Playing Dirty (Risky Business, #2)(71)

It was an old Irish bar, with Guinness signs prominently displayed on the walls and windows. The bar, floors, and furniture were made from heavy, dark wood that would have cost a fortune nowadays to use but had obviously been there since the place was built.

A couple of pool tables were in the back, and two men were playing a game on one. They didn’t glance up from their game, but the man sitting at the bar did. Old and wizened, he looked as though he might’ve been grown on the barstool upon which he sat, planted when the place had opened and not moving from that spot ever since. He was nursing a beer. Considering the hour, I wasn’t surprised that not many people were in the place.

“Jameson, straight up,” I ordered from the bartender. He raised an eyebrow, but gave me what I wanted. I dug a crumpled ten from my jeans’ pocket and handed it over, then tossed back the shot in one swallow.

I asked for a water, which I took to a far table in the corner, cloaked in shadows. I could keep my back to the wall and have a good view of the room as well as the door. A hallway led to the back and I saw a dimly lit EXIT sign, so if I had to leave quickly, I could.

I was exhausted. The adrenaline was gone, as was the terror that had propelled me to stay one step ahead of whoever this guy was following me, and I wished I could lie down and sleep for a week.

A woman walked in from the back—I wasn’t sure where she’d come from as the back door hadn’t opened—and went to the bar. She was really pretty, with deep red hair and eyes so green I could see their color even from where I sat. She was also tiny, not only in stature, but she had little bones and was that kind of petite I’d always envied. My legs were too long and my bones too big to ever be that little, even if I lost twenty pounds. Not that that was happening anytime soon. I was just saying.

I watched her out of interest and boredom as she joked with the bartender. He set a shot of whiskey on the rocks in front of her, but she didn’t toss it back like I had. I wasn’t paying much attention to their conversation until I heard something that made my ears perk up.

“… McCrady’s back,” the bartender was saying.

The woman went absolutely still. “Don’t f*ck with me, Barney.” But the bartender just shook his head.

“I know better’n that, Branna,” he said. “You think I wanna end up on your shit list? I swear to God. He’s back.”

“He’s supposed to be dead,” she said.

The bartender shrugged. “I know. Turns out he was running from the feds. He’s back in town now, wanted a job back with Leo.”

“What’d Leo say?”

He shrugged. “Seems to have welcomed him back with open arms. Thought I’d better give you a heads-up, though.”

My attention was completely captivated now and I watched avidly to see what Branna would say. Turned out, she didn’t have to say anything because just then, Ryker walked in.

The breath caught in my chest. He looked different, but I couldn’t really pinpoint why. He still wore the same type of clothes—jeans, leather jacket, boots, and aviators, though I noticed the dog tags were missing. But his face was cold and absolutely devoid of emotion.

He came in the front door, it swinging shut behind him, and he paused, taking in the scene. Ryker didn’t seem to see me in the corner at all. His gaze landed unerringly on the woman called Branna.

After a pregnant pause, he walked toward her, stopping when he was right in front of her.

“Branna,” he said by way of greeting.

She said nothing … just slammed him with a right hook that made me flinch as bone met bone.

Ryker didn’t seem surprised. He took the hit well, rubbing his jaw slightly, but he didn’t back down. Turning, he faced her again.

“You’ve got some set of balls, McCrady,” she gritted out, “showing up here again after all this time.”

“Wouldn’t want to be predictable,” he said.

There was a moment of breathless tension, then she threw herself in his arms and they were kissing like two lovers who’d been parted and were suddenly reunited.

My stomach felt like someone had shot a fist into it. I couldn’t breathe, watching as Branna and Ryker kissed like there was no tomorrow.

Oh God. I didn’t know what to think as I watched from my dark corner. What did this mean? Who was this woman? I knew he was undercover, but this seemed … more than that. You couldn’t make up the kind of passion that sizzled between them. At least, I couldn’t have.

They finally came up for air, but were still wrapped in each other’s arms. The bartender had moved on, to give them some privacy I guessed. I strained to hear their conversation, but couldn’t. But did it really matter? Their faces were close together and his hands were on her ass. I felt as though I’d swallowed a lead ball.

Shrinking farther back into the shadows, I waited as Branna walked in the back and Ryker asked the bartender for something. As he waited, he turned and leaned with his back to the bar. As though I’d called his name, his eyes fell on me.

There was a beat and something passed across his face, perhaps a hint of surprise, then it was gone and he was striding toward me.

“What’s going on?” he asked when he reached my table. “How the hell did you find me?”

“Sorry to upset your plans,” I replied, my voice tight with hurt I was channeling into anger. “Malone told me where you’d be.”