He hands the tray over and walks off. I watch him until he’s at the front door, and he knows it. The jerk is preening the whole time; I see it in the extra sway in his hips.
Twisting around, he finds my gaze without searching. Even over the distance, that cocky smirk on his face does bad things to me.
Once he has my full attention, he growls. “And put your damn wedding ring back on your finger.”
I’m left standing, mouth open, with his scent the only thing I can breathe and his words consuming my thoughts. I look down and can’t believe I missed seeing the claddagh ring that’s on the tray.
The shock of his parting shot doesn’t disappear like he does. I actually feel ten times worse, because missing something likea freaking wedding ring is goddamn huge. And it makes me wonder what else I’ve missed.
“Shower, food, sleep,” I coach myself. Or distract, might be more accurate because I do not have the energy to unpack any of what he said in his visit.
Waiting for the shower to warm up, I unpick the seam to my panties, my hands shaking like a leaf. I experience equal parts disappointment and relief when the small listening device falls into my hand and it’s smashed. I have no idea when it happened, either. I flush it down the loo, then walk straight under the shower, trying to drown out the sudden noise in my head.
The shower is divine, and the longer I stand under it, the smaller my worries seem. Washing my hair would be amazing but now some of my stress has receded, I'm too tired. It’s a job for tomorrow.
Wearing my pale blue fluffy hoodie for extra comfort, I sit in the dark and devour the food. Not because I’m hungry, but because it’s necessary if I want to recover quickly. The same goes for the juice, water, and medication. I hobble to the kitchen, leaving the empty plates on the island and triple-checking the door is locked. I know it is—that’s what the fancy electronic door does—but tonight I need the reassurance.
I’m pretty sure I’m asleep before my head hits the pillow. And considering the position I’m in when my phone pings hours later, I didn’t move an inch in my sleep.
Sitting up to open the email, it’s hard to ignore the way my whole body aches. The message is delivered the same as usual, hidden under other links. As soon as I open and see a parcel has been sent, the same conflict stirs in my gut as when I realized the small transmitter I used broke last night.
Taking another deep breath, I message Walsh, asking if we can meet up, alluding I have something for him. By the time I’vehad a shorter, cooler shower than last night, I’ve got a message back from him saying we can meet up in thirty.
“Shit,” I hiss. I figured, since the sun isn’t yet up, he’d be sleeping so I’d have hours to figure out where the money is. Now I have to either knock on my neighbors door or call them. Knocking seems less onerous.
Checking on the stitches, I find a lump in one spot, but besides that, the doc did a neat job. The gauze he used was huge, so I swap it out for something more practical, which slows me down because it kills when I have to twist my body around to reach it. By the time I’ve thrown on a pair of jeans, T-shirt, and two layers of hoodies, I need to run or I’ll be late meeting Walsh. I’m basically hobbling past the kitchen when something in the corner of my eye catches my attention and I come to a complete stop.
The box I used to stash the money is sitting there, impossible to miss. And while the fact one of them snuck in here while I was asleep is shocking in itself, what has me raging is the sight of the familiar black crystal vase sitting on my very clean kitchen counter. Except, it’s bigger than the one at the first rental, and it’s full of at least a dozen red roses.
Of course, there’s more. A note is positioned exactly the same way as the other house too—Don’t be stubborn. If only the revelations stopped there, but nope, next to this note is the one the owners left on this very counter when I first arrived…in the same fucking handwriting. It’s identical, and to make sure I understood they were one and the same, the notes are side by side.
But it’s not just the note or the flowers or the freaking box of money from last night that are the issue; it’s the way they’ve so casually outed themselves as basically herding me here, to this apartment.
My hands shake for a very different reason as I walk back into my bedroom and grab what I need. I feel slightly less murdery when I flip the note to the blank side and leave the wedding ring in plain sight.
Walsh texts again to let me know he’s running early. I have no choice but to deal with him before I sort out this meddling pack.
Chapter Eighteen
TALLY
For someone who was running early, Walsh sure makes me wait a long time. After I’ve spent a good hour standing in a freezing cold wind tunnel, he messages to say there’s been a change of plans and to meet at work. By the time I turn into the street where the pub is, my whole body aches from the cold, the sun is rising, and the early morning commuters are looking at me like I’m doing the walk of shame after a night out.
With each step closer, the more I accept it’s not just going to be Walsh I’m meeting with. It’s too obvious, really—the change of plans, the time that has passed since I first reached out—that Walsh has involved someone else.
The lights are down low, and the front door has been left ajar. I’d say whoever is waiting knows I’ve arrived.
“Hello,” I call out as I walk further into the bar.
And I was right. Standing around the bar are people I recognize, not that we’ve met.
“Come on in, Tally. You ’right?” Walsh says, and the way he lays on the charm has the hairs on the back of my neck standing up.
“Kind of,” I answer, walking towards him. I keep my gaze on him only. In one small, obvious move, the message is, I’m not important but more so, I wouldn’t be able to say I saw them here either. It’s a strategic move, and nothing else. I see the moment he notices the obvious limp I walk with and the grazes on my face. They’re superficial, and look a lot worse than they are, but my lack of makeup also helps make me look like I’ve been in a fight, which is the damn truth.
He stands up. “What happened?”
Before he can take a step towards me, I act like a deer in the lights, freezing on the spot, letting the fear in my scent twist around me, making it impossible to ignore.
