Jerry blinks up at me. Registers my suit. My size. Something in my eyes.
I smile. It is not a nice smile. "I'm her husband. Lorcan O’Rourke.”
The color drains right out of his face.
I take one step closer, and he takes two back, bumping into the stair rail. “Here's what's going to happen, Jerry. You're never going to touch her again. You're never going to talk to her again. You're never going to so much as look at her again. And you’re going to be relieved that the only thing you’ve lost is a month’s rent—instead of necessary body parts. Am I right?”
Jerry nods like a bobblehead.
"Good," I say. “Glad we understand each other."
Jerry mumbles something that might be an apology, might be a prayer, and scurries off down the hall so fast he trips over his own feet.
I turn back to Maeve. She's staring at me. Wide-eyed. And for once, she doesn't have a sharp word ready. She just looks—stunned.
"You didn't have to do that," she says.
"Yeah. I did."
Chapter 6
Maeve
The apartment door opens before my key is in the lock.
Jamie. He's been watching the street since the strange car pulled up, and now he plants himself in the doorway, arms crossed, fourteen years old and ready to battle on this exact square of threadbare carpet.
"You're really married," he says. Not a question. An accusation.
"Jamie—"
He ignores me and looks straight up at Lorcan, who's a foot taller and twice as wide. Jamie doesn't give an inch. "Are you actually married to my sister?"
"Yes.”
"Are you a criminal?"
“Jamie!" I’m mortified.
“Depends on one’s point of view, I suppose,” Lorcan says, same easy tone.
Jamie blinks, clearly not expecting that answer.
Instead of being annoyed by his rudeness, Lorcan treats him with respect. He seems to regard Jamie as a sentry at a post doing his job rather than a mouthy teenager with an attitude.
Jamie doesn't know what to do with it. He retreats two steps, scowling harder to cover his confusion, and I know my brother well enough to know he's more intrigued than angry.
Surprisingly, Lorcan doesn't push.
Cara stands silently in the bedroom doorway. Watching.
Her big, serious eyes move over Lorcan inch by inch—shoes, hands, the line of his shoulders, his face—cataloguing him the way she does everyone and everything.
I get ahead of potential further awkwardness with her, the way I always do. “Lorcan, this is Cara. She doesn't talk. It's not personal—please don't take it personally, and please don't push her on it." I brace for the usual—the too-loud voice, the baby talk, the crouching down andhi sweetie can you say hi to me?that makes her fold up smaller.
Lorcan looks at her, holds her gaze for a second, and nods.
"Good policy," he says. "Most people aren't worth talking to."
