Lucky Charm
Keely sat in the hotel bar, sipping on a cocktail and ignoring the men trying to catch her eye. Wearing a skin-tight dress and heels with her makeup perfectly applied and hair meticulously styled, she appeared just as old as her fake ID claimed she was.
The moment Patrick Murphy entered the bar, he predictably strolled right up to her. He had a weakness for escorts. Already approaching fifty, his light brown hair was liberally streaked with silver, but it made him look distinguished. His light blue eyes sparkled like the diamonds on his cufflinks and watch. His expensive suit and accessories drew glances, but under his polished veneer was a cold, slithering snake.
“I haven’t seen you in here before,” he said, giving her his version of a charming smile.
It was just as sleazy as he was, but Keely smiled back. She pretended to be captivated by his wealth because that’s how escorts acted. All they cared about was landing a rich client.
“First night,” she said.
His interest doubled, and he lowered to the seat right beside her.
“You don’t say? I suppose that makes me quite the lucky man, then,” he said with a snicker of smug amusement as if sharing a private joke with himself.
“Oh, because of the…?” Keely gestured to the St. Patrick’s Day decorations lightly sprinkled around the room, as if she didn’t know what he was really referring to.
“Sure, sweetheart,” he said. “What are you drinking?”
It wasn’t much longer after they finished their drinks that he agreed to her terms, and they headed to the elevator. Keely didn’t stop him from moving right in. She ran her hands over him, making approving sounds about his body while allowing him to kiss all over her neck and paw at her breasts. She skillfully checked his outer pockets, finding only the usual items.
Inside the hotel suite, Patrick continued groping and kissing her while guiding her right into the bedroom. He flipped the switch on the wall, but only the bedside lamps turned on, casting the room in more shadows than not. Keely gave a fake laugh when they fell to the bed, her hands roaming over him more aggressively as if she were really hot for him. She unfastened his suit jacket and started shoving it away from his chest, anxious to get it off. It allowed her to squeeze the inner pocket to get a feel for its contents.
Her palm all but wrapped around the outline of a small coin case, but before she could steal it, Patrick choked out a startled breath and went perfectly still. Keely whipped her attention to the left, following his gaze, and froze.
Killian Flynn.
Shit! What is he doing here?
His chiseled features were emboldened by a lush mouth that appeared just as cruel as it was kissable. Expressive brows, which were darker gold than his perfectly styled hair, sat passively over aquamarine eyes. They were the perfect combination of blue and green, just like the sea.
He stood with his back against the dresser across from the end of the bed, holding his forearm with one gloved hand. The other dangled before him, fingers curled around the handle of a Glock with a silencer already attached. Everything he wore, from his bespoke suit to his leather Oxfords, made Patrick Murphy look cheap.
“Don’t stop on my account. I was just getting into it,” Killian mused.
Ireland gave his voice a musical lilt, though it was mild from years in the states. It had an unexpected ache blooming in Keely’s chest. A longing she’d thought was as dead and buried as her Irish-born mother.
“Killian,” Patrick growled. He turned a heated glare on Keely. “I suppose she’s one of yours?”
“It’s possible,” he replied. “I have a lot of employees. Did you find anything, darling?”
She merely stared at him with the idea of playing dumb, but he saw right through her. The corner of his mouth curved into a sexy smirk.
“I do love it when they play hard to get,” he commented. “If I have to aim my gun, álainn, I’ll pull the trigger.”
Keely started reaching inside the breast pocket of Patrick’s suit jacket, but he grabbed her wrist.
“Killian, you don’t understand,” he seethed. “They have my wife!”
“Yeah, I see you’re broken up about it, too,” Killian replied. “Had to run to the first set of tits to cry on.”
When Keely tried to free her wrist by pulling on it, Patrick tightened his grip while keeping his eyes on Killian—as if he stood a chance of arguing with the man. Keely dropped her knee right into Patrick’s crotch with most of her body weight, and he let out an enraged howl. Releasing her wrist, he shoved her knee away to cup his wounded balls.
Keely quickly dug the case out of his pocket and backed away from the bed before he could retaliate.
“You fucking cunt!” he seethed, spit flying from his mouth through his clenched teeth.
Killian chuckled. “Make those spectacular tits,” he remarked.
Ignoring them both, Keely opened the case to make sure it wasn’t empty. When she saw the four-leaf clover perfectly preserved in a medallion of clear resin, a sense of wonder and magic washed over her. It was encircled by a gold band engraved with Irish Gaelic. She’d never believed in luck or the supernatural, but Killian Flynn’s shamrock was legendary. It was rumored to be the very key to all of his success. The mystical explanation for how a Dublin street rat could end up as one of the most powerful Irish Mob bosses in the states.
Patrick Murphy wasn’t the first man who’d set his sights on stealing the lucky charm from Killian, but he would be the first who’d succeeded. Even if not for very long.
“It’s something, isn’t it?” Killian asked.
Brought back to her disappointing reality, Keely closed the case and handed it to him because her only other choice was a bullet in the head.
“I’m getting a drink,” she stated.
Killian gave his attention back to his traitorous attorney.
“Your services are no longer required, Mr. Murphy,” he said.
Keely grabbed her handbag on the way out of the bedroom and didn’t even flinch when she heard the silenced shot. She’d barely made it to the minibar when Killian’s presence entered the room behind her.
“I’ll take one,” he said.
“All they have is Jack,” she said, grabbing a single-shot bottle and downing it before tossing the empty container into her purse.
“Don’t be picky now, Mr. Murphy’s flipping the bill,” he mused.
She grabbed two more bottles and turned just in time to find him stepping into her personal space. He backed her into the sideboard, bracing his hands on it to cage her in.
“I’ve been following your career, Miss Walsh—or whatever your real name is,” he said, his eyes slowly drinking in her cleavage before lifting to her face. “Though my men can’t swear to an exact date when you showed up in their ranks, you’ve made quite the impression: stealthy, fast, capable… unflinching. I decided I needed to see you in action for myself. I hope you don’t mind.”
Keely smiled, knowing it didn’t reach her eyes. She was too busy blocking all of the potently arousing effects of his proximity, delicious smell, and the sexy timbre of his voice with its heart-wrenching kiss or Ireland. She preferred the nineteen years of bitter anger boiling just below the surface to all that nonsense.
“Let’s be honest, Mr. Flynn. You came here to make sure I didn’t take your medallion for myself,” she countered.
“Would you have?” he asked.
“And end up like Mr. Murphy? Pass,” Keely answered honestly. “Besides, I don’t believe in luck.”
He studied her intensely for a moment before straightening and finally accepting the small bottle from her. He downed it, then pocketed the evidence, never once taking his eyes off of her.
“I usually don’t either,” he said. “I might have to make an exception tonight.”
Before Keely could respond, there was a patterned knock on the door. Killian eyed the last bottle in her hand before turning to answer it.
“Drink up. The cleaners are here.”
As soon as he turned away, she downed her whiskey. It didn’t help. She was still too bothered by his powerful and demanding presence. Two men she recognized but had never learned the names of entered the hotel room and immediately got to work. Meanwhile, Keely dug into her handbag and pulled out a flowing dress she slipped over her head to cover the form-fitting one underneath. Then, she twisted her hair into a French roll and secured it with a clip. Next, she removed all of her cheap jewelry and replaced them with slightly more expensive choices.
For the final touch, she slipped on a pair of fake reading glasses with clear lenses.
“Are you trying for extra points?” Killian asked, watching her.
She merely glanced at him while stuffing her cheap jewelry away. When he held his gloved hand out, though, Keely knew better than to ignore it. He left the cleaners to do their job and led her down the stairs. They exited out a back entrance of the hotel, where an armored SUV waited for them in the alley. She climbed into the back with him, and the truck started moving right away.
Her fate was now in Killian Flynn’s hands. It wasn’t exactly the way she’d wanted her night to end. Keely had intended to recover his missing good luck charm, so she could use it as leverage for the answers she wanted about her father. As his possible killer, Killian was the only one who had them. He wasn’t supposed to show up before she’d finished the job to collect the prize for himself. Now, she had no leverage and no idea what he planned on doing with her.
“If you were trying to blend in, you failed,” he informed her, rather than beating around the bush. Keely admired that, which sucked. “Not only because you’re a young woman in a predominantly man’s world, but you’re too focused, in a single-minded way. It makes you stand out.”
“How do you know that wasn’t why I did it?” she countered, giving him a pointed look. “Maybe I wanted your attention, Mr. Flynn.”
Again, he studied her intensely. His gaze probed hers as the muscles worked in the back of his jaw. She was a wild card, and he didn’t like that. Keely could tell he was intrigued, but he hated being taken by surprise just as any man in his position would.
“You have it,” he said. “The least you can do is tell me who I’ve really given it to.”
She’d known the moment would come when she’d have to reveal her true identity to him. There was no way to get answers otherwise. For the past five years, Keely had been going by the name Emily Walsh within his organization, though she had plenty of other aliases for all the jobs she’d done for him.
“Keely Fletcher.”
His brow lifted when she didn’t elaborate. “Is that name supposed to mean something to me?”
“My father was Donovan Fletcher,” she explained. “The man you called your best friend, then murdered in cold blood before fleeing Dublin.”
Killian’s expression turned stony, shutters falling over his eyes. Rather than responding to her, he lowered the tinted window between seats and addressed the driver.
“Take us to the clinic,” he ordered.
So, he would demand proof? Keely wasn’t surprised, though she wondered how he planned to get it when her father had been dead and buried for the past twenty years.
“You know, it’s a shame you came here just to kill me,” he said after several minutes. “I’d planned on offering you a better position in my organization.”
“Who said I wanted to kill you?” she countered.
Killian made an amused sound, giving her a dubious look. “You’re here to thank me, then?”
“I just want answers,” she said.
“No, darling. You want closure. That’s not the same thing,” he said soberly, his eyes tracing over her features again. “I should’ve seen it, the resemblance. But it’s wee, isn’t it? Where is Biddy?”
“That’s none of your concern,” she replied flatly, a fist closing around her heart at the mention of her mom. “Just do what you need to do.”
The driver took them to a private medical clinic in a brick building outside of the downtown area, away from any kind of public cameras. There was only one other car parked along the curb, which Keely assumed belonged to the doctor on Killian’s payroll.
When she attempted to climb out, Killian grabbed her handbag and held it firmly to the seat.
“I’ll take this,” he said. “You go with him.”
She glanced at the driver standing by, waiting. Keely had no choice but to listen. Though it didn’t leave her completely unarmed, it still sucked knowing he was going to go through her bag and confiscate anything he wanted. Her gun, at least. Possibly her fake ID and credit cards on top of it. Not that she didn’t have more of everything, but that wasn’t the point.
After she climbed out, the driver escorted her to the clinic’s entrance, where the doctor, himself, let them inside. Brown eyes swept over her from head to toe.
“This is the emergency?” the older man asked. “What’s the condition?”
“Mr. Flynn will consult with you in a moment. She needs a room,” the driver responded.
“This way.”
They followed the doctor down the hall from the waiting room. He stopped and gestured for them to enter one of the examination rooms but didn’t join them before closing the door.
“Have a seat,” the driver told Keely, nodding to the exam table.
She fought the chill it brought her and climbed up to sit on the crinkly paper. Approximately ten minutes passed before the door opened again, and Killian followed the doctor into the room.
“Wait in the hall,” he ordered the driver, who left without a word.
Killian closed the door and met Keely’s eyes as the doctor gloved up. He removed a clear plastic tube from his white coat pocket and broke the seal, pulling a long cotton swab from inside.
“How is this going to work?” she asked Killian, not the doctor.
“Let me worry about that,” he returned. “Open up and say ‘ah.'”
Keely opened her mouth and watched his gaze zero in on the doctor swiping the inside of her cheek with the swab. Her blood warmed when she spotted the desire flashing through Killian’s eyes before his expression darkened again, and the muscles started ticking more noticeably in the back of his jaw.
When the doctor placed the swab back into the tube, Killian escorted him out of the room and sent his driver back in. It had to be at least an hour of waiting. Keely knew better than to talk to the driver, he wouldn’t divulge any information, and she doubted he had much, at any rate. Killian wasn’t even allowing him to witness their purpose for being there.
At long last, the door opened again, and this time it was only Killian. He held his hand out for Keely to take. Without his gloves, the contact sent hot tremors through her body to all of her naughty bits, even though she tried to ignore it. He held his other hand out toward the driver.
“Wait for the cleaners,” he ordered.
The driver nodded and handed him the keys.
Keely’s chest tightened. Killian had killed the doctor. Did that mean he’d gotten the proof that she was telling the truth? Why would he need to cover that up, though? Her father’s murder had happened two decades ago in Ireland. Killian had never been officially arrested for the crime. The only reason he’d been a suspect was because of his sudden disappearance. As the head of the local Irish Mob, she knew he wasn’t afraid of being extradited and convicted for that crime. So, what in the hell was he trying to keep secret?
Back at the SUV, he opened the passenger door and guided Keely into the seat before closing it and rounding the hood. The urge to retrieve her dagger before he could open the door was strong and instinctual, but she wanted answers not escape. She’d been waiting her whole life for this night, and even if it killed her, she would finally hear the reason why.
Climbing behind the wheel, Killian stuck the key in the ignition, then turned and leaned around her unbearably close.
“Put your hands against the outside of your thighs and do not move them,” he ordered.
Her heart thudded heavily as she obeyed. Then, Keely’s breath was trapped in her lungs, her eyes locked on Killian’s as he grabbed her seat belt and drew it across her body. He snapped it into place with it pinning her arms down, and held it tight against the seat, disabling her from freeing herself. Still watching her, he lifted the material of her loose skirt to reveal the shorter, tighter one underneath.
More unwanted heat and arousal speared into Keely’s core when his gaze flicked to her lap, and a sinful smirk spread across his lips.
“Mmm, and the points keep racking up,” he remarked.
He slipped his hand between her thighs where the short skirt had risen high enough to reveal the bottom of her hidden dagger. Killian removed it from the sheath slowly, careful not to touch her skin. His body heat caressed her thigh, and that only made her crave his touch all the more.
Sitting back, he held the knife up. “Well, now this looks familiar.”
Keely swallowed, conflicted emotions forging a knot in her throat. She’d found the dagger among all of the other things her mom had kept hidden from her. Like the photo of her dad standing against a stone wall on one side of her mom, Killian on the other. On the back was the inscription: best friends are like four-leaf clovers, hard to find and lucky to have.
There had been other things: mementos from Ireland that she’d never heard the stories behind because her mom had been dead before she’d found them. Bridget Fletcher had taken all of her secrets to the grave. That was why Keely was willing to risk her life and…
