Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
Emily studied Jack’s face, hoping to see a range of expressions indicating something, anything that would reveal the true identity of the man who’d saved her life.
She was sorely disappointed when Jack maintained a poker face that could easily win him millions in Vegas. She should have expected as much. He had to be highly trained in the physical as well as mental tools of whatever trade he was engaged in.
Eventually, his lips quirked as if he found her questions funny.
Emily’s hackles rose, and her eyes narrowed to slits. “Are you some kind of special operations guy? Do you have a squad of peers lurking in the shadows, preparing for a subversive coup or a VIP extraction?”
His mouth spread in a wide grin. “Dr. Kelly needs to screen you for a concussion.”
Emily crossed her arms over her chest. “Your journalist’s cover doesn’t ring true. You don’t look like the kind of guy who’d write an article about Irish folklore. Are you an assassin, sent to take out a political figure, thus altering the outcome of a vote or election?” She sighed. “Look, I’m not interested in outing you. But by saving me, you gave me a life debt. I’m now responsible for protecting you.”
“There is no such thing as a life debt,” Jack said.
Emily tilted her head to one side. “You might not believe in it, but I do. Therefore, I have a life debt with you, and I need to know everything about you so I can anticipate and neutralize danger that might befall you.”
Jack chuckled. “That sounds stalkerish to me.”
“Oh, it is most definitely that,” she said. “And if I’m to protect you, I need to know all your deepest, darkest secrets.”
“I don’t need you to protect me.” He waved his hand like a king making a proclamation. “I release you from any real or perceived obligation.”
“Sorry, mate,” she said with a shrug. “You can’t unsave me. You’re stuck with me. So, spill.” She propped her chin on her fists and focused all her attention on Jack.
His brow wrinkled. “Are you sure you’re not the special ops type, undercover as a mild-mannered bartender?”
She snorted. “I’ve been accused of many things, but mild-mannered is not one of them.”
The man laughed out loud. “Having known you for,” he glanced down at his wristwatch, “all of maybe two hours, I have no doubt you’re anything but mild-mannered. I wish I’d been there to see you attack the men hurting your uncle.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she sat up straighter. “I wish I’d at least knocked one of them out. Then we might have been able to identify them. I want to know who they are and who sent them to hurt an old man.”
“You say your family is related to the Irish Travellers. I’d like to know more about them. Could they have sent the thugs to rough up your uncle? Could your father’s automobile accident have had something to do with the same people who tried to hurt your uncle tonight?”
She lifted her chin and stared down her nose at Jack. Those same thoughts had already occurred to Emily. “You’re avoiding my question. Who are you?”
He waved a hand. “Jack Collins.”
Emily crossed her arms over her chest. “I’ll need more than that.”
For a long moment, he met and held her direct gaze.
Just when he opened his mouth to say something, Aoife appeared. “Emily, your uncle is conscious and wants to speak to you.”
Emily sprang to her feet. “How is he?” she asked as she fell in step with the doctor and headed down the hallway.
“Based on his level of pain, he’s probably got a couple of broken ribs. He’s breathing normally, so I don’t think his lungs are damaged, and his heartbeat is strong and steady. He’s bruised all over and has a concussion. I don’t think he has any internal bleeding, but I want to keep an eye on him. If his heart rate and blood pressure tank, we need to get him to a hospital.”
“I understand and agree,” Emily said quietly as they approached the open door to the bedroom where her uncle lay.
Her uncle lay as still as death.
Emily entered the room, her breath lodged in her throat. As she reached the bed, she took his hand in hers. “Uncle Paddy,” she spoke softly.
His fingers flexed in her hand, and his eyelids blinked open. “Em, my dear girl,” he said, his voice raspy and barely understandable.
“Uncle, I need to know who did this,” she said.
He shook his head and winced, closing his eyes again. “I don’t know. They wore masks.”
“Why did they come after you? Surely you know that,” she leaned closer. “When you came through the pub, you knew you were being followed. By whom and why?”
The old man lay still, his eyes closed. For a long moment, Emily thought he’d slipped into unconsciousness again.
Then he sighed. “You and your brother are not safe. Warn Finn.”
“Warn him about what?” Emily asked. “Uncle Paddy, what’s happening?”
“He’ll know,” her uncle said, and his hand went limp.
“Uncle Paddy?” she asked, her eyes filling with tears. “Uncle?” She looked at Aoife.
The doctor touched her stethoscope to the old man’s chest. “He’s breathing, and his heartbeat is steady. I gave him a powerful painkiller. It appears to have taken effect.” She straightened. “I’ll keep him here until he’s well enough to be moved to his own place.”
“But you heard him, my brother and I aren’t safe. Uncle Paddy isn’t safe. If whoever is behind this attack finds my uncle here, you’re not safe.”
“The only way you can get him out of here now is on a stretcher,” Aoife said. “He’s down for the night. I suggest you get some sleep and come back in the morning.”
Emily shook her head. “I can’t leave you here unprotected.”
“I’ll stay,” a voice said from the hallway.
Emily and Aoife turned toward Jack.
“This isn’t even your problem,” Emily said.
“I’m not leaving the two of you to defend a sick man.” He lifted his chin toward the doctor. “Do you own a gun?”
Aoife shook her head. “No.”
Jack’s gaze shifted to Emily, one eyebrow cocked.
“No,” she said. “We can lock the doors and call the Garda if anyone tries to break in.”
“Someone could break in, kill all three of you and leave with plenty of time to be long gone before the Garda arrives.”
Emily opened her mouth to insist they could take care of themselves, but she knew what he said was true. With no weapons to defend themselves, men like those she’d encountered behind the pub that night would have no problem breaking in and subduing them. In this case, size mattered.
“We don’t even know you,” Aoife said. “Why should we trust you ?”
Emily met and held Jack’s gaze. “He saved my life.”
He didn’t say anything, nor did he blink or look away.
“I’ll be staying as well,” Emily added.
“Okay then,” Aoife said with a nod. “In that case, I’m off to bed. There are pillows and blankets in the hall closet. Help yourself to anything you can find in the kitchen. I think there’s leftover pizza in the fridge. As I only have the two bedrooms, you two can fight over who gets the couch and who gets the floor in the sitting room. I’m leaving my door open so that I can hear if Paddy calls out.” She stepped past them into the hallway, gave a brief smile, spun on her heels and disappeared into a bedroom, calling out over her shoulder, “If you should desire to kill me in my sleep, make it quick and painless.”
Jack chuckled. “Your doctor friend is funny.”
Emily’s lips twitched. “And likely tired. She works long hours at the hospital.” She found the linen closet, extracted a pillow and blanket for Jack and the same for herself. She nodded toward the door opening into the bathroom. “You can have the loo first. I want to check with Daphne and make sure she’s not pulling her hair out.”
“Deal.” But he didn’t go directly into the bathroom. Instead, he walked to the front entrance and secured the deadbolt lock. From there, he checked the windows in the sitting room.
Emily reentered Uncle Paddy’s room to double-check the locks on the windows there and stopped in front of Aoife’s open door to call out, “Did you check the lock on your window?”
“I did,” Aoife responded.
“Goodnight,” Emily said softly and carried her blanket and pillow into the sitting room.
Jack passed her on his way to the bathroom. “I’ll only be a minute.”
She nodded and surveyed the sitting room. The furniture consisted of a sofa, a wingback chair and two end tables.
Jack had laid his blanket and pillow on the floor near the window.
Emily set her pillow and blanket on the wingback chair, scooped Jack’s items off the floor and laid them on the sofa. The man had saved her life. Maybe twice if she counted helping her to lose the vehicle following her. He deserved to sleep on something softer than hardwood flooring.
She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and called the pub. After several rings, Daphne answered. “Tap & Tankard.”
“Daphne, it’s Emily.”
“Oh, Em, how’s Uncle Paddy?”
“Holding his own,” Emily said. “What about you? The crowd thinning?”
“I shooed Sean and Derek out half an hour ago. They were the last ones to leave. I’m cleaning up now, then I’ll be heading to my flat.”
Emily frowned. “Go out the front door and be careful. You might even call the Garda and ask if they could send someone on a drive-by about the time you head out.”
“Though I’m sure I’ll be all right, the Garda idea might be a good one. There’s a cutie on night shift I’ve had my eye on for a couple of weeks. Oh, and Em, I overheard some of the men talking tonight.”
Emily held the phone tighter. “About what?”
“They said there’ve been a number of brawls breaking out over the city. Tempers are gettin’ shorter, and the fights are gettin’ deadlier. And it’s true. Just the other day, I heard a news anchor reporting that a member of the Radical Nationalist movement was found floatin’ in the River Liffey just past the Grattan Bridge. The Coroner Service stated the cause of death was blunt-force trauma to the head.”
“What does that have to do with what happened to my uncle?” Emily asked.
“Haven’t you heard?” Daphne snorted. “Rumor has it that the Radical Nationalists want to rid Ireland of everyone but Irish Catholics. They are specifically targeting Protestants and Travellers.”
Emily shook her head. “Where are you hearing this?”
“I’m not hearing it,” Daphne said. “I’m seeing it every time I log onto the internet.”
“Daphne, you can’t believe everything you see on the internet.”
“I know, but there’s so much of it and videos of violence, there has to be some truth to it. How else do you explain the disappearances?” Her friend paused. “The accidents?”
Emily had no response to this. “Daphne, I have to go. Please be careful leaving the pub. Text me when you get to your flat.”
“I will. You be careful, too.”
After ending the call, Emily stared at the cell phone, going over what Daphne had said about the fights breaking out all over the city, about the Radical Nationalists and, finally, the comment about the accidents.
She’d had her own doubts about her father’s accident. When she’d gone to the morgue and forced herself to view the charred remains of his body, she’d asked if they’d found his wedding ring.
No ring, melted or otherwise, was found on the body or in the car. She’d left the morgue with more questions than when she’d arrived. If that had been her father’s body, he would have died with his wedding ring on his finger.
She knew her father. He’d loved her mother so much, he’d refused to remove the ring, even though he’d spread word that she’d divorced him when she’d left for the States. He wouldn’t have willingly removed the ring. Had someone stolen it before her father had died in that wreck? Had someone taken it while he was being processed at the morgue?
The one question she came back to over and over... Was the body found in her father’s car that of Seamus O’Brien?
If it wasn’t her father, who was it, and where was her father?
Emily hadn’t mentioned her thoughts to her brother or her uncle.
Finn had been in his own private hell over the loss of the father he’d only just begun to know.
Emily wished she could have been more of what he’d needed. She’d failed her brother in their time of grief.
With the death of her mother, the potential death of her father and now the attack on her uncle, her family was imploding, and she could do nothing to stop it. Would Finn be next, or would it be her?
She called her brother’s number. After five rings, his phone rolled over to voicemail. Her brother’s voice recording sounded. “Leave a message, I’ll get back to you.”
Emily struggled with what to say and finally settled on, “Hey, Finn, it’s Emily. Call me as soon as you get this message.”
As she ended the call, she second-guessed her method of delivery. Her brother didn’t like talking on the phone. He preferred text messages. She was about to key in a text message when Jack emerged from the hallway into the sitting room, shirtless, his hair damp and droplets of water glistening across his muscular chest.
All thoughts evaporated with the moisture in her mouth as Emily’s gaze swept over the American from his shoulders to the waistband of his jeans and lower.
He flung his shirt over one shoulder and tipped his head to the side. “Your turn.”
For a moment, she remained rooted to the floor.
When his lips twitched in the hint of a smile, she realized she was staring.
Heat burned up her neck into her cheeks. “Right. My turn,” she muttered, unable to form anything more coherent or intelligent.
Clutching her cell phone to her chest, she ducked past him and all but ran to the bathroom. Once inside with the door shut, she leaned her back against the door panel and remembered how to breathe.
Emily was no prude. She’d seen half-naked men before and fully naked men when she’d dated in college. So, why the moronic reaction to a stranger’s bare chest?
Okay, his chest was broader than any of the men she’d known. And muscular.
She ran her tongue across her suddenly very dry lips, wondering what it would feel like to touch his bare chest with the tips of her fingers. She bet it would be rock hard if the six pack he sported was any indication.
Forget her fingers.
What would it feel like to run her tongue across his six-pack?
Emily moaned.
“Everything all right?” Jack’s muffled voice calling out through the wood paneling made Emily jump.
She pressed her palms to her burning cheeks as she faced the door, glad it stood between them. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, of course. I won’t be long.”
“I’ll warm up the pizza for when you’re ready,” he said.
She touched her hand to the door, the image of his naked chest seared into her memory. “Thank you.” The cool, wooden panel was a poor substitute, but it was all she would allow herself. Touching the stranger’s naked chest was not on the menu.
Pizza was.
She stripped off her clothes, turned on the water and stepped beneath the shower’s spray before it had sufficiently warmed. She needed the chill to cool her heated skin before she faced the Yank again.
Just the thought of facing him again made her hurry through the motions. She scrubbed the grit off her skin from having been flattened against the pavement beneath the hulk of a human who’d attacked her and her uncle. Had it been less than a couple of hours since that had happened? She wouldn’t be standing beneath a shower’s spray with a bare-chested man in the room beyond if he hadn’t shown up at the exact moment she’d needed him to rescue her. Stranger or not, he’d saved her life.
Still, he hadn’t told her much about himself. She’d work on that.
Over pizza.
After scrubbing her hair, face and skin, she rinsed, applied conditioner to her hair and rinsed again, eager to get back to her fact-finding mission.
Emily dried off using one of Aoife’s fluffy white towels. After scrounging around in the drawers beside the sink, she found a brush and worked her way through the tangles until her blond hair was smooth against her scalp, hanging halfway down her back.
Her father had cried when he’d met her and her brother at the airport after their mother’s death. He’d said she was the spitting image of the woman he’d fallen in love with all those years ago.
Seeing her father and brother standing side by side, she’d been struck by how much Finn resembled his black-haired, brown-eyed father. Her heart ached for her mother, who’d sacrificed so much for her children. She’d given up her life with the man of her heart to raise her babies away from the influence of their Traveller cousins.
When Emily had asked her father why he hadn’t followed her mother to live in the United States, his face had hardened. “I couldn’t,” he said. “I had my reasons.”
When she’d asked why her mother hadn’t come back to Ireland, her father had told her that she would never have been safe.
Emily found a robe hanging on a hook and debated wearing it rather than dressing in the clothes she’d worn when she arrived, finally deciding to wear her clothes. If someone tried to break into the townhouse, she wanted to be ready to stand and fight or duck and run. Either way, a robe wouldn’t be optimal.
Refreshed and dressed, she exited the bathroom and then slipped into her uncle’s bedroom for a moment to assure herself that he was still breathing and resting peacefully.
Then she followed the scent of tomato sauce and pepperoni to the small kitchen.
Jack, with a quilted potholder in his hand, pulled a tray from the oven with half a pizza on it and laid it on the stovetop.
Emily’s stomach rumbled loudly.
“When was the last time you ate?” Jack asked as he ran a pizza cutter through the melted cheese and crust.
“I don’t know,” Emily admitted. “Maybe breakfast.”
Jack shook his head, slid a slice of pizza onto a plate and handed it to her. “Eat.”
She took the plate to the small table and sank into a chair.
Jack joined her with his plate and sat across from her.
For the next few minutes, words weren’t necessary as they consumed their slices and went back for more.
After polishing off her second slice of pizza, Emily drew in a deep breath and let it out.
“Feel better?” Jack asked.
She nodded. “Much better. Thank you.”
“I’ll clean up.”
“Don’t be silly. You don’t have to wait on me.” She followed him to the sink, carrying her plate and teacup from earlier. “I’ll wash. You can dry.”
“Deal,” he said, and found a dry dish towel.
Emily filled the sink with warm, soapy water and quickly washed and rinsed their dishes.
Jack stood beside her, drying and stacking.
Though she’d washed hundreds of glasses and snack bowls every night at the pub, she found working beside Jack to be different. Relaxing and... intimate. It was nice to share such a mundane task with someone who didn’t feel like it was beneath him.
Once they’d placed the clean dishes in the cabinets, Emily led the way into the sitting room. “You can have the couch. I’ll take the chair.”
“No way,” Jack said. “You take the couch. I’m perfectly comfortable on the floor. I’ve slept in worse places.”
She stopped and turned to face him, not realizing how close he was. She had to tip her head back to look up into his face.
He smiled and softly pressed a finger to her lips. “Please, just go with it,” he said, his tone rich, resonant and sexy as hell. “I’m too tired to argue.”
Too affected by the feel of his finger against her lips, Emily nodded.
Jack stared down into her eyes for a long moment.
Emily wondered what his lips would feel like in place of his finger. For a wild, irrational moment, she imagined rising on her toes and kissing him to satisfy her curiosity.
Fortunately, Jack stepped back before Emily lost her mind.
She ducked her head to hide her face and her flushed cheeks. Taking more time than was necessary, she spread out the blanket and fluffed the pillow, all the while with her back to the man moving about behind her. When she stretched out on the couch, she discovered he’d spread his blanket across the floor, not far from the sofa, and lay with his hands laced behind his neck, staring up at the ceiling.
Emily reached for the lamp on the end table and twisted the knob, casting them into the anonymity of darkness.
Though exhausted, she lay for a long time, her eyes adjusting to the limited glow of the streetlight finding its way around the curtains covering the picture window.
She turned on her side, tucked her hand beneath her cheek and stared at the silhouette of the man lying so close.
“Jack,” she whispered. “Are you awake?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he responded without hesitation.
“You’re not a journalist, are you?”
“What makes you think otherwise?” he countered.
“You don’t strike me as someone who sits at a computer, typing articles about folklore,” she said.
“How do I strike you?”
“As more physical than cerebral.”
He laughed. “You make me sound like a chest-pounding caveman.”
She smiled into the darkness. “I didn’t mean it like that.” Emily let the silence stretch between them for a moment before she asked, “Why did you come to the pub tonight?”