Quinn's Deirdre Read online

  “Countywide News,” Eva said in her professional tone. “How may I help you?”

  “Eva, this is Mallory.” Deirdre hoped this would be the last time she had to use the name.

  “Mallory! I’m glad you called. We were so worried when you didn’t come in or even call. Is everything okay?”

  “Well, no, not exactly,” Deirdre lied. “I had a family emergency come up, and I had to head out to Dallas first thing yesterday. Looks like I’m going to be here for quite awhile.”

  “Oh, hon, I’m sorry to hear that. Is it your mom?”

  Deirdre’s mom had died when she was three, but Mallory had a mother. “Unfortunately, yes. Look, I hate to do this but I doubt I’ll be able to come back to Siloam for a long time, if ever, so I guess I need to just resign or something. It’s not fair to you to hold the job or try to run the paper short-handed.”

  Eva stretched out her Arkansas twang all the way with sympathy and tried to talk Mallory out of it. Deirdre used the saccharine tones she’d adopted as Mallory and managed to convince Eva she wasn’t returning. With a promise of a good reference and prayers for Mallory’s poor mom, Eva hung up. Deirdre checked the call off her mental list. One down, two more to go, she thought. Jeff would be at work, at the small discount grocery store he managed so she called his cell. She left a brief message. “I’m out of town with a family situation, and I won’t be back any time soon. I can’t make it Friday night for the all you can eat catfish special at the café and really, it was time to end our relationship a long time ago. Take care and good luck.”

  She debated whether she should phone her handler, Teresa Rossi, or go straight up the chain of command to Thomas Madison, the Marshal who brought her into WITSEC and orchestrated her exit from Kansas City. Deirdre decided she wasn’t up to Marshal Rossi’s grating, soprano voice or listening to her crack her gum during a phone conversation so she called Madison. She used his direct number and he picked up immediately.

  “Madison.”

  “Hey, it’s Deirdre King.”

  His voice sharpened when he replied. “What is it? Has your identity been compromised?”

  “No, it hasn’t yet.” She took a long, deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I want out of WITSEC.”

  Silence radiated between them for a lengthy moment. “Deirdre, why would you want to take a chance?”

  Deirdre ignored the question. “I have the right, don’t I? To walk away from the program and never go back?”

  “Yes, certainly, you do. All witnesses under protection can, but they seldom do. I wouldn’t advise it. If there’s a problem, talk to me. We can work it out. If you want a new location, I can arrange it.”

  “No. I’m home.”

  “You’re back in Kansas City?” His voice notched up several notes with surprise.

  “Yes, I am and I plan to stay.”

  Although she managed to maintain a calm, level tone, her anxiety level increased until she trembled. “It’s entirely your choice, Deirdre. Like I said, I wouldn’t advise it, but if it’s what you want, so be it. I can’t stop you but remember, once you leave, you can’t come back into WITSEC again.”

  “I’m aware. Do you think I’m still in danger?”

  “Let me review your file. Hold on, please.”

  She listened to his fingers race over computer keys, the clicks audible. After a few minutes, he said, “Deirdre?”

  “I’m listening.”

  “It’s hard to say. The two men you identified are still in prison, serving long sentences. Neither will be eligible for parole for at least seven more years and its debatable then. The organization, however, who hired them, is still strong and powerful in the KC metro area. It’s possible they’ve forgotten you and your testimony in the wake of bigger things, but then they are known for long memories. They hold a lot of grudges, and you could be on their list.”

  Damn and double damn. Or, as Quinn would say, bloody fucking hell. “Is there any way to know if I am?”

  “Honestly? No, there isn’t. I can’t say and won’t try to predict their actions. There is an item noted here, though, you might find of interest.”

  Her stomach tightened. “What is it?”

  “On the afternoon you left your vehicle at the mall and were picked up to enter the program, one of the crime organization’s hitmen apparently tracked you to your boyfriend’s pub.”

  The blood in her veins dropped from warm to freezing. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Yes, well, apparently he did.”

  Something in his dry tone raised her hackles. If something had happened to Quinn, surely she would’ve heard. “What happened?”

  “He was discovered the next morning in the alley a few blocks from County Tyrone with his throat slit and a single gunshot wound to the head. The coroner’s report said he died from loss of blood so the shot was a classic coup de grace.”

  Shock stunned her into speech. “Sweet Jesus! He must’ve been after me.”

  “Or your friend,” Thomas Madison said. “Local law enforcement set up a watch near the pub for two weeks but nothing else happened. It could’ve been random, but I’ve never thought so. So, you might be safe - such a message might have been taken seriously—or you could be in peril. Do you still want to leave WITSEC?”

  Her mind presented images of the dead man, blood pooled beneath him in one of the alleys. Deirdre had no doubt that either Quinn or Desmond had been responsible. It must be what Des meant earlier. Fear crawled over her skin and down her spine like a host of bugs, but she needed Quinn. Even if it cost her life, she refused to hurt him again the way she had. “Yes.”

  After a pause, Madison said. “Very well, then Deirdre. Consider it done. We’ll erase Mallory Marsh’s existence and empty the house in Siloam Springs. Did you want any of the things from there?”

  “No, thank you. I have what I need.”

  “Then it’ll be done. I wish you well, Deirdre, although I don’t agree with your choice. I wish you the best of luck, however, and happiness. Is there anything else?”

  “No,” she said. “Just thank you.”

  Deirdre sat with the phone in her hand, sobered and quiet. All ties with Mallory and WITSEC had been cut. She had her life back, but the fear she’d left behind when she departed Kansas City surged over her and for few moments, threatened to drown her. In Arkansas, she’d been miserable with little to lose. Now she could lose everything including what mattered most, Quinn. Three years ago, she ran from danger to protect him. Now that she’d come back, Deirdre might have put him in harm’s way again. Her thoughts rushed in all directions like fallen leaves blown by the wind and she sat, pensive for a long while.

  When she roused, she realized the phone was her last tie to Mallory Marsh. Deirdre removed the battery and tossed it in a wastebasket. Then she considered taking a hammer to the cell but didn’t. She dropped it into the trash, too, then decided to take a long, steaming shower. Maybe she could wash away the last remnants from Mallory’s life.

  Deirdre showered until the hot water began to chill. She slipped into her undergarments and wrapped her hair in a towel. Then she searched the closets and drawers for more clothing. Her faded blue jeans fit looser than they had once, and she dug out an old sweatshirt. After she combed out and dried her hair, she padded out of the bathroom still barefooted and almost collided with Quinn. If he hadn’t caught her, she would have fallen.

  “There ye are,” he said. His worry line dissected his forehead. “It’s after six and I wondered where you were. I thought ye’d come back down.”

  Quinn thought I might’ve taken off again. The idea saddened her, but she tried to let it go. It might take awhile before he could trust her and the fault was hers, not his. “I wanted to take a shower, first. How’s your head?”

  He smiled, a little. “Ah, ‘tis fine now. The wee drink did the trick. Did ye take care of your business, then?”

  “Yes, it’s done.”

  “That’s grand. Won’t ye come down? Uncle
Des and I are going to sing a bit, later, but we can eat first if ye like.. It’ll be good craic.”

  His expression became so wistful it touched a deep chord within. “I will. I’ve missed the music almost as much as the food.”

  “Good. Are ye comin’ down now?”

  Deirdre glanced down at her outfit. “I think I’d better change first.”

  “Ye’re fine the way ye are.” Quinn’s gaze raked down her with such obvious approval she swore she felt the heat. “But if ye want to wear something else, ye can.”

  She smiled at him. “I’m sure I can find something better than this outfit. I didn’t bring many clothes, though.”

  “Why not?”

  “I didn’t like most of the things I had. They were as drab and boring as a nun’s habit,” Deirdre said. It sounded lame, but he’d understand it more after they talked. “I’m glad I had some clothes left here, but sometime, I’ll have to do a little shopping.”

  “If ye’re goin’ to the mall, then I’ll go along,” he said with a growl, a fierce frown marring his darling face. “I won’t risk losing ye a second time.”

  A volatile stew of emotions simmered within. Her wild, strong love served as the base, but the ingredients included guilt, self-blame, resentment at his apparent lack of trust, and anxiety. Once again, she’d tilted her world on its axis and had to scramble to gain her footing. Coming back was easier than leaving, but it required more care than she’d expected. “You can go with me anywhere and everywhere for the rest of our lives,” Deirdre said and meant it. “I’d like to dress up a little, though and fix my make-up. Do you want to wait while I do?”

  Quinn sighed. “Aye, I’d like to, but I can’t. Woman, you’re an aggravation, but I love ye. Don’t take half the night gettin’ ready, please.”

  “I won’t.” Deirdre rested her hands on his shoulders and lifted her face toward his. He took the hint and kissed her. The moment his mouth touched hers, she knew it wasn’t the kind of sweet, tender kiss he’d shared since her return. His lips burned with heat as he shared a blazing passion. Combined with wild desperation and overwhelming love, the kiss proved more potent than Jameson’s best and caught her in thrall as if Quinn possessed supernatural gifts. His mouth devoured hers, seeking and taking with the frenzy of a starving man. Deidre answered him back, lips locked with his, game for whatever he sought.

  She inhaled his heady man scent, so familiar and long denied. Quinn smelled of the same soap he’d always used, a hint of the men’s cologne he favored, and of the pub. A rich, delicious hint of alcohol lingered about him combined with cooking aromas from Des’ kitchen and added another layer to the pleasant smell. Deirdre recalled it well, and it kindled her desires into open flame. She raked her fingers through his thick, dark curly hair and clung tight to him.

  His hot mouth strayed from her lips to deliver kisses and nibbles on both sides of her throat. Quinn paused at the base to drop a tender, sweet kiss then moved lower. He thrust his hands beneath her sweatshirt and undid her bra with finesse, a particular talent he hadn’t lost. Quinn fondled her breasts with his hands, his thumb tweaking the nipples until they awakened into taut, hard pink blossoms. “Ah, yer roses are bloomin’, love,” he whispered, his breath ticklish against her skin. He kissed each nipple, which sent erotic shivers through her body. The pure pleasure became almost too much to stand, and she whimpered aloud.

  In response, Quinn took each, one at a time, into his mouth and suckled with slow tenderness. Deirdre arched her back as every nerve ending in her body went on high alert. She twined her fingers tighter in his hair until he undid her jeans. “I think ‘tis time to hit the sack, mo ghra, mo chroide.”

  She agreed and they managed to shuck their remaining clothing. With hands fondling, fingers caressing, mouths connecting, they made their way to his bed and collapsed on it, face to face. Quinn traced the edge of her face, then used his finger to trail down her body to her feet. He tickled the bottoms and made his way upward as Deirdre sprawled back with legs spread wide in invitation.

  Dear god, his hands are as hot as a demon’s straight from hell. She gloried in the way his feverish fingers stroked her with appreciation and reverence. “Ye’re so lovely,” he whispered. “God, I’d forgotten how much, though I dreamed of this near every night.”

  By the time Quinn reached her pussy, it radiated heat and pulsed with need. Her slick, wet walls ached for him with such intensity it almost hurt. His gentle hands rubbed her mound and sent spirals of sweet, potent delight through her body. He inserted one finger and probed her, then he lifted up to thrust into her with one graceful motion.

  Quinn filled her and her inner spaces tightened around him with wanton need. He rocked her, his arse shifting in a dance as old as time as she shifted so he could go deeper. Deirdre stretched out her arms, blind with want and wrapped them about him as he worked in and out, out and in. Each time, the friction brought her closer to orgasm. His dick, hard as Connemara marble, delivered extreme pleasure and through a haze, she caught sight of his face. His broad grin, his focused concentration and half-slit eyes told her he enjoyed it as much. He penetrated into her body and pierced her soul.

  “Come with me,” he cried as the rhythms intensified. He sped up his movements to keep pace with the growing earthquake about to hit. “Deirdre, come.”

  She held back as long as she could, savoring the savage intensity and delighting in every wave of sensation. Quinn rammed harder and quickened his pace again. Deirdre surrendered to the spasms and gave way to the rushing tide of pure physical delight. She clung to him and at the very last moment, he kissed her, tongue and all. Between them, the life force reared with power and banished any lingering illusion of death. Locked into one embrace, bodies engaged in every possible way, they shuddered and peaked. Together they rode the erotic fire into the sun, gasping and consumed. It lasted forever and ended too soon.

  Quinn remained inside her for a few moments, his mouth connected to hers, then he quivered one more time. He collapsed beside her, sweating, panting, and red-faced with a smile brighter than anything she’d ever seen. “Ta ghra agam do, acushla,” he whispered.

  “Oh, Quinn, I love you, too.”

  “Come here, woman.” He pulled her into his arms and held her, not speaking for some minutes, then he groaned. “It’s a wonder Des hasn’t come beating down the door after me.”

  The idea struck her as hilarious and she started giggling. It became a full-bodied laugh and he joined her. Then he shook his head. “I’ve got to get dressed and get downstairs. I’ve got a mouth on me now, ready for supper, but I’ll wait for ye. Ye are comin’ down, are ye not?”

  Limbs stretched and limp, body slick with sheen of sweat, she’d rather curl up and bask in the after effects. “Yeah, I am. I think I’d better shower first, though and get dressed. You should, too.”

  “I haven’t time,” Quinn said as he pulled on his shirt and buttoned it with quick fingers. Minutes later, fully dressed, hair combed back with a lick and a promise, and drenched in cologne, he departed.

  For now, happy and sated, Deirdre pushed her fears back into the shadows. She cleaned up, dug out a champagne-colored, satin evening dress with puff sleeves and a lace bodice, did her face, and left her hair in a wild riot of curls down her back. She laughed at her reflection in the mirror. Anyone could guess she’d just been fucked, but she didn’t care. Deirdre all but floated downstairs into the pub. Quinn sat tucked into a booth at the end of the bar, and she worked through the crowds to get to him. He reached for her hands as soon as she slid into her seat and kissed them. “Ye took long enough,” he said without heat and a smile sweet enough to stop her breath. “I ordered for the both of us.”

  Within minutes, a server delivered two plates heaped with roast chicken, colcannon, and carrots. Quinn paused long enough for the blessing, then dived into the food and after a moment’s hesitation, so did Deirdre. When she began, she never thought she’d finish the large portions, but she managed. By then,
the area around the bar teemed with people, more than on a usual weeknight. A slender young man with fiery red hair pushed through with a classical guitar in one hand. “That’s Tommy,” Quinn said. “He plays the traditional music, too. I need to go fetch Uncle Des. Ye can stay here—ye’ll have a good view.”

  In her years away, Deirdre sometimes listened to the music of Tommy Makem or the Clancy Brothers and cried. She had wept, missing Quinn and all he meant to her and mourned the loss of her heritage. As the three men gathered together, she watched with tears of joy as Quinn and Des pulled out tin whistles. Quinn blew a few sharp notes and the noise died to a low murmur, then into silence. “Welcome to County Tyrone,” he said. “We’re goin’ to make a bit of music tonight and have good craic. We’ll start with a children’s song those of us from the North all know well, a wee ditty called I’ll Tell Me Ma.”

  She watched as he and Des played the opening chords to the old tune, the sound bridging the present to the past. Deirdre had listened many times, both at the pub and in private, as they played together. The man Quinn had called Gerry played the guitar with a slap-handed style to make the most noise as first Quinn, then his uncle sang the lyrics. They paused to do the chorus together and Deirdre wiped her eyes with a napkin, happy.

  Quinn glowed with joy and pleasure as they played for more than two hours - amusing songs, sad songs, and then one of her favorites, The Leaving of Liverpool. The poignant lines had echoed in her head as she’d left Kansas City, the words, “Fare thee well my own true love” haunting her. Then, Deirdre never dreamed she would see Quinn again and now, hearing his tenor voice lifted in song, she realized she’d come full circle back to where she belonged.