As the door closed behind them Declan poured himself another scotch, sat back in his chair, and considered the conversation. What the bloody hell did his mother have to do with it?
…
Jess had a certain sense of déjà vu as the taxi deposited them outside the nightclub. This was where she’d had that final showdown with Rory McCabe all those years ago.
The place was closed, but Dave tapped on the door, and it opened within seconds. A man stood there. He was huge, a slab of steroid-induced muscle, his black T-shirt stretched tight over bulging chest. One of Rory’s bouncers. He looked over them briefly and then stood aside to let them in.
They followed him through into the main area with the large dance floor and podiums scattered about. She’d danced on one of those podiums the night she’d met Declan. The place hadn’t changed at all, though it appeared different in daylight, the blinds open.
They passed the table where she’d had her last confrontation with Rory McCabe, but they didn’t pause. Instead, they followed the man through a door in the far wall and into a private area with a table set for lunch. Three places.
Rory McCabe was seated at one of them, facing the door. He looked so like his son that a shiver ran down her spine. She would do well to remember the relationship. Rory was a hard-nosed bastard, and while Declan had a veneer of civilization, underneath she was guessing he was just the same. From her research, she had learned that the business was totally legit, but no one was that successful without a ruthless streak. Rory rose to his feet as they entered, his lips twitching as he caught sight of Dave and Steve behind her. “You brought your own bodyguards. I assure you, you’re quite safe here.”
She ignored the comment. “This is Dave Grantham and Steve Forrest. They’ll be working on Declan’s team if we take the job.”
He nodded and spoke to the young man who’d led them here. “Could you set the table for two more and inform the kitchen.”
She gave her best insincere smile. “I hope we haven’t inconvenienced you.”
“Why do I get the impression you don’t give a damn if I’m inconvenienced?”
She didn’t answer, just shrugged and stepped aside as the young man pulled up two extra chairs and repositioned the others. She took one, leaving a gap between her and Rory. Steve hesitated a second, then took that seat, and Dave took the one on her other side. Maybe they’d sensed some animosity between her and the older man.
“Drinks?” Rory asked waving a hand at his own glass of scotch. “I remember you had a thing about my malt scotch.”
No way was she touching the stuff today. She wanted a clear head. “Water will be fine.”
Rory raised an eyebrow but took his seat and studied her. “You’re not at all what I expected you to become.”
“Really?” She kept her tone disinterested. She had a good idea what he’d expected her to become. He’d made that clear at their last meeting.
“Actually, I like the scar.” He gave a small smile. “Gives you character.”
She smiled sweetly; she’d been practicing. “That’s nice. I aim to please.”
Beside her, Steve choked on a mouthful of water, and she reached across and patted him on the back.
Rory’s eyes narrowed on the movement. “So,” he said, “I hear you went back to see Declan yesterday and I know you stayed for a while.”
He didn’t sound too bothered by the idea. Had she suddenly become acceptable? “Still spying on him?”
Before he could answer, the door opened and Declan stepped through. He closed the door behind him and stood just inside the room, taking in the occupants. Like yesterday, he was immaculately dressed in a dark suit and tie, his hair in place. The only sign of his close encounter with death was a cut on his forehead.
Staring at the jagged red line, the fact sank in: he could have died that morning. The idea made her want to lock him away somewhere safe until all this was sorted. And she couldn’t understand the reaction.
Declan nodded at Dave and Steve, ignored his father, and finally focused on Jess. His gaze dropped to her mouth and he stared.
…
Once again, she wasn’t wearing any makeup but her lips were pink, maybe a little swollen from his kisses yesterday. Her dark blue eyes held no expression.
There was a seat opposite her, but first he went and grabbed the bottle of scotch and a glass from the sideboard behind his father. He took it to the table and sat down, poured himself a drink, and swallowed it in one go. He looked up to find everyone watching him with varying expressions, from Jess’s deadpan, to the two men’s disapproval, to his father’s…amusement?
“Was the hotel okay?” his dad asked.
“It was fine.”
“You could always come and stay with me.”
“I don’t think so.”
His father cast a glance at Jess. “Worried I’ll cramp your style?”
“No. Anyway, it’s only for one night. Paul’s finding me an apartment to rent. One I can move into immediately.”
Jess cleared her throat. Loudly. “Er…do you think we can move on here?”
He sat back in his chair and smiled. “Of course.”
“So have you changed your mind? Is the job on?”
He held her gaze. “The job is on.” He tried to read her expression, but she was giving nothing away. Back when she was seventeen, he’d been able to read her every thought. She’d hidden nothing, flashed every emotion for everyone to see. Somewhere along the way she’d learned to hide that and he felt a flicker of sadness. She’d been so full of life, fizzing with energy. Like a wild fire, liable to go out of control at any moment.
That last meeting, at the hospital, she’d been full of disbelief. He’d told her they could still be friends and that she should come to him if she needed anything. But he’d had to go, had to get some distance. She turned him into a person he didn’t want to be. The close encounter with the police had shown him that. The police hated his family—and maybe they’d had good reason. His older brother Logan, had already been serving time on some trumped-up assault charge that anyone else would have walked away from.
A week before the crash, she’d stolen a goddamn car. And he’d gone a long with her, because she loved the thrill of danger.
And so did he. He’d just buried it deep.
She’d brought him face to face with a side of himself that he’d always kept under rigid control. A side that at eighteen had craved walking on the wild side. And that was why he’d had to leave.