Carragh glanced out the wavy leaded glass windows. Smears of water clouded the view, but what was there to see? A street worthy of a postcard with ordinary upper-class families living their ordinary lives inside the neighboring homes. Carragh often wondered if their neighbors knew what their father did for a living.
The street was far too good for the man he now broke bread with.
His father fiddled with the stem of his wine goblet, the blood-red glow in the glass making his fingers redden from the dimmed overhead lighting. “About the Monroes.”
“What about them? Heard they brokered a deal without you. It’s business.”
“Except that section of cove is ours.” He lifted his ever-present cell phone, glanced at the screen, and let it drop back to the table surface. “Once we’re in partnership, I need to know you’re up to the task to make sure it goes our way. His daughter—”
“I thought you had no interest in waterfront properties.” He didn’t want to hear any more about Monroe’s eldest girl who everyone hoped he’d fall for. Or, rather, at least put in his bed with the marriage certificate hanging over it.
“Let’s say my son has changed my mind. You certainly spend a lot of time there.”
“I enjoy the entertainment. All work and no play makes for a dull life.”
“Is that what Luna Belle O’Malley is to you? Play?”
The sound of her name on his lips stiffened his whole body. “She’s one of many.” In fact, he’d made damn sure people saw him out with women often. Focusing on any one could make her an easy target. “I’m a little old for the fatherly sex talk, don’t you think?”
“You always were a precocious kid. Your mother worried about the babysitters.” He laughed.
The fact he uttered “your mother” chilled his spine.
His father took a sip of his wine. “I'm surprised you’d go for someone so beneath you.”
If the man believed he could goad him into revealing what he was up to, he was mightily wrong. “I haven’t gone for anyone.”
“You need to. At your age, I had three sons.”
“Yes, and now you’re down to two.” Bringing up Daniel’s death was a low blow but he was done pulling punches.
He pulled out his cell phone, tapped out a message. “Let’s make sure I’m not down anymore.”
The sound of the front door opened along with footsteps. But they were no ordinary footsteps. The heavy thunk of the men that came and went in this household was mixed with a delicate click of heels.
He turned in his chair and his gaze immediately met bright blue eyes. They darted around the room as if they couldn't quite figure out where she was.
Luna. Terrence had a tight grip on her arm as he led her in. Or rather pulled her.
“Let go of me,” she seethed. Her hair hung in long wet rivulets, a blue dress stuck to her breasts under an open trench coat.
Terrence didn’t ease his grip one bit. Carragh would kill the man for that rough handling.
He had two options. He could stand, dash to the woman's rescue. Or he could do what would work. She was now officially on Tomas MacKenna’s radar screen, and he had put her there. He could get her out.
Carragh casually turned his head to his father. “So, is this my Valentine's Day present? You shouldn’t have.”
Tomas affixed a smug smile on his face and leaned back in his chair. “Well, you always did have good taste in women. So, I thought I'd give her a go.”
This was beyond goading. He was laying down the gauntlet, daring him to pick up a sword and fight him.
His father’s death—right here, right now—would feel so fucking good. Brains splattered on the back wall. Blood leaking out of his nose, mouth, and the bullet hole he’d place right in the center of his cold heart.
“How dare you,” Luna hissed.
In his periphery, he saw Luna pulling her coat tighter to her. Of course, she was scared—and pissed.
This entire set-up was a show—one that said Tomas could pick up Luna anytime, do what he wanted. To show Carragh he would always be one step behind and in reaction mode.
Well, no longer. Carragh took his time slipping more air into his lungs and schooled his face to the mask he’d perfected over the years. “Checking in with me? Asking permission?”
His father's face hardened with dissatisfaction and then he stood. “Put her over there.” He inched his chin toward the extra dining room chairs that flanked a large credenza. She wasn't even going to get a seat at the table. The situation was worse than he knew.
Luna’s eyes fired. “No one’s putting me anywhere.” She jerked her arm free. “Now, someone want to tell me why the hell I got pushed into a car and brought here? I thought the MacKennas’ kidnapping days were over.”
She glared hard at Carragh in particular.
He had to give her credit. She was furious. He knew better. She had to also be terrified under that veneer. Good for her for not showing it.
Sean palmed his wine glass and wisely remained mute. He appeared bored, though his eyes darted around the room as if seeking an escape.
“Carragh, you can sit down now.” His father’s voice was exceedingly calm given the thoughts running through Carragh’s mind.
Carragh hadn’t even realized he had slowly risen from his seat. His hands were clenched into fists and no matter what he did he couldn't seem to unclench them. Try as he might, he couldn't be anything but honest around this woman. His body's inability to lie around her was gonna be a real fucking problem.
His father turned to him. “Now, I’m going to explain to you two why you’ll never be together. Not if you want to stay alive.”
6
Sitting? She didn’t think so.
Luna marched to the large bay window overlooking the front yard, a half-acre at least of sprawling grass leading down to the street. “You know if I disappear or show up harmed, the police will only arrive at your doorstep first.”
The rain had stopped as quickly as it came up that morning. If she tried to run, though, she’d still slip and fall in her heels.
She’d throw them off and make a run for it.
That wouldn’t work, either. She couldn’t outrun the stocky man with the strong Boston accent, a detail she’d learned long ago to mark when it came to strange men just in case she had to report it later.
“Miss O’Malley, please have a seat.” Tomas MacKenna’s voice swept over her like greasy hands.
“I'll stand.” Though her feet were killing her, she wasn’t taking orders from him.
She shuddered a little, still cold. She hadn’t dressed properly for her impromptu walk. But then she didn’t expect she was going far from Shakedown until a car slowed by her, the passenger door opening, and an order to get inside.
She’d spun on her heel to head back when the screech of brakes sounded, followed by a car door slam.
She’d tried to run but nearly fell off her heels when the man caught her. He told her to shut up, that Carragh wanted to see her.
“Have it your way,” Tomas said.
She glanced over at him. “Well, then I would like for you to call me a taxicab.”
The man had the gall to chuckle.
Carragh hadn't said another word.
“Okay. Carragh can drive me. Your guy said he wanted to see me.” She must have been channeling her sister Phoenix somehow. She was never this brave.
As a child, Phoenix always took the brunt of their father's abuse. And Starr had certainly taken the brunt of the MacKenna’s abuse last year. Well, no more. She wasn't going to be abused and she wasn't going to be intimidated.
“Father, you done with the drama yet?” Carragh’s words were stopped when Tomas lifted his hand to silence him.
“Not until you listen to me. And then Sean will drive Miss O’Malley anywhere she wants to go.” Tomas swaggered over to her.
She continued to stare out over the grounds, not really seeing anything. For long minutes the two of them stood there sta
ring out over his front yard. She worked hard to still her muscles. She would not tremble in front of this man.
“You have a nice place. It doesn’t suit you.”
In her periphery, she caught Tomas staring at her profile. “My wife chose this house.”
“Where is she? I’d like to meet her.” Something about seeing another woman might make her feel better. As if the presence of a female might make this man behave better? Who was she kidding?
“My wife passed some time ago.”
Ah, that’s right. She knew that, but no one could expect her brain to be working at full throttle. “I’m sorry. When did she die?”
“Carragh was fourteen.”
She turned to face his profile. “How?”
“Bullet.”
She swallowed thickly. She was stupid to ask him.
“And that is why, Miss O'Malley…” his steely eyes moved to his son. “…you two will never see each other again.”
His words made no sense but whatever. “Fine by me.” Luna began to move for the door, but she was completely stopped in her tracks at Carragh's next words.
“It’s not fine.”
Tomas’ brows arched. “And what do you think your future wife will think of your late-night excursions?”
Luna stared at Carragh, anger clawing up her spine. Engaged, of course. She pitied the woman who spent her days seeking this man’s attention. An annoying sliver of envy arose, too. Who was this mysterious fiancée who spent her nights with him? Who had his ice-blue eyes look down on her as he pressed her into the mattress? She wondered if any of them had been one of the women she’d seen sitting in his limo.
She ripped her eyes from him. Her fear was making her crazy. It was impossible she could care about anything in this man’s life.
She was in danger—real danger, like Starr had been under the hands of Ruark MacKenna. And then Declan and Phoenix months later. She’d always believed Carragh was better, though, making peace, checking on her and Shakedown to see if they were okay.
Now, she knew the truth. He saw her like so many had in her past—like a commodity to be toyed with. A nothing. One of his limo bimbos.
It’d all been a setup—lure them into thinking everything was going to be okay and then you’re whisked off the street and deposited in front of the head of the snake.
The snake then spoke. “You see, Miss O’Malley, my son is in line to inherit our family business. That means his choice of who he spends time with reflects on everyone in the family. And my son is already spoken for. His mother arranged it.”
That raised an angry chuckle from Carragh’s throat. “She did no such thing. Nicole and I are not engaged, Father. You know this.”
“Her family would disagree. They are a little, say, agitated that you’ve waited this long.”
“You do realize we’re in the 21st century?”
“Where one’s word still counts for something.”
Carragh joined her by her side, took her arm, and steered her toward the door. “Come on. I’ll get you home.”
His hand wrapped around her bicep, so strong and so warm; heat seeped right through her thin coat and dress to her skin.
“No. I can—”
He growled low in her ear. “You will do this.”
7
“I apologize. This won’t happen again.” Carragh’s long black coat flapped in the wind like a villain as he held open the door to a dark blue sedan.
“I’d rather walk.” She whirled away, but her foot, soaked from walking in the misty rain, slid in her shoe and she stumbled. His arms reached out and grasped her. Her back slammed into his chest, and his hands tightened around her biceps. Jesus, he was strong.
He murmured in her ear. “Get in the car. We are being watched.”
She jerked herself free, and she resumed her walk—away from him, away from the car.
A low huff sounded behind her, followed by the slam of a car door. She had to move slowly, and she reminded herself to throw these shoes out later. They were ruined—as if it mattered.
For long minutes, they tread slowly along the wet sidewalk. The clouds above had begun to clear a bit, but it was still cold. She hugged her arms to herself. There had to be a main road nearby where she could get a cab. Or better still, why hadn’t she just called a car service from her phone by now? Oh, maybe because it was back at Shakedown. She really wasn’t thinking today.
Carragh shrugged out of his coat and held it up to her. “Don't be a fool. Just take it.”
Fine, if he wanted to freeze while he played gentleman, so be it. “I am not a fool.” She turned her back on him and he settled it over her shoulders, warm, male scent and that delicious cologne enveloping her along with his body heat. The coat’s hem nearly touched the ground on her, and she wasn’t short.
“I know you’re not.” A whisper of his hand across his chin sounded in her ear, made her tingle.
She faced him. “Do you?”
A car engine rumbled in the air, and the blue sedan she was not getting into began to inch alongside them. She recognized the man sitting in the driver’s seat as the guy sitting silently at the table during her confrontation with Tomas.
Jesus, she’d said those things to Tomas MacKenna. This family made her voice and do all kinds of things she didn’t think possible.
“It's just Sean.”
Like that was supposed to make her feel better? “I recognize him from Shakedown.” He and his friend got so drunk once, they’d reached for Phoenix when she was on stage.
She resumed her walk, the movement making her feel better. She hugged the back of her arms more tightly to her under Carragh’s coat and glanced around to see if anyone else was on the street. She could always scream for help if things turned ugly.
Carragh continued his stride alongside her. “How was the wedding?”
He was making small talk, which was ridiculous.
“It was beautiful. Magical.” It was even more ridiculous she answered him. Still, thinking about her sister looking so happy made her feel a little bit better, given her situation. “Something you’ll see…” She wafted her hand. “You’re engaged.”
“I’m not.” His nostrils flared.
“Well, your father sure thinks you are.”
“My father doesn’t have a say in the matter.”
“Does he know that?”
“We don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things.” This man was unbelievably cool for just being told death might be in the cards for either of them.
“If you’re so different from your family, why aren’t you walking away?”
“Could you walk away from your family?”
“If they killed people? Yes.” She stopped short, peered up at him and tried to ignore the red tattoo mark on his neck. “Have you ever killed anyone?”
“Yes.”
She threw up her arms. “And you wonder why I can’t be with you.” She did not just say that.
“So, you’ve thought about it.”
She had. Often, despite the absurdity of such a notion. Head in the clouds—that’s what Starr and Phee had always said about her. She had dreams and a full life in her head that she would live someday. It didn’t involve someone who could end another’s life.
He easily caught up with her march, but kept his face forward. “It was in self-defense, and may I remind you, twice now, I have stepped in between my family and yours.”
Yours. Shakedown was her family—all of them, whether by blood or not.
“Family is important,” he continued. “It’s the one thing my father and I agree on. It’s just complicated.”
“Declan is supposedly family, so why make so much trouble for him?”
“He went rogue.”
“Like you.”
He shrugged.
“So, that’s why he hates Declan? Stupid reason,” she spat.
He didn't answer for several long minutes. But then he stopped, and she found herself stilling. Her gaze liftin
g to meet his eyes.
“My father doesn't hate anyone. He doesn't feel anything.”
“Are you sure about that? He seems to feel quite strongly about a lot of things.”
“If only that were true.” He kicked a branch lying on the sidewalk. It was such a little boy move made by a grown man. “He's trying to retake his standing in Baltimore.”
“Retake?”
“My grandfather once owned quite a bit of this city.”
Owned. What a sinister word.
“But my father’s greed took over. Played hardball a few too many times, and people formed other alliances.”
“And you?”
“That’s a conversation for another time.”
She spun and stumbled a little, getting her heel caught in the sidewalk for what seemed like the umpteenth time.
“You know, we would get to your house a lot faster if you would just let Sean drive us.”
“Me getting into a car with two strange men?”
“I'm not a stranger to you.”
He wasn't. She knew far too much about him, even if all her knowledge of him could fit into her mirrored compact. There also was something dark and familiar about him, and she didn't trust it—the longing, the desire, the pull toward him.
He strode over to the car, which screeched to a halt. He rapped on the window and Sean lowered it.
Carragh leaned against the door frame. “Go back to my father's. Find out what you can. I'll meet up with you later.”
Without a word, Sean got out, dipped his head Luna's way, and sauntered back up the sidewalk like he was out for an afternoon stroll.
“Do people always do what you tell them to?”
“Everyone but a certain dancer. Please, get in.” He gestured to the car.
“I won’t be ordered about.”
“Me either.”
“Well, that’s one thing we have in common.”
Crinkles formed around his eyes. “We have a lot in common.”
“You’re just saying that to sleep with me.”
“No, though we would do very little sleeping.”
Tough Love (The Shakedown Series Book 3) Page 4