About Face (Wolf Within) (17 page)

“I did
not
screech,” I interrupted Paddy’s hyperbolic description of the fight. “Jesus Christ, Paddy, if you are going to tell the goddamn story, tell it straight. Screeching like a banshee, my ass.”

Paddy snorted, and Murphy bit his lip to keep from grinning, the bastard. I could see both their faces in the rearview mirror. How they could laugh at a time like this I’d never know.

“So Stanzie here flings herself on his back like a silent assassin,” Paddy amended, and Murphy did grin when I loudly sighed. “Declan goes down hard as hell and is out cold for five fucking minutes on account of the way his bastard head connects with the floor. The crowd’s cheering like mad—it’s better than football. Of course, Stanzie, the silly bitch, also knocks herself out because she’s too clumsy to avoid clipping the side of her head on the table on the way down.”

“Well, I’m sorry. It was my first attempt at silent assassin. Next time I’ll do better.” I snapped.

“There’s gonna be a next time?” Paddy bounced in his seat like a two-year-old who’d just spied Santa Claus.

“Well, it’s a sure bet nobody else in Mac Tire will come to your rescue. They’ll all want to see the blood if the way they stood around cheering instead of helping last night was any indication.”

“Of course they’ll want to see the blood. How can you not want to see the blood? And yourself being a Callahan and all? Your ancestors are spinning in their graves, woman.”

“I am, at most, one quarter Irish, and I don’t think that counts.” Why did Paddy have to be such an idiot sometimes?

“It counts.” Paddy turned to Murphy. “Doesn’t it, Liam?”

“Callahan?” Murphy repeated with a grin. “One drop of Clan Callahan makes you Irish, let alone being a whole quarter.”

“But you’ll need to work on your accent, love, because it sucks,” Paddy declared, and I gave him the finger.

“I’m really touched you hauled ass onto the bar to save me from Declan Byrne,” he said, and Murphy snorted, before the two of them went off into gales of laughter.

“That wasn’t my intention.” Goddamn idiots, the both of them. That fight was not funny; it had been potentially lethal. “I hauled ass onto the bar, you bastard, to keep your massively pregnant bond mate from doing it herself so she could see over the heads of all the other idiots in the pack. Crazed by the bloodlust, she apparently forgot she’s not a goddamn mountain goat. So in yet another attempt to keep the Alphas of Mac Tire from killing themselves, I got on the bar. I was only going to tell her what I saw, but when that asshole moved close enough and cut your neck, I got pissed.”

“Aww, you’ll have me in tears of gratitude in a minute, woman.”

I reached over to smack Paddy in the back of the head, and the end of his sentence turned into a yelp.

“What was Fee doing in back? Why wasn’t she up front?” Murphy asked, and Paddy burst into laughter again, so I was forced to smack him a second time.

“I dragged her in back of the bar to get her out of the way. Crowds watching bar brawls can be rough, and she is pregnant, remember? I was trying to get her into the kitchen, but the bitch wouldn’t go. The back of the bar was as far as I could get her,” I huffed.

Murphy looked at Paddy. Paddy looked at Murphy. Hysterics ensued to the point I was convinced Murphy would drive off the goddamn road.

“Her being massively pregnant and not at the top of her form is probably the only reason you got her as far as you did.” Paddy wiped tears from his eyes and Murphy’s shoulders shook as he obviously tried to regain control. “Otherwise if you’d pulled that stunt, there’d have been another bar brawl last night and you’d have gotten your ass kicked, Stanzie.”

“How do you know I’d be the one getting my ass kicked?” I demanded angrily, and Murphy’s shoulders started to really shake.

“Hating the sight of blood and all, you can hardly be a practiced brawler. Unlike Fee who could probably kick my ass if she put her mind to it,” Paddy replied.

“From the way you were fighting last night, Mickey Mouse could kick your ass.” I wanted to stay angry at both of them, but it was hard not resist them when they laughed. Murphy especially. When he lost it again at my words, a strange, suffocating wave of love swept over me.

Paddy laughed, too, but he pretended to be offended. The gleam of amusement in his eyes gave him away.

“I was just letting the bastard warm up. I was having fun, Stanz.”

“Which is why you spent half an hour last night screaming and swearing while I poured peroxide all over your bleeding body, I guess.”

“It was my arm, my neck, and my face, you horrible bitch. It’s not like I was covered in gore and slashed to ribbons. Jaysus, now who’s exaggerating?”

“It was a lot of blood. Murphy’s going to find the bloody washcloths on the bottom of his tub to prove it,” I maintained.

“Great,” Murphy’s tone was wry. “Anything else I ought to be on the lookout for in my apartment?”

“A shit ton of shoes,” muttered Paddy, and I smacked the back of his head again.

* * * *

The appetizing smell of roasting chicken greeted me at the door of Murphy’s apartment. The television was on, and the sound of an Irish-accented newscaster underscored, again, how far away I was from home.

Murphy stirred gravy in a pan on the stove in the galley kitchen. The table was set for two, and a bottle of white wine rested in a silver ice bucket. One wineglass sat on the table, but the other, half full, rested on the counter at Murphy’s elbow.

“Thought you might need some food to balance out the Guinness.” His cheerful grin didn’t quite reach his eyes.

I put down the bag of Guinness souvenirs I’d bought and looked around for the things I’d left in the living room. Mostly, I’d left shoes. There was no trace of me at all, and the room looked freshly dusted and sterile as the night I’d walked through the door.

“Fee couldn’t drink, so I only had the complimentary pint at the Gravity Bar.”

He’d obliterated my presence and it itched at me. Just like the dust, I’d been swept away.

“Nice of you. I would have drunk hers, too,” Murphy said. “There’s wine. You want some?”

What I wanted was to run out the door and straight back to Boston, but instead I forced a smile.

“I’ll just go put my souvenirs in my suitcase.” I went into the bedroom.

My suitcase was gone, too. So was the mail on the desk. The shell box was still there, and I resisted the stupid urge to look inside. Of course his bond pendant was still inside. We were not together anymore. The fact he’d cleared away everything that was mine proved that. He’d staked his claim to this apartment and I had no place in it.

The bloody clothes I’d left in the corner were gone as well as all my other shoes. The bed was made, the curtains drawn, and I smelled the lemony scent of cleanser from the open bathroom door.

Maybe he’d moved my stuff to a hotel and he planned to give me a ride after I choked down the meal he’d made. A dinner guest, that’s what I was.

I took the bag with my Guinness t-shirt and chocolate truffles back into the living room and set it by the front door so I wouldn’t forget it on my way out. I didn’t even know why I’d bought them. Why would I want souvenirs to commemorate one of the worst times in my life?

“Thought you wanted to put that away?” Murphy carried his wineglass into the living room and stared in confusion at my stupid Guinness gift shop bag.

“Couldn’t find my suitcase. I thought maybe…” I trailed off as I realized how idiotic and pathetic I sounded.

“I threw it out?” He finished for me, even more confused. “I unpacked for you, seeing as you’re going to stay for a while, right?”

When had I decided that? My throat squeezed shut and I didn’t know what to do. Unpacked for me? He hadn’t cleared me away, but instead had integrated my things with his? Without asking me first?

“When you didn’t call Allerton or tell Fee, I figured you’d decided to stay and help.” He took a sip of wine and watched me cautiously.

“How do you know what I did or didn’t do?” I asked, unnerved.

“Easy. Allerton didn’t call me to discuss things, and Fee didn’t rush home to slit Paddy’s throat for him and then come gunning for me.”

I blew out my breath. He had me there. He was right. I hadn’t called Allerton, nor had I said anything to Fee. Instead, I’d pretended to enjoy the fucking Guinness tour and gulped down my free pint in the bar.

“How exactly are we going to do this, Murphy, without getting killed or hauled up in front of a tribunal?” The smell of roasting chicken made my stomach growl. The thought of sharing a meal with Murphy, of something so intimate after months apart, threatened my fragile sense of self. This was too fucking confusing.

I went to the French doors and unlatched them so I could step out onto the small balcony overlooking a side street. It was functional and large enough for two chairs. Anything to get away from the scent of food. I sat in the chair on the right. It provided a sweeping view of the Dublin street below. Did Murphy sit here at night and look out into the dark? Did he ever think of me?

After a moment he joined me. He handed me a glass of wine and took his to the railing so he could look down.

“We can do this if we’re very careful,” he said.

I contemplated my wine for a moment and took a sip. It was clear, crisp, and cold. No doubt expensive. Where did Murphy get his money and his expensive tastes anyway? Resentment of his wealth churned my gut. Until I’d become an Advisor, I’d had to scrimp and save, especially after I bought my Boston condo with Elena’s legacy. I’d paid cash for it so I wouldn’t have a mortgage, but it had wiped me out financially and there had been many months I’d spent eating peanut butter and crackers two times a day in order to have the money for the utility bills.

This damn apartment probably cost twice as much as my condo, even if it was smaller. Yet, he still had money left to buy designer jeans and fancy wine and modern furniture that didn’t come in a box ready to be assembled like most of mine had.

As an Advisor, I now had money, but it was blood money, most likely. I was living the high life off the murders of Guardians of the Pack. Yes, they were murderers themselves, but everything seemed black and wrong.

What had I gotten myself into?

“Your father was Paddy’s mentor, wasn’t he? And he’s neck-deep in this mess, too, isn’t he?”

At the railing, Murphy froze, every muscle in his body going taut.

All day long I’d been keyed up by thin, anxious energy and thoughts of him. Now he was here three steps away from me, and I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry or fling my damn wine in his face. I had to concentrate on the conspiracy, not on how damn great he smelled or how much I wanted to bury my face in his throat as he held me. That was bullshit. We were in danger and we were broken up. So what if he’d unpacked for me? It made no difference. He’d walked out on me and I’d built my life back up without him. What the fuck had I come here for?

“No,” he denied, but there was no force to his tone. His shoulders slumped.

“You don’t want to expose him, even though you have to if you want to save Paddy,” I accused, and he turned toward me, mouth tight.

“I’ll do what I have to do. But I am not convinced my father is in this.”

“Oh, bullshit, he’s a Regional Councilor. He’s in this somehow, and you have to face it.”

“Stanzie, I don’t want to talk about this.” His words came out in a growl of exasperation and fear.

I wanted to kill him almost as much as I wanted to fold him into my arms and croon in his ear that everything would be okay. What the fuck was wrong with me?

“Just wanting to keep things status quo is not a crime. If the Guardians only wanted that and were accomplishing it by fair means, all Paddy’s got to prove is that he had nothing to do with Mick Shaughnessy and the killing faction. If your father’s not part of that, maybe he could help us.”

“It’s not that frigging easy.” Murphy stared at the street. “How does Paddy know who to trust within the group? And what if it’s all a setup, Stanzie? You reel in people one at a time by telling them one thing, and before they know it, it’s an entirely different animal—and by then they’re in too deep to get out. Who would believe him when he says he had no knowledge of what goes on beneath the surface? He’s paid Mick money for months now and…”

“Blackmail. It’s blackmail,” I protested.

“Says Paddy. Mick Shaughnessy would never agree that’s what it was. If we could even find him to ask.” Murphy blew out an impatient breath and went inside to rescue something from the stove.

I helped him put the food on the table and tried not to brush up against him in the close confines of the kitchen.

When we were seated at the table, the scent of Fee’s wildflowers competed with the chicken, peas, and potatoes.

I tried to eat, but fear formed a lump in my throat.

“Everything seems so hopeless.” I set my fork down on my plate and took deep breaths to calm myself. It didn’t help.

Murphy watched me, his eyes dark. “Stanzie, we’re going to fix this, okay?”

When I pushed back my chair and fled from the table, he came after me. I reached out for the handle of the French doors, and he took hold of my arm and forced me to turn around.

His mouth was hot and demanding as we slammed against the doors hard enough to make the glass rattle. I opened my mouth and met his tongue with mine, and he tightened his fingers on my shoulders with a possessive strength.

He was kissing me. His lips were familiar, but the kiss sizzled. Electric. He tasted so good. Wine and warm spice. How could I have gone without this for so long?

To prove this was real and not a mirage, I pushed my hands beneath his shirt and spread my palms flat against his hot skin. His chest was smooth and hard, the contours familiar yet somehow brand new. With a groan, he yanked me closer even as he helped me strip off his shirt.

God, he felt good. I’d missed him so damn much.

His cock was rock hard against my lower belly and I slid my hands down to his ass and pressed against him as hard as I could.

Murmuring my name, he swept me up in his arms as if I weighed nothing, kicked the bedroom door open, and tossed me on the bed. His dark gaze locked to mine, he peeled off his pants and threw them on the floor.