Irish Sex Fairy

Chapter Nineteen

The next night when she got home from work, she decided after she’d parked her car she’d walk to the ice-cream store on the corner and get ice cream for dinner. When you lived alone, that was completely acceptable.

She made her purchase of a carton of dulce de leche, her absolute fav, and started strolling back toward her apartment building. It was dark already, because she’d stayed late at work to review some reports that she needed to be up to speed on for a meeting tomorrow.

Footsteps crunched behind her, and she glanced over her shoulder, because a girl on her own in a big city couldn’t be too careful, not because she was paranoid. Well, maybe just a tiny bit. Maybe it would take a long time to get over some of the aspects of the post-traumatic stress. Maybe she’d never get over them.

She sighed and shifted her purse over her shoulder, reaching for her keys as she neared the entrance to the building, her heart speeding up just a bit. Once inside the security system of the building, she’d be fine.

She unlocked the door and shifted her ice cream to pull it open but the door swung wide as if it had blown open. She almost stumbled at the unexpected loss of weight in her hand, and then a body pressed up close behind her.

Her heart jerked in her chest, then thudded. What the hell? She whirled around, ready to give someone hell for bashing into her, but froze when she saw who it was.

Shane ambled into his parents’ house and headed to the refrigerator. He hoped they had beer. They always had whiskey, but not always beer. But then again, maybe he was in a whiskey mood.

Yeah. He turned from the fridge and sought out a glass. The bottle of Jameson’s sat on the counter.

“Shane, what are you doing here?” His mom walked into the kitchen.

He shrugged. “Thought you might need some things done around the house.”

“Oh.” She tipped her head. “Well. I don’t think so. Not at the moment.”

‘How’s Da?”

“He’s fine. He’s sitting out back. Enjoying the last of the evening.”

Huh. Shane took his glass of whiskey and wandered out the patio doors. An image of him and Keara out here flirting blinded him. He shook his head. “Hey, Da. How’s it going?”

His dad looked up in surprise from the book he was reading. “Shane, me boy. What are you doing here?”

Shane grunted. They’d both asked him that. Nice greeting. “Jesus. I can’t just drop by?”

“Well, sure and you can, we love to have you.”

“I thought you might have some things for me to do. Something to fix. What about that lawnmower? Wasn’t it acting up?”

“I took it to Precision Motors and they fixed it.”

“Oh.” Shane frowned. “I could have done that.”

“I know. But you were busy last weekend with Keara, so I just took it in.”

“How’d you get it there?”

“Your mother and Jeff across the street helped me. It was easy.”

“Oh.” He gulped some throat-searing Jameson’s.

He gazed out at the yard, the lush carpet of green and luxuriant beds of flowers and shrubs. The setting sun saturated the greens and reds and yellows with rich light, and cast long shadows.

“What’s wrong?”

Shane looked at his dad “What? Nothing.”

His dad rolled his eyes. “That was the deepest sigh I’ve ever heard.”

He hadn’t realized he’d sighed.

“You’re all mad ouva.”

“No, I’m not.” And it was sad that he even understood his old man’s Irish brogue. Mad out of it. Out of his mind.

“About Keara. Because she’s gone.”

Shane shook his head and downed the whiskey.

“Here’s to women’s kisses.” His dad held up his nearly empty glass. “And to whiskey, amber clear; not as sweet as a woman’s kiss, but a darn sight more sincere!”

Shane gave a crooked smile.

“Not funny?” His dad shook his head. “Didn’t she do the same as Trista? Women.”

“Keara’s not like Trista. She had to go.”

“Ah. You’ve got it bad, boy.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Jaysus, boy, don’t been an eejit.” His dad scowled. “If you want her, go get her.”

Shane shook his head morosely. “She doesn’t want me.”

“The hell she doesn’t. I saw the way she looked at you. Maeve thinks she’s in love with you.”

Shane’s head jerked up. “She does? Why?”

His dad shrugged. “Ask her. Better yet, ask Keara.”

“She’s not here.”

“Ever hear of a phone?”

Shane snorted, looked out at the yard. Yeah, he could call her. But for what?

“She’s gone back to LA. Her big important career is there.” Even he could hear the bitterness in his voice. “And my life is here.”

“What’s here?” his father demanded. “You couldn’t get a job as a cop in LA?”

“You and Ma are here.”

He felt the burn of his father’s stare and slowly turned and looked at him. “What?”

His father’s scowl unnerved him just a bit. The man had had a stroke but Shane could still remember his father physically taking him down when he’d been a snotty teenager. He was still his father.

“Don’t be telling me you gave up a sweetheart like Keara because you wanted to stay here with us. Jaysus.”

“Da. You need me. You want to stay in the house as long as you can, but it’s too much for you alone.”

His dad cursed again. “I can’t fecking believe it. You fecking mongo sap.”

Shane winced and wished for more whiskey.

“Hell yes, we like to have your help. And we like to have you around. But we could manage without you.”

Shane stared at his father’s pale blue eyes, snapping and lively.

“Your mother and I have been talking about moving to that new seniors’ complex over by the river,” he continued. “Betty and Dougal are there. And others we know. It’s a nice place and we think we’d enjoy it.”

“What?” Shane sat back in his garden chair. “The seniors’ complex?”

“Yes. Why not? It’s time.”

“But…the house.” Shane waved a hand. “The yard. You love your yard.”

“I do. But…” He sighed. “I can’t expect you to keep helping me with it forever. Those apartments have a nice little patio and I could plant some pots…that’s enough for me these days.”

“Are you serious?” Shane shook his head. “You’re just saying that.”

“No, Shane, me boy.” His dad tipped his head and smiled. “You can still visit us there.”

Shane nodded. “Wow.” He stared again into the distance. “How long have you been thinking about this?”

“A while.”

Maybe he could have gone to LA with Trista. Bah. Her memory flicked in and out of his head so quickly it barely registered. Thank God he hadn’t gone to LA with Trista. He’d thought he’d been broken-hearted when she’d left, but it had been nothing like what he felt now.

Keara. His chest ached.

“Shane. When Trista left…we figured you wanted to stay here. And you got over her pretty quick, so we thought it all worked out for the best.”

Shane nodded and looked down into his empty glass.

“But don’t do it again. If you love Keara, for God’s sake, go to her. If it means moving away from here, so be it. No offence to your ego, but we’ll live without you. Maybe you could visit once in a while.”

Shane’s throat tightened. He pushed out his mouth as he regarded his father. “You’re serious. I can’t believe this.”

“Shane.” His mother’s soft voice spoke from the French doors to the house. “We love you. We never intended for you to sacrifice your life for us. We never expected that.”

“I’m not sacrificing my life,” he growled. “You’re my parents. It’s what I’m supposed to do.”

His parents smiled at each other. “We did a fine job of raising him, don’t you think?” Ma said.

“Too damn fine.”

“It breaks my heart to think that you let Keara go because of us,” she said to Shane.

“I didn’t let her go,” he snapped. “She left and I couldn’t stop her.”

“Did you try?”

He bent his head and rubbed his mouth.

“You didn’t even try,” she said. “You are a fecking eejit.”

“Ma!”

She laughed. “Maybe if you’d just asked her, she’d have stayed.”

“No.” He knew she had to go back. He understood why. He knew she had to prove something. Mostly to herself. He got that. But…

He looked up at his mother.

She hitched a shoulder. “We want you to be happy, a chroí. You’re not happy right now. I’ve never seen you so miserable.”

He wanted to deny it. But the words choked in his throat. Christ, he was lucky to have parents like these. He’d damn near driven them insane as a teenager, but their unconditional love had turned him into a man. A man with a sense of duty and responsibility. Only, now they were cutting him loose. They didn’t even need him anymore.

Keara stared at the dull metallic gleam of a gun.

A gun. All she could think was—a gun. Another freaking gun.

Adrenaline slammed through her bloodstream and she lifted her eyes and stared into the shadowed face. The man grabbed hold of her arm, and it would have hurt except for the thick fabric of her jacket. He yanked her closer, the gun pressed to her side.

Jesus. Jesus and Mary. What the hell was happening to her now?

He wasn’t tall, only about six inches taller than her, and not a big guy, but damn, he didn’t need to be big when he was holding a gun on her. His black hoodie draped over slim shoulders and the hood shaded his face so she couldn’t see it.

She tried to scream but it came out as a croaking cry. She glanced wildly around the lobby, but there was no one else there. Security cameras. But who the hell was watching them.

“Shut up,” he snarled, jerking her again and she made another pathetic noise.

“What do you want?” She’d give him her purse. That’s what you were supposed to do.

“Upstairs. Into your apartment. Now.”

He shoved her over to the elevators and stabbed one of the buttons. Her legs felt rubbery, like they didn’t belong to her, her entire body shaking like Jell-O What was he doing? Dear God, was he going to rape her? This could not be happening.

“I have money,” she told him, voice quavery. “You can have it all.”

He laughed. Laughed!

The elevator pinged and the doors slid open. Please, please let someone be inside.

Her prayers were not answered. He thrust her into the empty car and stepped in after her. He jabbed the button to the third floor.

Her eyes flew open wide and she stared at him. “Who are you?” she demanded. “How do you know what floor I live on?”

He didn’t answer. The gun gleamed in his hand. She wanted to sink to the floor and cover her head and disappear. What was happening? Thoughts spun uselessly in and out of her head. She was going to be raped. Maybe even killed. And for what? What?

The ride was far too short, and he grabbed her and pushed her down the hall to her apartment door. Her hands shook so hard she couldn’t get the key into the lock and he gave a low growl of impatience that made her shake harder. Her heart banged in her chest. Maybe if she couldn’t get the door open, someone would come out, her nosy neighbor or the man next door that she hardly ever saw, and barely knew, but hell, he’d help her, wouldn’t he…

“Oh for Chrissake, give me the key.” He shoved it into the lock and the door fell open. Damn, damn, damn.

She had to think, think clearly. What did she have in her apartment that could be a weapon? Her Henckels knives sitting in the block on the counter. All the way across in the kitchen. Maybe she could get there. Her eyes swiveled around the room. The lamp might work. The wrought iron base wasn’t too heavy, but…how was she going to get it?

He pushed her down onto the couch.

She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering and quaking. And then the first flashback hit. Her, on the floor in the bank, with Gary pointing a gun at her.

She blinked.

She stared at the man before her, who’d taken a step back.

“What do you want?” she asked again, striving for composure. Control.

He sat down on one of her armchairs. She gaped at him.

“Make yourself at home,” she snapped. “What is going on here?”

He leveled the gun at her. She knew nothing about guns, but it looked lethal, the black hole of the barrel staring at her.

She swallowed, her throat tight and dry.

“Tell me what you want,” she said again, stronger. “I’ll see if I can give it to you.”

“You can’t give me what I want,” the man said. His voice sounded young but she still couldn’t see his face well.

And then the second flashback slammed into her. A man walking into Maeve’s shop, a black hoodie pulled over his head. A dark shrouded shape at the bottom of the stairs that Shane tried to grab.

Her mouth fell open. No. It couldn’t be.

“Who are you?”

He gave a sick-sounding laugh.

Frustrated, she pressed her lips together. She started to sit up, but the gun moved. She watched the opening of it, remembering her nightmare, ready to fall apart. But she didn’t. She sat up straighter. She’d gotten through this once before, somehow. She could do it again. If only she knew what he wanted. She remembered the police negotiators talking to Gary in the bank. She could only hear his side of the conversation, but she’d gotten some of what they were doing. Making a connection. Asking him what he wanted. Trying to give it to him.

“What happened to you to make you do this?” she whispered. She had no idea if she was asking the right question.

“What happened to me? How about, what happened to my dad?”

“Your dad?” Bewildered, she squinted at him, still trying to see his face. “Do I know your dad? Do I know you?”

He shoved his hood back. A kid. Early twenties. Dark hair. She didn’t know him.

“My dad was Gary Jarvis.”