Chapter 7
Ellie
Warmth. I loved mornings when I didn’t wake up shivering. I inhaled my little pocket of comfort and caught notes of cedar, warm skin, and the oddly sweet spicy fragrance that lingered on Ringo’s skin.
Mmm… I ran my nose against his chest, reveling in the sensation of his hard muscles, wiry chest hair, and that aroma I couldn’t quite pin down.
Wait. Ringo? What the fuck?
I tensed for a moment, then remembered last night, the food, that awful note, me trying to be as unsexy as possible before approaching him.
Oh my God, he’d seen the honey badger.
It had been a gag gift from Kat in retribution for gifting her with a whole series of books about honey badger shifters.
Once I found out where she’d gotten it, I bought one for her and we named them.
Mine was Stevie, hers was Max, and we reserved the final sister’s name for when and if Allie would ever join the fandom. So far, she’d resisted.
Despite the ugly pajama incident, he was in my bed, shirtless and sexy as sin. Maybe I could?
Bam! Bam! Bam!
Ringo jolted awake. Within seconds he had a gun in his hand and a knife in the other.
I don’t even think his eyes were open.
“Where the fuck did you have those?”
Another rapid set of pounding rattled my front door.
“What the fuck? Who is pounding on my door?” I blearily swung my feet out from under the covers and got them to the floor. Ringo, in contrast, had hidden the gun, but still had the knife in hand.
I walked past him to open the door.
“Ellie don’t—”
Belatedly, I realized that opening doors without asking was pretty stupid, but also not as much of a crime as he seemed to think it was. I mean, they were in the building, so it had to be a neighbor, or someone I knew.
“Casey. Why didn’t you call first?”
He was already dressed, spit-polished, and looked like he ran 4k before breakfast.
“I tried. You didn’t answer.”
My brain was not firing on all cylinders yet, because that didn’t make sense.
I retreated to the bedroom to find my phone and check for messages or that sort of thing. That’s when Casey spotted Ringo, and my carefully divided world collapsed in on itself.
“Who the hell are you?” Casey grumbled. He knew damn well who he was having pointed him out last night. I don’t think that was the point of his questioning, however.
I hoped Ringo hid the knife. I cringed and waited for the telltale sound of a body hitting the floor or maybe even a scuffle.
Casey might have a fighting chance, but he was about ten years past his prime and Ringo?
He ate bodyguards for breakfast, figuratively, and could drop an assassin at over two hundred yards with a single bullet. I’d seen both firsthand.
“Ringo Devlin.”
I ran out of my bedroom just in time to catch their brutal handshake.
No love lost there.
“Good, you’ve met.” I looked at my phone and realized this was the one I’d bought in Milan when my other phone forgot its home like Dory, and never returned. “I forgot to switch this one to my old number. Sorry.”
Casey let go of Ringo’s hand. There were red marks where they’d tried to strangle each other palms-first. “Is that a new phone?”
I sighed.
“She lost hers.”
“You knocked it out of my hand, jerk.” So much for sexy-smelling chests. I opted for coffee instead. “What are you doing here, Casey?”
“Dropping off the bar keys.”
As much as that made sense, it didn’t. “Why? I have a set.”
“You do, but Niall doesn’t, and he’s closing tonight.”
Oh right. I was supposed to take care of that, but forgot.
We had a brand-new bartender starting just in time for the holiday rush, and bonus, he was Irish.
Or at the very least, Irish-American with a cool-sounding Gaelic name.
The tourists would eat him up. Hopefully, he’d survive the weekend and become a regular part of our rotation.
Casey eyed Ringo. “You two know each other?”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Damn Ringo for outing my lie.
Casey should be used to me by now.
However, both men stared at me.
“What?” I asked because my addled brain was missing their subtext.
“How long?” Casey growled.
Ringo crossed his arms and took a step back, all while watching me for the implosion sure to begin any second now.
Where had he put that knife?
In my back, obviously. “About a month,” I said.
“A month? As in before the wedding?” Casey was in full cop mode. I hated that setting.
“Reminder, there was no wedding.”
His gaze swung from me to Ringo. “I’ll bet.”
Ringo held up a hand. “Hey, that’s not fair.”
“You wanna clarify that, buddy?”
Oh God… Buddy. Cop-speak for perpetrator, without technically being incorrect.
Ringo smiled. “We met in the airport on Valentine’s Day.”
That was a good day. It started awful, and turned into one of the most romantic, unromantic overseas flights I could have ever imagined. Ringo needed a last-minute ticket to Italy, and I was trying to cash one in. Fate. Dumb luck?
Or maybe forced opportunity. In hindsight, I’m certain Ringo could have arranged his own flight just fine, but used my predicament to weasel his way into my good graces.
And yet, spending seventeen hours on flights and in airports with a man pretending to be a perfect gentleman wasn’t all bad.
“You bought me chocolates in Denver.”
And coffee in Venice.
“Sounds cliche.” Trust Casey to ruin my little fantasy. “And then you show up at the bar last night.”
“She mentioned where she worked, so I thought I’d check it out while I was in town.”
“And now you’re here.” Casey stared at his shirtless abs. There was a scar running up one side. I knew the lie about that one. Supposedly, Ringo got it while helping Mario’s uncle on the farm.
But goats don’t carry knives that can cut a man’s side open like that.
A familiar little tingle pricked at my cheeks and my thighs trembled from locking my knees in place. I didn’t even have to see the blood to know that line of scarring almost killed him. And that thought had me searching for a chair, because any second now, I was going down.
“Well?”
Ringo was staring at me, not answering Casey. “Are you okay?”
“Head rush from getting up too early.”
His scrutiny was a little too suspicious. But he let it go.
Casey, however, didn’t. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I protested.
“She was going to faint.”
“I was not.”
Casey interrupted our argument. “You know about her fainting spells? When did she see blood?”
Christ on a cracker. Casey was too overprotective.
“Venice. A carnival play. She thought it was real.”
It wasn’t a play. It was the real damn thing.
Someone chased me into an alley and had me at knifepoint.
They were trying to get me to join them in some van somewhere for candy and possibly a cocktail.
And when I woke, I’d be in Budapest or Dubai, or perhaps even Manilla without the promised books.
Then Ringo swept in, took their knife right out of their kung-fu grip and sliced their throat open.
I fainted before I kissed the ground.
Luckily, I woke up in a five-diamond suite, with my nose against a really nice chest that smelled kind of sweet and kind of spicy. Just like this morning. Unlike today, we weren’t interrupted.
“Ellie?”
Was Casey asking me to corroborate Ringo’s lie? “Huh?”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. No coffee yet. Maybe hungover.” Funny, I didn’t feel hungover. I was mostly mortified. These two weren’t supposed to meet. Ever.
“How long ‘you in town for?” Casey made small talk while Ringo made coffee. He had already been through my cabinets once, so he found everything right away. That had to be making Casey super suspicious.
Ringo answered him. “At least two weeks. The company I work for sent me to check out an acquisition.”
“That sounds fancy. Which company do you work for?”
“Casey, give it a rest.”
He whipped his gaze to me. “You and I need to talk.”
“No, we don’t. I’m a big girl now, Dad,” I fired back.
He leaned back in his chair and grimaced.
Ringo glanced over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow at me. He knew all about my mom and dad and their alpaca farm in northern Arizona. A shiver swept over me courtesy of the draft at my back.
The adult onesie was on the floor by the couch. I tossed off all shame and pulled it on.
Ringo set two cups on the table. Mine already had cream in it with a little sugar, just like I liked it.
Casey’s was black, but Ringo put my cream pitcher on the table.
It was a black and white cow I’d picked up at a flea market.
It color-matched the black and white sugar bowl labeled “cocaine” that sat proudly in the center of the table next to my Bert and Ernie salt and pepper shakers.
Ringo took his mug, my favorite plain mug that was labeled “Tears of my enemies” on each side. He sipped first.
Assured it wasn’t poisoned, Casey picked his cup up along with the conversation.
“Less than a month,” he muttered into his mug.
“Well, if it weren’t for the sniper incident and maybe the major battle royal in Tuscany, we’d be married now,” I snarked back.
Ringo’s eyes went wide.
Casey laughed. “I have no clue where you come up with your ideas, Ellie.” He leaned a little to include Ringo. “Has she blindsided you with anything so insane that you question your ears?”
His eyes dipped down my body. “No, but I’ve questioned my eyes at least twice.”
That earned a table slap from Casey. “She’s a pistol. Her and Kat both.”
Speaking of…where did Ringo hide that gun? Maybe I’d shoot my male guests with it?
“Best damn women I’ve ever met, her and Kat. I was barely making rent. Those two took over and I can retire for real this time.”
“You’re not retiring.” A pang of fear shot through my heart. What would I do without Casey? He was my rock. The boss-dad I never knew I needed.
“That’s because you won’t let me.”
“Someone’s got to take the Sunday mass crowd. Those folks are downright scary.”
“Speaking of Sunday… Kat says we’re opening the basement for the parade overflow?”
“That’s right.” I explained my idea of locals only to Casey. He and Molly would handle the patrons downstairs, while our main force took on the tourists. I’d doubled the shift coverage in hopes for a sunny day and a good crowd.
“And what are you doing on the Sunday before St. Patrick’s Day, Ringo?” Casey had shifted to good cop, but he was still interrogating him in a very casual but friendly way.
“I’ll probably be drinking with the tourists.” He studied me as he spoke.
“You’ll still be in town?” Casey asked.
Ringo shrugged. “It’s open-ended. If the acquisition goes through, I’ll have to stay for maybe a year or more. Then again, it might fall apart tomorrow. The owner died. Now it’s being decided by committee, and lawyers.”
Casey grunted in commiseration. He hated lawyers.
Not only the ones that had cheated him out of good collars back in the day, but when he was fighting for his pension, those particular assholes screwed him over.
The shitstorm was his partner’s fault, but internal affairs thought Casey should have noticed and said something.
Therefore, they fought to strip him of his life’s work and all the compensation due it.
Luckily, he’d had the family bar to fall back on.
Otherwise, he would have been left with nothing.
Good ex-cop he was, Casey lobbed another noose. “Which business if I may ask?”
Ringo smiled. “Commerciare di Conti.”
I froze. He’d added all the right-sounding accents in the words and everything.
“Conti Commercial Incorporated?” Casey’s face fell. His eyes shifted to mine. There were all sorts of silent warning bells and lights and whistles going off in his. “Are you sure your company wants to buy that mess? I heard the owner was murdered.”
“Yes. That’s what our company heard as well.”
Casey shifted to study Ringo. He wore his hastily-donned and wrinkled dress pants, but his bare feet and chest spoke volumes. His rumpled hair wasn’t that way on purpose. There were slight circles under his eyes.
But I’m sure Casey was looking at his hands and arms. Tiny scars from fights told a grisly story of Ringo’s true business. That eight-inch stripe on his flank told another.
“Which company is that?”
Ringo rattled his words off with a smile that even I could tell was faked. “Intesa sa Filonzana di Finanziario e Commerciale.”
Casey’s fingers twitched. He probably wanted to reach for the little notebook he used to carry everywhere. Once I bought the bar, he stopped carrying it in his breast pocket.
“You’re Italian.”
Ringo laughed at Casey, a real one this time. “Does Devlin sound Italian to you?”
With wary eyes, Casey admitted, “No, it sounds Irish.”
That earned a nod. “My mother, not a saint, that’s for sure, was from Dunmurry.
Slipped off to London at age fifteen. Hopped to America and landed a rich music producer husband by age thirty.
Somewhere in there before the rich guy, and after more than a lifetime of parties, I was born.
The second she got money, she shipped me off to a boarding school where I met a bunch of Italian prep boys who needed a little street sense.
Luckily, I found one who didn’t. He became my best friend, and now I work with him. ”
“Dunmurry, huh?” Casey asked. As if, in that info dump, it was the most important thing.
“Yep.”
Casey shifted in his seat. “My great-grandparents are from Banbridge, just a ways south of there.”
Ringo changed stance. “Have you been there?”
My ex-boss smiled, and it lit him up from inside. “Twice since I left the force. Traveled all over the island the first time. But the second, I concentrated on finding kin in the northern half. Not difficult with the surname Kelly. You toss a stick and you hit one.”
Ringo’s smile fell. “I’ve never been closer than Edinburgh.” His brow creased.
He’d spoken of his mother once. It wasn’t flattering to put it kindly. I wondered if there was family who’d embrace him, or like most things in his life, he’d be shunned.