Page 8 of Highballs & Hexes

He scowled. “Jaysus, woman! You make me sound ancient!”

“Meh. If the shoe fits, you’ll be wearing, to be sure.”

From behind him, Fionola laughed. “Give the man a break, Mam. He brought Da home without complaint.” With a light touch of his shoulder, Fi drew out a chair next to him and sat.

Oddly, Patrick didn’t feel tired anymore. Around her, he seemed to receive larger bursts of energy and, with them, power boosts. Up close, she was lovelier than he’d first believed. Her skin was unblemished and glowed with health, pinkening when she noticed his admiring regard.

Although reserved, her gaze sparkled with life, and he couldn’t help but recall how those eyes had snapped pure fire when she gave her boss what for. She’d denied an existing relationship with the man, but Noah Riley had claimed they were lovers once, and she’d blushed from neck to hair roots. They made a beautiful couple, him with his striking good looks and her angelic appearance. Darkness and light.

“Why did the pub owner end things with you?”

Hearing himself speak the low-voiced question shocked him, and he fought the urge to cringe. Yet the driving need to uncover the truth behind their relationship was stronger than his desire to remain detached. Although he told himself he didn’t ever intend to fall in love again, he wasn’t opposed to a steadyshag. Fionola Bohannon would fit the bill if she was willing, unentangled, and preferred older men.

She gasped her surprise at his forwardness.

“And what business is it of yours, Patrick O’Malley?” Her tone was haughty, and her already wide eyes flared wider with ire.

Patrick’s blood stirred. As if it had a mind of its own, his gaze zeroed in on her compressed mouth and refused to budge as his brain tormented him with all the possible ways he might tease a kiss from those delectable lips.

“Maybe I’m interested,” he heard himself say.

Her flush darkened, spreading down her neck to the exposed V of her chest.

“I’m not,” she retorted.

“Fair enough. I don’t want what’s not freely given.” He nodded and, hiding his disappointment behind a blank expression, shifted to look at Clara. The elder Bohannon woman’s knowing expression grated on his last nerve, and Patrick desired nothing more than to see the last of this house and the people in it.

“Tell me about Tadhg,” he demanded again.

Fionola surprised him when she answered for her mother. “He’s been haunted lately. It’s the only way to describe it. Right, Mam?” At Clara’s nod, she continued. “Always looking over his shoulder, as if someone were on his heels.”

“He wasn’t eatin’,” her mother added.

“Aye, and it showed. He lost at least a stone, and he was haggard.” Fionola bit her lip, and her hands were in constant motion as she poured herself a spot of tea and stirred in a spoon of sugar.

“He never mentioned any reason for his nervousness? Said someone was actually following him, then?” Patrick asked, curbing his urge to clasp her hands and steady her nerves.

“Not that I recall. Mam?”

Clara shook her head, cementing she was as clueless as her daughter.

“Do you know if he phoned anyone in the days before he went missing?” To be on the safe side, he’d have Dubheasa see what she could uncover on that high-end computer of hers. The girl was smarter than anyone he knew and possessed the skill to hack their government’s database with one arm tied behind her back and a one-minute egg timer ticking loudly in her ear.

“No, but I’ve his provider’s name. Does that help?” Fionola said.

“Aye.”

He guzzled the last of his tea. What he wouldn’t give for a shot of whiskey within its depths! Maybe he should stop by Noah Riley’s pub for a few before heading to the Black Cat Inn. If he drank more than a pint or two in front of Bridget, he’d be subjected to one of her scoldings, and he had no mind to hear it.

Taking care with the cup and saucer, he set them on the table and climbed to his feet, barely managing to suppress a hiss of pain. His body reminded him of his age, and it felt battered, as if he’d fought a bull and lost. Surviving another excruciating day of aches without alerting the world to his plight was his aim.

Clearly, he hadn’t succeeded in straightening without wincing, because both women frowned their concern, and Fionola reached out a hand to steady him. Without expression, he brushed her aside.

“Thanks,” he muttered, refusing to make eye contact.

Rose had unmanned him. First with her taunts and affairs, and second when she’d joined Loman’s team to make Patrick’s life hell within the confines of the island prison. He’d been the victim once, and he wouldn’t be weak in another person’s eyes. Not physically. Not emotionally.

The world as a whole could fuck all the way off.

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