Maria found a mug and poured a coffee. She added two spoonfuls of sugar to make the liquid drinkable. In the fridge, she discovered a smoked chicken, some bread and made herself a sandwich. Nothing had ever tasted so good.
In the lounge, she added a couple of logs to the wood burner and toasted herself until the last of her chill retreated. Half an hour passed, and still Dallas didn’t make an appearance. She’d given up creeping around and walked down the passage, exploring the interior. Not bad.
Of course when they got back together, she’d ask Dallas to move to an apartment, somewhere in the center of the city. She enjoyed living close to the action. This place was too far out in the ’burbs. Who wanted nosy neighbors chatting over the fence or rug rats screeching next door?
The first bedroom—a decent size double—was empty apart from boxes of books and crap. In the second bedroom—the master—she found her man. Dallas was in bed, his breathing deep and even. A purple bruise covered part of one cheek and one of his eyes appeared swollen. A hand stuck from under the covers. Swathed in a white plaster, the limb contrasted with the navy and silver duvet cover.
Joe had told her they’d given her man a warning. Worse would come if he didn’t settle her gambling debts.
A glance at her watch told her she had time. She could clean up a bit, take a shower and if she woke Dallas, it wouldn’t matter.
Two hours later, a yawn seized her. Dallas was still asleep and hadn’t woken while she showered or put her clothes in the washer. Now they were drying. She didn’t know what time the woman would arrive. A grin curled across her face as a thought occurred. Why shouldn’t she grab a few z’s while her clothes were drying? And if the woman came home, so what?
“Why don’t you take Dallas’s truck and head to the house?” Patrick suggested after telling her Quinn had rung and told him he’d made Dallas take his pills and sent him to bed. “It’s quiet. We can cope without you.”
“Thanks. I don’t want to leave him alone for too long,” Laura said. “No telling what idiotic thoughts will occur to him.”
“Laura.” Patrick stayed her with a hand on her shoulder. “You have to make allowances for the history between our families. The attack on Dallas plus the break in and the graffiti business are suspicious. It’s no wonder Quinn is full of doubts and why Dallas is not himself.”
“I’m not responsible,” she snapped. “I’d never do that. From the moment I met Dallas, I’ve been upfront and honest. I’m not a devious person. If I have problems with Dallas, I’ll tell him to his face.”
“You’re not the one with cracked ribs. You’re not the one with a dinky arm. You’re not covered with bruises. Cut him a little slack. Quinn said he’s dopey with meds. He’s not thinking right. Go easy on him. Please.” Patrick squeezed her shoulder. “From where I stand, you’ll make a great sister-in-law.”
“I’ve heard the Irish have silver tongues.” She drew a deep breath, her temper softening around the edges. Another draft of air and her brain cleared to focus on one thing—her love for Dallas.
Then a thought occurred—crystal sharp and obvious.Duh!She hadn’t told him she loved him. She’d told James instead of the one person who should know of her feelings.
“You’re right. Thanks. I needed the pep-talk,” she said.
“You and Dallas work together—you’re right. Our families will see it soon. Call me, okay? Let me know how he is.”
“As soon as I get home.” It was raining again. Laura scuttled from the pub to Dallas’s truck and still managed to get soaked. The cold water seeped through her lightweight coat, and by the time she reached the house, goose bumps pebbled her skin.
The house lay in darkness when she climbed out of the truck. She readied her key, frowning when the door opened to her touch, then shrugged when she realized Quinn wouldn’t have had a key.
She walked down the passage to the bedroom. Dallas hadn’t bothered to draw the curtains, and the streetlight across the other side of the road shone through the window. She came to an abrupt halt when she saw the outline of a woman cuddled up against Dallas. Heavy breathing—almost a snore—came from Dallas. Laura stood there for an instant longer, blinked twice and refocused.
There was a strange woman in bed with Dallas.
She was gonna kill him.
Laura took half a step into the bedroom, ready to deliver a rude awakening, ready to commit murder, ready to kick the bimbo in her skinny arse and came to an abrupt halt. She backtracked to the kitchen, hands fisted at her sides and unshed tears burning her eyes.
What to do? With a trembling hand, she hit speed dial and tapped her toes while waiting for Patrick.
“Speak.”
She dispensed with the niceties, getting straight to the point. “You need to get here now. I want you to witness me committing a murder.”
“What’s wrong?” Patrick demanded. “Dammit, Quinn. Let me talk to her.”
“It’s Quinn,” another voice snapped. “What’s wrong with Dallas?”
“Come to the house,” she said. “And when the Drummond-O’Grady feud bursts into life again, you’ll have a front row seat. Don’t worry. I’ll wait for your arrival before I start kicking butts.”
She poured herself a glass of wine, took a huge sip. She paced back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Drank more wine. By the time she finished with Dallas, he’d realize his screw up. He’d rue the day and all that crap. Her hand tightened on her glass. Empty. She refilled her glass, thought about getting to the ass-kicking.No. Wait for Patrick and Quinn. Wait for witnesses.
The sound of a car made her straighten. She drank the last of her wine and stalked to the door to let them inside. “That was quick.”
