Page 26 of Midnight Escape

“And, what’re you making?” He pointed to the pot she’d dumped cubes of meat into.

“A simple stew. I haven’t cooked it for you yet.”

He rubbed his belly but decided he wanted to have some fun with her since he hadn’t heard a little Irish rant in a few days. “Hm. Is it as good as your mom’s? Because she made the best Irish stew I’ve ever eaten.” He shook his head, watching the pink creep up her face. “No, I can’t believe anyone could cook it that well.”

For a moment, he wondered if he’d gone too far and insulted her, without her realizing he was joking. Before he could make that point clear, she turned the spoon on him and began to rant. Mostly in English, but some Irish and Gaelic slipped in.

His grin spread across his face, and his heart lightened. She was magnificent in beauty and spirit. He drank in everything about her.

She spoke rapidly, and he couldn’t keep up. He translated some of her Gaelic, although he wished he hadn’t been able to. “Ungrateful.” “Rat’s ass.” He hoped that meant she didn’t give a rat’s ass versus calling him that. “Poison.” That one made him a little nervous. He had to put an end to her tirade, but when he raised his hand to stop her, she just spoke faster, and her accent thickened, ending his ability to understand her words.

Ignoring her verbal assault, that he’d thought would’ve been joking back and forth, he stood, took the few steps to the refrigerator, and opened it. Like nothing was amiss, he asked, “Want something while I’m pouring?”

She stopped speaking as if just realizing he’d left the seat. When she didn’t answer immediately, he looked at her beyond the open refrigerator door and quirked an eyebrow in question. She glared at him with her hand on one hip and the spoon still pointing at him. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you? You, you—”

“Rat’s ass?” he finished for her and laughed until he saw her fighting a smile.

Her embarrassment was even more attractive than her raging.

He chuckled and winked at her. “I’m having sweet tea. Want some?”

Controlled, she turned back to the stove and stirred the meat. “Is that all they drink where you grew up in Georgia?”

“Hell, yeah,” he replied without a thought. “Want some?”

She wrinkled her nose. “I’d like a glass of wine.”

“Red or white?”

Her incredulous look made him want to laugh also. As he thought about it, since she’d moved in, he’d laughed more than he had in as long as he could remember. All he did was work and hang out with other agents. He’d avoided women because he tended to find the ones he couldn’t connect with and ones who became needy.

Bringing himself out of that morose thought, he wondered if she’d answered more than once. “Red, we’re having meat.”

Stupid statement, he also knew she’d stocked up with Irish wines. Every time they’d entered the Irish pub,Sláinte, he caught some silent communication with her and the owner. Not only had the man put her in contact with a store that carried fine Irish wines, but, because the owner referred her, her wine was delivered.

Danny knew she visited the bar when he’d had meetings and training. Having her country’s music, food, and togetherness seemed to help her acclimate. She’d kept to the area and didn’t balk at his security restrictions. They had no direct threat, but he’d purposefully omitted telling her about the men he’d hired to watch her, so she could feel independent but remain safe.

While the meal finished cooking, he pulled out his laptop and sat on the couch. It’d been a few days since he’d chatted with Justin. According to Justin, Boyle bought the fake deaths. The man hadn’t even choked up over his own daughter’s death. A daughter he’d loved until he found out she was in love with a police officer.

In an effort to keep in touch, he and Justin had set up secure email. It wouldn’t be instant communication, but it’d be something to keep each other updated. When he logged in, nothing new appeared. Danny silently swore. They had a schedule, and Justin had missed his update. Either Justin worried someone would trace their communication, or he— Danny swallowed that thought. If Justin had been questioned, tortured, or worse, he wouldn’t be able to warn Moira or Declan.

Danny kept his hope that nothing had changed with Boyle’s thoughts, but he still felt better keeping a small security detail on her.

Before he logged out, a new message appeared from Justin. Shouldn’t he be sleeping? Danny glanced at his watch, figured the time difference and worried.

Don’t forget to water the roses for me.

In a reply to the email, he typed,Should I add fertilizer?

The quick reply put him at ease—a little.No. I think they’re fine without it.

With the conversation over, Danny deleted the message and double deleted it how Devon had shown him to make sure it couldn’t easily be retrieved.

The aroma coming from the kitchen made his stomach growl as he finished shutting everything down. From his position, he watched her as she pulled out the bread, which made his mouth water. Maybe it was her bending over the stove, that—

He shouldn’t go there. The good news was, according to his brother, there was no word of Boyle suspecting Moira or her brother were still alive. Technically, they were safe. He’d still contact the DEA agent in Ireland. Maybe he could pull some information that Justin couldn’t share, due to communication limitations.

After putting away his laptop, he joined her in the open kitchen-dining area for supper. She’d allowed him to set the table, which made him feel like less of a dud making her cook in his house. It’d been an agreed-upon pattern, but sitting while someone cooked for him was hard. As he imagined it was for her also, especially in a strange house.

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