The Marriage Contract (24 page)

She looked out the window to find them in front of Massachusetts General Hospital. “Thanks for the ride.” She reached for the door, but his hand on her arm stopped her.

“The gun, please.”

The gun that linked her to the murders of two men. She turned and met his gaze. “And what do you plan on doing with it?”

“Your sins from tonight won’t come back to haunt you, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

As if she would trust this man. Being FBI only made him
more
suspicious as far as she was concerned. “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll take care of it.”

“If you insist.”

“I do.” She opened the door and paused. “May I borrow your coat, Mr. Finch?”

“By all means.” He shrugged out of it and passed it over.

She slipped it on, instantly dwarfed. Callie didn’t like it. She didn’t like the musky scent of old cigarettes that clung to the fabric, either, but she could hardly shove the gun into the waistband of her jeans. “I’ll see it’s returned to you.” She shut the door, and then gritted her teeth when he rolled down the window.

“Tell Teague that I’m sorry. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.”

If it was as she suspected and Teague was informing to the FBI on his family—and hers?—then they’d failed him spectacularly. “You should have been there.”

“I know.” The exhausted admission struck her to her soul. They’d all screwed up to one degree or another. This situation wouldn’t have gotten so out of control without multiple people failing to put on the brakes.

She sighed. She wanted to blame this man, but there was more than enough blame to pass around. “You have a good night.”

“Not likely.” He pulled away from the curb before she could respond.

Callie slipped the gun into one of the deep pockets in the coat. As much as she wanted to rush into the hospital and demand to know where Teague was, she had to take care of the weapon first. She skirted the edge of the buildings, following the street down to the overpass leading to the waterfront. There were better ways to go about disposing evidence, but this would have to do. She didn’t like trusting Finch not to gather evidence and press charges against her, but there was no other option. He had her backed into a corner. It was entirely possible he actually saw her shoot those two men, which meant there wasn’t a jury in this country that would find her not guilty.

It was a worry for another day.

She moved through the trees at the water’s edge. It was remarkably deserted, and she wasted no time wiping the gun down and flinging it as far into the water as her strength could carry it. She waited a few moments to see if anyone saw her do it, then turned around and strode back to the hospital buildings.

It took twenty minutes to get any information at all about Teague—despite the fact that she kept telling them she was his wife—and another ten to be guided to the right part of the hospital. The nurse pointed to the waiting area with the impatient air of someone who’d done it countless times before. “He’s in surgery. The doctor will be out once they’re done putting him back together.”

One hell of a beside manner.
She muttered her thanks and sank onto the faded blue chairs. Or maybe they were gray. It was impossible to say. Callie should call someone, let them know where Teague was. Or,
God
, wash her hands. She looked down at the blood crusting her palms, and the overwhelming urge to curl up and sob flowed over her like a tidal wave.

Her hands shook, the tremors working their way through her entire body.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
Her lungs tried to close, each breath seeming to tear itself free. She bent over, resting her forehead on her knees, and closed her eyes, but that only made it worse. All she could smell was smoke and blood and something she suspected was her own fear.

She lurched to her feet and stumbled to the bathroom. The cold water felt good on her skin, but it wasn’t doing a damn thing to get the blood off. She turned it hotter and pumped a bunch of soap into her hands. She scrubbed until her skin was raw and pink and there wasn’t the slightest trace of blood. There was no help for her clothing, though.

With a sigh, she made her way back to the waiting room. The nurse at the station didn’t look particularly happy to see her, but when she asked to use a phone, she pointed Callie to a public one down the hall.

And then the calls started. First, to her father, who didn’t answer.
I’m fine. I’m at the hospital.
Then to Carrigan, who also didn’t pick up.
Teague’s been shot. We’re at the hospital.
And, finally, to Micah, who
did
pick up. “Where the hell have you been?”

Her throat tried to close. Again. “I’m at Mass General.”

“You’re okay?”

“Yes. It was Teague who was shot. I’m fine.” Or as fine as she could be, considering the circumstances.

“Thank Christ.” He blew out a breath. “I’m on my way down to the jail. Your father and pretty much everyone he took with him to deal with the Hallorans are locked up.”

Locked up was better than dead. She wasn’t sure when she’d made that belief transition, but she didn’t see herself going back anytime soon. “What are the charges?”

“I don’t know yet. Do you need me to swing by on my way?”

As much as she was loath to stall him, she couldn’t keep walking around the hospital in bloodstained clothing. “If you have a change of clothes in the car, I’d appreciate it.”

“I’ll be there in ten.”

She hung up and leaned her forehead against the wall. Papa was locked up, Teague was in the operating room, and God alone knew where the rest of his family and the Hallorans were. It felt like she was the last person standing.

It was a horribly lonely place to be.

T
eague woke up to the steady sound of beeping. He opened his eyes, squinting in the low light and feeling like he’d been run over by a truck—several times. His gaze landed Callie’s sleeping form, curled up in a chair next to his bed. “Angel.” His voice was so hoarse, it was barely above a whisper.

But she heard it. She sat up. “You’re awake.”

He lifted his hand, and she wasted no time coming to perch on the edge of his bed. “What happened?”

“Your…friends…at the FBI showed up right in the nick of time to save you and arrest everyone.”

The way she said
friends
indicated that she knew exactly what devil’s bargain he’d struck with the FBI. So they’d shown up to save the day? It was almost enough to make him laugh—at least it would be if he didn’t get the feeling it would hurt a whole hell of a lot. So typical of them to ride in just in time to sweep up the mess. “No one knows.”

“I’m not particularly worried about it at this point.”

Something inside him relaxed. That was it. The air was finally clean between them. He had no more lies, and she… “Is Brendan’s death the only skeleton in your closet?”

“Yes.” She didn’t so much as flinch.

Fuck, he loved this woman. He reached for her hand and carefully laced his fingers through hers. “Where do you want to go for our honeymoon?”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Honeymoon?”

“Don’t you think we deserve one after this?”

“Well, most definitely, but—”

“Then we’ll take one.” He glanced down at the bandages covering his chest. “As soon as the doctor gives me a thumbs-up on being able to do my husbandly duties.”

“There’s still quite a bit of mess to clean up here. Both our fathers are being charged with assault. Victor Halloran is being charged with conspiracy to commit murder, but I think the police are more excited about the evidence of tax fraud they found when they searched his house.” She shook her head. “It’s enough to make a cynical person wonder if they waited for the conflict to start solely so they could get access to the place.”

Since Teague suspected that was exactly what they’d done, he wasn’t about to jump to their defense. “And the rest?”

“I think they had their eyes on the prize, so to speak. Aiden and Carrigan are fine. They were able to slip away when the commotion started with the feds. Your mother and other sisters are back in town. They’ve all been in to see you already.” She made a face. “Your mother wasn’t impressed by our eloping. I’m nearly one hundred percent sure she’s going to insist on going ahead with a giant wedding.”

That sounded like his mother. He noted the dark circles under Callie’s eyes. For all her attempts at being upbeat, she was obviously exhausted. “How long was I out?”

“Two days. They had a difficult time stopping the bleeding in your chest from the gunshot wound, and those bruised ribs are now officially broken, but they got you patched up.”

Shit. He frowned at her. “And how much of that have you been here?” When she didn’t answer, he tugged on her hand. “Angel, answer me.”

“I went home to shower and get a few changes of clothing.”

But she’d been by his side the rest of the time. “I don’t deserve you.”

“I think that’s up for debate.” Her smile was the barest curving of her lips, gone as quickly as it appeared. “I’m sorry I lied to you.”

“Everyone lies, angel. I’m more worried that this tendency of sacrificing yourself for others is a habit of yours.” He waited until she looked at him again. “I’ve never felt so helpless in my life. Not even when my brother died.”
Fuck, that still hurt
. “Not when I found out Carrigan was taken.
Never
. Until you called me to tell me that you loved me and you’re turning yourself over to the Hallorans.”

“I thought it was the best way to make sure no one else you cared about was hurt by something I started.” She met his gaze, her blue eyes holding so many things, he was at a loss to name them all. “It was naive to believe that, but my head isn’t already on straight when it comes to you.”

“Did you ever stop to think that maybe
you’re
one of the people I care about?” He hesitated, but there was nothing holding him back from admitting how he felt. “I love you, too—more than I ever thought possible—and the thought of losing you…Angel, don’t ever pull that shit again.”

“I can’t promise that.”

He didn’t really expect her to. He raised her hand, ignoring the pain the move brought, and pressed his lips to her knuckles. “The fact that I understand means it’s entirely possible we’re both too foolish to live.”

“Saint Lucia.”

He blinked. “What?”

This time, her smile was real and stretched across her mouth. “When you get a clean bill of health, I’d like to spend a week down in Saint Lucia drinking ourselves stupid and making love all over the house.”

“Sounds like one hell of a honeymoon.”

“Yes.” She leaned down and kissed his forehead. “And when we get back, we’ll start putting things right.”

New York Times
and
USA Today
bestselling author
K
ATEE
R
OBERT
learned to tell her stories at her grandpa’s knee. She found romance novels at age twelve and they changed her life. When not writing sexy contemporary and speculative fiction romance, she spends her time playing imaginary games with her children, driving her husband batty with what-if questions, and planning for the inevitable zombie apocalypse.

S
he wasn’t here.

James Halloran drank his beer and did his damnedest not to look like he was searching the dance floor below for someone specific. Just like he hadn’t shown up here five nights a week for the last three months, even though he was needed elsewhere. With his old man in the slammer and his little brother causing more problems than he fixed, all of James’s attention should have been on getting his people back onto stable ground.

Instead, he couldn’t get
her
out of his head.

Carrigan O'Malley.

He didn’t know what he would say to her if he
did
see her. Apologize? Considering the last time they’d seen each other, he’d kidnapped her, tied her to his bed, and his father had sentenced her to a horrifying death…Yeah, there wasn’t a fucking Hallmark card that covered that.

And she’d taken something of his, something irreplaceable. The last link he had to his mother. It was a stupid sentiment, but he’d never been able to fully pack away the old photo album. To know it had been in her possession for the last three months…It left him feeling edgy and strangely vulnerable. He couldn’t admit to anyone that she’d taken it without admitting what it meant to him, and that was handing a loaded gun to the O'Malleys. No fucking way was he going there.

He reached for his beer, only to realize it was empty.

“Want another?” The short bartender didn’t look old enough to drink, but she was good enough at her job not to give him shit for showing up, having a single drink, and leaving. Over and over again.

“No, thanks.”
She
wasn’t coming tonight, just like she hadn’t come any night since the one where she’d blown his fucking mind in a supply closet. Before he realized exactly whose ear he’d been spilling filthy words into. Before she said her name and everything changed. Before he made the decision that labeled him just as cold a bastard as his old man.

Carrigan O'Malley. The daughter of the enemy. The one woman he sure as hell needed to keep his hands off.

Her absence made sense. If he had sisters, he would have gotten them the hell out of Dodge before shit hit the fan, and he would have kept them somewhere safe while things played out. The power situation wasn’t stable in Boston—not like it had been a year ago—but it was evening out. It
had
to. He was all too aware that war among the three families was the least of their concerns if some outside threat decided to take advantage of the power fluctuation. He knew the Sheridans and O'Malleys—knew how they thought, knew what they wanted, knew how they’d react to a given threat.

Better the devil he knew than the devil he didn’t.

He’d been in talks with Colm Sheridan and his daughter, Callista, about securing peace. She, at least, wasn’t willing to let the past get in the way of the ultimate good. The reluctant admiration he’d first felt when she turned herself over to him, admitting to be the one who pulled the trigger that ended his older brother’s life, had bloomed into full-fledged respect. Teague was a lucky son of a bitch—and so was everyone under Sheridan protection. Callista Sheridan was a force to be reckoned with.

Somehow, James didn’t think Carrigan would be as willing to let the past go. She was prickly and prideful and had a furious temper—and he knew that after having been around her for less than three days.

That was enough of that shit.

He pushed to his feet and headed for the spiral staircase leading down to the main floor. Since it was a Tuesday night, the place was far from packed, but there was still a cluster of dancers sweating and grinding in the middle of the floor, and plenty of people standing around the lower bar, waiting for drinks. He scanned their faces out of habit, not really expecting anything but disappointment.

His gaze landed on familiar green eyes, and he stopped short. He had to be seeing things. It had happened before—he’d been sure it was her, only to approach and realize he’d been projecting her image on some other pretty brunette. But then she shook her head, like she was trying to dispel his image, and he
knew
. James took a step toward her, still having no fucking idea what he was going to say.

She turned tail and bolted.

He was giving chase before making a decision to do so. The voice of reason piped up to point out that running her down wasn’t going to do a damn thing to reassure her that he wasn’t up to no good, but it wasn’t like the had another option at this point. She wasn’t going to sit there and let him approach her.

That didn’t stop him from hauling ass through the doors and out into the street. He looked left and then caught sight of her further down the block, making impressive time considering the six-inch spike heels on her feet.

But he had the advantage on open ground.

James poured on more speed, closing the distance between them. She cast a panicked look over her shoulder, and it was almost enough to make him stop. Only the knowledge that he wouldn’t get another chance like this again kept him moving. That and something inside him that he was reluctant to put a name to. It felt a whole hell of a lot like the conscience he’d thought was dead and gone.

She was less than six feet in front of him. It was now or never. “For fuck’s sake,
stop
.”

“Leave me alone.”

He put on a burst of speed and hooked an arm around her waist just as they reached the corner, jerking her to a stop. “Hold on for a second.”

She drove her elbow into his stomach, and then slammed her heel into his toe. Even through his boots, he felt it. “Get off me.” Her struggles increased. “Let go!”

He let go, holding his hands up and gritting his teeth against the throbbing in his foot. “I’m sorry, okay. I just wanted to talk.”

“You have a funny way of showing it.” She glanced over her shoulder, checking to see if he had other men with him, or maybe looking for an escape route. “Goddamn it, I knew better than to come back here.”

“I’m not going to hurt you.”
I never would have let them hurt you
. But the words wouldn’t come. He might have stood back and let her and Callista Sheridan escape that night, but he could have done more. He’d taken the path that resulted in the least risk to him, and something horrible could have happened to either of them as a result.

She laughed, a low, broken sound. “You know, considering our history, I find that hard to believe.”

What could he say? She was right. In her position, he would have done more violence than an elbow to the stomach. Hell, he would have drawn a gun and put an end to the threat once and for all. But things with them were different. She damn well knew that he didn’t want her hurt, abduction or no. “No one laid a hand on you.”

“No, you just threw me in a trunk, and then tied me to a bed and—” She shook her head, drawing his attention to her mass of dark hair. “I don’t know why I’m still standing here. Stay the hell away from me.”

This was it. She would walk away, and it was entirely likely that he’d never see her again. He’d never see his album again.
That’s the reason you’re here, dipshit. You’re not fawning over some woman, no matter how hot she is. She took something from you and you want it back
. “Where is it?”

She stopped, but she didn’t turn back. “Where is what?”

“Don’t play dumb, lovely. It doesn’t suit you.” He took a step closer, close enough to see the way her shoulders tightened, as if she could sense his proximity. “That album wasn’t yours to take.”

She gave him an icy look over her shoulder. “Even if I did take something—which I didn’t—I wouldn’t have kept it.”

She was bluffing. She had to be. He made himself hold perfectly still, all too aware that one wrong move would send her fleeing into the night. “Liar.”

“Whatever you have to tell yourself to sleep at night.”

It struck him that maybe she’d gotten rid of the album. She had no reason to keep it. It was nothing to her—less than nothing. He strove to keep his thoughts off his face, but from the curiosity flaring in her green eyes, he did a piss-poor job of it. “I’ll make you a deal.”

“That’s rich. You have nothing I want.”

Maybe not, but he wasn’t above playing dirty. Not in this. Not in anything anymore. James closed the distance between them in a single step and grasped her chin tightly enough that she couldn’t pull away. “Give back what you stole, and you’ll never have to see me again.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Well, lovely, then I’m going to have to take that as a sign that you still want me as much as you did three months ago. Which means you want to see me again—and again, and again.”

Her eyes went wide. “Are you seriously offering
not
to stalk me if I give back this thing I supposedly stole? What kind of deal is that? It’s bullshit.”

She wasn’t afraid anymore, which was a goddamn relief. Instead there was a spark of anger vibrating through her body, and she was eyeing him like she wouldn’t mind taking a chunk out of his hide. He preferred this Carrigan to the frightened one. As long as she was focusing on where she wanted to hurt him, she wasn’t thinking about the threat he potentially posed. “I said you and I have unfinished business, and I damn well meant it.”

“Wrong.” She snorted. “Finished business is the only kind we have—ancient history. For the last time, get your big paws off me.”

He released her for the second time. “I’m not bluffing.”

“Neither am I.” She turned around and walked away.

This time he let her go. He had no goddamn right to threaten her, but the thought of never seeing the album again—it sure as fuck wasn’t the thought of never seeing
her
again—made him twitchy. It wasn’t a threat he’d have made six months ago, but he wasn’t the same man he’d been then. He’d given up trying to be better than the rest of the Hallorans. That same violence and aggression that ran through their blood ran through his, too.

No matter how much he hated it.

Things had gotten out of control after his older brother’s death four months ago. Even now, knowing what he did about the monster Brendan was, his absence was still a weight in James’s stomach. He didn’t choose his family, and half the time he didn’t like them, but they were all he had. The Halloran empire in Southie. All the death and unforgivable shit, and for what? A few square miles of land in the part of Boston no one else wanted?

He waited until he saw Carrigan climb into the back of a cab before he turned and headed for his car. He wasn’t quite thirty yet, and he was so goddamn
tired
. It never ended. The power games, and the unforgivable acts, and the compromises on what he used to think of as his honor. There was nothing left of it anymore, and hell if that didn’t send a pang of loss through him.

Not for the first time, he wondered what his mother would think of the men her beloved sons had turned into. He couldn’t shake the belief that he was failing her. But she was dead and gone some fifteen years, and his old man was very much among the living. The only link James had to her was the album Carrigan had taken—a shrine to the man he might have been in different circumstances.

That man was dead and gone as surely as his mother was.

Now it all fell to James. The responsibility of keeping the Halloran name from disappearing the same way other enemies of the Sheridans had. People still talked about what Colm Sheridan did to the MacNamaras, though the details were sketchy now, thirty years later. All anyone knew was that it was horrific enough that no one had challenged him since.

James couldn’t let that happen to his people. And they were his, whether he wanted the responsibility or not. The only other option was walking away and letting his idiot of a younger brother take over, which was as good as signing the death warrant of everyone who depended on the Hallorans to keep shit in check in their territory.

Besides, where would he go? This was his life.

He slid into the driver’s seat of his cherry red ’70 Chevelle and sighed. His life would be a whole lot less complicated if he could let the specter of his night with Carrigan O'Malley go. She hated his ass, and for good reason. Spending more time chasing her was courting more problems than he had resources to deal with. Life was too tenuous right now to throw something like this into the middle of it—the whole thing could erupt like a bonfire at the first spark of trouble.

“I’m going to leave that woman alone.” Even as he spoke the words, he knew he was a damned liar.

Carrigan huddled in the back of the cab, trying not to shake. James motherfucking Halloran. She should have known better than to risk going back to the same club he’d taken her from, but it had been a test. Avoiding that location meant she was afraid. Carrigan had learned a long time ago that every time she refused to face her fear, it got more powerful. A fear left unchecked took away her control.

And control was one thing she didn’t have nearly enough of as it was.

Why the hell was he there?
In months and months of her frequenting that club, she’d never once seen him there. And she
would
have seen him there. James was the kind of man who stood out, even in a crowd. She’d bet what little freedom she had left that he’d never been there at the same time she had. As tempting as it was to chalk it up to a coincidence, it was too damn much to believe he’d been there tonight by chance. Which meant he’d been there looking for
her
.

She shivered. Taking the album was a mistake. She’d known the second she opened it and saw its contents that he wouldn’t rest until he had it back in his possession.

If she had half a brain in her head, she’d send the thing back to him and good riddance. Even as the thought crossed her mind, she shook her head. As questionable as it was, she wasn’t ready to give up that pawn—especially since it was important enough for him to seek her out.

He said he’d been thinking about that night
.

He lied.

He
had
to have lied. The sex obviously didn’t mean shit to him since he’d thrown her in a trunk less than ten minutes afterward. Not to mention that every remaining member of his shrinking family had been all too happy to threaten to kill her—and worse. They would have done it. She wasn’t naive enough to think they wouldn’t have.