The Wicked Bad (Crimson Romance) (20 page)

“I thought I was once, even had a quickie Vegas marriage. I was so wrong. It’s nothing like I feel for Nick. Nothing.”

“Nick is not an easy man, but stick with him, you won’t be sorry,” Lorcan soothed.

“Thank you, Lorcan, for everything.”

He pulled into her small parking lot.

“Will you come in? I’ll make tea or coffee, I have fresh baked goods.”

Lorcan looked at the large front display window. Julie stood, watching them. As soon as their eyes met she walked away. Jaysus, why did he even care what this Julie thought of him? What in hell did he do or say for her to treat him with such scorn? Anyway, he had an errand to run, an important one.

“Cheers, darlin’. I’ll take a rain check. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Veronica climbed out of the Navigator and waved as she headed for the front door of the bakery.

Lorcan took one last look at the large window. He took his sunglasses from the visor and put them on. Julie stood off to one side still watching him, no doubt thinking he couldn’t see her. Perhaps she was not as uninterested as she let on. She was not the type he usually went for. Yet, there was — something. Every time their paths crossed his gaze was drawn to her. He couldn’t explain why and he spent a few sleepless nights trying to work it out. He shook his head and peeled out of the parking lot leaving a trail of rubber in his wake. He had bigger fish to fry.

Ten minutes later, he arrived across town at the rented rooms his cousin, Ronan McCarthy, resided. He knew he would still be here as he didn’t go into the club until six o’clock. Lorcan took the stairs two at a time, then pounded on the door. Muffled music played inside so the bastard was in there. He pounded harder.

“Open up, Ronan, now!”

The door opened and Ronan snarled, “What the feck?”

Lorcan pushed past him. “Pack your bags, you gobshite.”

“Not a bloody chance, cousin.”

Lorcan strode to the dresser and pulled Ronan’s clothes out and tossed them at him.

“Pack, now. You’re going back to Dublin.”

Ronan laughed. “Why? Old man De Luca not happy with me?”

Lorcan kept emptying the drawers, slamming them shut as he did.

“I’m not happy with you, mate. You set fire to that bar, The Chief. I know your black soul. Get out. I’m giving you the push.”

“You’ve no proof, and you’ve no authority over me,” Ronan sneered.

Lorcan turned and took three giant strides toward his cousin. Lorcan was close to five inches taller so he glared down at him then grabbed him by the scruff of the throat and pushed him up against the wall.

“Aye, I do. All the authority I need. Go back home and I’ll not tell De Luca what you did. You know how he feels about going off the reservation.”

Ronan struggled under Lorcan’s tight grip. “He won’t believe you.”

“Oh aye, he will. I’m his little pet. He’ll believe me sure as shite.” Lorcan gripped tighter.”Why, what was the reason, some cheap thrill? Decided to add arsonist to your long, sick list?”

Ronan smiled a cruel, smug grin. “He pissed me off, that biker scum. He deserved it. He was in my book. You’re going to be there and all.”

Lorcan’s blood boiled. He only had his gut saying it was Ronan. Now, turned out his gut was right. What should he do, call the coppers? There was no real proof. Besides, this rested on him, never should have brought Ronan. Also, for good or ill, Ronan was family. Getting him the hell out of town seemed to be the only answer. He and his cousin were the same age, grew up together. They had been involved in criminal activities since they sprouted hair on their clackers. They really weren’t close; no one ever managed to get close to Ronan. The man had no humanity. He pulled Ronan from the wall and threw him across the room.

“Pack, I’m taking you to the airport. You’re leaving now and you are never to return. Any money owed, I’ll send along when you send me proof you’re back in Dublin. Proof of an address with your name on it. I want Auntie Vera calling me saying you’re sitting at her table eating biscuits and drinking tea, you follow?”

Ronan’s eyes narrowed, his face showing pure hate.

“Aye, I follow.”

• • •

Veronica walked into her bakery. The burning sensation in her eyes became worse, no doubt from lack of sleep. Julie smiled and pointed toward the back.

“Your brother, Tyler, just arrived. He’s in your apartment.”

Veronica smiled wearily, “Thanks Julie, for everything.”

Julie shrugged and returned her smile. “What are friends for?”

Veronica tossed her purse on the chair. There sat Tyler, his long legs out straight and crossed at the ankles, his hands behind his head. Soft music played from the TV.

“You got satellite TV, cool.” Tyler stood and held out his muscular arms. He hugged her close. “I heard about Crocetti’s bar,” he whispered, his hand soothing her hair. “How is he?”

Veronica wiped a few wayward tears from under her glasses.

“A few first degree burns, a bad second degree burn on his arm. Oh Tyler, it could’ve been much worse. If his friend Lorcan Byrne hadn’t arrived when he did, who knows? I shudder to think.”

“Byrne, when did he and Nick become buddies?” Tyler asked.

She stepped back and looked at her brother. “You know Lorcan Byrne?”

“He works for Vinnie De Luca,” Tyler said sternly.

“He runs his club, nothing else.”

“I’ll go see Nick tomorrow.”

Veronica cocked her head. “You know Nick? When, from school?”

“No, I stopped by his bar a week or two ago.”

“Oh, Tyler, you didn’t! Were you in cop mode? Oh no, you were!”

Tyler reached for her arm and pulled them to the sofa.

“Easy. It’s all right, we had a civilized conversation. Everything’s fine.”

Veronica sank back on the sofa and buried her head in her hands, her glasses going askew.

“Nick didn’t tell you I stopped by? Interesting. All right, I asked about his intentions.”

Veronica stood again. She glared down at him, her fists clenched. She straightened her glasses and huffed.

“I can’t believe you did that. What do you think this is, the Fifties?”

Tyler laughed. He reached for her arm again and pulled her back down.

“That’s just what Nick said. You guys seem to have a lot in common, righteous indignation at least. He told me to mind my own business. I’m sorry I went over there, but I don’t want to see you hurt. I love you, sis.” He pulled her into a rough, brother-type embrace. “You should get some sleep, Ronnie. You’re exhausted. I can see it in your face and hear it in your voice.”

She sniffled. “I am. Nick is coming to stay here with me so I can look after him.”

Tyler pulled back. “So this is serious?”

Veronica removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes in fatigue. “On my side it is. I love him so much, Ty. I told him so. And before you say anything, it’s nothing like William Titus, nothing. Not even close. I know what I’m feeling. I’m not confused or addled or on the rebound.”

Tyler laughed. “Okay. Fair enough.”

“I think I will go lie down, but Tyler, can you come back tomorrow? I want to move the TV in the bedroom. I need help with the wires and hook-ups and such. I want Nick to be able to relax and watch movies while he recovers.”

Tyler shook his head. “Sure, I’ll come back tomorrow. Wow, you and Nick Crocetti. Never would’ve believed it.”

Yes, her and Nick. It felt so right. So … real.

Three days later, Veronica pulled into the parking lot of The Chief. Boards covered the broken front windows. A huge closed sign hung above the oak door with reopening soon right underneath it. Nick received the report from the County Fire Marshall and thankfully his building was still structurally sound. Reinforcements would have to be put in place to come up to the current code, But, on the whole, he could move forward with the cleanup and renovations.

The next step was a matter of sorting out the insurance money, finding a contractor, and deciding what to do with the renovations. Nick mentioned he wanted the bar to look as close as it did before. First things first. Tomorrow he would be released from the hospital and coming home with her. Infection hadn’t seeped into his burns, thank god.

Veronica fished Nick’s keys out of her purse. She was here to fetch clothes for him and to check the condition of the upstairs living quarters. Nick was worried even though the Fire Marshall said the damage had been kept to a minimal. The fire had been contained downstairs.

She slipped the key into the steel door and her nostrils were slammed with the odor of stale smoke, burnt leather, and wood. She glanced up to the top of the stairs to Nick’s apartment. The door was closed. Maybe this fetid smoke smell didn’t make it upstairs.

Curiosity gripped her so she poked her head in the bar. What she observed broke her heart. Nick hadn’t seen it yet, he’ll be devastated. All the hard work he put into the bar, a lot of it by his own sweat and blood from what he’d told her. The old bar and matching pool table were ruined. Nick mentioned they were decades old, original to the bar from the turn of the last century. Also those wonderful old wood floors were totally destroyed.

The jukebox Nick carefully selected all the music for — toast. All the classic Indian Motorcycle prints and collectibles — unsalvageable. She felt tears burn in the back of her eyes. She would help him any way she could to get his bar back in tip-top shape and open for business as soon as possible.

She climbed the narrow stairs to his apartment. Slipping in the other key, she opened the door. The smell hit her — smoke. Damn. Her nose crinkled in protest. She moved room to room opening any windows she could to let fresh air in, at least as fresh an air as you could get in Rockland. The Fire Marshall was right, no damage. The smoke odor would take a few days of airing out. Perhaps a professional crew should come in and steam clean everything for good measure.

Veronica stepped into his bedroom. She glanced at the bed. Memories of the past Sunday night flooded her mind. Closing her eyes, a moan escaped her lips. She’d never forget the nights they had shared. Never.

Opening her eyes she moved to the bed, he’d changed the sheets. You could bounce a quarter off it. She cocked her head at the mismatched pillow cases. One of the cases belonged to the sheet set he had on the bed when she stayed over. She picked up the pillow and brought it to her nose. He hadn’t changed it because he wanted her scent close by. She hugged the pillow tight to her chest. A few tears escaped her eyes and rolled down her flushed cheeks. He did care and more than he’d let on.

She laid the pillow back on the bed then opened the closet and removed the duffle bag on the top shelf. The bag was right where he said it would be. She laughed softly. The closet was immaculate much like the rest of his apartment. Everything organized and orderly and he even had his shirts hanging according to color.

Tossing the duffle bag on the bed, she walked to the dresser and opened the drawers. Veronica giggled. The man even folded his boxer briefs. She grabbed a few pairs and threw them on the bed. Opening another drawer she found T-shirts, dozens of them, almost all of them black. She shook her head and tossed a few on the bed. Another drawer, this one was full of sweaters, all types and blends.
Why, Nick — you’re a bit of a clothes horse and a little anal about folding.
She smiled as she thought of her own dresser drawers. She stuffed her socks and underwear in a drawer until she could barely close it. Nick, no doubt, would be fussy over what laundry detergent to use and how many rinses each wash received. Wonder if he used dryer sheets? She lifted a sweater out of the drawer and brought it to her nose and inhaled. Pure, masculine Nick, he could bottle this and sell it. Women would go nuts, hell, they did already. If he used dryer sheets then it must be unscented ones. She couldn’t picture Nick wanting mountain spring rain scent on his clothes. He didn’t need it.

How long he would be staying with her, Veronica had no idea. Opening another drawer, there were all the jeans and the khakis. Her hand reached out and touched the black slacks. Wow, how these fit him. She tossed them on the bed along with a few pairs of jeans.

She quickly stuffed everything in the duffle bag. Socks. Where would they be? She walked back to the dresser and opened a smaller drawer. Her jaw dropped open then she laughed. Nick folded his socks. She loved him. Living with Nick should be an adventure if nothing else. Great sex, great brunches, but he seemed to be a touch anal about organization. She could live with it. A little improvement in the organization department would be welcome.

Veronica glanced around, where was his washer and dryer? He had to have one. She couldn’t picture Nick going to a laundromat using public machines, not if he was this careful with his clothes.

Glancing out into the hall, she noticed along one wall were folding doors. Veronica opened them. Above the washer a wire shelf held unscented dryer sheets and unscented, dye-free liquid detergent for sensitive skin. She giggled again, but closed the doors. Nick trusted her enough to give her his keys to his private sanctuary as he called it. She wouldn’t betray that trust by rummaging around his private space like a scavenger, at least no more than she’d done already.

She walked back into the bedroom. One thing she did notice, there wasn’t one photo of anyone in any room which made her sad. She had pictures in frames on the wall, in her living room, by her bed — Nick didn’t have one. His childhood really did suck. Well, she would make sure she and Nick made their own memories, enough to fill frames for every room.

Striding into his small bathroom, Veronica turned on the overhead light. As she noticed before, everything was neat and well organized. Open her medicine chest and Band-Aids and cotton balls would spill out on your head. Not Nick’s. She gathered toothpaste, toothbrush, deodorant, aftershave, and other essentials. She found a toiletry bag under the vanity and threw everything inside.

Snapping off the light, she placed the toiletry bag in the duffle, zippered it shut, and walked into the living room. Sitting down the bag, she inhaled deeply. The windows would have to stay open for three hours at least. She would return later and shut and lock them.