Cassidy Jones and the Seventh Attendant (Cassidy Jones Adventures, Book Three) (9 page)

“My boy,” she exclaimed, walking toward us, arms out, “you’ve grown inches! You’re as tall as this lug.” She smacked Mickey’s chest with the back of her hand and threw her arms around Emery’s neck, forcing him to bend over awkwardly to hug her. He didn’t seem to mind, though. “Looks
and
brains, always a dangerous combination.” She mussed his hair and patted his cheek affectionately.

“Riley,” Emery said, gesturing to me and grinning at the shock on my face. I hadn’t been positive until that very moment that this vibrant, wild woman was, indeed, Riley. It was a lot to absorb, especially after picturing her young, hot, and not a mother—especially Mickey’s mother. “This is Cassidy Jones.”

“As if I need an introduction with the way you
rave
about her. Let’s have a look at you, girl.” Riley clutched my face between long red fingernails that could almost qualify as lethal weapons and studied me. For some reason this didn’t bother me.

“Hmmmmm . . . With that hair I’d say you have a bit of Irish in you, but not a freckle on your face, beautiful child, and those
eyes
!” Riley inspected them, while I willed my expression to remain calm. I had forgotten about my freaky eyes. “I’ve never seen such a color. Magnificent, lucky girl . . . and you!” Releasing my face, she turned her attention to Emery. “You’re a lucky boy.”

I took a deep breath, collecting myself. The woman was like a whirling dervish, or a cartoon come to life.

“What brings you in?” Riley cut to the chase. Obviously, she knew Emery wasn’t there to introduce me.

“Can we talk in your office?” Emery asked.

“By all means.” Riley smiled, suspicious. “Cassidy, would you like a pop? Mickey, get her a pop. Have a seat, sweetie. Mickey will keep you company. Mickey, where are your brothers?”

I nodded to myself.
Mickey, Marky, and Marty. Of course they’re brothers
.

“Bringing in Rusty. I rescheduled his court date.”

Riley growled, “That one has caused me nothing but grief. He’ll make that court date if I have to drag him there by the hair.” Riley and Emery went into her office. He closed the door behind them.

Mickey grinned at me. “She would, you know,” he said.

“I wouldn’t cross her,” I admitted.

Mickey busted up. “Very few have and lived to tell the tale,” he said with a wink. “Take a load off, and I’ll get you that pop, unless you’d prefer something else?”

“Do you have bottled water?” I asked, sitting down in the chair in front of his desk.

“We shall see.”

As Mickey crossed the office to a refrigerator, I took the opportunity to look around. Marky and Marty’s desks were behind me, piled with files. Alongside the door we had entered, there was a vinyl sofa and a coffee table with magazines fanned across the top, and pictures hanging on the walls of a green landscape that I guessed to be Ireland. I assumed this was Riley’s decorative touch. The wall behind Mickey’s desk was devoted to police-wanted bulletins. Inspecting the mean faces of fugitives, I listened in on Emery and Riley.

“I received a tip that an exhibit at the Denny is somehow connected to a top-secret military project my mom headed,” Emery explained. “I need to examine the exhibit more closely—”

“You want me to get you in,” Riley interrupted.

“I want to pick your brain about the security system the museum uses. I’ll get myself in—”

“Here you are, Cassidy.” A water bottle appeared before my face. The distraction resulted in an auditory disconnect with the next room.

“Thank you.” I took the water.

Mickey swung his leg over his chair and sat down. He caught me eyeballing the long, thin scar under his right eye. “A souvenir from my rough and tumble days,” he explained, relaxing in the chair. “Before my mom forced us boys to reform and become respectable bounty hunters.”

“A knife fight?”

“He had a knife. I had these.” Mickey made fists.

I chuckled, surprisingly at ease. It almost felt like I had known Mickey my entire life.
Because he reminds me of Nate
, I realized. Both were good-natured and rascally.

“Your tattoos are cool,” I said, examining the dragon blowing fire at the knotwork circle. “They look symbolic.”

“Indeed.” Mickey pointed to the knotwork circle on his freckled bicep. “Brotherhood, friendship, loyalty,” he explained. “The fire represents indestructibility.”

“Your brothers have the circle, too?”

“They do.”

“So does Emery?”

“Emery is like our little brother. He surprised us with the tat about a year ago.” Mickey smiled at the memory. “Surprised his little Irish mama, too.”

“Serena’s Irish?”

“Through and through. Her maiden name is Connolly. From bloodline to character, Emery has every right to bear that tat. You’ll never meet a more loyal person.”

“No one could ask for a better friend,” I agreed, thinking of Emery’s father.
I’m keeping the truth about his dad from him,
I thought, watching the water swirl in the water bottle.
What kind of friend does that make me?

I looked at Mickey. Elbows on the desk, he nestled his chin on folded hands and stared at me intently. “I can see how much you care about Emery,” he observed. “I like that.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, feeling the threat of tears. Suddenly it occurred to me that I was being rude. Mickey had a hand in finding out who had kidnapped my dad and Serena. “By the way, thank you for helping Emery stake out Selma Heart and find my dad.” Selma Heart was Junior’s right-hand man—er, woman.

“I’m amazed.” Mickey leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. “Emery told you about that? That’s not like him.”

“I saw you pick him up at my house that night,” I explained, pressing a finger under my eye to head off a tear. I had good reason to be emotional, in light of everything going on, but Mickey didn’t know that. Last thing I wanted was to start bawling for no apparent reason.

“Hold on,” Mickey said, jumping up.

“Otherwise Emery would have never said anything,” I added as Mickey briskly walked to the table next to the refrigerator. He swiped a napkin and came back.

“Now that
is
like Emery,” Mickey remarked, handing me the napkin.

“Thank you,” I said thickly, dabbing my eyes.
He probably thinks I’m a total weirdo.

“You’re welcome on both accounts.” Mickey sat down and leaned toward me, grinning. “Think Emery’s ears are burning yet?” he asked, mischief twinkling in his eyes. “What do you say we set them on fire? Tell me all about him in high school. I’ve had a hard time wrapping my head around that one.”

“It’s pretty funny,” I admitted, smiling. “You’d die laughing if you heard him dumbing himself down, using slang. He always sounds strange to me, since I know how he really talks, but he fools everyone else. No one suspects a thing— well, except for maybe one person,” I amended, thinking about Jared. Emery thought Jared was suspicious, anyway. “Emery’s super popular, almost a legend because of what happened at King Pharmaceutical and on Catamount Mountain when he tranked those men who set the tiger loose. He also humbled our school bully, Dixon Pilchowski, by putting him in an elbow lock when Dixon was giving my friend Miriam a bad time. Emery totally won her over. She’s crushing on him big time, like half the girls in school are—” I stopped talking, suddenly remembering who I was talking to. A grown man—who was a bounty hunter, no less.
Yeah, like Mickey really wants to hear a bunch of stupid school drama
, I thought, blushing.

“Well, don’t stop now,” Mickey protested. “It was just gettin’ good.”

I laughed. Mickey was fast becoming one of my favorite people. “Okay, like I was saying, half the girls at school are crushing on him. No one can figure out what he’s doing with me, which has caused me some grief. Before Emery, I basically blended in with the woodwork.”

“Now you listen here,” Mickey chided, wagging a finger. “Don’t sell yourself short. You’re something special, no doubt about that. Emery certainly thinks so. I’ve never seen him so taken with anyone.”

Before I could respond—not that I had a clue what to say anyway—loud male voices filled the hallway. I figured the elevator doors had just opened.

“That’d be my bros,” Mickey told me, rolling his eyes.

Two identical redheaded men burst through the door, talking over one another and dragging a man with them. Marky and Marty, obviously twins, were tall and burly like their big brother, with identical faces full of freckles and enough energy between them to light a building.

“Rusteeeeee,” Mickey shouted over his brothers, throwing his arms out as if welcoming the man. “Appears we need to go over the rules again.”

Slack-jawed, Rusty blinked his bulging eyes, as if trying to decipher what Mickey had said. Clearly he didn’t have a lot going on upstairs, but he projected creepiness like a neon sign. “What’d
she
do?” he demanded, nodding in my direction as one of the O’Shea twins stuck him in a chair.

“This here is the infamous Little Red Riding Hood,” Mickey replied. “Don’t let that angel face fool you. She’s a big-time carjacker.”

Marky and Marty howled with laughter.

“Bull,” Rusty said.

“Look at her. She’s a carjacker if I ever saw one. Okay, enough lookin’.” Mickey threw a paper cup at Rusty, nailing his forehead.

“Ow,” Rusty complained, rubbing where the cup had hit him.

“Always happy to make the acquaintance of a carjacker. Marky O’Shea.” Marky shot his hand at me, grinning.

I shook it. “Nice to meet you. I’m Cassidy J—”

“Bssdbssdbssd,” Mickey interrupted, making gestures with his fingers for me to stop talking. He motioned to Rusty with his eyes.

I nodded.

“She’s Emery’s girl,” he explained to his brothers.

“Hi, Cassidy,” Rusty called over.

Marky whipped around and pointed at him. “Eyes forward, and mind your own business.”

Rusty pouted. “Jus’ bein’ friendly.”

“Ah-hem.” Marty cleared his throat and made crazy eyes to warn Rusty to take heed. Then he offered me his hand, and a big, toothy smile took over his freckled face. “Marty O’Shea at your service.”

I shook it, taken with all of the O’Shea boys. They were totally charming.

“Rusty Blagojeviche!” Riley hollered. Her office door flew open.

Rusty quivered.

“I have a bone to pick with
you
.” Riley pointed at him and gave him the eye. Emery followed her out, assessing me. He smiled, seeing that I felt right at home.

“Whoa-ho-ho! Look who’s here.” Marty put his hand out as if to shake Emery’s hand and dope-slapped him instead.

“Good to see you, too, Marty.” Emery gave him a sinister grin.

“Don’t antagonize him,” Marky advised his twin, slinging an arm around Emery’s shoulders. “You know payback’s a-comin’.”

Marty shook a finger at Emery. “Don’t even think about hacking me again.”

During this playful exchange, Riley approached Rusty in measured steps, her expression stern.

Rusty shrank in his chair.

“You’re going to listen, Rusty Blagojeviche, and you’re going to listen good.” She bent forward, hands on hips, sticking her face in his.

Fidgeting, Rusty averted his eyes to her enormous chest, before catching himself and forcing his gaze to the floor.

“Look me in the eye,” she ordered.

His eyes bounced up to hers, wide with terror.

“I haven’t always been lawful.”

“Here we go,” Mickey sighed.

“My dear, sweet husband, Seamus O’Shea, God rest his soul”—Riley reverently made a quick sign of the cross over her chest, as did her sons—“and I were master thieves back in Ireland. There wasn’t a lock or security system that could stop us. Even churches weren’t immune to our thievery, I am deeply ashamed to admit. Good offerings went straight from the safe and into our sacks. I tell you this to give you a taste of what we were. Stealing benevolence.” Riley shook her head regretfully, clucking her tongue. “And we continued our crooked ways here in America, until fate caught up with us. Our criminal reign came to an end that night, as did Seamus.” Riley compressed her lips, fighting to control strong emotion.

My throat tightened with sympathy.

“New York State gave me plenty of time to think over my wicked ways,” Riley continued when she’d regained her composure. “While I was incarcerated, my boys lived with my brother and his wife back home. I had two options: to change or not to change. I chose change.

“I took college courses in prison, passed them with flying colors, and was accepted into Wallingford University while still behind bars. On the day of my release, the first faces I saw walking through those prison gates were those of my beloved sons, and they saw a new woman. We flew to Seattle the following morning, where I attended the prestigious Wallingford. Me—Riley Bryne O’Shea, poor Irish girl, safecracker, and convicted criminal! Now if that isn’t a story of inspiration, I don’t know what is. Are you making your next court date, Rusty?”

Rusty bobbed his head, gulping.

“My ears need to hear it.”

“Yes, Riley. No more problems from me.”

“Be a man of your word, like these four behind me.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’ll hold you to it.” Riley straightened up. “Lass,” she addressed me, “did Emery tell you how we met?”

“He said you met in college.”

She nodded, looking impressed that I knew this much. “We were the odd ones out, so to speak. Someone had to take the little tyke under their wing.” She walked over to Emery and drew him into her arms. “Be wise,” she whispered in his ear. “You’re not infallible.”

“Thank you, Riley,” he said, his tone revealing his affection for her. Riley and her sons were very special to him.

Riley released him from the hug. “We should all get back to it,” she announced. “You and your lass run along.” She avoided saying my name in front of Rusty. She turned to me. “On your feet. I want a hug good-bye.”

I got up and hugged her and exchanged handshakes with the O’Shea boys, bidding them all good-bye.

“Bye, Cassidy,” Rusty called as Emery opened the door for me.