on mine used to be, “there’s a dark spot right here.”

  “It’s nothing. I tripped on my way to the bathroom at night, did a face plant into the wall,” I lie, and then quickly try to push the conversation. “How are things back home? What have you been up to?”

  “I’m fine. It’s been fine . . . good . . .”

  Now it’s my turn to frown. She doesn’t sound like her normal, chipper self.

  With a heavy sigh, she asks, “You know Jesse’s friend Luke, right?”

  “Uh . . . yeah.” Troublemaker or not, he’s hard for anyone to forget. The first time I saw him walking into Roadside, with his gold watch and his expensive clothes and model-pretty face, he had my attention. I frown. “Why?” Alex and I have never really talked about Luke before.

  “He was just here, checking up on the latest car. Brought a girl with him, who seems nice. But . . .” She rolls her eyes. “He was driving a brand-new Porsche.”

  “Oh yeah? Those are expensive. Did he win it or something?” I ask casually, the wheels in my mind churning.

  “No, Amber . . . You know he didn’t win anything.” She shakes her head with some unspoken thought. “Luke’s a good guy, with a good heart . . . who can be easily swayed by money. He doesn’t always make the smartest decisions. I’m really worried about what his uncle may have gotten him into.”

  I know that the two of them have a close connection. Luke has popped in and out to the ranch a few times, shared a few beers with us, but he never stays long. It’s like his city-boy style can’t handle country for too long. But every time he’s visited, he’s never left without giving Alex a fierce hug.

  Oddly enough, this conversation may help lead me in the direction I was hoping for when I dialed Alex’s number. “Do you think L
uke and his uncle are doing something illegal?”

  “I know they are,” she mutters, pushing her hair off her face, revealing the long, thin scar that normally hides behind a curtain of blond locks. “It has something to do with cars.”

  This instantly raises red flags for me, my tendency to be suspicious of my brother impossible to ignore. “Like the cars that Jesse’s been fixing up for Luke, that he swore up and down were bought legitimately? Alex, he can’t be bringing that sort of thing right to my parents’ doorstep. It could—”

  “Jesse’s not involved in what Rust and Luke are doing, Amber. Trust me.” She always defends my brother. Then again, if there’s anyone who knows him, and whom he trusts to tell the absolute truth to, it’s Alex. For a girl who’s been through so much, you’d think she wouldn’t want anything to do with a guy with his history, and yet it doesn’t seem to bother her at all.

  “That’s not going to matter to the sheriff. If he finds out, he’s going to ban Luke from setting foot on the property. You do realize that, right?”

  Her mouth twists. “He already knows. Or suspects, at least.”

  My mouth drops open. My dad and Luke have actually stood in the garage together, drinking beer and laughing! “What are you saying? That he’s turning a blind eye to it?” No, that’s just not possible.

  Alex shrugs. “He has a soft spot for Luke. We all do. Luke is one of the reasons I’m alive right now—you know that.”

  “I know a bit about that, but I don’t know the specifics.” Not enough to endear Luke to me as he obviously has endeared himself to others.

  She bites the inside of her lip. “He put himself in a lot of danger to make sure Jesse found me.”

  “Wait a minute . . .” I frown. “I thought my dad found you.”

  She simply stares at me. I’ve seen that look before. It means she slipped and said something that she didn’t mean to say.