Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

It took Jude all fucking day to find the goddamn Plan B pill. As expected, he’d had to drive into Portland to retrieve it, every hour he was away from Sloan increasing the chance that she was pregnant.

And you almost took her again.

He pulled up in front of his house and turned the car off. There was no excuse for the idiocy that the woman brought out in him. He got around her and he couldn’t think, couldn’t reason, couldn’t take a step back and claim the icy rationale that had gotten him to this point.

If he was smart, he’d call Dmitri Romanov and hand her over as fast as humanly possible.

Except she might be pregnant with my child.

A fucking kid. He hadn’t been able to hold down a single relationship in his thirty-five years—hadn’t wanted to—and now he was looking at potentially bringing a helpless kid into the world. What the fuck did he know about raising a child? His old man was dead before he was born, and his mother had spent his entire life checked out and clinging to a past that no longer existed.

Jude wouldn’t know healthy if it kicked him in the face.

There was no way he wouldn’t fuck this kid up.

He grabbed the small bag with the two pills in it and climbed out of the car. Sloan’s shift would be done about now, so he grabbed a shower and decided to check in with Stefan before he met her at her place. When he called, the phone rang and rang, Jude’s irritation turning to concern.

“You have the worst fucking timing.”

The concern vanished, irritation taking hold. He leaned against the kitchen counter. “And you have the morals of a back-alley whore. You sold me out.”

Stefan cursed. “What was I supposed to do? Romanov showed up here. Or where here used to be. I’ve moved shop, which is why it took me so long to answer—I couldn’t find my phone.”

Jude shoved his wet hair back into a ponytail and took the phone off speaker. “How did he find you?”

“It’s that fucking girl of yours. One of his men had tagged searches for anything concerning her. By the time I realized I’d sent vibrations up the spider web, he was at my front door.”

He still wasn’t sure that Romanov was preferred to one of Sloan’s brothers finding her, but at least the Russian had offered him a reprieve—mostly because he wanted the same thing Jude did: Colm Sheridan dead. It didn’t matter. The end result was that it gave him time to plan—or at least figure out what the fuck he was going to do. He sighed. “What have you got?”

“Sloan O’Malley, sister-in-law to Callista Sheridan. She’s the fly on the wall in a family of strong personalities, always in the background. Her sisters were—and are—wild party girls, one of whom defied their bastard of a father to marry her heart’s true love.” His sarcastic tone said exactly what he thought of that.

Jude was inclined to agree, but this was old news. “I’m aware of who Carrigan O’Malley is fucking. Focus.”

“That’s it, man. Her brothers are looking for Sloan, but Teague appears to be stalling them, probably because he’s the one who got her out. I can’t track how she got out of Boston, and if I can’t do it, no one can. She disappeared on a Friday night, and then appeared in Callaway Rock three days after, which I wouldn’t know if you weren’t there.” He hesitated and then said grudgingly, “That O’Malley did a good job of hiding her.”

And Jude had brought the hounds right to her door.

Goddamn it.

“And Romanov? What’s he want with her?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. Fuck, marry, kill—with that guy, it’s bound to be one of those three options. I mean that in the literal sense, not that stupid fucking game everyone seems to be playing.”

None of those options were actually options as far as Jude was concerned. Sloan deserved better than to be a casualty in a war she thought she’d escaped.

As for fuck or marry…

Over my dead fucking body.

“Find out his plan.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Jude. I’m not a mind reader. If he has a plan, he hasn’t written it down, and he sure as fuck hasn’t put it somewhere as public as the Internet. It’s not like this fucker has a goddamn blog.”

“I’ll pay double. Figure it out.” He hung up. Stefan might play both sides against the middle when it suited him, but he owed Jude his life. Seven years ago, Stefan had stolen from the wrong man—who just happened to have been Jude’s current mark. Jude had killed the man before he could kill Stefan, and the dramatic fashion of his demise had made an impression on the hacker.

It didn’t prevent him from charging a shit-ton of money to provide his services, but it kept him more or less loyal.

Neither one of them had counted on Romanov finding Stefan.

The web kept getting more and more tangled. Maybe it’d be different if he hadn’t given in to the temptation Sloan’s hot little body offered, but the truth was that her fledgling strength attracted him just as much as her pussy. She had the makings of being a force of nature, and hell if he didn’t want to stand witness and watch it happen.

He looked at the bag containing the pills and cursed. He might be attracted to her, but that was a long shot from wanting to bring a tiny person into the world with her—with anyone. He wasn’t the settling down and starting a family type. With his history…Yeah, it just wasn’t in the cards for him. It’s not like he could cart a kid and woman around while he staked out marks and fucking murdered them.

Shoving the whole mess from his mind, he stalked outside and across the short distance to Sloan’s house. He let himself in through the back door and was halfway across the living room when a dry voice said, “Young man, I don’t suppose you’re a strippergram here to celebrate my birthday. No? Then I’d take kindly to you explaining why you’re in my house.”

He turned slowly to find a shotgun leveled at his chest, wielded by a well-dressed, attractive woman in her late fifties.

Sorcha O’Connor was home.

*  *  *

Sloan heard voices and walked out of her bedroom to find Sorcha had drawn on Jude. Panic flared, but she managed to keep her voice calm and even. If I startle her, she might pull the trigger. “Sorcha, this is my friend Jude. Jude, this is Sorcha. She’s the one who owns the house.”

Sorcha didn’t lower the gun. “Are you sure he’s a friend, darling? He looks like a hired gun from where I’m standing. They all move like that, quiet as cats and twice as lethal.”

Sloan blinked. “He’s a writer.” She didn’t believe it any more now than she had when Jessica told her, but she wasn’t about to let the older woman kill him out of hand. “I invited him over, so please don’t shoot him.” Frankly, she didn’t particularly want to see him while she was still all twisted up over what had happened this morning, but she wasn’t about to tell Sorcha that. And, judging from the brown paper bag in his hands, he’d successfully tracked down the pills for her. “Please.”

With a sigh, Sorcha lowered the gun. “Next time, young man, knock. It’s rude to just walk in.” She shifted to face Sloan, the gun pointed carefully at the ground. “I’m going to wash the stink of travel off me. Deal with this Neanderthal and get him out of here. We’re due for a dinner to get to know each other.” She turned and walked into the master bedroom, closing the door firmly behind her.

Sloan was definitely going to have a discussion with Teague about expectations. He’d told her that Sorcha was a nice older woman who was a bit eccentric. After that encounter, Sloan was inclined to think she was off her rocker.

Though she couldn’t fault the woman for mistaking Jude for a hired gun. He carried himself with confidence, and danger practically emanated from him. But a criminal? A murderer? It was too far-fetched, even for her life. She nodded at the bag. “I’ll take that.”

He didn’t immediately move, a strange look on his face. “We need to talk, Sloan. Actually talk.”

She knew that, but she didn’t have the emotional fortitude to deal with it today. She shook her head. “We will, but as you heard—I have plans tonight. I get done at the diner tomorrow at two. We can talk then.” She didn’t ask if he was free.

Jude hesitated and then nodded. “Tomorrow, then.” He set the bag on the counter and walked out without another word.

*  *  *

Sloan wasn’t sure what to think of the woman sitting across from her. They’d driven up to Cannon Beach for dinner, and Sorcha had put on an album of show tunes so loudly, there’d been no way to attempt to hold a conversation. Not that Sloan minded. She’d relished the ability to sit and just think for a little bit.

Jude was…She didn’t know how to put it into words. Jude was a problem, if only because he brought forth a side of her she’d never known existed. Being in the same room with him made her feel wild and bold and a thousand other things she couldn’t afford. She wasn’t those things. Not really.

And then they’d gone and broken a condom.

She’d taken one of the pills he brought her as soon as he’d left, but there were no guarantees. She could be pregnant. She shuddered at the thought.

“That boy is nothing but trouble.” Sorcha eyed the glass in front of her and filled it with wine from the bottle she’d ordered as soon as they walked through the door. “Gorgeous, and most likely an animal in bed, but trouble nonetheless.”

Sloan blushed and accepted the glass of wine. “With all due respect, ma’am, it’s none of your business.”

She narrowed brown eyes remarkably like Callie’s at Sloan. “That’s the beauty of getting old, my dear. I can say whatever I damn well please and you have to be respectful back. Now tell me, how is it you know my niece?”

“You don’t know?” She’d agreed to have Sloan here without knowing a single thing about her? The thought was downright preposterous. “Surely Callie told you.”

“Callista and I are just beginning to feel each other out. My fool brother never reached out to me when she was a child and so I didn’t even know she existed until a few months ago.”

“I…” What was she supposed to say to that? “I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t expect you to.” Sorcha sat back, looking like a queen who’d wandered into this part of the world. Carrigan did that, too. She owned every space she walked into, no matter what the situation.

But if Sloan could face down Jude, she could face down this woman. She straightened in her chair. “Callie is my sister-in-law.”

“Yes, she did mention you’re one of those O’Malleys.”

“Why did you ask if you already knew?” Irritation made Sloan’s voice sharp.

Sorcha smiled. “There it is. I was wondering if you had a backbone at all with how you cower so.”

Irritation bled to anger. She’d been testing her? Sloan was so incredibly tired of being tested, played with, and manipulated. She’d come to Oregon to get away from that, not to jump through more hoops. “Why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself, Sorcha, since I don’t know a single thing about you?”

The woman idly swirled her wine. “Yes, let’s get this silly small talk out of the way. I was born a Sheridan, and like yourself, I didn’t much like the idea of being treated like chattel. I would have hoped those old fools had learned from their mistakes and realized us women have much better heads for politics and power, but my niece tells me little has changed. Idiots, all of them.” She sighed theatrically. “I was young and in love with a beautiful man and, when my father and brother threatened to kill my lover, we eloped. I haven’t been back to Boston since.”

It sounded terribly romantic.

Except there was obviously more to the story. Sloan may have been wrong, but if Sorcha had been living in wedded bliss this entire time, without connection to any illicit workings, she wouldn’t cart around a shotgun. She’s a lot like Callie, though at least Callie doesn’t play the word games.

Sloan sipped her wine, fought to keep her grimace off her face, and set the glass on the table. “You must have been very successful in whatever it was you chose to do if you’re able to travel so much.” She’d seen the photos of a variety of exotic locales scattered around the house. Sloan hadn’t thought much of them at the time, but it was obvious this woman didn’t stay in one place for very long. She had restless energy akin to Jude’s, though he hid it better.

Sorcha laughed. “Oh, darling, that marriage didn’t last. My sweet Rodger was killed in a factory accident not long after we moved to New York. I was wild with grief.” She said it matter-of-factly, as if reciting from a book she’d read a long time ago. “Crazed, really. I almost went back and begged my father for mercy but, well, I don’t beg. Pride, it’s a horrible sin. That doesn’t seem to be your issue, though.” She turned a penetrating look on Sloan. “Then again, I may be wrong. Yours isn’t the flashy kind of pride like mine, one that a person waves around whenever it suits them. It’s more of a quiet thing, a martyrdom.” She tsked. “Martyrs are boring, my dear.”

“We weren’t talking about me.”

“Weren’t we?” She smiled at the waiter who brought the food neither of them had ordered. Sloan frowned at her plate, but Sorcha didn’t seem the least bit disconcerted. “Neill, darling, you look as dashing as always. How are the wife and kids?”

“Shelly is pregnant again, a boy this time.” He smiled. “The girls are doing well. They’re excited for a little brother.”

“Good for you, though, goodness, Neill, give your poor wife a break. Four children.” She shook her head, though her brown eyes twinkled. “You’ll have to give her a spa day before that baby comes, because God knows she won’t be resting anytime soon. My treat, I insist.”

The waiter looked like he might argue, but finally nodded. “She’ll appreciate that, Ms. O’Connor. Thank you.”

“Us women have to look out for each other. Don’t you agree, Sloan?”

Sloan made a noncommittal noise, but that didn’t slow Sorcha down in the least. She chatted with Neill and then smiled as he walked away. “That right there is a good man.” She arched her eyebrows. “And he most definitely isn’t sniffing around for nefarious purposes.”

So they were back to that again. She didn’t feel like defending Jude, partially because she wasn’t sure what he actually did for a living. Call her crazy, but she couldn’t argue with Sorcha’s disbelief, especially since that had been her first reaction as well. Instead, she asked, “How did he know your order?”

Sorcha smiled like a cat who’d gotten into the cream. “Neill has been here a long time, and he’s a smart boy. He pays attention.”

“And mine?”

She shrugged. “There’s a standing order for any guest I bring with me.”

Of all the…Sloan frowned. “Do you have something against ordering like a normal person?”

“Life is too short, darling. No reason to waste it.” She speared a piece of her salmon. “Now, my niece has filled me in on the bare bones, but I’m going to have to insist you explain your circumstances to me in detail. I am sticking my neck out for you, after all.”

Sloan wanted to brush her off, but the older woman was right. So she gritted her teeth, smiled, and began at the beginning. When Teague met Callie.