Finn disappeared quickly into the crowd, and while I watched him go because my husband in a suit was a show worth watching, I turned back once I couldn’t see him any longer and found a server waiting on me to order.
“I’ll have a club soda, please,” I requested with a smile.
In the mirrored wall that was lined with liquor bottles, I had a perfect view of the restaurant.
Verdi was one of the building’s newer eateries, and I was here for it. I loved fusion cuisine, and this was on the path to getting a Michelin star—at least, according to the magazines I subscribed to.
I saw the man walking toward me in the mirror behind the shelves before he settled at my side. I didn’t say anything, even though he was way too close for comfort, and as the server handed my drink to me, I picked it up with a grateful smile then shifted away, using the move to put some distance between us.
The smell of whiskey was strong on his breath but he didn’t appear intoxicated, and when I looked up, I saw he’d moved even closer.
He was an older man, in his fifties, maybe sixties, and the years had worn badly on him.
He had a full head of silver hair and a beard to match. One look and you’d think Santa, but deep in his eyes, there were a lot of emotions—all of them negative.
Was it ridiculous that I sought out my guards? I hadn't seen them so far but that didn't mean they wouldn't be somewhere in the vicinity.
“Anyone ever tell you how beautiful you are?”
The words didn’t match the strange tempest in his eyes, so I arched a brow at him and shut this down, “My husband does. All the time.”
“You’re married?” He heaved a sigh. “The pretty ones always are.”
I kept my focus averted after that, but in the mirror, I monitored him. He was looking at me. Completely turned to face me.
“What is it?” I demanded after a couple minutes.
“If you were mine, I wouldn’t leave you standing by a bar.”
That had me rolling my eyes. “Not even to use the bathroom?”
“He didn’t head toward the bathroom, though, did he?”
I tensed. “You were watching?”
“Of course. Had to know if you were a damsel in distress in need of saving or not.”
“I’m married,” I said firmly, turning to look at him, but as I did, maybe it was a flicker of the light, something about his expression— “Do I know you?” Whatever I’d been about to ask, it was shoved aside by that whisper of recognition I felt.
“I doubt it. I’m fresh off the boat. Been a long time since I was in the States.” He sent me a look I could only describe as curious. “The name’s Dagda.”
“You’re Irish,” I said flatly, not introducing myself.
“I am.” He smirked, but was it just me or did he seem disappointed? “Was it the accent that gave it away?”
“Do you have some kind of grievance against the O’Donnellys?” I demanded.
“Who are they?” He frowned as he took a sip of his drink. “I know a Donnghal. That NHL player in Canada that just got himself kidnapped. That the one?”
He appeared sincere, but it didn’t stop me repeating, “I’m married.”
“You’ve said that already,” he drawled. “I just happened to see a fine-looking woman with a head of hair as fiery as the sun, standing on her lonesome by the bar. What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t keep her company?”
His voice felt familiar. But how could it be when I'd never met the man?
Curiosity had me twisting to face him fully. “Your accent…”
“What about it?”
Slowly, I shook my head. “I-I—”
“Aoife?”
Finn’s growl was like a splash of cold water in my face, but in a good way. Not bad.
His hand moved around my waist, and like the proprietorial alpha jackass he was, he hauled my back to his front as if I were a bag of potatoes. I didn’t argue though. I needed the support.
That voice… it reminded me of something. I just couldn’t put my finger on it.
“Who are you?” Finn demanded when I didn’t answer him.
“Just a man standing by a bar, that’s all,” the stranger replied with a winsome smile that fell short because, deep in his eyes, nothing had changed.
I felt as if I’d just opened Pandora’s box and was staring deep into the abyss. Everything hateful was buried within those shamrock-green eyes, and yet, I sensed he didn’t hate me.
How bizarre.
He walked off a second later, raising his drink to me before he faded away.
“Aoife?”
I blinked, recognizing that Finn had repeated my name a couple times. “What?”
“Are you all right?” He growled under his breath. “Your fucking guards—”
“I’m sure they were watching. He wasn’t a threat.”
He grunted. “If you say so. What did he want?”
“Nothing.” I frowned, repeated, “Nothing.” I believed that. So why did it feel like a lie? “Is everything okay with Aidan?”
“As okay as it ever is in this fucking world we live in.”
A part of me wondered if Finn was depressed by his circumstances, but Finn was the kind of man who didn’t particularly have time to be depressed. He’d push through it because time was money, and money was his god.
“I heard you talking about Halloween.”
It was his turn to blink, then he laughed. “You wouldn’t make a great spy, sweetheart. Although, I was whispering, so you’d have the ears for it.” He pressed a kiss to my temple. “Ghost guns, not ghosts.”
“Do I even want to know?”
“No, you don’t.”
Gently, I asked, “Have there been any repercussions about Sullivan and Walsh?”
He pressed a kiss to my throat, making me shiver in his hold as he answered, “Not so far.”
Distracted, I still had the wherewithal to query, “You’re not certain Senior will keep to his word?”
“No. I’m not.” He tugged at my bun. “Why did you put your hair up?”
Because I wasn’t an idiot, I knew he was trying to change the subject, and I rolled with it, seeing as this was our time together and business took up too much of that anyway.
“It was a mess.” I tapped the tip of his nose. “Give me more notice in the future.”
He cast me a sly glance. “How would that be a surprise?”
My lips quirked. “Well, a bun is the compromise.”
I smiled at the maître d’ as he approached us, and while he guided us to our table, I cast a glance around the restaurant, trying to see if I could find the stranger.
But I couldn’t.
Had he left?
And why did it bother me so much that he might have?
Eleven
Finn
A few days later
“Oh, my God, Phil Bélanger is so hot.”
I only heard the whisper because I was watching her and not the game on the TV.
Aoife was sitting with Inessa, drooling over one of those books they loved to read.