Conall pouted at Mr. Killough until he got a kiss. “A double, Boss?” He glanced at me and laughed again.
“Yes.” He patted Conall on the ass, and I tried not to stare, but his red jeans were the type that made his butt stick out, and it was difficult to focus anywhere else with Mr. Killough touching him there. His low-cut black T-shirt also made his collarbones visible, so all I wanted to do was look.
Conall smirked as if he understood I had staring troubles when it came to attractive people, and I followed him when he passed me in the hallway. “Yes, the kitchen’s that way.”
Mr. Killough moved off like he was at least a little familiar with the house and didn’t seem as if he felt unwelcome, so I followed Conall while Mr. Killough went in the direction of the living room.
“He didn’t answer me.” I spun around and stared at the hallway that was empty except for a tall man in a black suit who ignored me.
“It happenedjustthe way you said,” Mr. Killough called back into the hallway.
“I knew it!”
Conall laughed again, and I took him out to show him the kitchen cupboard where Cillian kept his whiskey. When I went to grab the glass to get the drink, Conall only shook his head and murmured, “The boss asked me to do it, so I better.”
“Oh.” I frowned at him, but he was smiling and didn’t seem to mind me directing him to the ice cubes. He did let me put the bottle of whiskey away, though. When we went to the living room with the drink, Mr. Killough opened his arm to Conall from his spot on the orange leather couch, then patted the seat on his other side. I glanced around.
“Yes, I meant you,” he said, lips twitching as I startled back in his direction.
Shrugging, I went and dropped beside him. He smelled good and looked nice in his suit, so it wasn’t exactly difficult. I couldn’t keep myself from staring at the way he and Conall matched each other, two sleek, hard-bodied men, and Mr. Killough shook his head slowly.
“What?” Mr. Killough demanded.
“I don’t know. I’m so happy that one of the things I heard was true!”
Conall snickered, and Mr. Killough tipped his drink back and swallowed it down, just like a man who went off to defend his territory single-handedly would. I practically vibrated on the spot. Someone put a hand on my knee and I realized I was doing that in real life with my jittery leg. Mr. Killough pulled his hand back.
“Be still.”
I bit my lip and nodded. He frowned at my wriggling toes and I stopped them.
Mr. Killough shook his head. “Is that what you wanted to write your book about? I was... informed you were planning to write a book about people you shouldn’t.” His lips quivered, and after a second the corner of his mouth twisted upward. “Were all the stories like that?”
I shrugged. “I had some good material, but it’s all gone now.”
The air in the room seemed as excited as I was for this moment, but maybe that was just me being odd. Mr. Killough leaned forward, and I wanted to memorize everything about him, even if I could never write my book. He was a handsome man, and it was fun to meet this person I’d heard so many horrible and amazing stories about. He turned and his intense blue eyes were more piercing than I’d realized. I shivered. “This is important, Vail. What else did you hear that you think I might like to know?”
My brain rioted. What might I know that this man would like to know? I thought for a second. “The Italians are at war with each other.”
“That’s a bit of an exaggeration,” he murmured with a snort.
“The Giordanos are arming small groups around New York City. They’re treating them like terrorist sleeper cells so that they can be activated one at a time without anyone else knowing who they are. They have bazookas and stuff.” I patted my thighs. “Did you know that?”
“That seems a tad overblown,” Mr. Killough said slowly, but he studied me, and I shrank back. He waved a hand. “Where did you hear that?”
I sat up straighter. “I have my sources?”
Mr. Killough’s mouth turned down. Conall winced. “He wants you to tell him.”
Biting my lip, I shook my head, but Mr. Killough kept staring, and I broke. “He’s a baker. I don’t want him to get hurt like my dad did because he was nice. I helped him change a flat tire.”
Mr. Killough closed his eyes. “And you told him all about yourself, and he told you some cock-and-bull story he’d heard from a friend of a friend.”
I gasped. “But it’s true. Mr. Houston wouldn’t lie. Damn it, well, he wouldn’t.” I crossed my arms. “Don’t hurt him.”
“You are absolutely never to speak to cops,” Mr. Killough said with a real frown this time. “Not ever, for any reason.”
“I might have to because my apartment got broken into.” I ticked my problems off on my fingers. “No one has been able to figure out who did it. My office was blown up. Apparently the whole library went up in flames. And my....” Some of my excitement fizzled and I sighed. “And my dad’s house was destroyed with him in it. He’s dead.”
