Elle
The house was old. It creaked and groaned, almost snoring all on its own. Which sucked, because I really wanted to sleep. Wanted to, but couldn’t. My body was exhausted after everything the last couple of days and all I wanted to do was lay back and close my eyes. But I couldn’t. Every time I did, I heard the creaks and groans of the house and the face of that poor, poor woman flashed before my eyes.
I’d insisted on changing out of her borrowed dress. I used the pretense of wanting something more comfortable to sleep in—it was a little tight in the chest area—but really I just couldn’t deal with the idea that I was wearing a dead woman’s dress. A woman I’d spoken to only a few scant hours ago.
Outside, the weather tried to snow, but only managed a barrage of noisy, staccato sleet. It pounded against the window of the unfamiliar room and just made everything worse.
I made a frustrated noise, shifting beneath the covers.
Ciaran’s house was really big. Huge, actually. Especially when you compared it to my worthless little apartment. It was like going from a Motel 6 to a five-star resort. The difference was so noticeable that you caught yourself just staring sometimes, trying to figure out if any or all of it was even real.
I was in one of the upstairs bedrooms. Not the master, though this one was large with a window to one side and a full-sized bed. There was no bathroom attached, but there was one down the hall a short way.
The room was decorated in soft, neutral colors and the bed was comfortable with fluffy pillows and plush bedding. I should have fallen asleep instantly. Except I was almost positive Ciaran hadn’t done the decorating. It had to have been his mother.
Could I not escape thoughts of the poor dead woman?
Sitting up in an effort to put her from my mind, I contemplated other things. Not that they made me feel much better. Ciaran had said he was in a motorcycle club. I had read a few romance novels in my day and while I usually preferred sweet romances or first love type stories, I admitted to having read some of the trashy, bad boy books, too. Sometimes a girl had needs, and I wasn’t interested in watching porn or anything like that. But smut? That was totally different.
In the books, the love interest was part of the club and was rough around the edges. He had a sexy dangerousness to him that drew the main woman in. It made for a great, thrilling read.
But real life? I wasn’t so sure.
Ciaran had clearly not wanted to tell me. Was that a sign that maybe he hadn’t told me the whole truth? Was it a hint not to trust him? Or was he just trying to shield me from the dangers of his life? That was usually the reason in the romance novels, but those were just stories. They were based on fantasies of lonely women like myself.
“But I want to believe him,” I muttered to the empty room as the sleet continued to pound against the window. The desire to believe him was the main reason I hadn’t called the police yet. I’d been thinking about it, debating it on and off since coming up here, but I hadn’t quite made the push to do it. Ciaran had said it wasn’t safe, and I didn’t know why, but I really wanted to trust him.
Sighing, I finally just threw back the covers and accepted that I wasn’t going to get to sleep. I got out of bed and decided to head downstairs to the kitchen. I could get some water, or maybe even check to see if there was some milk to warm up. My mother used to do that for me when I was a kid, adding in cinnamon and a little vanilla so it tasted wonderful. Not that that mattered now. I’d settle for anything that would help calm my nerves enough to fall asleep.
I saw a woman die today.
I shoved the thought aside, then padded out into the hall. I was wearing an oversized long-sleeved shirt. It was one of Ciaran’s, I was sure, which was why it was long enough to semi modestly wear as a sleep shirt for me. He was, like, twice my size.
Dressed in only that, I headed downstairs with thoughts of the kitchen and warm milk. Or tea. Tea would probably be better. But when I reached the first floor I noticed that the fire was still going strong and there was someone sitting on the couch in front of it.
I froze and for a moment was terrified. Had someone broken in? Was it this Shane guy? Had he heard me?
But I relaxed as I realized the firelight was highlighting his soft reddish brown hair and his pale skin. It was Ciaran. I sighed in relief. “Jesus,” I said, diverting from my route to the kitchen to head into the den instead. Ciaran jerked his head around, my voice startling him. “You scared the crap out of me.”
He took a moment to calm his breathing, then smirked at me. “Likewise. Couldn’t sleep?”
I shook my head. I didn’t want to talk about why, but I quickly decided that a little extra company definitely wasn’t a bad thing. “Nope. You?”
He shook his head. “Too much going on.”
I nodded, then curled myself up on the couch beside him. For a long moment, we just sat in silence. I watched the fire absently, watching as the flames licked at the half charred longs, sparks flying and crackling.
Finally, I said, “Are you sure about not going to the police?”
He looked over at me. I made a point to keep my gaze on the fire. I didn’t want to seem like I was questioning him, but at the same time I couldn’t shake that I hadn’t gotten the full story from him. Was this really all about who was their father’s favorite as a kid? Was that enough to kill someone over?
“Yes,” he said finally. “I am. I know it sounds wrong, but the police can’t be trusted.”
A frown tugged at the corners of my mouth. “But not all of them are in his pocket, right?”
“Sure, not all of them,” he admitted grudgingly. “But we don’t know for sure which ones are and which aren’t. We could end up calling the exact wrong person.” He paused, then added, “You know what that would mean, right?”
I thought about it a moment. Would it stall the investigation? Would they just not file the report? “No, I don’t.”
He took a deep breath, then let it out in a whoosh. “It would mean they’d have to blame this on someone else. Someone who isn’t Shane.”
Dawning realization hit me. They would have to blame it on someone else, and who would be the most convenient person? Ciaran. He’d been there that day. He knew her. He took her shotgun and her truck. It would be easy to frame him for the murder. And then he’d be stuck in prison for a crime he didn’t commit, knowing his mother would never get justice. “He’d use you as a scapegoat,” I finally said.
He nodded. “Yes.”
I bit my lower lip. This was such a mess. How did I get myself into this? I glanced sideways at Ciaran. I knew exactly how I’d gotten myself into this. A moment of being stupidly decent by saving a stranger’s life. Then I’d actually seen him, and that kiss…Yeah, it was definitely the hormones pushing me towards him rather than pulling me away.
But was that a good idea? Was that safe?
Probably not.
But whether it was smart or destined to get me into a world of trouble, I couldn’t help that I was drawn to him. And I couldn’t help that I didn’t want him to die or go to jail or anything else. Which meant I was going to have to trust him. Still, I asked, “Couldn’t we find the right people in the police to talk to? They aren’t all working for this Shane guy, right?”
Ciaran tensed and returned his gaze deliberately to the fire. I could tell he wasn’t thrilled with my suggestion, but he considered it. “Maybe. But we’d need to be sure of who we could trust, and make sure the police knew why we were hesitant in the first place. After all, cops tend to stick together.”
I could hear a natural note of distrust in his voice, telling me he didn’t like the cops regardless of whose pocket they were in. It made me frown, but I didn’t argue that he was right. Cops would believe other cops first, right?
“But we could try,” I pushed.
Ciaran sighed. He rubbed his hand across his face, then up into his hair, ruffling through the thick strands. Finally, he turned away from the fire and looked back to me. “Yes, you’re right. We could try. And…and we should. Ma deserves that.”
I felt something ease within me. We could go to the police and they could protect us from this crazy psycho and his goons.
But then Ciaran added, “But I need time.”
I blinked. “Time?”
He nodded, the intensity and urgency in his gaze unmistakable. “Yes. Time. A lot of things are going on right now, Elle. We’re not sure who to trust, but we know for sure Shane is after us. So give me time to get ahold of my guys, to see if they can give us some measure of safety. Give me time to figure out who the right people to talk to are. Can you do that for me?” I hesitated, but then he said, “I want real justice for Ma. She deserves that and so much more. She was the last person to give a damn about me.”
Something inside me melted. I was swallowed up by a sense of heartache, regret, sadness. But I realized something else. “That’s not true.” I reached for Ciaran then and took his hand in mine. I squeezed it, causing his eyes to widen in shock. What am I doing? I wasn’t sure, but I wanted him to know there were people in this world who still cared about him.
He didn’t say anything for a moment, then he leaned forward and cupped my cheek with his free hand. His thumb caressed my cheekbone, then he closed the distance between us. His lips touched mine and it was incredibly, sweetly gentle. It was a thank you as much as a kiss, and if I hadn’t already been halfway gone, I would be now.
It was only a kiss. I might have let it go farther, but Ciaran pulled away this time. He settled back against the couch and pulled me with him. I curled up against his side, laying my head against his chest. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders, securing me to his side. We watched the fire for a long time and eventually, I felt my eyelids get heavy. I couldn’t say for sure when, but I did finally doze off, listening to the steady beat of his heart and feeling the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest.
I didn’t dream of dead women and I didn’t think of all the ways this was all going to go wrong.