About Face (Wolf Within) Page 5

  Murphy had been focused on finding Sorcha’s killer for nearly four months. Would I be a distraction he would brush off easily? I’d never been able to compete with Sorcha, even four years into her grave, why in the world would I be able to start now?

  But I had to do something.

  Chapter 4

  “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” A bulky shadow detached from the brickwork near the green door of the pub and resolved itself into the shape of a very tall, extremely muscular man.

  The glow of the streetlights illuminated his green eyes and bright red hair. His expression was not exactly welcoming.

  The sign above the pub doors read An Puca, and I was pretty sure I was in the right place. Although, after a hellish twelve-hour delay in Philadelphia due to some damn mechanical malfunction in one of the plane’s engines, I wasn’t even sure what frigging day it was anymore.

  Instead of arriving in Dublin at just before eight in the morning with time to find a hotel and get my bearings before setting out to find Mac Tire’s pub, the plane landed just after eight PM, and I’d taken a cab straight from the airport to the pub.

  My eyes were scratchy and dry, my throat ached and my stomach rumbled. I was sleep and food-deprived and pretty damn close to a meltdown. Whether it would be a temper tantrum or tears I wasn’t exactly sure, but I’d had enough.

  Now this goddamn red-haired giant couldn’t even be civil?

  “This is a pub, right? Don’t pubs want people to drink in them?” I curled my lip sarcastically which only made the red- haired giant angry. Good one, Stanzie.

  “Can you not read the wee sign in the window that says Private party tonight, maybe? Or do they not teach reading in American schools these days?”

  “Your big, goddamn hulking shoulders blocked the wee sign in the window,” I muttered rebelliously.

  The red-haired giant cracked his knuckles.

  “Excuse me?” I tilted my head to the side and regarded him with growing incredulity. He was not going to threaten to beat me up, was he? I wished I’d worn my six-inch spiked heels with the steel-tipped toes, but all I had were a comfortable pair of leather boots. “Look, I don’t know your name but I do know you’re Pack. And so am I. And if the private party tonight is for members of Mac Tire, well, then, here’s a funny thing—I’m a member of Mac Tire. So can I go in now? I’m fucking tired and I want a drink.”

  Meltdown verged in the direction of temper tantrum. That was interesting. Most times it was tears.

  “Well, I can smell too, can’t I now?” The giant sneered. “But, if you knew the first thing about Mac Tire, which I’m almost positive you don’t, you’d know we have pack jewelry, which, incidentally, I’m not seeing on you. And I’ll betcha my left nut you don’t have the jewelry because you’re not Mac Tire. Because if you were, you’d never take it off. Brilliant, isn’t it?”

  Yeah. Brilliant. Of course I didn’t wear the damn ring. It was a lie. Paddy had put it on my finger and told me I was family and it was a fucking lie.

  “I’m going to lose my temper,” I announced. The giant might be bigger than me, but I knew I could scream louder.

  “I don’t give a fuck.” The giant crossed his beefy arms over his chest and smirked.

  I cursed the fact I hadn’t let Jason alert Paddy or Murphy I was coming to Dublin. In my irrational fear of everything, I’d thought maybe they wouldn’t have let me come, but they could hardly object once I was already there.

  I’d come armed with the name and address of the pack’s pub. That was all I’d let Jason give me.

  Damn the man, why hadn’t he gone behind my back and called anyway? Of all the times to let me have my way, why now? Bastard.

  “Look, I have the damn ring. It’s in my luggage. I am Mac Tire, I swear.” It galled to say that because I did not feel remotely as if I belonged to the pack, but I needed to get into the pub. I was tired, hungry, miserable and about to collapse.

  “Doubtful.” The giant made no move to move aside and let me in.

  “Do you want me to tear apart my suitcase? Jesus, I don’t believe this. I think you get off on hassling people.” I began to unzip my suitcase.

  He guffawed, but did not uncross his arms. “What’s your name, woman? But I have to tell you, we don’t have Americans in Mac Tire.”

  “Ha,” I crowed. “That’s just a goddamn lie. Because you do have one. Me. My name is Constance Newcastle.”

  I don’t know what I expected. Maybe not that he’d break down into abject apologies, sweep open the door and personally escort me in, but at least some glimmer of recognition.

  “Doesn’t ring a bell. Why don’t you fuck off? Right now I’m bored, but I’m edging toward irritated and there’s a thing you don’t want to see, I promise you.”

  “How about Liam Murphy? You know him?” I spat out his name and hated myself for sinking so goddamn low.

  One bushy red eyebrow elevated. Paddy could do that trick too. Was everyone in Mac Tire a direct descendent of Mister Spock or something?

  “Him I know.” That figured. Murphy was an ex-Alpha after all.

  “Then do you know he’s bonded with an American?” I prompted, my lip still curled.

  “I know he showed up here four months ago without her and never talks about it. Rumor has it you two are on the rocks only he won’t face up to it.” The giant gave a huge shrug and his green eyes gleamed with protective ire. “Tell you what. You give me the real story of it and I’ll think about asking if you can go in. Fair’s fair. Liam Murphy’s a favorite in this pack and you’re some flighty American twat nobody knows or gives a damn about.”

  Won’t face up to it? What the fuck? He walked out on me. I don’t know what showed on my face, but the red-haired giant’s expression altered and for the first time he looked unsure.

  “Look, let me call Paddy and…” he began, but I couldn’t stand the sudden pity in his eyes. I guess he’d figured out I wasn’t the one who walked out. Fuck.

  “Oh, screw this.” I wheeled around and stomped off. I ruined my exit though because I forgot my goddamn suitcase and had to scurry back to retrieve it and the backpack full of shoes.

  The giant attempted to help me, and I slapped his meaty hands away, my cheeks on fire with mortification.

  “Did you come to try to work it out with him then?” He didn’t seem to feel the stinging slaps on his hands, and pulled the strap of the backpack over my shoulder even as I fought against his help.

  Where was my goddamn anger now? Mortification rapidly turned into blinding tears. My eyes burned.

  “None of your fucking business.” I stomped away.

  “Hang on,” he called after me. “Just let me call Paddy and maybe I can…”

  “Fuck you,” I screamed over my shoulder and turned my head away before he could see the tears on my cheeks. But I think he saw them anyway. Goddamn streetlights.

  * * * *

  Two blocks later when I was about to shove my damn heavy suitcase into the middle of the street and watch it get demolished by the terrifying traffic that traveled on the wrong goddamn side of the road, my cell phone rang.

  “This blows,” I announced as the backpack of shoes fell off my shoulder and dragged me by the elbow half into the gutter. I gave my suitcase a kick and it tottered a moment before it fell over—straight into a puddle.

  Pedestrians gave me a wide berth, and once again I wished I had my steel-toed, spiked heels.

  Instead, I dug into my purse, fatalistically convinced I would miss the damn call, and pulled out my phone. I pressed Talk.

  “What?” I barked, and there was a strange silence on the other end, as if the person debated whether or not to gently hang up and say to hell with it.

  “Where the hell are you?” The person on the other end obviously had no fear of death, but I wondered how he felt about death by disembowelment. Slow disembowelment.

  I looked around at the unfamiliar street. A pharmacy. A men’s tailor. A shoe store. I knew
I was not in a good mental space when not even the slightest desire to drift closer to the shoe store window passed through my head. In fact, I felt like throwing my backpack through the damn thing. Bad place. Stanzie was in a bad, bad place.

  “I have no fucking clue,” I replied because I didn’t. Some street in Dublin. I smelled food—something thick and meaty like stew—and nearly wept, I was so damn hungry.

  “Turn your ass around and come back to the pub.”

  “Is that a direct order, Alpha?” I snarled. Paddy, who was on the other end of the phone, damn him, made a strangled noise halfway between laughter and a roar of outrage.

  “You know what? Just shut up and frigging stand there. I’ll find you. You can’t be far, Colm said you didn’t have a car.”

  “You have got to be kidding. A car? Everyone drives on the wrong side of the road, Paddy. I almost had a fucking coronary in the cab from the airport and had to put my head between my knees and close my eyes for most of the ride. The cab driver thought I was freaking insane, and there’s a distinct possibility he may be onto something. A fucking car. Please.”

  “Are you gonna go ballistic if I start laughing now?” Paddy definitely struggled against hysterics, I could hear it in his damn voice. Fury, dull and hot, pounded through my veins and made my head hurt.

  I heard traffic noises from his end and suspected he was outside. “Where are you?”

  “Grouchy,” he commented. “I’m walking down the damn street, Stanzie, where the hell else would I be? I told you I was coming to find you. Do you suppose you could describe your surroundings? Give me a bit more than the cars are driving on the wrong side of the road?”

  “Pharmacy, men’s tailor, shoe store,” I recited obediently, although I really wanted to reach through the phone and strangle him.

  “Let me guess. You’re standing outside the shoe store and drooling over the Jimmy Flus or whatever the bloody hell they call them.”

  “Choos,” I snapped. “Jimmy Choos. You’re fucking with me on purpose, aren’t you?”

  “Maybe a little,” he agreed, and I growled.

  “Did you just growl at me?”

  I did it again and gave my suitcase another kick. It was still on its side in the puddle, and I bet all my damn clothes were now soaked in dirty Dublin rainwater. Fuck. Me.

  “Just for my own edification, what might be the name of the pharmacy? Or the men’s tailor? Or the bloody shoe store?” Paddy was the one who sounded grouchy, and a grim smile flickered across my face.

  “Boots, John O’Toole’s Menswear and Shamrock Shoes. That’s the dumbest name I ever heard for a shoe store, by the way. What’s next? Emerald Isle Organic Market? Blarney Stone Cosmetics? Jesus. H. Christ.”

  “Hey,” groaned my Alpha. “Don’t be making fun of my culture, woman. It’s not nice.” Then he snickered. “Blarney Stone Cosmetics. You horrible bitch.”

  I almost laughed myself. It was kind of a good one.

  I saw him then as he rounded the corner. Black curls ran riot over his head, black jeans, black t-shirt, black jean jacket, black boots.

  “Who are you? The Dark Lord of Dublin?” I eyed him up and down as he approached, and he rolled his eyes at me.

  “And you? Who are you? The Bedraggled Bitch of Boston?” His gaze was equally derisive as he took in my jeans, t-shirt, gray hoodie and boots. My hair was a dreadful mess and my makeup long since worn off.

  We glared at each other for thirty seconds before we both burst out laughing.

  “You do look like shite,” he said when he’d recovered, but he sounded concerned, not derogatory. I shrugged and remembered what a bastard he was. The warm moment between us evaporated, and he sighed before he righted my suitcase. It dripped, and he grimaced. He shook his head but didn’t say anything, although I suspected it half killed him to keep his mouth shut.

  “Did you not sleep at all on the plane?” He started back the way he’d come. My suitcase bumped along behind him, and I was forced to follow him if I wanted it back.

  “I can’t sleep on planes.”

  “Jaysus,” he muttered. “What is with you and your dire distrust of all methods of modern transportation?”

  “It’s not just modern. I’m kinda afraid of horses, too,” I admitted, and he snorted.

  “Well, doesn’t that figure.”

  “Walking and running are the two best ways to get anywhere, Paddy.”

  “If you never want to go more than a couple miles or get someplace in less than a month, I suppose.”

  “I also like bikes. The ones with pedals.”

  “Aren’t you awful scared you might hit a pothole and fly over the handlebars and break your arm, maybe?”

  “If I’m that damn stupid not to avoid the pothole, I deserve to break my arm. Haven’t you figured out yet I distrust putting my life in the hands of someone else? Someone who may fall asleep at the wheel or screw with his cellphone just as the light changes?”

  “Control—you just don’t like to give it up. Have you always been this way, or is this a recent character flaw?” He threw me a suspicious look over his shoulder.

  “Define recent? You try growing up with a father who takes every last decision out of your hands and makes you feel like you’re too stupid to figure shit out for yourself, and top it off with killing your bond mates in a car crash—and you tell me why I don’t like losing control. Control makes me safe, Paddy O’Reilly, and I don’t think it’s too much to ask to feel safe, do you?”

  “No.” His tone was subdued, and I became aware I’d screamed at him and, also, surprise, surprise, I was in tears.

  More pedestrians scattered out of my way, some of them even went so far as to turn away so they didn’t have to meet my gaze and perhaps become infected with my special brand of crazy.

  “Look, I’m tired and starving to death and all I wanted to do was come into the pub. Only I wasn’t wearing my damn pack ring, so that giant bastard wouldn’t let me in. Why should I wear my ring? You don’t give a shit about me. Apparently the whole frigging pack thinks I left Murphy and not the other way around.” I swiped at my eyes with my sleeve and cursed myself.

  “A little advance warning would have been nice, Stanz.” Paddy slowed his pace so he fell in next to me and tried to put his free arm around my shoulders, but I shrugged him away.

  “You want to watch me kick Colm’s ass? I didn’t have time to do it on my way out the pub door, but I’d definitely planned on it.”

  “Violence doesn’t solve anything. I just think it’s stupid you have to be Mac Tire and wear a goddamn ring to get into a fucking pub. Why isn’t being Pack good enough?” I felt my blood pressure skyrocket, and Paddy groaned.

  “Because the pub’s private, woman, but…”

  “What the hell kind of bullshit elitist crap is this? A pub just for your own pack members and to hell with the Pack at large? Padraic O’Reilly, you sonofabitch, what kind of pack is Mac Tire anyway? Fucking private pub? Unbelievable.”

  “Will you shut it, goddamn it?” Paddy cast a nervous glance around, but there were no pedestrians in the vicinity. Not anymore. Anyway, I hadn’t screamed. I had used a very vicious whisper.

  “Why? What in the name of hell for?” Incensed, I grabbed his arm and forced him to stop his forward motion.

  “Mac Tire’s a big enough pack as it is, Stanzie, and—” He broke off and pushed his hand through his unruly curls. His fingers stuck and with a grimace he yanked them free. “I’ll not be standing on the street discussing pack politics with you, damn it. The pub’s private and there’s a reason for it and to hell with you if you don’t like it. You don’t have to like it, do you? You aren’t—”

  “Going to be a member much longer? Yeah, well, screw you, too. Bastard,” I hissed and would have taken a swing at him, but he stepped prudently out of reach.

  “If you’d let me finish my sent—” he began, until I hissed, “Bastard” again under my breath, and he shut his mouth.

  We stared at
each other for a good forty seconds.

  “I was gonna say Alpha, you annoying twat. You aren’t Alpha. Next time let me finish my frigging sentence!”

  “Sure. I wouldn’t want to stop you from swearing at me and calling me derogatory names in these unfinished sentences, Paddy.”

  “Oh, and bastard is a compliment then?” We glared at each other again until the silence was broken by my goddamn growling stomach.

  “Tell me you ate something on the plane, Stanzie.”

  “So now you want me to start lying to you? I’m sorry I’m not as good at it as you are, but maybe with practice I could get better.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut and I swore I saw his lips move as he counted to ten. “Da always told me never to argue with a starving woman. So I’m not saying anything at all to you until you eat something.”

  “Fine with me! Who the hell wants to listen to your bullshit, anyway?” I shoved my backpack back on my shoulder so I could follow him the few paces left to the door of the pub.

  The red-haired giant had obviously eavesdropped if his expression of complete astonishment was any indication.

  “Were you the freak of nature who called Paddy and told him I was here?” I snarled into his chest on my way past. I didn’t feel like tilting my head back enough to look him in the face.

  “Ye—es?” He didn’t sound very confident and I rolled my eyes.

  “Thanks for nothing, asswipe.”

  “For fuck’s sake, will somebody shove some food down this woman’s gullet before we’re all doomed?” Paddy yelled, and the entire pub went eerily silent.

  “We have shepherd’s pie or fish and chips tonight.” A redheaded woman with eyes the color of green sea glass stood behind the bar. She looked between me and Paddy with a curious expression and the barest hint of a grin.

  “Bring both up to my office,” Paddy ordered. “And Guinness as well. And be goddamn quick. And don’t even think about turning that sly smirk into laughter, Alannah, or I’ll have Fee pull all that red hair out of your skull for you.”