Midnight Escape (Agents of HIS Romantic Suspense Series Book 2) Read online

  Hours later—after questions upon questions, and then “Sit and wait, while I check out your story”—Danny hitched a ride with Boss and Sugar for the airfield to pick up his truck. He’d wanted to see Wayne but had been told to wait until tomorrow. While he was stable and would recover, they had him sedated.

  As Boss dropped him off, Danny couldn’t help but laugh when Sugar told him, “This is no reason to cancel tonight.”

  With an easy laugh, he admitted to forgetting about his evening plans. Only Sugar wouldn’t consider nearly dying in a crash or being killed by stupid marijuana farmers an excuse to back out of something.

  Well, he thought about the blind date, today can’t get much worse. Then another whisper hit him, You both survived. Yeah, he nearly snorted out loud, although my instructor was shot.

  After returning home, he prepped for the date Sugar had set up for him. Once she’d fallen in love with Boss, she’d made it her mission to help Danny find the right woman. Being that this was Sugar, he’d promised to meet the women she thought he might enjoy getting to know. It’d been a risky promise, but she’d been their teammate and he respected her.

  After showering, he took extra time fixing his hair. While not vain, there was little he could do with it. With it being a bit too long, it curled uncontrollably up in the back. He shrugged. It was what it was.

  For some reason, choosing his attire became a challenge. He remembered his female cousins, while preparing for a date, had nearly everything in their closets spread across their beds and tried on damn near everything, before choosing something to wear. He laughed at the memories and how he’d learned they typically ended up in the first outfit they’d tried on. At the time, he’d thought their actions ridiculous. Now, not so much.

  Since the date was at the coffee shop, he decided on casual. Jeans instead of slacks made the cut. Giving up the stupid worry about how she’d see him, he picked out a baby blue button-down and rolled the sleeves about a quarter up his arms. He’d be warm wearing it, but he couldn’t bring himself to wear a T-shirt on this first date.

  Clasping on the Invicta Aviator watch his father had purchased for him for his twenty-first birthday, he exited the bathroom. The watch had been through a great deal, but he’d never wear any other watch. It’d been emulating his father that started him wearing the aviator sunglasses in high school. They’d become branded to him.

  Nearing his front door, he halted and tossed his head back in frustration. “Cologne.” Turning back to the bathroom for something he rarely used, he reminded himself of what to expect tonight. Sugar described her as tall for a woman. At five foot eleven inches, he wasn’t overly tall for a man. But he could deal with that. Her being a brunette added a checkmark in her favor.

  He stared at himself in the vanity mirror. Did he get her name? Racking his brain, he couldn’t recall it.

  After adding his smell-good stuff—not the official name of the liquid, but what he’d dubbed it—he made a quick call to Sugar to get the woman’s name. All he recalled was she’d be wearing a baby-blue sundress.

  “That little scheming matchmaker,” he muttered when Sugar didn’t answer his call. He hoped that meant nothing was wrong with her family, but something told him she refused his call, so he wouldn’t cancel. She should know that he’d never leave the woman waiting by herself.

  Damn. He hated going in unprepared.

  After checking to ensure he had cash and his credit cards in his wallet, he shoved the billfold in his right back pocket. He snatched up the keys and tossed them before catching them with a jangle. He wouldn’t allow something as simple as not knowing her name to stop what could be a good evening.

  Even though the coffee shop was within a few blocks, he drove and braved snagging a parking spot, so he didn’t sweat to death on the walk. He’d prefer not to arrive with a sweaty stench and rings under his armpits.

  With frustration at finding a parking spot and rethinking of his plan to drive, he’d been around the block twice before someone emptied a space near his destination. Checking his watch, he cursed as he hadn’t been as early as he’d planned. He wanted to be the first to arrive.

  Forgetting her name, waiting to park, and arriving later than planned. The “three strikes, you’re out” sentiment yanked at his positivity for the evening. At least he had the comfort of his ankle holster. It was a different backup weapon, as the sheriff’s department still held his, but he’d never leave home without one.

  Not one to leave a lady waiting, he turned off the ignition in his truck and whipped open the door to exit. Jaywalking, he approached the coffee shop and stiffened in surprise, then a damn burst and hatred flooded him. He knew the woman in the blue sundress approaching him.

  Damn. He’d taken forever to get rid of her to include finally giving her the impression he’d moved out of state. Not one of his best moves to lie like that, but this woman clung like no other. She’d been a nuisance of biblical proportion.

  “Danny,” Barbie—her shortening of Barbara, because no one would naturally acquaint her to a Barbie doll—whined. “It is you. I so hoped it was.”

  Danny vowed the next time he saw Sugar, he’d wring her skinny neck for this and fire her as his dating service. Of course, she couldn’t have known. It wasn’t like he gave her a no-go list of women.

  Wrestling with the demons inside of the torture of once having this woman in his life, he did something he shouldn’t be proud of, but he didn’t care at the moment. Without a word, he spun on his heels and walked away.

  When she chased after him, calling out his name, he finally stopped and whirled to meet her. The smile that had once entranced him made him sick to his stomach. The woman was beyond psycho, and now she knew he still lived in the area. “I’ve said it before, Barbara—”

  “Barbie, darling. Don’t you remember?” she purred and arched her back to push her breasts higher. Her rather large breasts.

  Unfortunately, he did remember. But, all together, the move and voice did nothing but make him loathe her more. “Barbara,” he emphasized, “I’ve told you before to stay the fuck away from me. I haven’t changed my mind about that.”

  At the stunned expression on her face, Danny turned and walked away without a backward glance.

  That’s it, he told himself. I’m done dating. As he slammed his truck door, he knew that unless the right woman just fell into his lap, he’d remain off the market, and his dream of a family of his own would surely die.

  Chapter Four

  Dublin, Ireland

  An unladylike snort slipped from Moira Gallagher, and she quickly looked around to see who might’ve overheard. Thankfully, only her best friend, Cassie Connor, stood within hearing distance.

  “What’s so funny this time?” Cassie asked, as her eyes remained fixed on her phone and, most likely, social media. Whereas Moira would rather read a romance novel on her cellphone.

  “Listen to this.” She read out loud, “He swooped her into his arms and took the steps three at a time.” Moira stopped and looked up at Cassie. “Now”—she emphasized the word— “she just went into labor. I don’t know about you, but three steps at a time? I mean, come on. She couldn’t be light at nine months pregnant. What man can actually do that?”

  Cassie sighed, as if Moira were a child being told the same thing for the hundredth time. “It’s fiction, Moira.”

  “Aw, sure look it—” After dropping into slang, she sighed, knowing the truth in Cassie’s statement. “—it just makes mortal men fall short of these expectations.” She bookmarked the page on her Kindle reading app, the hunky Highland laird forgotten. “Speaking of impressive men, is Quinn working today?”

  Although he came from old money and didn’t need to work, Quinn Murphy—Cassie’s fiancé—held the position of Junior Minister to Elizabeth Donnelly, Minister for Justice and Equality. It was part of the reason she and Cassie were working
today, instead of enjoying the beautiful sunshine.

  “No. Minister Donnelly has him doing last minute errands, so she can be fresh for the dinner tonight.”

  The way Quinn had told it, the minister couldn’t function without him by her side. Moira had known it was to make himself seem more important than he was, but she let it go for her friend. “I’d have thought you’d accompany him to the dinner.”

  Cassie shrugged her indifference. “He said he’d be busy networking for his boss, and, frankly, I didn’t want to go, so we agreed I wouldn’t.” A secretive smile touched her lips. “He’s so considerate.”

  Moira was happy for her friend. She was. Really. Okay, maybe a bit jealous. Moira only wanted the best for her. Quinn Murphy made Cassie happy. He tended to make everyone around him happy. His charisma was to die for. It never took long for him to turn a frown into a smile, and even a laugh. Moira envied that bit of personality in him.

  Of course, his money didn’t hurt Cassie’s happiness. Not that her friend wanted Quinn for his money, but it did allow Cassie to pursue her love of creating jewelry.

  Moira reached her hand up and rubbed the amber pendant, in a unique Celtic setting, between her fingers. Cassie told her that it resembled Moira’s life—deceptively unique. She’d bristled when Cassie had used the term deceptively, but she’d allowed an explanation.

  “It’s not that you try to deceive people, but you never let people see the uniqueness inside you. The woman who hurts along with the laughs and smiles you easily bestow.” Cassie’s expression had changed to one of concern. “You deserve to be this happy inside, Moira. Don’t hide behind the free-living woman and pass up the best thing that ever happened to you. You avoid things that might upset you, and getting hurt is one of those things. But, you have to let a man see”—she’d pointed her finger at Moira— “inside you. To the real you.”

  Why did all happily-in-love people want that same joy for everyone else? Casual relationships worked perfect for Moira. As an ealaíontóir—artist—when her muse struck, the world outside ceased to exist. Most of the men she dated—even her friends for that matter, Cassie excluded—didn’t understand that. So, when Moira would disappear for days at a time with her phone and social media off, she’d lose whatever ground she’d gained in a new relationship. Which she appreciated, as it told her the man’s priorities up front. If he could wait it out, he might be a keeper.

  None had waited it out.

  As for long-term relationships, she guessed if she had that deep love for a man that Cassie had for Quinn, she might… might, consider something more. But only if he didn’t make her pick between him and her ealaín—her art. She’d never lose that part of herself.

  “What are you girls doing?” The sharp female voice startled her, and Moira almost dropped her phone. Obviously, their break on this temp job had ended.

  The strong scent of garlic burned her nostrils, and she scrunched her nose to fight off the heavy odor. The báire tí was the worst housekeeper taskmaster, and no matter how much effort Moira or Cassie put into shining, dusting, or cleaning, they had to redo the work as their efforts never passed muster. It was a brutal job.

  Yet, they’d stayed to clean this house. Nay, not house. Mansion, or teach. Mostly because Cassie wanted the place to look great for Quinn’s working dinner.

  With a heavy accent, the mean woman—Moira hadn’t cared to remember the woman’s name—nearly growled, “What are those?” She reached out a beefy arm and Moira automatically took a small step back. Why had the woman asked if she obviously knew what she and Cassie held? “Hand them here. You know they aren’t allowed.”

  Anger rose within Moira. Under her breath, she cursed the woman with the best Irish Gaelic her grandmother had taught her. Sure, the employers of the temp agency had stated mobile phones weren’t allowed on the job, especially in the minister’s home, but she’d be damned if she’d surrender it, especially to this woman. The phone held her life. Losing it would be devastating. Heck, she didn’t even remember her brother’s phone number. She hoped she never got arrested and had her phone taken away. She’d be in a world of hurt trying to find people’s phone numbers or remembering the password to her cloud account where they’d be stored.

  Moira’s gaze slid to Cassie in an effort to gauge her friend’s reaction. Moira had only taken this gig because Cassie had asked her to work with her. If only her friend’s jewelry making business would take off, Cassie wouldn’t need this job. But Moira knew that Cassie had no idea how to manage the money flow. So, her friend always ended up taking odd jobs to supplement the lifestyle she lived. One that Moira didn’t crave as she believed in living within her budget.

  Moira made a decent living as an artist, but she squirreled most of it away like her parents had taught her. “For an unknown emergency” her mam had always said with a tone that made Moira think her parents had experienced at least one emergency. She’d also taught Moira that people were fickle and her art could be hot one day and hard to sell the next. Over the years, the pain in her heart at the loss of her parents had lessened, but she didn’t imagine it would ever go away.

  If only Cassie and her hot-and-heavy fiancé would marry already. When Quinn gazed at Cassie, the love radiating from his eyes warmed even Moira’s heart.

  Moira was disappointed Cassie didn’t say, “Screw this. Let’s go,” to the báire tí. The pay would be nice but not necessary this month.

  “Fine.” Cassie handed her phone to the mean woman, although her voice held disdain that went ignored by its intended recipient. She looked at Moira as if pleading with her to behave.

  Incredulous and still smarting at Cassie’s caving, Moira almost walked away, but wouldn’t do that to her friend since Cassie had recommended her. With a huff that she didn’t care could be overheard, she stretched out her arm and reluctantly dropped her phone into the housekeeper’s large hand. Now wasn’t the time to kick herself for never resetting the password from the factory setting.

  After pocketing the phones in her pristine white apron, the báire tí pointed at Cassie. “You, dust the shelves and artwork in the front entry.” Her eyes squinted as if giving the evil eye, which only made Moira want to laugh since she looked like a pig snorting instead. “Don’t break anything.”

  “You,”—she hadn’t needed to point at Moira as it’d been obvious in her tone who the woman spoke to— “upstairs. Help the real maid change the sheets in the guests’ rooms.” The housekeeper turned, and Moira felt like giving her a salute and then the finger. She hadn’t done that since… well, she couldn’t remember when, but this woman brought out this behavior.

  As the housekeeper hurried away, she mumbled under her breath. Moira caught the words “falsa” and “míbhuíoch” in her grating tone.

  Standing in place, Cassie asked, “Did she just call us lazy?”

  Nodding, Moira took a step toward the large mahogany staircase. “Not only lazy but ungrateful.”

  “She’s such a wagon.”

  Although always trying to find the good in people, Moira wholeheartedly agreed, but, in this case, she’d straight up say bitch versus wagon. On many occasions, she had been dubbed a happy-go-lucky person. Or a “free spirit.” Since the labels fit, she’d never argued. Today tested even her bright side.

  After two hours of making beds and straightening rooms, Moira decided she’d find Cassie and see if they could leave. Muscles that hadn’t worked this hard in a long time ached with overuse. It didn’t matter if she spent all the earnings from the hours they worked on a much-needed massage, or two. A pleasure-filled groan slipped from her lips at the thought of her favorite masseur, Ryan’s, magical hands rubbing her body down. If she’d had her phone, she’d have scheduled herself for his next available appointment.

  Damn and double damn the woman. Stopping at the top of the staircase, she mentally told herself, Think happy thoughts. She took a deep breat
h and held it until her chest burned. Slowly, she released the air from her lungs and relaxation slid down her body from her the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Okay, her feet still hurt. If only she’d been allowed to wear her tennis shoes….

  Glancing downstairs, she didn’t see Cassie. Taking the steps slowly—as if her godawful mule shoes would make noise—she searched for the báire tí, then her friend. Although, her goal was to find Cassie and avoid the báire tí.

  Passing through the dining room, she stopped and gawked for a moment. Elizabeth Donnelly—the Minister of Justice and Equality—had pulled out all the stops for the dinner party. Crystal and silver glistened on the table that sat—she counted chairs—thirty. Decorated with Easter lilies, which weren’t in season, touched off the elegance of the room with their semblance of peace and hope for the future. A plain white tablecloth and white covers over the chairs didn’t detract from the overall appearance. The only exception to the classiness of the table was the scattering of shamrocks along the center of the table that screamed “this is Ireland.” To her, they were technically the only classy thing on the table. The rest was just dressing.

  She’d learned this event had something to do with a zero-tolerance program the gardai, Ireland’s police force, and the minister planned to roll out. The Assistant Commissioner of the Dublin Region of the gardai would attend, so it seemed a done deal. The police and the politician. Even Moira, who didn’t keep up with politics, knew Minister Donnelly was positioning herself for the role of President, which would become vacant in one year. Moira had no idea if she’d vote for the woman or not.

  If the minister could achieve the set goal on drugs—which Moira highly doubted since “zero” prefixed it—she’d definitely consider voting for the minister. But Moira didn’t have her hopes up, so when it came down to right before voting, Moira would listen and read, then ask her brother. Only once had she abstained from voting. She couldn’t decide which candidate was less of an idiot.