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“What? No? If you’ve forgotten, Ki—”
“Oh, no,” I gasp, peering into a pair of crystalline green, wide-set eyes.Oye, that’s not our Kiera.
A despondent cloud surrounds the two young lovers. They hold each other in their tattered sweatsuits, keeping warm together. They’re both around the same age as Kiera. There’s almost a glassy continence over the guy’s face. Soon enough, he won’t care for anybody, himself included.
“Two of you are a bit young for this place.”
“Get out!” The male teenager bares a set of off-white teeth.
“That how you talk to your betters?” The henchman near him wrenches a fist in his hair, tapping his cheek with a handgun.
“Stop,” I order through clenched teeth. “Can you go home?” I ask the young lady, who’s on the verge of crying. I softly add, “Whatever you think you’ve done that your parents can’t somehow possibly forgive you for it . . .”
Startled like a deer in the center of oncoming traffic, the girl blinks.
“I’ve been where you are. All I’m saying is, your parents love you. Forgiveness is love in action.”
The man clutching the boy’s hair snorts at my last line while even the kid seems moved by things my mother once said as we crossed a Mexican desert to her version of freedom. I called it wrong. Obviously, he’s down on his luck too, but she’s not numb to circumstances.
I ask her, “Would you like to go home?”
With her eyes lowered and glossier by the second, she gives a sharp nod. “Aye.”
“Fiona.” Her boyfriend looks on as if she stabbed him.
I gesture to one of the guys. “Take her home. Kieran, you help him.”
Kieran regards me as if my statement is lethal.
“I don’t know, Kier.” I sigh. “Offer him a job, a name, a reference.”
Stiff-lipped, he snaps, “No.”
“Oye? Spare one more minute of your time? Forgive me. Something in me still believes an act of kindness goes a long way. That wherever our girl is,” I massage the lump in my throat, “someone is out there helping her too.”
He clicks his tongue and regards another henchman. “Tell the butcher near Tollcross Park to hire thisweanas a favor to Clan McFarland . . .”
After clearing his throat, the teenager hesitantly inquires, “What sort of pay?”
He doesn’t trust the name McFarland. Why?My respect-o-meter ratchets upward, and clearly, Kieran’s does as well.
“Not much,” Kieran mutters, which is the equivalent of telling the young guy that it’s legal work.
Fiona’s boyfriend offers a subdued, “Thank you.”
* * *
Back in the Audi, Kieran’s shoving out of his jacket. I burrow in mine, an inconsolable chill jarring me through the bone. He reaches over, cupping my hands against his mouth, kissing the palms, then blowing warm air into them.
Soul craving more of this moment, I remove my hands from his mouth, replacing them with my lips. A moan zings through my body from head to toe. Tugging at his hair, I twirl my tongue with his.
“Okay, okay.” Kieran lets go. Damn, that hurt. I guess the shoe is on the other foot tonight. That’s fair. All I’ve ever done was send pieces of myself to him.
Delirious, I mumble, “Thanks.”
Forking a hand in his hair, he exasperates, “People normally thank me for sparing their lives. He was appreciative over a nothing assignment. Then you . . .” Kieran doesn’t ask why I’ve shown my appreciation. He settles into the luxurious seat, muttering, “This is bloody new.”
“I, for one, believe it’s refreshing to see a change in you.” I chew my lip, trying to stave off the desire for another taste.
