“No, it’s my fault. I’m sorry. Let me buy you another drink,” I say as I snap out of it and look at his coffee-covered sweater.
“It’s fine, but maybe I can buy ya one.” He looks down at his watch. “I have some time. It’s not every day an angel runs right into ya.”
I look around. I need to go to the bathroom where I planned to stow away my things, but sitting with him will work.
“Sure, I just need to head to the ladies.”
“Ach, no problem. I’ll get our drinks and a table. Take yer time.”
“Okay, thank you.”
He gives me a wink, and I head to the restroom. As I’m changing into the clothes I left in the stall here, my phone rings. I wrinkle my brows as the number doesn’t look familiar.
“Hello,” I answer.
“Da, you and Lev have taken something from me. He allowed you to spill our blood. Now I will slaughter you and all you love. I will find you.”
“Good luck with that,” I snap and hang up.
I close my eyes and exhale. Ian isn’t going to like this. I have no doubt that Lev Krupin is dead, and his brother got my number from his phone.
The Russians are definitely out. I knew they would be a problem. However, none of this is my business.
I finish up and head back out to the table where my coffee date is waiting. He looks up from his phone as I walk over. He gives me the most breathtaking smile.
“Please sit. I got ya some gingerbread cookies. The name is Angus.”
“Helen, nice to meet you.”
CHAPTER 2
The Arrangement
McTavish
Fifteen years later …
“Ach,ye don’t listen. I told ya not to bring Jameson with ya. Lad, I need ya to stay right here in the car. Yer uncle and cousin will be with me.”
“Okay, Granda,” Jameson says like the good boy he is.
I turn my attention to the other two. Conor should know better. If I give an order, it’s to be followed.
“Aye, now ye two, allow me to do the talking. Oland is a tricky oul bastard. He’s not offering us anything out of the goodness of his own heart,” I hiss at my son and grandson.
“But McDougal promised there would be a reward for whatever it is he wants,” my son says.
“Ya think I trust Archie McDougal? His own da was seconds from putting a price on his head. What makes ya think he won’tmake me kill him? Ach, we trust no one here but our own,” I say to Conor.
“I don’t see why I’m here,” my other grandson says, the spoiled brat.
“Yer presence was requested with ours, but I warn ya, lad, don’t say a word. Not a single one.”
“Aye, I hear ya. I have nothing to say. Let’s get this over with. We want to head down to the field.”
“Ach, I hope it’s to practice and play. Not to watch the cailíní,” Conor grumbles.
“The lads have an eye for the lasses, leave them be,” I chuckle.
