The Rogue (The Moorehouse Legacy #4)(13)

“Would you do it again?”

“If the circumstances were the same? Yeah. I would.”

There was a long pause. “What happened?”

“Someone was beating my sister with a baseball bat. While screaming that he loved her. It was her life or her abuser’s. I picked her.”

Sean’s shoulders eased up. “I’m glad you told me. And not just because of Mad.”

“So do you understand why I can’t go with her? Why I couldn’t pursue her even if she’d have me?”

“No, actually, I don’t. I’m willing to bet that if you told—”

“Already tried that on a woman once. Most females don’t feel comfortable around a killer and I can’t blame them. What I did…it doesn’t sit well with me, either.”

“Mad’s not most women.”

Spike shrugged. “Maybe so. But I know for sure she could find someone better to help her out of this little family storm she’s heading into.”

“I think you underestimate her.” Sean shook his head. “Still, it’s your decision. And no, I won’t tell her anything.”

“Except that I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that.”

There was another long silence between them. Spike could feel Sean searching his face and knew the guy was running through all the implications of what had been revealed. Someone like Sean O’Banyon, big, fancy, finance guru that he was, was not going to want to hang with a violent felon, not with the high profile the guy had.

“It’s okay, Sean,” Spike said softly. “I understand.”

“Understand what?”

“No prejudice, man. You and I can just go our separate ways. I’ll disappear quietly.”

Sean’s lips thinned as he glowered. “Let me get this straight. You think I’d dump your friendship because of this?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“You’re such a lunatic.”

Before Spike could say another word, two meaty arms shot out and pulled him into a fierce hug. Sean clapped him on the back hard enough to make his molars sing and then let go.

“Here’s the deal, Spike. I’ve got a juvenile record that has been thankfully buried somewhere in a courthouse back in South Boston. And I do business with white-collar thieves all the time. So no, I’m not punting on you because of this. Jeez, what kind of lightweight loser do you think I am?”

As Sean glared, Spike cleared his throat, choking down a wave of gratitude.

“We’re solid, Spike. You and me are cool. Got it? Got it?”

“Yeah, all right,” Spike said hoarsely. “Good deal.”

*

Up in the penthouse, Mad took care of the remaining dishes and washed the pans. Then she went into the guest room.

The bed Spike had slept in was made up perfectly. The pillows were all arranged neatly. The duvet was square on the mattress and smoothed out. The sheets had been tucked in.

It was as if he’d never lain there.

She went over and sat on the chaise. She couldn’t totally blame Spike for thinking what he had about the invitation. It had come from out of left field and they didn’t really know each other. She just wished she’d had enough time to explain herself before he left.

And it also would have been nice if he’d had a little more faith that she wouldn’t want to use him, or anybody else, like that.

God, what had made her think for even a second that he’d want to spend a long weekend with her?

Mad listened to the silence in the penthouse, hoping to hear a door open and shut. She really wished Sean wasn’t outside on the street yelling at Spike right now. She’d tried to keep her friend from going after the poor guy, but you couldn’t stop a freight train just by standing in front of it.

Suddenly tired, Mad glanced over at the bed she’d used. Maybe she should go back to sleep—

She frowned, noticing the strangest thing.

One of her pillows was at the foot of the mattress. As if someone had dropped it there.

It hadn’t been her. When she’d slipped out of bed, everything had been pretty much in place. But why would Spike have moved it?

She got up and walked over to the pillow. When she picked it up, she caught a whiff of aftershave. As if the thing had been held against a man’s cheek.

How odd.

She put it against the headboard and stretched out on the bed. As she smelled the masculine scent again, she took a deep breath.

And yearned for what she couldn’t have.





Chapter Four




A week later, Mad decided that one nice thing about the ocean was you never had to deal with traffic. Especially not the Friday of Memorial Day weekend, getting out of Manhattan, parking-lot-on-a-highway variety.

She turned the AC up a little higher and eyed the shoulder with evil in her heart. Her Dodge Viper was small enough to fit on the asphalt strip between the steaming cars on the road and the scratchy grass that ran up to the guardrail.

Too bad she was a lawful citizen.

With a curse, she glanced at her watch. Quarter after six.

Which meant, twenty miles away at the Maguire family estate, her half brother had just given the nod for the hors d’oeuvres to be passed. Cocktail hour would be over at precisely seven o’clock and the guests would sit down for dinner. Dessert would be cleared at eight. Coffee, brandy and cigars for the men would be offered on the terrace thereafter. Everyone would be out of the house at nine sharp.