He poured another glass of wine from the bottle they’d abandoned earlier and sipped from it while he cleared the table and cleared the plates to the dishwasher. He was almost done when he heard her footsteps behind him. She had slipped back into the tank dress she was wearing earlier and was a vision with her fiery hair spilling over her bare shoulders. She had what some of the lads would call a freshly fucked glow.
“Wine?” he asked.
“Yes, please,” she replied, leaning seductively against the counter, her long freckled legs extended forward.
He poured her a glass and topped his up, nodding his head toward the living room. She followed him in, this time perching on the other end of the sofa from him rather than the separate chair.
“Did you send the photos?” she asked.
“No. Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Timing. I need to time them to arrive when I have eyes on him.”
“You have someone in his organization?”
“I have eyes on him. That’s all.”
“Where are you from?” she asked abruptly.
“What do you mean? Boston.”
“No, not originally. You don’t have the native Boston accent. You have an Irish sound about you, but that isn’t strong either.”
“I’m from Dublin, but our family came here when I was incredibly young. We landed in Boston, where everyone says they’re Irish, but very few really are. So, I’ve lost a bit of my native accent, but haven’t quite picked up the native tongue.”
“Even after all this time?”
“Aye. My father still has a very heavy accent, and that’s what I learned growing up. An American education smoothed it out a bit, but if you were ever at home with all of us, you’d hear it come out stronger. The longer we’re around one another, the heavier the accent gets.”
“I wish I were from somewhere exotic like Ireland. I was born in one of the poorest neighborhoods in Dorchester, and I’ve not managed to get far away from it still.”
“You seem to have done well for yourself, though.”
She laughed and sipped her wine, looking off into the distance for a moment.
“I thought I had, but it seems I was wrong.”
“I don’t mean him. I did a bit of research on you after we took you, something I usually do before but didn’t have time for. It’s always good to know what you can about your target.”
“Target?”
“Yeah. Sorry. There’s no sugar-coating it. You know how it happened.”
“I do. So, what do you know about me?”
“I know what you’ve already said. I know about your mom and her problems. I know you had a brother that died young and a younger sister in school. You are twenty-three. You went to a good school on scholarship to become an accountant and you landed a decent job in the Back Bay. That’s where you met Doyle.”
“That’s pretty much all there is to know. Not overly exciting, huh?”
“Nothing wrong with a simple life. There are times that I wish I were still back in Dublin just drinking in the pub and scarfing down a big fry.”
“A big fry?”
“Aye. Breakfast. Bacon, eggs, soda bread, black pudding, mushrooms, beans.”
“Good grief. That’s huge.”
“It is, but I’m a growing boy,” he laughed.
The sound was foreign to him. He couldn’t remember the last time he really laughed other than taking the piss out of his brothers. He hadn’t sat and laughed with a stranger, much less a woman, in years.
“How old are you?” she asked.
“Twenty-nine.”
“What you do. Do you like it?”
“Like it? I don’t think I would say that. It’s just a means to an end and what I’m supposed to do. It’s the price of being a member of my family.”
“You could not do it. You could leave.”
“No. I would never leave my family.”
“Not even to be happy?”
“No. Happiness is not always what you think it’s going to be.”
“Tell me about it,” she groaned, her face giving away the melancholy she held behind its earthly veil.
“All right, well, I’m exhausted and want to go to bed, so let’s get you back to your room. Feel free to take the rest of the wine with you or we can go up and get you a book if you’d like to read.”
“You’re going to lock me back in there?”
“Aye.”
“Even after we...” her voice trailed off.
“Yes.”
Her eyes flashed with anger. She was insulted, but this was just the way it was. Fucking or not, she was still his captive and he needed to make sure she didn’t go anywhere while he was asleep.
She snatched up a nearby magazine, the bottle of wine, and picked up her glass, storming across the floor and into the spare room, kicking the door shut with her foot. Fergus chuckled and went over to lock the door.CHAPTER SIXTEENEimear
Eimear immediately regretted her hasty departure. Flipping over the magazine in her hand, she found herself looking at a year-old copy of Field & Stream. She threw it across the room and plopped down on the bed with the wine.