Текст книги "Irish Sex Fairy"

Автор книги: Kelly Jamieson

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 13 страниц)

Chapter Eighteen

She was getting away later than she’d planned because Shane had dropped her off at Maeve’s apartment at five thirty in the morning. They’d both been exhausted, emotional, totally in denial. Shane looked at her with tired and shadowed eyes as he laid his hands on her shoulders and gently kissed her goodbye, and she could tell his smile was forced.

And she did the same. She wanted to throw herself at him, into the protection of his arms, and stay there forever, and she had to physically stop herself from doing that. She felt as if his body was a magnet pulling her to him with a powerful, irresistible attraction but she had to resist.

She had to go home.

Jayla was working in the store, so Maeve came to the back where they’d parked the rental car the night before. Keara slammed the trunk down where she’d stowed her stuff, and dusted her hands together. Maeve regarded her with steady look, and the affection on her face made Keara’s heart swell up again and ache. Maeve opened her arms and Keara walked into them and hugged her frail body. She was always so energetic and vibrant, it was only when holding her like this that it became so evident she was aging and fragile.

Tears gathered and prickled in her eyes and she squeezed them shut briefly, before drawing back and smiling at her great-aunt. “I’ll call you after your doctor appointment,” she reminded her, stepping back. She pulled the car keys out of her jeans pocket.

Maeve nodded. “Drive carefully, muirnín,” she said, voice low and husky, her brow furrowing. She was worried about her on the highway where she’d had the accident and to tell the truth, Keara wasn’t looking forward to that part of the drive, either. Her stomach clenched unpleasantly at the thought of those winding curves and the memory of that jerk riding her ass and then forcing her over the cliff.

It couldn’t happen again. It was random. Like the break-in at the store that the police had never solved. Shane had been annoyed about that, but they just didn’t have enough evidence. No prints. Nobody had really seen him other than Shane that night. There wasn’t much more they could do.

But she’d be fine. She’d take her time, drive slowly and carefully and she had her cell phone charged up and handy in case of any problems. And she had a piece of pink and gold Connemara marble sitting on her passenger seat for good luck.

“Thank you, Maeve,” she said, her voice coming out thick and choked-sounding. She swallowed, and her throat ached. “Thank you for everything.”

“You’re welcome, muirnín. That’s what family is for, right? We look after each other.”

Keara nodded, unable to say another word, her face tight and burning. A heavy weight of guilt settled on her shoulders. She was leaving her. All alone. She was the only family Maeve had. Maeve had helped her—but what if Maeve needed help? Where would she be?

She’d visit. She swore to herself she would come back and visit a couple of times a year at least. There was no reason not to. Her busy weekends of shopping, dinners and concerts seemed so unimportant now, compared to Maeve and making sure she was okay.

She got into the car and pulled out, hardly able to see where she was going through a wash of tears. She lifted her hand in a wave and as she left, the sun sparkled off thin silvery trails on Maeve’s cheeks.

At least she knew Shane and his family were there to make sure she was okay. She didn’t need to worry. Maeve had lived alone all these years and had done fine.

She had to keep repeating the various mantras to herself the entire drive home so she didn’t break down into a sobbing puddle of guilt and sadness.

She spent the rest of the weekend airing out her apartment, shopping for some groceries, doing laundry. In a way it was nice to be back in the little home she’d created for herself. The shopping she’d loved had yielded some pretty furniture and attractive accessories, and she’d created a cozy nest that was all hers, just how she liked it.

But the nest was empty. Even the television didn’t fill the silence and provide virtual company like it used to. And as she sat there on the couch, staring at the TV but not really seeing it, she lifted her head and looked around. She was alone.

For once, she wasn’t afraid. She was just…lonely.

A heavy wave of emotion swept over her, threatening to drag her down and under, like the depression had been doing before she went to Kilkenny. The feeling scared her, because she remembered what it had felt like before—hopeless, helpless, like she was drowning and couldn’t save herself.

But now she knew she could. She just had to remember it. She had to remember the things she’d accomplished. She had to remember the good feelings she’d felt. Which led her to thoughts of Shane, to a flip of excitement in her tummy thinking about how he aroused her, how they’d laughed together and talked and how he’d bossed her around. But remembering how good he’d made her feel, just emphasized how alone she was now.

She thought about what her life would be, from this point on. She’d go back to work. She waited for the panicky feeling and felt only a small flutter. Good. She’d go back, get back into the swing of things. She’d need to get updated on what had happened while she was gone, but then she’d be ready to move forward. She’d had a plan in place for turning around the branch’s performance and she was ready to pick things up again. Next month she’d be meeting with her superiors at corporate head office to review her progress. She remembered how much she’d anticipated that meeting with the prospect of showing them how she was exceeding expectations, how much she would enjoy their pleased reactions. Strangely, now the idea didn’t excite her in the least.

Her bottom lip pushed out. She just needed to be back at work. Once there, she knew her usual enthusiasm and love of her job would take over.

* * *

What took over was panic.

It hit her unexpectedly as she walked into the bank Monday morning. She was always there early, before anyone else, and this Monday she was there even earlier, and was grateful for that as she went in because the panic punched her square in the chest and took her breath away.

She couldn’t let it take over, though. Now she understood physiologically what was happening to her body, maybe she could control it better than the last time she’d walked into this building.

She strode into her office and sat down. She focused on breathing, some of the techniques she’d learned in her therapy, because her body needed oxygen. But not too much oxygen. She relaxed her muscles. She repeated positive thoughts to herself and reminded herself she was not having a heart attack.

She’d started to get herself under control when other staff began to arrive. She guessed they’d all been told to expect her because nobody was surprised, and they greeted her with unexpected warmth. She knew they all thought she was a bitch axe-lady boss from hell, but they didn’t treat her like that at all. Thank God.

Her assistant manager, Peter, had put some things together for her to review and they spent an hour going over that. She had a gazillion emails to go through, most of which were junk and outdated anyway, but she did that. While she was concentrating on work, she was fine. But when Peter left her office and she was alone, the panic started expanding inside her again, tight and frightening.

She closed her office door and spent another hour refocusing herself. She had to do this. She had to. She could not leave here humiliated once again. She didn’t know what her staff thought of her sitting in her office alone with the door closed for an hour, but she didn’t care, just did what she had to do to make it through the day.

And she did.

At five o’clock, when she looked at her watch, she sagged with relief. She’d done it.

That knowledge gave her a much-needed burst of adrenaline, and she was able to wish everyone a good evening while they closed up. She actually felt lighthearted as she drove home. She hadn’t missed the crazy commute on the freeway, but she survived that too, and when she walked into her apartment, her little sanctuary, she covered her mouth with her hands and cried with the relief of it.

She’d done it.

She was strong. She survived. She could do it. She could do anything.

An expansive lightness filled her, and she changed out of her suit and heels and into a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt. Maybe she’d get back into yoga again. That was good for stress relief. Or start working out at a gym. She’d always thought she should do that, she’d even bought a membership once but ended up working such long hours she never got there.

The buoyant feeling of freedom lasted until she started preparing her dinner. She’d bought some food, but she missed Maeve being there while she cooked, talking and drinking whiskey. Keara didn’t have any whiskey or she would have poured herself a little glass of it, just to celebrate.

And when she sat down to eat alone, desolation fell over her again like a thick blanket. She wasn’t even hungry. She looked at her food, pressed her lips together and sat there for a long while, aching and empty inside.

* * *

She called Maeve on Wednesday and it was so good to hear her voice.

“How did things go?” she asked her, settling herself onto her couch.

“Well…good, I suppose.”

“What happened?”

“He asked me a lot of questions—Jesus and Mary, a lot of questions—but he doesn’t think it’s Alzheimer’s.”

Keara’s breath burst out of her. “Oh, thank God! What did he say?”

“Well, I guess there are some things that are typical aging memory loss and other things that are more indicative of Alzheimer’s. The bad thing is they can’t do any tests that will show it at an early stage. So he can’t say for sure. But he seemed very positive and reassuring that it isn’t.”

“I’m so glad,” she breathed. This was good news. Maybe she’d feel better than she had the last few days knowing that Maeve was okay. She wouldn’t have to feel so guilty.

Although she knew deep inside it wasn’t just guilt that made her feel so spiritless and sluggish.

“He told me a few things I can try to help,” Maeve said. “I need to exercise my brain more. He told me to get one of those things…what’s it called? A Game Boy?”

“What!” Keara laughed. “Really?”

“There are games you can buy that work your brain, apparently. I told him I just need more sex.”

“Maeve!”

“Well, it’s true. Those sex hormones also help cognitive function. But Glen won’t take that Viagra and it’s putting a damper on our relationship.”

“Oh no. You’re not seeing him anymore?”

“We are. But if he’s not as interested in sex as I am, it’s not going to last long. Let’s be honest here.”

Her forthright, amazingly blunt tale made Keara smile and her heart soften. Damn, she missed her!

“Have you seen Shane?” she asked.

“Um. No.” Maeve’s voice changed tone. “He called me a little while ago, to find out when my doctor appointment was. He wanted to take me. When I told him it was today and I’d already gone, he sounded…upset.”

“Oh.” Keara wanted to know if they’d talked about her, but couldn’t bring herself to ask.

“He sounded a bit down,” Maeve continued. “I think you broke his heart, Keara.”

Keara’s own heart seized. “I did not.”

She was such a crybaby lately. She was supposed to be a tough, cool businesswoman, but thinking of Shane’s heart made her tear up again. Because she knew his heart wasn’t the only one affected.

Maeve sighed. “I don’t know what to do about you two. I thought maybe if you spent your last night with him, you’d realize your feelings for him, but I guess that didn’t work.”

“You planned that, didn’t you? Shane showing up that night and you taking off. You probably didn’t even have a date with Glen that night.”

Keara heard a muffled laugh. “Why would I make a date with Glen on your last night?”

“I knew it!” Keara shook her head, but smiled. “You are so bad.”

“Well, I thought it worked when you stayed out all night with him, but it was all for nothing, apparently.” Maeve paused. “How did things go at work?”

“Fine,” Keara said. Lying just a little. After the first shaky day, she was getting back into things, but so far had found little of the joy and excitement she used to get. “I’m getting caught up.”

After their chat, Keara hung up and the dense silence in her apartment closed in on her.

She felt sorry for herself. She needed to call her friends. So she did. First she called Essie.

“Keara! Are you back?”

“I’m back.” She leaned into the couch cushions and tucked her feet under her. “How are you? How’s that baby of yours?”

“Oh God, he’s growing like crazy.” Essie yacked on for twenty minutes about her progeny, his eating, sleeping and pooping habits. Keara was happy to hear they were doing well, but a little lost in that conversation. Then, after a promise to get together soon, she called Monica.

No answer.

Fine. She called Paige. She too was happy to hear from Keara, but sounded…cautious. Like maybe she was a nut case or something. “How are you doing?” she asked hesitantly. “How are the nightmares?”

“I haven’t had one for a while,” Keara replied. Maybe because so many nights had been spent with Shane. She had no fears with him, other than the fear of…well, him. Or maybe it was her feelings for him. “I’m doing much better. Really. Some strange things happened in Kilkenny, but all coincidence, and I’m back at work now.”

“That’s so good! But hey, I have to jet—I’m meeting Monica at a new club on Wilshire.”

“Oh. Okay.” She blinked. Waited for an invitation.

“So call me, okay? We’ll get together.”

She hung up the phone, dejected and even more lonely. She’d only been gone a few weeks. How could they have forgotten her that fast? Abandoned her?

Why hadn’t she just told Paige, hey, I’m coming with you guys.

Because she didn’t really want to go clubbing.

She leaned forward and picked up the smooth piece of pink and gold marble sitting on her coffee table, fingertips rubbing over the sleek, cool surface, and her heart contracted as she thought of everything she had left in Kilkenny.

Chapter Nineteen

The next night when she got home from work, she decided after she’d parked her car she’d walk to the ice-cream store on the corner and get ice cream for dinner. When you lived alone, that was completely acceptable.

She made her purchase of a carton of dulce de leche, her absolute fav, and started strolling back toward her apartment building. It was dark already, because she’d stayed late at work to review some reports that she needed to be up to speed on for a meeting tomorrow.

Footsteps crunched behind her, and she glanced over her shoulder, because a girl on her own in a big city couldn’t be too careful, not because she was paranoid. Well, maybe just a tiny bit. Maybe it would take a long time to get over some of the aspects of the post-traumatic stress. Maybe she’d never get over them.

She sighed and shifted her purse over her shoulder, reaching for her keys as she neared the entrance to the building, her heart speeding up just a bit. Once inside the security system of the building, she’d be fine.

She unlocked the door and shifted her ice cream to pull it open but the door swung wide as if it had blown open. She almost stumbled at the unexpected loss of weight in her hand, and then a body pressed up close behind her.

Her heart jerked in her chest, then thudded. What the hell? She whirled around, ready to give someone hell for bashing into her, but froze when she saw who it was.

* * *

Shane ambled into his parents’ house and headed to the refrigerator. He hoped they had beer. They always had whiskey, but not always beer. But then again, maybe he was in a whiskey mood.

Yeah. He turned from the fridge and sought out a glass. The bottle of Jameson’s sat on the counter.

“Shane, what are you doing here?” His mom walked into the kitchen.

He shrugged. “Thought you might need some things done around the house.”

“Oh.” She tipped her head. “Well. I don’t think so. Not at the moment.”

‘How’s Da?”

“He’s fine. He’s sitting out back. Enjoying the last of the evening.”

Huh. Shane took his glass of whiskey and wandered out the patio doors. An image of him and Keara out here flirting blinded him. He shook his head. “Hey, Da. How’s it going?”

His dad looked up in surprise from the book he was reading. “Shane, me boy. What are you doing here?”

Shane grunted. They’d both asked him that. Nice greeting. “Jesus. I can’t just drop by?”

“Well, sure and you can, we love to have you.”

“I thought you might have some things for me to do. Something to fix. What about that lawnmower? Wasn’t it acting up?”

“I took it to Precision Motors and they fixed it.”

“Oh.” Shane frowned. “I could have done that.”

“I know. But you were busy last weekend with Keara, so I just took it in.”

“How’d you get it there?”

“Your mother and Jeff across the street helped me. It was easy.”

“Oh.” He gulped some throat-searing Jameson’s.

He gazed out at the yard, the lush carpet of green and luxuriant beds of flowers and shrubs. The setting sun saturated the greens and reds and yellows with rich light, and cast long shadows.

“What’s wrong?”

Shane looked at his dad “What? Nothing.”

His dad rolled his eyes. “That was the deepest sigh I’ve ever heard.”

He hadn’t realized he’d sighed.

“You’re all mad ouva.”

“No, I’m not.” And it was sad that he even understood his old man’s Irish brogue. Mad out of it. Out of his mind.

“About Keara. Because she’s gone.”

Shane shook his head and downed the whiskey.

“Here’s to women’s kisses.” His dad held up his nearly empty glass. “And to whiskey, amber clear; not as sweet as a woman’s kiss, but a darn sight more sincere!”

Shane gave a crooked smile.

“Not funny?” His dad shook his head. “Didn’t she do the same as Trista? Women.”

“Keara’s not like Trista. She had to go.”

“Ah. You’ve got it bad, boy.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Jaysus, boy, don’t been an eejit.” His dad scowled. “If you want her, go get her.”

Shane shook his head morosely. “She doesn’t want me.”

“The hell she doesn’t. I saw the way she looked at you. Maeve thinks she’s in love with you.”

Shane’s head jerked up. “She does? Why?”

His dad shrugged. “Ask her. Better yet, ask Keara.”

“She’s not here.”

“Ever hear of a phone?”

Shane snorted, looked out at the yard. Yeah, he could call her. But for what?

“She’s gone back to LA. Her big important career is there.” Even he could hear the bitterness in his voice. “And my life is here.”

“What’s here?” his father demanded. “You couldn’t get a job as a cop in LA?”

“You and Ma are here.”

He felt the burn of his father’s stare and slowly turned and looked at him. “What?”

His father’s scowl unnerved him just a bit. The man had had a stroke but Shane could still remember his father physically taking him down when he’d been a snotty teenager. He was still his father.

“Don’t be telling me you gave up a sweetheart like Keara because you wanted to stay here with us. Jaysus.”

“Da. You need me. You want to stay in the house as long as you can, but it’s too much for you alone.”

His dad cursed again. “I can’t fecking believe it. You fecking mongo sap.”

Shane winced and wished for more whiskey.

“Hell yes, we like to have your help. And we like to have you around. But we could manage without you.”

Shane stared at his father’s pale blue eyes, snapping and lively.

“Your mother and I have been talking about moving to that new seniors’ complex over by the river,” he continued. “Betty and Dougal are there. And others we know. It’s a nice place and we think we’d enjoy it.”

“What?” Shane sat back in his garden chair. “The seniors’ complex?”

“Yes. Why not? It’s time.”

“But…the house.” Shane waved a hand. “The yard. You love your yard.”

“I do. But…” He sighed. “I can’t expect you to keep helping me with it forever. Those apartments have a nice little patio and I could plant some pots…that’s enough for me these days.”

“Are you serious?” Shane shook his head. “You’re just saying that.”

“No, Shane, me boy.” His dad tipped his head and smiled. “You can still visit us there.”

Shane nodded. “Wow.” He stared again into the distance. “How long have you been thinking about this?”

“A while.”

Maybe he could have gone to LA with Trista. Bah. Her memory flicked in and out of his head so quickly it barely registered. Thank God he hadn’t gone to LA with Trista. He’d thought he’d been broken-hearted when she’d left, but it had been nothing like what he felt now.

Keara. His chest ached.

“Shane. When Trista left…we figured you wanted to stay here. And you got over her pretty quick, so we thought it all worked out for the best.”

Shane nodded and looked down into his empty glass.

“But don’t do it again. If you love Keara, for God’s sake, go to her. If it means moving away from here, so be it. No offence to your ego, but we’ll live without you. Maybe you could visit once in a while.”

Shane’s throat tightened. He pushed out his mouth as he regarded his father. “You’re serious. I can’t believe this.”

“Shane.” His mother’s soft voice spoke from the French doors to the house. “We love you. We never intended for you to sacrifice your life for us. We never expected that.”

“I’m not sacrificing my life,” he growled. “You’re my parents. It’s what I’m supposed to do.”

His parents smiled at each other. “We did a fine job of raising him, don’t you think?” Ma said.

“Too damn fine.”

“It breaks my heart to think that you let Keara go because of us,” she said to Shane.

“I didn’t let her go,” he snapped. “She left and I couldn’t stop her.”

“Did you try?”

He bent his head and rubbed his mouth.

“You didn’t even try,” she said. “You are a fecking eejit.”

“Ma!”

She laughed. “Maybe if you’d just asked her, she’d have stayed.”

“No.” He knew she had to go back. He understood why. He knew she had to prove something. Mostly to herself. He got that. But…

He looked up at his mother.

She hitched a shoulder. “We want you to be happy, a chroí. You’re not happy right now. I’ve never seen you so miserable.”

He wanted to deny it. But the words choked in his throat. Christ, he was lucky to have parents like these. He’d damn near driven them insane as a teenager, but their unconditional love had turned him into a man. A man with a sense of duty and responsibility. Only, now they were cutting him loose. They didn’t even need him anymore.

* * *

Keara stared at the dull metallic gleam of a gun.

A gun. All she could think was—a gun. Another freaking gun.

Adrenaline slammed through her bloodstream and she lifted her eyes and stared into the shadowed face. The man grabbed hold of her arm, and it would have hurt except for the thick fabric of her jacket. He yanked her closer, the gun pressed to her side.

Jesus. Jesus and Mary. What the hell was happening to her now?

He wasn’t tall, only about six inches taller than her, and not a big guy, but damn, he didn’t need to be big when he was holding a gun on her. His black hoodie draped over slim shoulders and the hood shaded his face so she couldn’t see it.

She tried to scream but it came out as a croaking cry. She glanced wildly around the lobby, but there was no one else there. Security cameras. But who the hell was watching them.

“Shut up,” he snarled, jerking her again and she made another pathetic noise.

“What do you want?” She’d give him her purse. That’s what you were supposed to do.

“Upstairs. Into your apartment. Now.”

He shoved her over to the elevators and stabbed one of the buttons. Her legs felt rubbery, like they didn’t belong to her, her entire body shaking like Jell-O What was he doing? Dear God, was he going to rape her? This could not be happening.

“I have money,” she told him, voice quavery. “You can have it all.”

He laughed. Laughed!

The elevator pinged and the doors slid open. Please, please let someone be inside.

Her prayers were not answered. He thrust her into the empty car and stepped in after her. He jabbed the button to the third floor.

Her eyes flew open wide and she stared at him. “Who are you?” she demanded. “How do you know what floor I live on?”

He didn’t answer. The gun gleamed in his hand. She wanted to sink to the floor and cover her head and disappear. What was happening? Thoughts spun uselessly in and out of her head. She was going to be raped. Maybe even killed. And for what? What?

The ride was far too short, and he grabbed her and pushed her down the hall to her apartment door. Her hands shook so hard she couldn’t get the key into the lock and he gave a low growl of impatience that made her shake harder. Her heart banged in her chest. Maybe if she couldn’t get the door open, someone would come out, her nosy neighbor or the man next door that she hardly ever saw, and barely knew, but hell, he’d help her, wouldn’t he…

“Oh for Chrissake, give me the key.” He shoved it into the lock and the door fell open. Damn, damn, damn.

She had to think, think clearly. What did she have in her apartment that could be a weapon? Her Henckels knives sitting in the block on the counter. All the way across in the kitchen. Maybe she could get there. Her eyes swiveled around the room. The lamp might work. The wrought iron base wasn’t too heavy, but…how was she going to get it?

He pushed her down onto the couch.

She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering and quaking. And then the first flashback hit. Her, on the floor in the bank, with Gary pointing a gun at her.

She blinked.

She stared at the man before her, who’d taken a step back.

“What do you want?” she asked again, striving for composure. Control.

He sat down on one of her armchairs. She gaped at him.

“Make yourself at home,” she snapped. “What is going on here?”

He leveled the gun at her. She knew nothing about guns, but it looked lethal, the black hole of the barrel staring at her.

She swallowed, her throat tight and dry.

“Tell me what you want,” she said again, stronger. “I’ll see if I can give it to you.”

“You can’t give me what I want,” the man said. His voice sounded young but she still couldn’t see his face well.

And then the second flashback slammed into her. A man walking into Maeve’s shop, a black hoodie pulled over his head. A dark shrouded shape at the bottom of the stairs that Shane tried to grab.

Her mouth fell open. No. It couldn’t be.

“Who are you?”

He gave a sick-sounding laugh.

Frustrated, she pressed her lips together. She started to sit up, but the gun moved. She watched the opening of it, remembering her nightmare, ready to fall apart. But she didn’t. She sat up straighter. She’d gotten through this once before, somehow. She could do it again. If only she knew what he wanted. She remembered the police negotiators talking to Gary in the bank. She could only hear his side of the conversation, but she’d gotten some of what they were doing. Making a connection. Asking him what he wanted. Trying to give it to him.

“What happened to you to make you do this?” she whispered. She had no idea if she was asking the right question.

“What happened to me? How about, what happened to my dad?”

“Your dad?” Bewildered, she squinted at him, still trying to see his face. “Do I know your dad? Do I know you?”

He shoved his hood back. A kid. Early twenties. Dark hair. She didn’t know him.

“My dad was Gary Jarvis.”