Deadly Alliance (16 page)

Chapter Thirteen

Three weeks later, Amy scuttled through downtown Los Angles in her Jeep. Her motor idled at the four-way stop at East Ninth Street and Maple. The chug-whine of her older engine caught attention from mid-morning shoppers as she gunned it through the intersection. She glanced at the passenger seat and her heart filled with pride at the quality of her apparel designs and mockups. Fabric was pliable enough for two pockets— one for a Swiss army knife, and one for a penlight.

Soon Amy and her spring line would be on display. Naked. Judged. How would Kira react to the newspaper photo? How would any of the RSI executives react to a maniac?

Not knowing how long the meet-up would take, she pulled into a parking garage, pulled up to the attendant’s office, and paid him fifteen dollars. She rolled her materials in a small crate on wheels. Footsteps with a brisker pace than hers sounded behind her. She panted with a sudden memory of the Harp Hotel parking structure and scooted between two cars. The footsteps stopped and muffled conversation could be heard. She hardly seemed to breathe. People past her having a conversation about where they’d parked. Keys sounded in a lock, and a car retreated down the ramp. She needed a breath. Uneasy, she peeked from behind her hair and hurried down the ramp with her materials. Fear lifted when she spotted Kira Radner’s address on a building across the street. Her fifth floor loft served as her office.

Amy navigated her crate off the elevator and made her way past several presenters who were departing. Appointments were staggered. Amy signed in. Chairs were arranged in a semi-circle. Kira and decision-makers from Recreational Sportswear, Incorporated sat behind a table. Amy took a seat. Some persons around the half circle held baffled expressions. She’d been in the news.

A young male designer put his Beach Collection on display, and an RSI person said, “This isn’t what I envisioned,” and then turned to Kira and gave it the curse of I’ll know it when I see it.

Kira nodded and then focused on the rejected designer with an encouraging smile. “You’ve worked hard for a long time. Give your functionality a flirty touch. Head back to the drawing board. Come back next season.”

One by one, other designers put themselves on the line. The name of the game included bashed egos, tight budgets, and frustration.

One more designer was up before Amy had her chance to present.

“That’s a go,” a woman on the panel said.

“Looks good.” Kira echoed the popularity of a designer’s canvas totes. “Two handle lengths, different sizes. They like the monogram option in script. Classy touch.”

The designer said, “Thank you.”

“Amy Kintyre,” an RSI executive said. “Weeks ago, Kira showed us your hiking shorts design. The smooth pocket carries a Swiss army knife, is that correct?”

Amy stood and walked forward with a mockup. “I’ve added a second pocket for a penlight.”

Kira added, “Her work is top-notch.”

Amy cleared her throat, unable to comprehend if RSI found the shorts design edgy. After all, tools can be weapons.

“We saw that in a newspaper photo,” Kira said.

A cold knot formed in her stomach, and she didn’t reply.

Another RSI executive said, “To think this appeared in a newspaper column! Your pocket with the pocket knife!”

Kira said, “Free promotion? That’s good, right?”

“The shorts are a go, Amy Kintyre. Kira will be in touch.”

“Thank you.” Amy looked at Kira. A smile tugged at the buyer’s mouth. Kira was a deal-maker she trusted.

Kira stood up. “
Wearing shorts beyond hiking has never looked more appropriate. There’s a rise in the post-workout look. Leggings under those shorts can be worn with a fancy, fur vest for lunch with friends.”

Amy slipped out with the others and hoped active sportswear did become part of the global fashion market.
Similar to the fashion industry, life changes were inevitable.

Going down the elevator, she sent a text message to Gram. “Finn might arrive before me. I’m on my way. Love you.”

Would Finn always be first? Would she give up too much for him?

* * *

Finn took the turn off Cherry Avenue and pulled up to Amy’s grandparents’ home. Theirs was a single story with old-growth trees. The narrow street wound around a weedy island. The place Amy used to call home was cracked stucco with a dirt lawn. The sagging porch held a worn plaid sofa that Toughie wouldn’t sit on.

Amy created memories here with her family. Good or bad, her home was where the most beautiful woman in the world materialized.

Finn grew up in a similar dump before his mother took off with Aidan Rourke. His mother, ready to swing, hit the disco. She believed in free love and shook the tambourine. As her alcoholic years went on, she became a lesser version of her former self.

He’d never trade his ordinary home with Papa for his mother’s Beverly Hills mansion. He and Amy were both raised in modest circumstances. Getting out of his car, he noticed the cracked foundation.

Amy pulled to the curb behind him, and he waved.

“Oh my gosh, RSI bought my line.” Ecstatic, she jumped into his arms.

“I’m proud of you, babe. Are you going to quit working at Smithson?” He didn’t care what she did. “You’re going to be my wife. You’re in charge.”

She gave him that you’re-so-funny look. “Granddad decided to rebuild the front porch. He’s Scottish.”

“Penny-wise and pound-foolish?”

“Barry told me Granddad bought used lumber. Salvaged from a pier fire.” She laughed in spite of the humiliation of having lived in this place.

“That explains the warped and charred boards.” He stopped talking when her grandparents appeared at the door.

“Please come inside.” Her sweet-faced grandmother wore a housedress. Granddad grinned and motioned them inside.

Amy, perfectly at ease, hugged them, introduced him to them, and accepted everything as normal. Nothing needed to be fixed. This was her family.

Barry appeared. “Hey, Finn. Heard about your GTO.” He sounded like the sane person of the clan.

“It belonged to my dad,” Finn said as they walked into their very small living room. “I want to marry your granddaughter.”

Gram clasped her hands to her heart. “You just know when it’s right.”

Granddad cleared his throat. “You’re going to have to take our whole family. We plan to be in your lives.”

Finn noticed the boxes. “Are you moving?”

Barry chuckled. “Moving truck is coming next Monday. We’re moving to Amy’s condo.”

Grandma turned to Finn. “Do you expect Amy to give up her fashion designing?”

Finn put his hands on his waist. “No, I want her to be happy. She wants me to be happy, too. That might mean I jump into fires now and then.”

“I can imagine,” Granddad said. “You get a little bored with the corporate stuff. It’s dry.”

“We’ll figure out our lives as we go along.” Finn felt a warm charge in the air. His gaze locked on Amy’s, her topaz-green eyes intense and patient. His ship docked with a future bound for opportunities.

She smiled up at him, and he reveled in the promise of love and life.

Chapter Fourteen

The three grooms were a hundred percent behind the idea of getting married on a pontoon, but Finn wasn’t sure the younger two brides were overjoyed.

Cassidy shook her head and turned to Amy. “Where are we going?” She pulled her wrap tight, obviously cold.

“Straight across the lake.” Amy peered across the waves bathed in rays and dark shadow. Lightening flashed over the mountains followed by thunder.

Dolly came between the younger brides, put her arms around them. “Enjoy yourselves. You won’t drown. Your hair won’t get wet under this canopy.” She spoke with a finality that was absolute.

“You’re right, Dolly.” Amy smiled. “Everything looks beautiful.”

“This pontoon cleaned up nice.” Cassidy straightened an askew folding chair, and the sound scraped on the wood. “Nautical décor never goes out of style.” The brides shared fixed glances for a moment.

This was Dolly’s wedding. She arranged the pontoon. True to Papa’s warning, Dolly was particular. Her interest in detail paid off. A podium sat on creamy carpet, starfish and straw ribbons graced folding chairs, and orange and buttery colored flowers surrounded a tulle covered altar. A curling breeze moved scattered rose petals.

“Hold tight,” Papa said. “Hope Sweet Pea doesn’t get seasick.”

Now with cables and ropes untied, marina employees shoved off the wedding party on the fanciest pontoon he’d set eyes on. It came with all of the bells and whistles of a man cave.

The boat wobbled as Amy’s grandparents, brother Barry, and Dolly’s niece, Georgia, climbed the ladder to the astroturfed upper deck. Barry was singing the song, Pontoon. “Party in slow motion, out here in the open, Mmm…motorboatin’.”

Above them, Finn heard the cracking, the opening of beer cans. For later, champagne was on ice in the cooler.

Here they were on the pontoon. Three grooms and three brides holding bouquets, gathered on the Saturday evening during Trout Days.

Amy leaned against him. “We’re lucky it’s not snowing. Mild for November.”

“Temperature’s warmer today than in Ireland.” He’d bought two tickets.

“Ireland?” She chirped with enthusiasm.

He held her in a hard hug, then looked down into her eyes. “Malahide Village is forty-one degrees Fahrenheit. We’ll buy fisherman sweaters at the Dublin Airport.”

“I’ve always wanted a cable-knit. I studied the Aran sweater in a class. It’s linked to clans and their identities.”

“ That’s right, worn by fisherman. Come here, fishy, fishy,” he said. There was something he needed to take care of in Ireland, the homeland of the Donahues.

Amy reached up to cup his cheek in her palm. “We’re honeymooning in a quaint fishing village?”

He sat in a chair and pulled her onto his lap.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and then smoothed her hands down his arms. “We didn’t have a lot of time to plan our wedding venue. Getting married on a pontoon is unique.”

“What about the honeymoon, babe?” He looked at her and the love shining in her eyes. When should I tell her about a side trip?

She brought her lips close to his ear. “Planning to visit the bank in Dublin?”

“Uh huh.”

“Dublin?” Papa said. “Malahide Village won the Tidy Town Competition.”

“Imagine that,” Cassidy said with a quizzical jutting of the eyebrows.

Seated beside Papa, Dolly balanced his portable oxygen tank between them. “My honey likes being out on the water.”

His dad leaned toward her. “The best times of my life were spent fishing. Are you comfortable, sweetheart?”

“Absolutely.” Dolly grinned. “These cushioned seats are deluxe with storage underneath. Not to mention the upper level.”

Sitting opposite of the elderly couple, Cassidy brushed her hand over Spencer’s. “Maybe we need a pontoon.”

It took a moment before Spencer replied. “These boats aren’t made to go fast. Cruising speed is around twenty-five.”

“Perfect speed for us old timers.” Papa glanced downward. Dolly’s buff cocker spaniel sat at her feet. “Safe for pets.”

Sweet Pea lifted a leg and dampened his little red life jacket.

Papa chuckled. “Sweet P-E-E.”

Dolly kissed her groom’s cheek and then looked at Spencer. “You two are welcome to fish with us anytime. Drive, too.”

Spencer said, “Driving, that’d be fun. Docking a pontoon is another matter!”

“You’re going to have to drive it, Mick.” Dolly turned toward the stern where the hired captain held the wheel.

“I am?” Finn’s dad beamed with excitement and put his arm around his bride. “The boat rental people might not let me.”

“This pontoon is my wedding present to us.” Dolly kissed her groom. “Tomorrow we’ll go fishing!”

Mick said, “Now that’s a perfect honeymoon.”

“Very cool,” Amy said and looked at Cassidy and Spencer. “Where are you two heading?” Waves from another boat rolled their way.

“We’re doing a cruise package.” Spencer pulled Cassidy close, and they rocked back and forth until the waves subsided. “Champagne breakfast in bed, spa treatments, and dinners in specialty restaurants.”

“Pink champagne all the way to Honolulu and back.” Cassidy melted into him.

Finn wanted to pinch himself. So far their triple wedding on the pontoon, bought by Dolly, was damn magnificent. The three brides looked lovely. Dolly wore ice blue, Cassidy wore blush pink, and Amy wore ivory. They were about to say their vows to three men in rented tuxes. Lights strung around the pontoon glowed and reflected on water like mercury.

“Hmm,” Amy said. “Looks like the pastor is about to officiate.” The saxophonist, Ted Meyer from Los Angeles, brought the ceremony to life with Here Comes the Bride.

Dolly stood, carrying Mick’s oxygen tank, and he took her arm. “Dolores, you’re giving me a whole new life.”

“You love me, and I love you.” Dolly gave him a smile.

This was all Finn ever wanted for Papa. A woman who was settled, smart, and stable. He tipped his head toward Amy’s and whispered, “For us it was lust at first sight. Desire for you will never go away.”

“We have many years ahead of us,” she said. “Time to laugh. Time just to be together. You brought hope back to me.”

“Someday,” he said, “we’ll start a family. Dolly and Papa want to be grandparents.”

“We do,” Dolly said.

“Maybe a bun is in the oven.” Papa gave Dolly a nudge.

“Folks, let’s hold off on procreation. We haven’t started saying vows yet.” The pastor gazed around at the chatty group.

Finn took out a pen and tapped the side of his drinking glass.

The pastor lifted both arms. “Okay, friends. Let us begin.” He focused on Dolly. Vows were exchanged, couple by couple.

Finally it was Finn’s turn, and he said, “I, Finbar Michael Donahue, take you, Amy Isle Kintyre, to be my lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.”

Amy kissed her groom, and the ceremony went to completion.

“This is our day,” Cassidy said. “We can celebrate our anniversaries together.”

“Time for a toast,” Spencer said.

With his arm around Dolly, Papa moved in close. Sweet Pea barked.

Georgia, Barry, and Amy’s grandparents walked around the pontoon pouring glasses of champagne.

Papa lifted his glass. “To happiness. To forever.”

“To all of us.” Amy clicked her glass against each and every newlywed.

The three brides tossed their bouquets in the air. Georgia, a single guest, leaped with desperation.

Barry said, “You caught every single one.”

In Amy’s ear, Finn whispered, “Georgia tripled her chance of a proposal.”

“From Barry.” She swayed a little when the pontoon changed direction. The bow pointed toward the Harp Hotel-on-the-lake They skimmed toward the shore. Byron and Bayliss stood at the end of the dock, poised to host a reception.

As the pontoon docked, bonfires lit up the lawn. Finn grabbed Amy and pulled her close. “
Honey. You’re a sport with the reception in the conference room,” Finn said.

“Nah, it’s cool. Georgia spoke to me.” She planted a kiss on his lips, Around the lake bonfires lit the night. “There must be hundreds of bonfires.”

“The community is celebrating solidarity and end of the Takbir, at least here,” Finn said.
With voting taking place within two days, Sheriff McGill issued invitations to the entire town but made it a potluck.

“Look,” Amy said, “There’s Bayliss with Avery. Vivienne, and Tori coming onto the dock.” She saw head accountant Brad with his arm around his wife, Mirelle, and their little ones. Behind them, standing with his wife, Peter Thomas Roth winked.

Finn said, “Looks like my cousin made it. Grady Fletcher. We served together in Iraq.”

He snapped his head toward his dad. “Papa, can you handle meeting the Rourke kids?”

“Of course. They’ve been through a lot.” In his arms, Papa held Sweet Pea. “My wife will know what to say. I’ll follow her lead.”

Dolly laughed. “Mick, you drive me crazy.” Her voice softened. “With you, life became more fun.”

“Great to hear, Dolly.” Finn nuzzled Amy’s cheek. “Let’s go celebrate.”

Amy paused. “I love you, Finn.” She smiled and lifted her face for his kiss.

He kissed her. “I love you, too, Mrs. Donahue.”

Their honeymoon had a dual purpose, mind-shattering pleasure combined with a search for Aidan Rourke, the man who stole his mother.

After their wedding reception, he and Amy took the red-eye to Dublin. “We aren’t
champions for upright sleeping. Red-eye is synonymous with misery.”

“Trading a bed for an airline seat is a downgrade,” she said, “but the upgrade is getting there fast. I downloaded travel books to the Emerald Isle.”

“For me, it’s sweet dreams,” Mrs. Donahue.

Turned out, his night passed in a blur, and they landed. The
diesel fumes of the airport didn’t smell like suffocating smog. The pungent scent jolted his curiosity over Rourke’s bank account.

Malahide Village was a ten-minute drive from the airport and had ferry connections. Around midnight, the gracious hosts at the Biscayne Bed and Breakfast gave advice and where to eat, places to see, and even public transport. Finn thanked them for the warm welcome and shook their hands.

“These folks are courteous. I can’t believe the extra time they took.”
She grabbed her bag and took the arm he extended.

“Did I tell you how beautiful you look on my arm?” Seeing her smile warmed him all over.

She paused. “I have an Irish last name now. I want to be Irish. Give me a tip.”

“Papa says you can’t rush the Irish. They work hard but make time for friends and family. They visit at a pub, linger over tea, or just chat on the corner.”

“Less stress and closely knit families.” She smoothed a hand over her oatmeal cable-knit sweater.

The dining room was open. Finn double-ordered baked potato soup and sandwiches with shredded corned beef, fancy mustard, and shredded cabbage in a light vinaigrette. “Iced tea, not beer,” he said. “Please charge our room.”

Amy chatted up a storm on the topic of sheep grazing in the countryside and the brown wool of their sweaters. “Guess what I read? These sweaters are knit in a mill beside the River Gweestin.”

Her miracle of information made him bark a laugh. “Given your history as a clothing designer, I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Have you been to County Kerry?”

He nodded. “We’ll take the scenic route, Mrs. Donahue. You’ll love the rugged coastline and mountains.”

She smiled and bent forward. “Never had such delicious food. With the seven-hour time difference, I really need to sleep.” Amy swallowed the last bite of crust. “It’s nighttime.”

“It was your choice to read on our ten-hour flight, Mrs. Donahue. Unlike you, I’m bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.” He took her hand. “How about this. You head to our room. Sleep. I’ll be back in four hours.”

“Here I thought you were thinking dirty thoughts.” She blushed, tossed her fair hair back.

“I am,” he said, “but this time, bad has to do with an Irish gang and their followers.”

“You can’t leave me behind.” She threw her napkin at his head.

He caught it, folded it, and left a tip.

Outside the fresh, salty smell of the ocean hung in the air. Seagulls screamed, waves crashed. Together they walked toward the ferry and boat rental shops.

She looked at him vacuously. “Where are we headed on our moonlit stroll?”

“Aidan Rourke’s newly purchased home.”

Amy looked at him for a moment. “It’s around here?”

“To get there, I leased a boat. The owner has one craft left.”

“What is it?” she asked.

“A twelve-foot open dory with an outboard motor,” he said. “Not as luxurious as the pontoon. It will suffice.”