The Best Part of Me (19 page)

“We'll have the rest of tomorrow night to come up with a design plan. Then we'll have all day on Monday to shop for supplies. Work on the site begins on Tuesday, and we'll be all finished with the exam and back to Ballagh on Friday.”

A whole week away from Ewan. The thought made her a little bit sad. But this was important to Darcy, and she wasn't about to let her friend down.

“Sounds perfect,” Quinn said. “And we'll be home just in time for your party too.”

Darcy rolled her eyes. “Ugh. Don't remind me.”

He'd expected his night to crawl by in anticipation of seeing Quinn later, but Ewan had been wrong. One of the locals decided that he'd entertain the crowd with his fiddle, and Katie's was having the largest Saturday night crowd that she'd had in weeks. Not that business was slow by any means, but every seat was taken, and a small crowd of folks stood along the walls, leaning along the window ledges because there was nowhere else to go.

He was surprisingly full of energy, the excitement of the pub's inhabitants breathed a second wind into him. After the last couple of nights, he should be flat on his back, fast asleep. Yet with every pull of the tap, he was thinking about getting Quinn flat on
her
back. God, it was like he was twenty-five again. The money was rolling in, he wasn't in any danger of running out of stout, and he would get to see Quinn as soon as she got her skinny little ass over here.

It was the sex. It had to be. Because it wasn't really in Ewan's nature to go soft over a woman. Not since his first high school crush would he lump himself into that category. Two nights of sex—mind-blowing sex—resulted in a craving that he'd never felt before. He wasn't too sure he was comfortable with feeling the way he did. He'd thought about delicately dropping the hint again that their beneficial arrangement was strictly that. But honestly, how would he get that point across to her?

You're the best friend with benefits I've ever had.

I wish all the other women I've slept with had been this cool about no-strings-attached sex.

I'm sure gonna miss this when you go back to Pittsburgh.

Yeah, those would go over really well. Women loved that romantic shit, right?

Fuck it. Whatever was going to get Quinn into his bed was going to be the game plan. And the fact that he didn't mind spending time with her outside of the bedroom didn't mean he was falling for her. It was strictly about the sex. Hot, can't-stop-thinking-about-it-all-day sex.

Ewan was about to pick up a tray of glasses to carry them to the back room when he heard the loud rap of a knuckle against the bar top.

“Guess it's no surprise there's slow service here.”

With a curse on the tip of his tongue, Ewan turned back toward the complainer and then scowled.

Keith Hardy.

Every fiber in Ewan's body wanted to toss him out. But after a quick glance, it appeared that Hardy was there by himself. Which was odd since he never traveled anywhere without his fucking entourage.

If it weren't for the menacing gleam in his eye, Keith Hardy would appear to be just another guy at the pub on a Saturday night. Pale skin, dark hair and stubble. Stood about five nine, weighed around 190 pounds. Eyes so close together he may have been a Cyclops.

Ewan hated the fact that he was in the pub, where Hardy damn well knew he wasn't welcome. But with the full house, he wasn't gonna start a brawl just to kick him out on his ass.

Again.

In fact, why Hardy was even there in the first place had Ewan curious, since the last time he'd been here it hadn't ended well for him. Whatever they wanted him to do, they must really be desperate.

“What's on tap tonight, McKenna?”

“Same thing that's always on tap.” Patience was not a virtue that Ewan possessed.

“How about a pint of whatever you have then.” Hardy slid his cash across the bar. Ewan reluctantly filled the glass, watching carefully as the level of beer neared the top. Maybe if he humored the asshole, he'd leave peacefully and quickly. He placed the pint in front of Hardy, swiped the money from the bar, and tossed back the change.

“Oh, you can keep that for yourself, my friend. A tip.” He smirked. He looked like a man whose screws weren't quite tightened all the way.

Without a word, Ewan took the meager tip and threw it in the tip jar. Before he could take two steps toward the other end of the bar and far away from Keith Hardy, the fucker spoke again.

“Business is boomin' tonight. I was hoping you would have a second to talk.”

Ewan stopped and glared back at Hardy, silently willing him to get a fucking clue and leave.

“There's something I need your help with,” he began.

Ewan almost laughed.

“The boys and I are heading over to Hartford. Some of our old…associates”—he smiled—“are putting together a little
demonstration.
”

“No,” Ewan said abruptly and turned to walk away.

“Wait! You don't even know what I'm asking.”

Ewan swung back, stopped directly before the other man, and glared. “I know damn well what you're asking, and you should know that I want nothing to do with your plans.”

“Adam Madigan himself sent down the order. He specifically requested your
assistance
,” Hardy snapped, almost as if he were jealous that he hadn't been the one whom Madigan had asked for.

“Then Adam can damn well ask me himself so I can tell him to leave me the fuck alone.”

“What the hell happened to you, McKenna?” he said, before leaning over the bar to whisper, “You've lost your goddamn mind if you expect that all this shit is dead and buried. You can't ever leave that life. It'll follow you to your grave.”

“I settled things a long time ago with the Madigans. I'm out.”

“Do I have to remind you how they had you rolling in money for years? Anything you wanted they could get for you. All they asked in return was for your loyalty. Something you wouldn't know anything about apparently.” He was trying not to raise his voice, and thankfully the fiddle and the noise of the crowd were drowning him out.

“I never asked them for anything. I owe nothing.”

Hardy pounded a fist on the bar top, this time drawing attention of the few men who were sitting nearby. “Bullshit! Once you spill blood for them, they own you.” He looked hard at Ewan and shoved a finger into his chest. “You're a fucking dog to them. Just like me. They whistle and you listen. That's how it works.”

Ewan shook his head. “You're wasting your time. The answer is still no. Now leave me the hell alone.”

He pushed himself away from the bar as Hardy's cold stare bored into him.

“Once Adam hears of this, you'll be sorry.”

Ewan didn't bother to reply. If Adam had a problem with something, he could get in touch with Ewan himself. No one wanted to see a Madigan at their doorstep, but he'd been honest and up front with the head of the family once before. He was sure he could do it again.

Ewan grabbed the tray of glasses that he'd been meaning to take into the back, but paused as he noticed Quinn walk through the front door. All thoughts of Keith Hardy and the Madigans left his mind, and desire took their place as his eyes met hers.

She'd worn her hair down, which he wasn't used to seeing but definitely liked. She was carrying a small bag over her shoulder. Her smile eased a tension he hadn't known he had. He didn't know if it was the conversation he'd had with Keith Hardy or maybe he was expecting her to still be mad over losing their bet.

She walked straight to the door that led up to his apartment and then disappeared behind it a second later.

Shit. It was only half past midnight.

“I just realized something. Maybe I've been wrong about you all this time,” he heard. Apparently, Ewan had stopped when Quinn had walked through the door, which had kept him within earshot of Keith fucking Hardy.

“I've watched this life slowly chip away at our colleagues. Eat away their souls and drain the light from their eyes. I had thought that's what happened to you, and that's why you wanted out. You were one of the coldest people I knew back then. Jesus, just looking you in the eye scared the shit out of me.” A dark smile formed on his face as he spoke. “Looking at you right now? Nothing's changed, McKenna. You're still dead inside, and if you think chasing after dreams of a quiet, simple life is going to change that, you're wrong. There is no happy ending for people like us.”

Ewan remained expressionless and watched as Hardy slipped out of his chair and walked out of the pub. He stared at the door long after it swung closed.

While most people would consider it impolite and nosy, Quinn figured since she was sleeping with Ewan, it would be okay to have a look around his apartment. It wasn't like she was going through the medicine cabinet or anything. It was just that one could find out a lot about someone from the way they kept their home.

In one word, Ewan's apartment was tidy.

After taking her shoes off at the door next to a couple of neatly positioned pairs of Ewan's shoes and tossing her overnight tote bag on the recliner, she began her self-guided tour in the living room.

There were no overhead lights in the entire apartment that she could see. The light switch beside the front door had turned on two floor lamps in opposite corners, which cast a dim golden glow over the room.

The well-worn couch that she had become familiar with the night before was bare of any throw pillows. The dark wood floors and the dark chestnut color of the couch and recliner gave the living room a masculine feel.

The coffee table was actually an old trunk with brass handles at the sides. There was a neat stack of cork coasters on top next to a remote for a wall mounted flat-screen TV that was too small for the space.

The long wall where the TV hung was off-white and bare. Quinn noticed as she walked toward the back of the apartment that there were no wall decorations or art of any kind. That didn't really surprise her. Ewan didn't seem like the collector type or someone who would express himself by means of watercolors or art deco.

The two tall windows on the back wall framed the small dining table with three simple wooden chairs, each pushed in neatly. Quinn stood at the window and watched a few pedestrians cross the street below. Even with the window firmly shut, she could still smell the lovely sweet perfume of the flower arrangements outside the florist shop next door.

A thickly woven navy rug scratched at the bottoms of her feet as she turned back toward the room. There was a stack of mail on the table: the day's newspaper, rolled and bound with a rubber band, a bright purple envelope, which Quinn immediately recognized as Darcy's birthday invitation, and a few other miscellaneous pieces of mail.

Aside from the main pile, she noticed several matching envelopes with beautiful scrolling handwritten addresses all postmarked from Belfast. They were all addressed to Ewan in care of his uncle and had been posted within the last three weeks. Each letter was almost identical except for the post date. The handwriting was definitely a woman's.

An old girlfriend, perhaps?

But that didn't make any sense because they were sent via his uncle. She counted five letters, sent on the same ivory-colored stationery and inked in the same blue pen. The return address didn't include a name, just an address on Malone Road in Belfast.

It was none of her business, of course, but she was still curious.

Quinn ventured into the tiny galley kitchen lined with more dark wooden cabinets and very limited counter space on either side of the single sink. The black refrigerator took up most of the space, and the only magnet was a rugby ball, which held up a laminated list of phone numbers. Sean's name was on the top, followed by his uncle, his aunt, and Jenny, whom Quinn presumed was the same Jenny who helped him out at the pub.

She wondered, if she had a cell phone number, whether her name would make it on his coveted refrigerator phone list.

Opening the fridge, she found the staples: half a loaf of bread, a carton of milk, eggs, and butter. There was some lunch meat—ham—in the meat tray, along with a couple slices of yellow cheese. Surprisingly there were no cans of beer or other alcohol to be found. The only exception was the bottle of whiskey that was kept on top of the refrigerator, which she'd seen Ewan use that night he'd kissed her.

Done snooping in the kitchen, she passed the lone interior brick wall separating the living room and the bedroom. Not surprisingly, the bedroom was just as tidy as the living room.

Had he cleaned before she'd come over?

A massive wooden bed was snug against the cream-colored wall opposite the front of the building. The bed, which was neatly made, had two large pillows and a dark blue comforter. Two large windows identical to the ones in the dining room looked out over the main street in Ballagh, with the front door of the pub directly below. There were no curtains or blinds on the windows to block the morning sun. The building across the street was close enough to see into.

Either Ewan was an exhibitionist or he didn't give a damn that anyone with a strong urge to see his bare ass would be able to have a front-row seat from across the road. She wondered where they would end up later that evening. Surely not in front of the window?

A few well-read books were stacked on top of the only tall dresser in the room. Quinn smiled when she saw the image of a boxer on the cover of
The Professional
by W.C. Heinz. Underneath was a copy of
Invisible Man
by Ralph Ellison.

On one side of the bed was a door to a small closet. A number of button-down shirts were hanging there, along with some folded pairs of pants. A few pairs of shoes were on the floor, and several belts hung from a hook on the back of the door.

On the other side of the bed was the bathroom. The floor was covered with tiny white tiles with dark gray grout. A standing shower was shoved into the corner and lined with a striped black, silver, and white shower curtain. There was bar soap in the soap holder along with a brand of shampoo she wasn't familiar with. Toilet, pedestal sink, and wastebasket. Pretty standard. Again, extremely clean.