Liam: Branded Brothers (12 page)

“There’s only one kind of beer,” Ronan agreed, meeting
Liam’s hand in a hearty shake.

“See? Our Irish blood burns the brew,” Liam said to Charla. He
turned back to Ronan. “And I’m looking for a partner for my day job. I think
you’d fit the bill pretty damn well.”

“What’s that?” Ronan asked.

“I’m a bounty hunter,” Liam replied. “I could use a partner
every once in a while. It’d be safer. The money’s good, plus it’s a shit load
of fun.”

“A bounty hunter, huh?” Ronan’s eyebrows raised. “I usually
find myself on the other side of the law.”

“That’s the wrong side to be on,” Liam said. “You can’t make
money when you’re in jail.”

Ronan nodded his head before he let out a rough laugh. “Good
fucking point. I’m busy at the shop, but I’ll think about it if you’re
serious.”

“I’m serious,” Liam said. “I don’t let it interfere with my
bar, but it’s good to get your blood pumping every once in a while. The bar
doesn’t exactly do that for me, except for the occasional fight.”

“The Dirty Leprechaun…” Ronan’s face lit up in sudden
realization. “That’s where I met that blonde with the big tits and the…”

“Don’t finish that,” Charla interrupted, putting up her
hand. “No more blonde talk. I can’t take it anymore.”

Ronan and Liam broke out in laughter. Then Ronan turned
toward her with a calm face. “You just watch yourself around this guy.” He
clapped his hand on Liam’s back. “If he’s anything like me, he’ll break your
heart. He won’t mean it, but he will.”

***

“Come in for a little while. You
must be starving,” Liam said, turning to face Charla in the passenger seat.
They sat parked in the back alley of the Dirty Leprechaun. “I’ll make you
anything on the menu. We’re not a full-blown restaurant, but I make a mean wrap
and killer fried pickles.”

She sighed, feeling the empty pit in her stomach grumble.
She was starving, and the thought of Liam serving her up dinner was enticing.
She’d never had a man cook for her before and the fact that he was willing to
before they’d even gone on a date made her heart falter. But the boxes in Jack’s
cottage were calling her name. She’d made decent progress this morning. If she
went back now, she would have a few good hours of packing up the last of the
boxes. Then she’d only to bring the boxes to the donation center and haul the
furniture to the curb. And start job and apartment hunting.

And the basement,
she suddenly remembered. A shiver
ran down her spine.

“
Anything you want,” he repeated softly, leaning
toward her. “I’ll even wear an apron.”

“Well, in that case…” She smiled, relenting to the sweet
temptation of his eyes. “I’m in, but I should get back to the cottage after
dinner. I’ve got a ton to do.”

“I’ll take it.” He tapped the steering wheel and opened the
door. “But I don’t know why you’re so worried about cleaning that cottage up.
It’s not going anywhere.”

“It’s not the cottage,” she replied as she got out of the
car. She leaned over the top of the car to meet his gaze. “It’s me. It’s where
I’m going.”

“Oh yeah? And where’s that?” he asked, resting his arms on
the car like her.

“I don’t know yet, but it’s time to move on.” She slammed
the door shut. The soft thumping of music from the Dirty Leprechaun filled the
early night air. The heat was finally breaking, and she welcomed the breeze
that brushed against her bare skin. It was getting so damn hot in the car with
Liam.

“I like where your head’s at.” He shut his door and the car
chirped from his key fob. Then he opened the back door of the bar. “Head in and
take the door on the right into the kitchen.”

Charla ducked into the hallway and opened the door to the
kitchen. The sounds of clattering dishes and voices echoed through the space,
but she didn’t see anyone. Liam stepped in front of her and washed his hands at
a sink. Then he grabbed an apron off a rack to her right and whipped it over
his head, tying it loosely around his hips.

“Chef Liam at your service.” He held out his hands as if he
was presenting himself.

“Seriously, what don’t you do?” Charla laughed.

“Not much,” he replied, grabbing a menu from a holder on the
wall and handing it to her. “Except for cats. I don’t do cats. Or snakes.”

“I’m outta here.” She pretended to drop the menu on the
counter and turned to go.

Liam spun her around to face him. His face was serious and
his shoulders back, just like when he first confronted Ronan. It was his take-no-prisoners
face. “Not a chance. I got you this far. You’re going to eat some goddamn fried
pickles whether you like it or not.”

She nodded her head, feeling her knees go weak. “It works. I
don’t know how you do it. But that really works.”

“I know.” He grinned and dropped her arms. He spun around
and walked to the refrigerator. He began pulling out ingredients, stock piling
them on a stainless steel cart across from the stove and deep fryer.

“What can I help with?” she asked, walking over to the sink
to wash her hands.

“Nothing,” he replied. “This is my ‘thank you for coming
with me today.’ You get to sit back and enjoy.”

“I can help. I’m not that bad in the kitchen,” she replied,
drying her hands.

He set down a head of lettuce and looked at her. “Not that
bad didn’t cut it at Cecilia’s and it doesn’t cut it here.”

“What’s Cecilia’s?” She leaned up against the cart,
surveying all the ingredients he had gathered. She wondered what he could
possibly need with all of this food.

“It was my mom and dad’s restaurant, about five minutes from
here. Nice little Italian place. I spent my childhood helping them in the
kitchen, learned everything about sauces from my dad and bread from my mom. She
made the most delicious fire-roasted tomato bruschetta. And even though Mom was
Italian, Dad was Irish and always tried to sneak in some classic recipes like
Dublin Coddle and corned beef. They never let me forget who I was,” he said,
his eyes softening. He began chopping an onion, his hands moving quick with
efficient movements. “They sold the restaurant when I joined the Marines
because they didn’t have the energy to keep up with it anymore. Mom was in her
late seventies by then and Dad, he was early eighties. I’m glad they’re not
alive to see what Cecilia’s became. It’s some hole-in-the-wall taco bar now.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your parents. You didn’t have any
interest in staying back and taking over the restaurant?” she asked.

“I joined the Marines to make Dad proud and because of 9/11.
I felt like I had a duty to my country to serve,” he replied matter-of-fact as
he reached for a knife. He diced tomatoes faster than she’d ever seen. His
voice became quieter. “Which meant that I couldn’t serve my parents or my
wife.”

Charla was silent, listening to the click of the knife
against the wooden cutting board.

“But that’s in the past and today is the mark of a new
beginning,” Liam added as a man with curly brown hair walked through the door.

“Hey, Ted.” Liam waved the knife at him. “How’s the night
going?”

“Good,” Ted replied, wiping his hands on his apron before
lifting it over his head. He glanced at Charla with a puzzled look before
answering. “Busy for a Wednesday night.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Liam replied. “Everything all
right in the kitchen?”

“Yep, the food’s slowing down now so I should be able to
help Gina at the bar,” Ted replied, taking a second look at Charla. She
wondered if Liam had been honest about not dating anyone after his ex-wife. Ted
seemed surprised she was there.

“Charla, Ted.” Liam pointed the knife at her and then Ted.

“Hi,” Charla said with a small wave. Ted nodded his head in
return and shot her a quick smile.

“Ted, why don’t you bring Charla out to the bar,” Liam said.
“She can have a drink while she waits for the masterpiece to be prepared.”

“Let me guess. Cabbage wrap with fried pickles?” Ted asked.

“You got it,” Liam replied. “And if you’d pay closer
attention, you could do the same.”

Ted laughed and turned to Charla. “Come on.”

He led her through the door and into the noisy clatter of
the bar. He leaned over and said in her ear, “There’s an open spot over there.”
He pointed to the empty stool at the end of the bar.

She weaved through the crowd, surveying the scene. The bar
was alive with activity and people, mostly in their twenties and thirties. A
large crowd huddled around the pool table suddenly erupted in a buzz of cheers
and clapping. A woman walked up to a poster board tacked on the wall and marked
something down.
League night,
she thought. Liam definitely had the pulse
on his business. Within a few moments of sliding onto the seat, the bartender
appeared in front of Charla with a glass of red wine.

“Courtesy of the owner.” Gina flipped down a napkin and
placed the glass on it. She paused for a second, tucking a strand of dark brown
hair behind her ear and pushing up her black-rimmed glasses. “You must be
someone special. Liam never gives away free drinks.”

“Oh.” Charla shrugged her shoulders. “We just met.”

The bartender tilted her head, studying Charla a little
closer. Then she tapped the edge of the counter and smiled. “Enjoy your drink.”
Then she disappeared down to the other end of the bar, laughing as she filled
up a glass of beer from the tap.

Charla sipped on the wine, letting the warmth slide down her
throat and settle into her empty stomach. After a few sips, she already felt
the warmth cloud the rest of her body. She felt another low grumble in her
stomach just as Liam’s head popped through the door. His eyes scanned the bar
until they fell on hers. A surge of excitement coursed through her body.
Damn
it,
she scolded herself.
Don
’t let Liam get to you.

He weaved through the crowd and finally made his way to her
with two plates in his hands. He slid one in front of her and held the other.
He waved to Gina who promptly brought over a set of utensils and napkins.

“Looks delicious.” Charla admired the crisp light brown
color of the pickles and the sauce drizzled on the inside of the wrap. “Good
presentation.”

“Only the best,” Liam replied.

“I can move.” A middle-aged man wearing a camel bomber
jacket turned to her. He had straw-like hair and slight wrinkles at the corners
of his eyes. He grabbed his beer and started to stand as Liam clapped him on
the shoulder.

“Not a chance, Jerry,” he replied.

“Hey, Liam. I was looking for you,” Jerry said, turning
toward him. They exchanged a hard hand shake and smiles. “I heard you brought
Rich Horton in naked this morning.”

“You bet his sorry ass I did,” Liam replied. “I definitely
worked for my money this morning letting that guy sit naked in the van. Sheriff
Sullivan wasn’t too pleased to see him in that state, but we had a good laugh
about it afterward.”

“Never a dull moment,” Jerry replied, taking a drink.

“Never,” Liam said, turning to Charla. “Charla, this is
Jerry, my boss.”

“Nice to meet you, Charla,” Jerry said, nodding his head.

“As in your bounty hunter, boss?” she asked, taking a bite
of fried pickle.

Jerry laughed. “Yeah, something like that. I’m a bondsman.”
He leaned in closer and spoke quietly. “But if you tell anybody, I’d have to
kill you. I like to keep it on the down-low. You know, keep the bad guys at
bay.” Then he winked at her.

“Sure,” she replied, nodding her head. “Your secret’s safe
with me.”

“What do you need, Jerry?” Liam asked.

“I wanted to let you know I got a lead on someone,” he
started, darting his eyes around. “Someone big. The buzz is that he’s around
Blackwell. He’s someone the feds have been looking for a while. It’ll be a huge
pay day if we can get him.”

“How big we talking?” Liam asked.

“Huge.” Jerry’s eyes got wide. “Real huge. But he’s
dangerous, so we have to be careful. We have to make sure we got it locked
down. I want to send a team. This ain’t no naked Rich Horton. This is a serious
offender the feds have been screaming to catch. Ties with the mafia, drug
smuggling, you name it.”

Charla choked on her pickle at the mention of mafia. She
chewed feverishly and grabbed the napkin, holding it over her mouth. Then she
grabbed the glass of wine and took a swig, washing it down. She looked back at
the men, but they hadn’t noticed.

“You know I don’t work with anyone else,” Liam replied,
leaning in closer to Jerry.

“This ain’t a job for just one person,” he said, shaking his
head.

“Why don’t you just have Rick’s team do it? They got three
guys, right?” Liam asked. “You know I don’t like saying no to anything, but I
only work with people I trust.”

“I want you, kid,” Jerry said, pointing a finger into his
chest. Then he slipped his hand inside his jacket and pulled out a yellow
envelope. He shoved the envelope into Liam’s hand. “This is what I have so far.
You better get to trusting real fast because I don’t think he’s going to be in
town for long. Maybe only a couple days before he heads down to Mexico again.
I’m going to head out to do a little more research and recon work. I’ll call
you in the morning with what I have. You think about it, kid. I know you’re the
right guy for the job.”

Jerry chugged the rest of his beer and placed the empty
glass back on the counter with a clank. Then he stood up, grasped Liam’s bicep,
and added, “Sleep on it.”

“I will.” Liam nodded his head and held up the envelope
before tucking it in the back of his pants. “If it was anybody else, you know I
wouldn’t.”

“I know, kid.” Jerry turned to Charla. “Nice meeting you.
You take care of this kid, would ya?”

“After the conversation you just had, I think it’s the other
way around,” Charla replied, twirling her fork in the air. Jerry laughed and
gave a small wave before disappearing into the sea of people. A few moments
later, the door opened and closed.