Chapter One
You have no job experience. In anything.”
Sloan O’Malley did her best not to wring her hands when faced with the incredulous expression on the face of the woman sitting across from her. Her potential future boss. Around them, the little diner bustled with early morning customers, either coming in before their day got started or ending their night shift. It felt like every single one of them was staring.
She realized she hadn’t answered the question that wasn’t a question, and cleared her throat. “I’m a hard worker and I learn fast.” She hoped it was true. She’d never had cause to put herself to the test, and it was slightly horrifying to realize just how sheltered she’d been when it came to actual real life. “Please. I need this job.”
The money her brother Teague had sent would last for a few more weeks, but she didn’t want to lose that precious cushion. What was more, she was so incredibly tired of sitting around while life passed her by. That was why she’d escaped her family, slipping out like a thief in the night and traveling across the country without a word to anyone. They would look for her—she’d be a fool to believe otherwise—and that meant she had to ensure Teague didn’t have cause to send her more resources.
She had to stand on her own two feet for the first time in twenty-four years.
She just hoped she wasn’t about to fall flat on her face.
Taking a deep breath, she tried her hand at a convincing smile. The woman across from her, Marge, did not look convinced. What could she possibly say that would make the woman hire her? “Marge—”
“Here’s the deal.” Marge sat back. She was an older woman with a no-nonsense face creased with laugh lines that spoke of a life well lived. Her graying hair was pulled back into a bun and she wore serviceable clothes and a nondescript apron and looked like someone who could take anything life threw at her. “You look like trouble, and the last thing either I or this town needs is trouble.”
Sloan tried not to wilt at that, but Marge wasn’t through. She sighed. “But I have a thing for strays and you’re nothing if you’re not that. I’ll give you a shot. You screw up, you’re done. You’re late, you’re done. You bring any unnecessary drama to my door, you’re done. Got it?”
She could hardly believe what she was hearing. “You’re hiring me?”
“Isn’t that what I just said?” Marge shook her head and pushed to her feet. She had to be nearly six feet tall and she was built like a linebacker. “Show up tomorrow morning at seven. Dress comfortably, because I’m not going to be sending you home because your shoes pinch your feet. You complain—”
“I’m gone.”
A small smile graced Marge’s lips, gone as soon as it’d come. “Yep. Now, get lost. You’re distracting the menfolk and these fools have places to be.” She turned and walked across the diner to the counter and snapped her fingers at the cook through the gap in the wall where the food was delivered. “Hurry up, Luke. You know damn well that the Judge has places to be and he’ll be wanting his breakfast as soon as he walks through the door.”
Sloan got up and hurried out the door. I got the job. Her first impulse was to call Teague and tell him, but the only reason she was supposed to call was in case of an emergency or if she was in serious trouble. This was neither.
She headed for the beach, needing to burn off her pent-up energy. With the way the interview had gone, she’d been sure Marge was going to tell her to get lost. She’d even prepared herself for it. To have the woman do exactly the opposite made her head spin. She’s taking a chance on me and she doesn’t even know me. She could hardly believe it. In her world, people didn’t take chances on strangers like that.
Except that wasn’t her world anymore. This was.
The salt air cleared some of the static in her head. She’d grown up in Boston, but the ocean felt different on this coast. Wild. Free. Vast beyond comprehension. She slipped off her shoes and dug her toes into the sand.
Callaway Rock was about three miles from one side of the town limits to the other, all of it stretched out along the beach. The little house she was living in was on the southern outskirts and the diner was smack dab in the middle. It might have been smarter to drive down here, but she liked the walk. There might come a time when she didn’t crave the sand beneath her feet and the ocean breeze in her face, but that day wasn’t today.
Her shoes dangling from her fingertips, she started walking, letting her mind wander. The last week had been the first time she truly lived alone, and the learning curve was…strange. There were so many little things she’d taken for granted, things she’d never bothered with because they had a full-time staff to do everything from cook to clean.
It turned out Sloan wasn’t much of a cook.
I’ll figure it out. All I have is time.
She missed her family, too. She hadn’t counted on that. All she’d ever wanted to do is get away from that life, to remove herself from the playing field where she’d never have control. And she had, with Teague’s help.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t turn off her brain, and she kept wondering how Keira was doing, and if Aiden was holding up under the increasing pressure he must be feeling as heir. And Cillian. Last time she’d heard, he’d been off in Connecticut with that woman. Had things turned out? They must have, because if something happened to Cillian, Teague would have called her.
She hoped.
She trailed off to a stop, staring blindly at the tide coming in. Then there was Carrigan. Her big sister. The one she couldn’t quite forgive, no matter how much time or distance was between them. It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t right, but Sloan couldn’t let it go.
Maybe someday…
She inhaled deeply and started walking again. Mentally flogging herself by wondering what her five siblings were up to wasn’t going to do her a single bit of good. And thinking about Devlin, who was rotting away six feet beneath the ground… That way lay madness.
Up ahead, the bright green door that signaled her house appeared. She’d woken every day for the last seven days thinking that would be the day when Callie’s aunt, Sorcha, showed up, but the woman hadn’t made an appearance yet. Frankly, a part of Sloan was relieved by that. She didn’t know much about the woman except that she owned this house and seemed willing to do her niece a favor by housing Sloan indefinitely.
Against her better judgment, Sloan’s gaze drifted to the house directly north of hers. Jude.
If she never ran into him again, it would be too soon.
If she was a more curious woman, she’d wonder if perhaps he was hiding something behind those closed curtains and barred shutters. Who owns a beach house and keeps all the windows blocked?
“None of my business.” She had enough trouble without borrowing more.
As she passed, the back door opened and the devil himself emerged, a coffee cup in his hand. Sloan jerked to a stop, unable to tear her gaze away from him. His long dark blond hair was in a bun at the back of his head, which should have made him look feminine, but there wasn’t a single thing feminine about the man staring at her. His jaw might as well have been chiseled from stone, and though she couldn’t see his blue eyes across the distance, she knew they were icy and intense.
But what he was wearing…
Or, rather, not wearing.
Sweatpants hung low on his hips, and he’d misplaced his shirt somewhere. Every muscle was defined, his body too perfect to be real. She blinked, but he didn’t vanish like she’d half expected. Instead he lifted his mug to his lips, drawing her attention to his impossibly broad shoulders that tapered to a narrow waist and, good gracious, what were those muscles called that created a V leading directly into his sweatpants?
Her face felt impossibly warm despite the mild July morning and she was suddenly sure that she was blushing furiously. Keep walking. Just put one foot forward and keep walking. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t do anything other than stand there and stare at him until he nodded briefly at her, turned around, and walked back into his house.
What in God’s name just happened?
*
Jude MacNamara left his place as soon as night fell. He didn’t like moving around Callaway Rock during the day. Fuck, he didn’t like small towns in general. Everyone had too much time on their hands and felt like it was their God-given right to stick their noses into their neighbors’ business. He’d had to run off over a dozen attempts to welcome him into town since he moved here three months ago, and that hadn’t done a damn thing to dissuade anyone. If anything, it made the locals more determined to figure out everything there was to know about him.
They were wasting their time. He was here for a job. He sure as fuck wasn’t staying.
He stalked onto the beach, pausing only to make sure no teenagers had decided it was a brilliant idea to have a beach fire tonight. It was clear. Unlike the towns further north, Callaway Rock didn’t get much in the way of tourists. Maybe if they had, he wouldn’t have had to actually buy a house here while he waited for his target to reappear.
Jude lifted a pair of binoculars to his eyes. In his dark clothes and with the ocean at his back, he was damn near invisible on a night like this, with clouds covering the moon. He gave the beach to the north and south of him a cursory look to reconfirm that there was no one but him out tonight and then he turned to his real target.
The O’Connor house.
It had sat unoccupied for two and a half months, but a little over a week ago, a woman had moved in. She was about fifty years too young to be Sorcha O’Connor, and the coloring was all wrong regardless. This woman—Sloan—had both dark hair and eyes, not the blond hair and blue eyes that ran through Sorcha’s family.
He paused at each window, taking in the little changes that had come with the new resident. After he’d moved to Callaway Rock, he’d broken in and gone through the entire house, looking both for clues to where Sorcha currently was and familiarizing himself with the layout in the event that he’d need to return. There was nothing of the former, and the latter was laughably easy. With the massive windows and fact that the curtains and shutters were never closed, he hadn’t had to set foot in the place to figure out everything he needed to know. But it paid to be thorough.
What he couldn’t figure out was who the hell this Sloan was and how she was connected to Sorcha O’Connor.
For a second, right when he found her peering into his windows that first night, he’d half convinced himself that she was actually Callista Sheridan, come to visit her long-lost aunt. A coup like that… It made his adrenaline spike just thinking about it. What better way to make Colm Sheridan suffer than removing his beloved daughter from the struggle for power among the big Boston families? She was the only child he had left, after all…
But as soon as Sloan had stepped into the light, he’d realized his mistake. Even if her coloring could be faked, this wasn’t Callista. He’d seen her a time or two over the years, and she carried herself as a woman used to having her orders followed without question, even before she took over the Sheridan empire.
Sloan? She seemed to have her shoulders perpetually hunched, as if expecting a blow. He couldn’t tell if it was an abusive ex or something else, but she was fleeing something. And it’s none of my fucking business if she is. She’s not my target. Sorcha O’Connor is.
Every light was lit inside the house, and he watched Sloan walk through it, pausing to touch the marble kitchen counter, the thick mantel over the fireplace, the back cushion on the couch facing the massive windows. Then she disappeared, reappearing in the guest room, her hands going to the buttons at the front of her dress.
Jude’s body sprang to attention when he realized what was happening. Put the damn binoculars down. Sorcha isn’t there, and this girl isn’t your mark. But he didn’t. Instead, he watched as she shrugged out of the dress, leaving her in only a pair of silk white panties and an equally white bra. She looked innocent, untouchable, and he could barely wrap his mind around it.
It took considerable willpower to lower the binoculars as she reached behind her to unhook her bra, but he wasn’t a goddamn Peeping Tom. Jude laughed softly. Sure, stand on your high moral horse. You fucking kill people for a living and you’re going to be honorable about watching some woman who you’ve met once undress.
There have to be lines. Even if they don’t always make sense.
And, mystery past or not, that woman was an innocent. It was…odd. These days, most of the people he spent any amount of time with were either contacts to further his goals or people in the same life. Every single one of them had seen things, same as him. They didn’t blink at the choices he’d made or the path that had brought him into it.
He didn’t have many dealings with innocents.
He’d seen the way she looked at him this morning, though. Even across the distance between them, the hunger in her eyes had been readily recognizable. It made him hot just thinking about it. What would she do if he walked up to her front door right now and knocked? Would she answer in a robe? Would she submit if he closed the distance between them and kissed her?
Jude cursed long and hard, his cock so hard it was a wonder it didn’t burst out of his jeans. He had no business thinking things like that, not while he was on a hunt and sure as fuck not about a woman who had some kind of connection with his target.
An innocent.
He was half surprised he could even recognize that trait in another person. He hadn’t ever been one. He hadn’t had a chance to be. That opportunity had been taken away the moment Colm Sheridan declared the death sentence on Jude’s father and brothers—the same death sentence he would have delivered to Jude’s mother if he’d known she was pregnant.
No, there was no room for innocence in his life.
There was only revenge.