Page 97 of Irish Vice
She’s still explaining. “You blocked my number?—”
“Stop!”
“I looked online, using databases. I went through freeport records?—”
“Stop.”
I use my Captain’s voice. The look of relief that dawns on her face is something a thousand painters could try to capture for a thousand years and never come close.
She needs that sort of command. She needs that type of control. But more than anything, she needs to know exactly what I thought when I looked up from the map that’s still sprawled across my desk—that moment when I saw her standing in the doorway.
“You came home,” I say. “I never should have let you go, notlike that, not in anger. And after you left, I should have chased after you. Should have followed you to Delaware, to the freeport, whatever it took.”
“I wouldn’t have let you past the door,” she says.
“You wouldn’t have had a choice,piscín.”
She catches her breath at that. Her mouth softens at the pet name, but she won’t give up control. Not yet. “You scared me,” she said. “Bringing that gun to the pool house.”
“Youterrifiedme,” I admit. “The fact that you went to Ingram. That I couldn’t ignore what he ordered.”
“The things I said… They weren’t fair. I knew you could protect me. You already had, at the freeport. Against the man Madden sent.”
I hold her gaze. “You knew exactly where to put your knife.” I know she’ll flinch. I know she’ll look over her shoulder and down the hallway. I know she’ll think of Madden dying under a knife.
But I say it because she can never forget who I am. She has to remember what I can do, what Iwilldo to anyone who crosses me. And she has to know I’d never harm her like that, never hurt her in any way she doesn’t beg for first.
I speak because she isn’t ready to. “The only reason we could fight like that is because we know each other so well. We know the words to say. The wounds to open. You know my secrets and you know my shame, the same as I know yours.”
She nods, because she recognizes truth. I can barely hear her when she whispers. “Promise. Promise you’ll never do that again.”
I take my time, because she has to know I mean it. I look directly in her eyes. I swallow before I open my lips. And then I say, “I promise.”
“I won’t either,” she says. And now her voice is stronger. “I swear.”
I need to touch her then, need to feel her body against my still-bare chest. My arms fold around her, and I spread one handacross the back of her head. I measure the moment she accepts that she’s home again. That she’s mine.
She’s thinner than she should be. It’s only been one week, but the hard wings of her shoulder blades tell me she’s skipped meals. She’s pale, too, her face washed out by the white silk of her top, by the harsh black of her suit.
If I kiss her, I’ll never get out of this office. And my men still need me. It takes all my strength to step away. “I can’t,” I say. “Not yet.”
She nods, because she understands. Samantha always understands.
“I have to take care of things downstairs. Fairfax shouldn’t have to deal with the firefighters on his own. And I need to call off O’Hara’s search for Madden.”
She winces a little at my dead brother’s name. This time, I pretend I don’t see her discomfort. Instead, I say, “Andyouneed to eat something.”
“I don’t?—”
She stops when I raise both eyebrows.
But then she tries again. She glances toward the door, toward the hall, toward the locked infirmary. “I can’t?—”
“You will.”
God help me, I want to feed her myself. I want to sit her on my lap and bring ripe strawberries to her lips. I want to watch her chew. I want to see her swallow.
A heavy engine revs outside, one of the firetrucks moving. Men shout to each other, the steady call of experts, wrapping up a job. I need to go.