“The show?” I asked faintly.
“I do love a catfight. Of course, she’s much younger than you so I doubt you’d win. That would be far more entertaining.” Her smile was vicious. “I never did like you, Magdalena. I was so glad when that mobster scooped you up. You weren’t good enough for George then.” Her gaze dripped with disdain as she looked me up and down. It fastened on my throat. “You certainly aren’t now.”
She stepped aside without another word and moved over to her car. She stayed there a second too long, enough for the driver to ask her something, but she didn’t bother answering, just climbed into the backseat. I watched as the driver closed the door behind her then whisked her away.
As they drove off, I stood there, shivering, feeling as frail as a sapling being blown around in a hurricane.
When Michael appeared at my side a second later, he ordered, “Stop scratching your throat.”
I frowned. “What?”
He retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it to my neck. “It’s bleeding, Lena. You scratched it raw.”
Pulling back, I stared down at the folded fabric and saw the red staining it. Placing pressure against it, I rasped, “I’ll have it laundered and get it back to you tomorrow.”
He shook his head, and like I was as ancient and as frail as that bitch had made out, he helped me over to the car.
“I’ll take you home.”
“You damn well won’t,” I whispered as I sank heavily into the backseat.
“You can’t stay here,” he argued. “I need to get some disinfectant for your neck.”
“It’s a scratch.”
“It needs cleaning. Plus, you’re shaking. You need some coffee and a sandwich.”
“Then go and get me one from the whore who fucked my husband,” I snarled.
Leaning one arm on the door, he loomed over me. “If you expect me to believe that you took your meds, Lena, you have another thing coming.”
As he slammed my door closed, it was only then that I saw how late it was getting.
Aidan would wonder where I was, much as he’d wondered the past week. But he could carry on fretting. He could speak with Michael. I had nothing to say to that bastard. Nothing whatsoever.
I didn’t try to stop him as he crossed the street, heading into that slut’s tearoom to buy me something to eat. Something I would never let cross my lips.
Tossing the handkerchief aside, I saw the door open a few minutes after Michael went in, and Michelle Keegan, the whore herself, walked out.
Transfixed, I watched as she started to stroll down the sidewalk, well aware that she’d take the same route as she usually did. A route Michael had followed every day since I’d started this little stake out.
When she began moving out of my line of sight, agitated, I climbed out of the backseat then dropped behind the wheel. I had to adjust the seat, and it took up valuable seconds, but I managed to get the engine started a minute later.
As I pulled out, a Ford truck beeped at me as I almost crashed into it, but I barely saw it as I raced down the street, trying to catch up with her.
When I found her again, I kept my eyes on her, not even taking any notice of the traffic. As the car jolted when my tires clipped the curb, I jerked back into the middle of my lane.
Frowning, I stared at the road ahead before I glanced back to find her again.
Only, she wasn’t there.
Eyes darting all over in an effort to find her, I carried on driving.
When I saw the pedestrian crossing, it was too late.
I clipped her.
I felt the car knock her down, felt the bump as the wheels rode over some part of her body.
The brakes squealed as I came to a halt.
New York City was never quiet.
Ever.
There were always people around.
Always.
But at that moment, it felt like God was on my side because there was no one here.
No one.
Until I heard thudding footsteps.
A quick glance in the side mirror let me see Michael running toward me. He took the scene in, jumped into the passenger side and screamed, “DRIVE!”
I should have immediately obeyed, but I didn’t.
I was frozen.
“Where’s the coffee?”
A snarl escaped him. “I threw it out. Drive, Lena. For fuck’s sake!”
“Is she alive?” I whispered a second, an hour, a lifetime later.
“Yes,” he snapped. “Drive, Lena. Get us the hell out of here!”
“We should call the cops—”
“Some people are made for jail, Lena, and you’re not one of them.” He pointed to the end of the road where a woman was running, heading from the small park to the left of us. “She’s coming our way. She might already have seen what happened. You need to get out of here.”
I saw her and recognized that God wasn’t on my side.
She sped up like she knew I was about to take off, like I wasn’t about to call 911, and I realized he was right.
I wasn’t made for jail.
Twenty
Aoife
Present
I was hurting.
It was a strange hurt. Deep inside my abdomen. It had been coming on and off for a day or so.
My biggest concern was that it reminded me of how I’d felt just before Jake’s due date. Only this was two trimesters too early.
Rubbing my side, I turned to my guard who doubled up as my driver and asked, “John, can we go straight to the apartment?”
He nodded. “Of course, Aoife.”
He muttered something into his earpiece, so I knew the car riding behind us, one that housed my extra guards, would be following us back to my apartment building.
“Thank you,” I murmured, wincing as the rubbing only made it worse.
I knew I’d eaten too much at lunch with Jen, but damn, this hurt.
I’d intended on running some errands, dropping in at the bakery to make sure everyone was still coping with the uptick in business, but feeling like death warmed over, I had no desire to traipse around the city or to visit with my staff.
It was with relief that we arrived at the apartment building, and I slumped into the corner of the elevator as it shuttled me to the top floor.
When the doors opened, I hobbled down the hall on the hunt for my little man and found the kitchen in a state, but Jacob was smiling, so I didn’t even cringe at the sight.
Flour dusted his cheeks and what appeared to be salt dough had his fingers sticking together as he waggled them when he saw me.
“Mama!” he crowed like he hadn’t seen me in days. “Mama!”
Laughing at the sight, I leaned against the door to catch my breath as Lena grinned back at me. “He loves it.”
“He loves making a mess,” I corrected, stepping deeper into the room so I could kiss her cheek and ruffle my son’s hair before I smacked a kiss on his head too.
Taking a seat opposite Lena, I winced as my bones rattled at how heavily I’d plunked myself down and admitted, “I’m pooped.”
She eyed me as she formed a shape with the salt dough. “You should take a nap.”
Lena and I didn’t stand on ceremony anymore. Hadn’t done so for years. But still, I muttered, “I feel bad. You come to visit and I spend most of the time running errands.”