Ciaran (Bourbon & Blood) (5 page)

When he could torment himself with it no more, his body burning for her like a bonfire, he eased back and met her questioning gaze. “I’ve been wanting to do that for two months now,” he admitted gruffly.

“I don’t understand how you can make me senseless with nothing more than a kiss. It isn’t fair,” she murmured.

“No, it isn’t fair. None of this is,” he agreed. “I never meant those things I said to you that night, Loralei, not a bloody one of them. I was jealous and mean with it.”

The hurt and confusion he saw in her eyes cut him to the quick, but it was the mistrust in her voice that shamed him the most.

“We’d argued before,” she reminded him. “You’d been jealous before, but it was different…I could feel you pushing me away. You were so cold, and then when you said I was nothing more than a pastime, well…if you cared for me at all, you had a damned funny way of showing it.”

He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, but he didn’t let go of her. He held her close to his side and tried to figure out how to tell her what a small-minded prick he was. “Jealousy and insecurity are two sides of the same coin, love. I looked at that man you were talking to, a man with money and connections and a pedigree that I could never even come close to…and I could see the way he looked at me.” It still stung, the dismissal, the slight disdain as if he hadn’t been worth acknowledging. “Then there was your family. Your brother is right enough, but your mother looked at me like I was something dirty she’d stepped in.”

Loralei gave a snort. “She looks at me that way half the time. I’m not my mother, and as you so eloquently put it in the past, I couldn’t give two shits for her opinion.”

He chuckled in spite of the serious nature of their conversation. Hearing Loralei use his crude idioms amused him. It was half the reason he uttered them in front of her to begin with. “I’m not good enough for you. I never bloody was. It’s one thing for me to know it, for you to know it, and even for your monster of a mother to know it. It was another for that bastard to look at me like I’m a fucking servant who forgot his place.”

She huffed out an exasperated breath. “For the love of God! Jameson Beech is just a boy I went to school with!”

“He’s not a boy, Loralei. He’s a grown man, and he clearly thinks of you as a grown woman!”

“He’s a boy to me,” she replied softly. “Spoiled and used to having his own way, defined by his car and his clothes and by the money his ancestors managed to amass…but he’ll never be half the man you are. Can’t you see that?”

He didn’t look at her, but he did smile. “All I see is that you could do a damn sight better than me or that bastard. You deserve a man who can give you a house and a nice car, who can go to the kinds of parties you do and not stick out like a sore thumb. I’ll never be that kind of man, Loralei. I’ll always be the Irish farm hand.”

“I never wanted you to be anything else,” she said simply.

“I should never have said what I did. It wasn’t true. You’ve always been more to me than that. You have to know that.”

She lay back on the bed, her head on the pillow next to his as they looked up at the ceiling together. “No. I don’t know that. You see all the men with money and fifteen first names as being a better choice than you, and I see every woman who is fifty pounds lighter than me as being better. Neither of us is perfect, Ciaran, but for a minute, I thought maybe we were perfect for each other. What happens the next time I run into a friend from school? Or my mother, god forbid, tries to set me up with someone she deems appropriate?”

The hurt in her voice cut right through him, but he had no chance to reply. He heard the crunch of wheels on gravel a split second before the beam of too-bright headlights spilled through the window.

He didn’t think or question, but grabbed her and rolled her off the bed with him just as a spray of bullets ripped through the windows and the siding, tearing holes in everything and showering them with splinters of wood and glass.

The dog yelped with fright and huddled under the bed, having taken cover at the first sign of trouble. Clearly the wee beast was smarter than he’d given him credit for. The spray of bullets was endless; everything he owned was being torn to shreds around them.

Loralei screamed and he shushed her, his mouth close to her ear. “Be quiet, love. I need you under the bed now. Go.”

She did as he asked, scooting under the bed though it undoubtedly caused her pain. The jolt off the bed had done no favors for her either. He could see blood on the carpet where her stitches had torn open. The pug trembled against her side, wide-eyed and terrified.

Cursing the bastards outside and wanting a little blood of his own, Ciaran crawled on his elbows until he could reach the nightstand. Rather than reach up, he opened the bottom drawer and placed his hand under the top drawer, working it until it crashed to the floor. He had two handguns inside it. He gave the smaller of the two to Loralei. “It’s loaded. Can you fire it?”

“My brother is a cop! I’m from Kentucky for heaven’s sake!”

Her reply prompted a wicked grin. “Right, then. If you see any boots but these,” he said, pointing to his scuffed cowboy boots, “put a bullet in them. Aim for the big toe. You hit it and those fuckers won’t even be able to see.”

She nodded and flipped the safety off. It was surprisingly sexy to watch her handling a gun. Making a mental note to revisit that later, Ciaran rose into a crouch and began making his way out of the bedroom. He didn’t go to the doors, but lifted the edge of the rug in the hallway and opened the trap door there. It was an old habit from his army days, but he always liked to have an exit that was unknown.

Lowering himself into the crawl space, he closed the door behind him, the weighted carpet falling into place. Just to the left of the porch, he positioned himself behind a cement column for cover and began firing shots through the lattice work there.

Ciaran took careful aim, each shot measured and considered. His first shot took out a tire, and with his second, he took out a knee. He didn’t know Russian, but he knew curses. The shooter retreated into the lame truck and took off down the drive, sparks flying off the exposed rim. Still, he waited. They could double back, or they could have left someone behind to pick them off unawares.

When the stairs above him didn’t creak, when the house settled into the silence, and more to the point when the night sounds from the surrounding woods resumed, he climbed out from under the porch and made his way back to Loralei.

“It’s me,” he called out. “Don’t shoot me, or if you do, at least leave me with my dignity.”

She peered out from beneath the bed. Her face was white with fear. “How did they find me here, Ciaran?”

It was a damn good question. “We’re having a talk with your brother, and we’ll find out.”

S
ergei screamed
as the truck dipped onto the shoulder again and his leg shifted. The kneecap was shattered. He didn’t have to look to know that. “I’ll kill that Irish fuck,” he groaned.

“You haven’t managed to kill a mere woman…one who makes a generous target at that!” Ivanko snarled, struggling to keep the truck on the pavement. They reached the parking lot of an all-night drug store, and he swerved the truck into a parking space.

“Why the fuck are you stopping?” Sergei shouted. “I need a doctor!”

Ivanko pulled his handgun from his jacket, the silencer on the end leaving no question about his intentions, and pointed it at Sergei. “No, my friend, you don’t.” He squeezed the trigger, the bullet ripping through the other man’s head and burrowing into the seat beneath him. Blood and tissue spattered the windows, but they were tinted so darkly, no one outside would see it, at least not until daylight.

Getting out of the truck, he straightened his clothes and walked away from the vehicle and the corpse of a man he’d known for two decades. He would need to report to Dimitri that they had failed, and he would need to discover why their information had not included the fact that the Irishman was more than just a civilian. Whoever he fucking was, he had skills that only came from years of training.

C
iaran was waiting
for Matt when he entered the house. It was riddled with bullet holes, and half his furniture was in shreds. More importantly, one of Loralei’s wounds had partially reopened in their tumble from the bed. The paramedics were seeing to it.

“Who the hell have you been talking to?” Matt demanded.

Ciaran raised his eyebrows at that. “I’ve not talked to a fucking soul, you bastard! Who the hell have you told that she was here?”

Matt shook his head. “Grant knows, so does Kaitlyn, but neither of them will say anything. Hell, our own mother doesn’t even know where she is, though to be fair, that’s more because she’s with you than because of the situation.”

“And the cops?” Ciaran asked sharply. “How many of them knew where she was hiding?”

Matt bristled at that. “My people aren’t dirty!”

“Clearly someone is! Think about it, would you? Within four hours of her leaving the hospital and getting settled in here, and the fucking shooter is out front, guns blazing? You tell me how that adds up!”

Matt stepped back. “I can’t. I don’t have the answer!”

“You don’t want to accept the answer,” Ciaran declared. “It is what it is. I’ve said nothing, and I’d trust Grant before I’d trust a bunch of underpaid cops. Kaitlyn would go to her grave before she’d sell Loralei out…that leaves your bunch.”

Matt didn’t reply, just moved past him to where Loralei was having her ankle bandaged by the paramedic. “Jesus, Lor, can’t you stay out of trouble for five minutes?”

She was unamused, giving him a baleful stare. “Really? I’m in this mess because you can’t stay out of trouble! And now Ciaran is in the middle of it too! What the hell, Matt? Who are these guys, and how do you stop them?”

He crouched in front of her. “I’m close. I swear to you, I am. I just need a day…two at most, and I’ll have their asses locked up, and you can go back to your normal life.”

Loralei glared at him, and her voice, when she spoke, was somewhere between pissed off and mildly hysterical. “Normal! My shop is in ruins, I’ve been stabbed, and now I’ve been shot at! There is no normal after this, Matt! I’ve nearly died twice in just as many days!”

“Ciaran,” he began, but had to clear his throat as it galled him to admit it. “Ciaran thinks there could potentially be a leak in the department.”

She was focused on watching the paramedic tape the bandage over her ankle. “And what do you think about that?”

Matt rocked back on his heels, put his hands in his pocket, and stared at the toes of his shoes. “I’m thinking there might be something to the theory. I’ve got to look into some things, but I might be able to provide just enough misinformation to make sure whoever is behind this hangs in their own noose. Do you trust me?”

“After today? I’m reconsidering, but we’ll go with this one on account.” Her sarcasm was so thick it would have taken an idiot to miss it. “You’re my big brother. Of course, I trust you. Your coworkers are another story altogether.”

“Walk me through what happened here,” he said.

“Ciaran and I were in the bedroom—”

“And you think my judgement isn’t sound?” he asked incredulously. “That guy did a number on you, Lor, like no one else ever has. It took him less than five hours to get you in bed!”

She rolled her eyes. “I said we were in the bedroom, Matt, not that we were in bed. Get your mind out of the gutter! We were talking. That’s all!” It wasn’t a lie, she reasoned. At the time the first shot was fired they had been just talking. “Ciaran heard the tires on the driveway and dragged me off the bed and to the floor before the bullets started flying. He had me hide under the bed, with a gun, and then went off to play hero…which I’m going to kick his ass for when I’m able.”

“You can’t kick his ass. Not ever. I’m not even sure I could kick it with Grant’s help!”

“What the hell does that mean?” she demanded. “My head hurts, Matt, and I’ve had the ever-loving shit scared out of me twice! I can’t do cryptic.”

“I dug a little deeper into his service file with the help of a friend who ignored things like security clearance,” Matt admitted. “The guy is good, Loralei. Not just good, but epic. Like the Celtic version of Rambo. He’s a bonafide Irish Chuck Norris for fuck’s sake.”

Loralei considered that information for a second, but it honestly didn’t surprise her. Ciaran was always watchful, always aware of everything going on around them, and the few times she had seen him get physical with anyone, he’d moved in a way that just left her shaking her head. Precise, controlled, and wickedly efficient. “I kind of figured that out when he army crawled out of the house to take on the gunmen. Where do we go now?”

“You and he are going to figure that out. I’m out of it.” Matt stepped closer to her, close enough to whisper without being overheard. “There are only two guys who knew where you were that I don’t trust implicitly, and until today, I never would have questioned either one of them. One of them will be told you’ve gone back to your house. The other will be told you all are laying low at my apartment. Depending on where the bad guys show up, we’ll know who our leak is.”

“Do you really think that will work?”

Matt nodded. “These guys, the Russians, are out of pocket. They don’t have the protection or backup of a family behind them. They’re good, but they’re alone. I’ll get ’em, and I’ll damn well end this. That’s a promise.”

Loralei rose and hugged him. “Thank you for being a truly amazing and kick-ass brother, in every sense of the word.”

“Don’t get sentimental on me. You know that shit makes it weird,” he said, backing up. As he did, he tugged at her messy ponytail, the remnants of a bun from earlier, in a gesture that was so reminiscent of their late father, it brought tears to her eyes.

“Never. Go. Figure this shit out so I can have my house back and Churchill won’t require years of therapy.”

He rolled his eyes. “That damn dog is a menace. I had to go to your house this morning and clean up about six piles. Kaitlyn wouldn’t do it. What the hell do you feed him?”

“It’s not what I feed him, it’s what he scavenges. He’s so low to the ground that he just finds all the stuff people drop and he shouldn’t have. I had to stop walking him past that Mexican place on Vine. We were both miserable for days after he hoovered up the leavings there.”

Matt grimaced. “Jesus.” He leaned in and kissed the top of her head. “Be careful, and as much as it pains me to say it, do what Ciaran tells you to. If anybody can keep them from getting to you, it’ll be him.”

Loralei stood there, staring after him as he went to talk to the crime scene techs. Ciaran approached her, holding her overnight bag and Churchill’s pet carrier. His own bag was slung over his shoulder.

“We need to go,” he said softly.

Her eyes teared up, and she glanced at him. “They destroyed your house, Ciaran. I’m so sorry.”

“They’re just walls, milish. They can be rebuilt easily enough. You can’t. Now get your beastie and let’s get you somewhere safe.”

Loralei picked up Churchill and snuggled him close. She placed a kiss on the top of his fuzzy head and followed Ciaran out into the night.

C
iaran held
the door of the borrowed truck for her. His own was shot to hell, all four tires flattened and not a window left intact. The fuckers, he thought bitterly. Wrecking a man’s house was one thing, but destroying his truck was another altogether. Still, the truck Grant had provided for them at Matt’s request was a step up. He could appreciate the sleek lines and cushy interior.

After she’d climbed in, he reached over her and fastened her seatbelt for her before walking around the vehicle and climbing behind the wheel. Leaving the remnants of his house behind, he turned onto the main road and headed toward town. He’d made a call to a friend who was out of the country and had been given the access code to his farm and the small cabin there that served as a guest house.

“Matt looked at your service record,” she said abruptly.

It didn’t surprise him. If he was entrusting someone with seeing to his sister’s safety, he’d want to be damn sure he knew they were capable. He glanced over at her, “I never imagined he wouldn’t.”

“So just how bad-ass are you?”

Ciaran laughed. “I did ten years as a Ranger in the Irish Army…Special Forces with training similar to what your operatives would have here.”

“I don’t know what that means. Can you kill a man with your bare hands? Do you know seventeen deadly uses for a stick of gum? What?”

“I know only one or two truly good uses for a stick of gum. I can and have killed men with my bare hands, though I prefer not to.”

She blanched, her face going pale. “I guess it’s worse when you’re that close to them.”

He glanced over at her, his hands draped casually on the steering wheel of the borrowed truck. “Not really. Killing is killing, whether they’re two feet from you or two hundred. But when you’re that close, there are more chances for it to go wrong and for you to go down with them.”

He said it so dispassionately, like he was talking about rebuilding an engine or how to debone a chicken. “Oh,” she said.

Ciaran’s heavy sigh told her she’d done a poor job of concealing just how much his answers had unnerved her. He didn’t look at her again, but she had no doubt he was cataloguing her every response.

When he finally spoke, his words were soft but earnest. “There’s a reason we never talked about all this…yes, it is classified, but that part of my life is over. I never intended to use any of those skills again, but I don’t regret anything I did then, because it puts me in the unique position of being able to protect you now. And I will. No matter what.”

It went quiet in the truck, both of them focused on what he’d just said. Finally, he sighed again. “There’s something I need to tell you, and you probably won’t like it, but it’s been heavy on my mind,” he offered with a shrug.

It was a familiar gesture, one he often used when uncomfortable or defensive. Immediately, Loralei was on alert, waiting for the backpedaling, the “it’s not you, it’s me and this can’t happen again” speech. “If it’s going to piss me off or make me cry, I’d appreciate it if you just shelved it, because I don’t think I can handle another downward swing on today’s roller coaster.”

He glanced up at her then, his eyes widening in surprise. Then he shook his head. “I deserve that, I guess. You’ve more reasons not to trust me than to…but no, I don’t think it’ll do either of those things. And for the record, nothing that has ever passed between us, except my walking out, has ever been a mistake.”

Unable to express her relief, Loralei gave a stiff nod. In the close quarters of the truck, close enough to smell him, to feel the heat of his body, she felt strangely vulnerable, perhaps because whatever he felt he needed to say had the power to utterly destroy her. But she’d never been a coward and had no intention of taking the easy way out. Head on, she decided. “So what is it then?”

He gripped the steering wheel more tightly, his knuckles white on it. A muscle worked in his jaw, clenching and unclenching until at last he spoke. “I didn’t tell you the truth about why I came to Kentucky. There’s a reason for that, and it relates here.”

At the end of her patience and on pins and needles waiting for him to just spill whatever it was that he felt he needed to tell her, Loralei snapped at him. “You think maybe you could get to the point before daylight? The more you talk right now the less you say, and it’s making me antsy as hell.”

He chuckled. “God above, you’ve a temper like a wet cat! Here it is then: I’ve given you my apology and a partial explanation for what happened—for my own shitty mood and shittier treatment of you. But not all of it. I left something out that, truth be told, I was ashamed to confess.”

A wave of nausea and fear rolled through her. “Was there another woman?”

He shook his head and gave her a shaming glance. “No, there hasn’t been since the first night I laid eyes on you, and I’ve no mind to change that now. This—it’s about my family.”

Relief was instantaneous, washing through her in a flood. But on the heels of it, came distrust. Clearly, he’d been less than honest with her. “You told me you didn’t have a family, other than your sister in New York,” she said, her voice tinged with the hint of accusation.

“That’s still true enough,” he said, his voice chilled and biting. She never questioned that his anger was directed at her. In that moment, relating his story, she wasn’t even sure he was totally aware of her presence. After several moments, he finally spoke again, “The truth of the matter is that I have a family but they want no part of me. The day of our fight, I met my father.”

Loralei frowned. “What do you mean ‘met’?”

“He’s from here, from Kentucky,” Ciaran explained. “That was why I chose to come here…but it took a bit to work up the courage to go and see him. Suffice to say, it didn’t go well.”

“Okay,” she said. “That’s a starting point, but you do realize you need to offer a few more details than that, right?” It was like pulling teeth to get it out of him, and that was enough to tell her it was bad. Ciaran was more of a talker than most of the men of her acquaintance, but she attributed that to his Irish upbringing and a general, cultural love of storytelling. Still, it was unlike him to skirt the point so broadly.