Page 69 of Dirty Padraig: Dirty Dusters

Irish’s apartment. Old Spice.

The décor is navy and cream. It’s a minimalistic, masculine space. There’s no woman’s touch in this room. In fact, I haven’t seen any signs that a woman lives here. Even the toiletries in the bathroom are either unisex or for men. It’s doubtful that Sophia would use a product that wasn’t made exclusively for her and doesn’t cost at least a billion dollars an ounce.

Why is there no trace of her? I understand that it hasn’t been that long since they returned from Sicily. Maybe they live at her place? I was in such a state last night I never even stopped to consider that she could turn up at any moment.

I glance around, noticing that my freshly laundered clothes have been placed on the ottoman at the foot of the bed. Should I dress and leave? I’m sure he won’t want me to be here any longer than is necessary.

He’s married. I’m engaged.

I was engaged.

Eoin.

He saved my life, or at least he saved the life of The Exterminator. I need to speak to him. To explain. How do I even begin to explain? My thoughts are disturbed by a knock on the door.

“I’ve put the coffee on, Jaine.”

Irish.

I feel awkward. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have compromised him. It was thoughtless of me. I shower and dress quickly, brushing my teeth with a new, sealed toothbrush that I found under the basin. I stare at my reflection in the over-sink mirror. I can see the souls of the two other snipers behind my eyes.

The third resides behind Eoin’s.

My blood runs cold. I suddenly feel panicky again. A panic that caused me to wound and not outright kill the second sniper. I look at my hands, and they’re shaking.

It wasn’t attack. It was defense.

What if they return to the house and I’m not there? We could move back to Rising, but then it’s not safe there, either. Ace was killed in Nevada. They’ll find us no matter where we go. There’s nowhere to run. There’s nowhere to hide. All we can do is defend until we solve the goddamn puzzle.

Who?

I leave the restroom, sit on the end of the bed and place my head in my hands. I’m conscious of the mattress dipping and strong arms wrapping around me. Like it did all those years ago after I dispatched Lebedev, a feeling of safety immediately envelops me. I press my face against his chest. He’s shirtless.

“You’re still in shock, darlin’, that’s all.” His voice is as soothing as his steady heartbeat as he strokes my hair.

“Is there any news on the snipers?”

“They were clean, Jaine.”

Figures.

“Things aren’t safe anymore, Irish.” I sigh.

“This coming from the girl who didn’t want any protection.” He chuckles softly. I pull my head back to speak my mind but then forget what it was I was going to say.

Because it really is unfair to the rest of humankind how good-looking Padraig O’Connell is. Smiling blue eyes sparkle on a face that’s wearing a cocky smirk at my blatant loss for words, his coal-black hair still wet and messy from the shower.

So beautiful. So perfect.

So not fucking mine.

I pull away. “It’s not about my protection. It’s about Fin and JJ. The shooters were on the doorstep of the goddamn house. What if I hadn’t gone outside when I did? They could have wiped out the entire family. They were sitting ducks. I mean, how the fuck did they get on the property in the first place?” He squeezes my hand with his to stop my ranting, and I’m immediately grateful for its reassuring warmth.

“Irish, what I said….” I bite my lip, unsure of what to say next. I thought I was going to die. I needed him to know the truth. I don’t regret giving back the words, but the timing could have been better.

But then, when exactly is the right time to admit to someone that you still love them?

“It was said in the heat of the moment, Jaine.”

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