Destroy Me (Southern Nights: Enigma Book 3) Read online

  “It’s not what I want.”

  “Well it sure as feck isn’t about what I’m wanting!”

  Deacon ignored the flash of temper. “That’s exactly what you should be asking yourself.”

  I’m wanting Lyse Sheppard’s scrawny neck between my brawny hands. “You know the answer to that, Deac.”

  “Fionn, look…” Deacon took his turn sighing. “When are you going to accept that Lyse is long gone?”

  Never. “Everyone is traceable; it’s just a matter of looking in the right place.”

  “And maybe the right place to look isn’t out in the big wide world.” Deacon aimed a finger at Fionn’s chest. “Maybe what you need to be looking at is why you can’t let go.”

  “Because I’m not after being an idiot, maybe?”

  Deacon shook his head, eyes weary. “When it comes to that girl, you’ve always been an idiot.”

  Fionn barely tamped down on the urge to gut punch his friend. Deacon knew it, too, because amusement flickered briefly in his eyes before going serious.

  “She was in love with you.”

  “No, she wasn’t.” She’d been too young for that, too naive. At least he’d thought so. A little hero worship, maybe, but not—

  “She loved you. And the sooner you accept that, the sooner you can heal from what happened.”

  He wasn’t after healing; he was after making her pay.

  Deacon clapped him hard on his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re back.”

  Apparently his friend had had his say. As Fionn watched him leave, frustration rode him even harder.

  She was in love with you.

  He was needing out of this fecking room. Maybe a workout. If he punched a hole in his office wall, Alvarez might suspend him permanently. He headed for the door.

  Behind him the phone on his desk rang. A zing of pain shot through his jaw, confirmation of Deacon’s fears about him breaking a tooth. He eased the clenching as he turned to face the phone.

  He wasn’t wanting to answer it. He wasn’t wanting to deal with whoever needed him at the moment. He wasn’t wanting to listen to more criticism about where his focus was or why his head wasn’t in the game or what the feck he needed to do to be letting Sheppard go. In that single moment, listening to another peel of the phone, he wondered why he was still after all this. Why keep fighting? He’d been battling the villains of the world in one way or another since his garda days straight out of secondary school. Almost two decades. All it had got him was loss and betrayal. If he couldn’t keep his friends safe, what was the fecking point?

  Another harsh ring hit him like a hammer. He strode over, grabbed the phone, and brought it to his ear. “McCullough,” he bit out.

  “Hey, Fionn.”

  The hey was drawn out into three syllables by Tucker’s southern accent. Their new computer tech sounded like a hillbilly on weed, though he came close to Sheppard in the genius IQ department. Close, but not the same—no one beat Sheppard.

  Except Fionn. He’d be beating her no matter what it took, genius or not.

  He planted a fist on his desk. “What’s the story, Tucker?”

  The sound of cardboard tearing came through the line. Tucker had a serious thing for Lemonheads; he kept boxes of them everywhere. Sure enough, his next words were mumbled around something in his mouth, making him even harder to decipher.

  “Thought you might be interested in something I found this morning.”

  His fierce mood left no room for a guessing game. “Spit it out.”

  Tucker chuckled. Fionn used to be considered the most easygoing guy in the office. Not anymore. “So I was thinking about your problem while you were on vacation.”

  Not a vacation. Fionn barely held back a threat involving Tucker’s stones and Fionn’s KA-BAR in close proximity.

  “And I decided to set up a couple of honeypots in places of interest in the Dark Web to see if we could get any nibbles.”

  “Honeypots?”

  “Right.” Tucker’s accent and the teacher tone he sometimes adopted when his coworkers weren’t knowledgeable enough to follow him didn’t match. “A honeypot is essentially bait in a computer system of some kind. I set up some information I thought Sheppard might be interested in, to see if I could lure her in, at least get her poking around.”

  “But wouldn’t that mean other hackers might be able to get to the information as well?”

  “No worries. None of it’s real. Plus I used a unique access similar to what we have here, knowing she’d designed it. Without her personal knowledge, no one is getting past my firewalls, trust me.”

  Sounded like Greek to Fionn, but whatever. He was better with his body than he was with a computer. “Al’right.”

  “Okay, so…” The click of keys came through the line—Tucker typing. “I set the traps last week, and early this morning…I got a nibble.”

  “A nibble?”

  “Right. Someone tried to access the data. I tell ya, she’s good. I mean, I knew she was, but still I almost missed it.”

  A crunch sounded in Fionn’s ear, followed by chewing. Fionn didn’t even flinch. “You’re saying Sheppard might’ve slipped up? I’m not buying it.”

  “Hey, I can’t vouch for motive. All I can do is pass on info.”

  “Tell me you’re after getting a location.”

  “Still running it, actually. The woman knows how to bounce, that’s for sure.”

  That much Fionn could decipher—Sheppard was bouncing her signal so they couldn’t be tracing it.

  “But it looks promising,” Tucker was saying around crunches. “You might wanna come down here. Shouldn’t be too much longer before I know something definite.”

  Sheppard was too smart for this. His gut didn’t trust it. Not leaving a trail was intelligence training 101. But this was also the only trace of hope he’d had in the past two months. Was it worth the risk, knowing it might be a trap?

  He glanced around the office that had grown into more of a cage than the home it used to be. Trap or not, it was worth risking. “I’ll be right—”

  “Hold it.”

  Fionn waited, pacing restlessly through a pause, more typing and crunching. A beep sounded in the background.

  “We have a winner!”

  He reached for his desk drawer to retrieve his keys. “Where?”

  Tucker hummed over the line. “Someplace called North Quigley Village. Hey, that’s Ireland, looks like.”

  “Where?” No. No no no no. Fionn forced himself to be thinking, to breathe, to not open his mouth and let the man on the other end of the line know exactly how panicked he suddenly felt.

  “Is that anywhere near your former neck of the woods, Irish?” Tucker asked. “It’s not a big country, is it?”

  No, not really. But it was big enough that Sheppard had hundreds of places she could be without picking the one town no one connected with him should be knowing about.

  “No, not my neck of the woods.” He had to be heading out of here. “Listen, e-mail me the intel, all right? All of it. I’ve got to head.”

  “Sure, but—”

  Fionn hung up before Tucker finished his response; it was either that or drop the receiver, the way his hands were shaking. Sheppard was in North Quigley Village. It couldn’t be a coincidence.

  It wasn’t. He knew it, deep down in his gut. Lyse Sheppard was hiding in the one place he’d vowed to never go, near the most important person in his life. The person he’d promised to protect no matter the cost, nearly two decades ago. Could he honor that vow and still bring in the woman who’d betrayed them all? Betrayed him?

  He clenched the keys in his fist till they threatened to break through his skin. Think, Fionn. Think!

  But there was nothing to be thinking about. If Sheppard was in the same town as his mam, it was for a reason. Just one more strike against her.

  He’d tear her apart before he’d let her harm his family.

  He was rushing down the hall with his next breath. He
had a plane to catch—and then he’d catch a traitor.

  Chapter Three

  A gentle breeze blew across Lyse’s cheeks, and she closed her eyes, resting her head back against the brick wall. The chatter around her, the evening gathering at the local pub, The Hairy Lemon, fell away as she focused on the touch caressing her hot face. There was something different about the air in Ireland, something soft, clean. If green had a feeling, this was it—there was no other way to describe how it touched her skin, filled her lungs. Good. Pure.

  Would this be the last time she felt a breeze like this? Would this be the last evening she spent on the Lemon’s patio, drinking with her friends?

  “What’s the story, Lyse?” Sean settled in the chair next to her and passed over the Orchard Thieves she’d requested from the bar. Usually she’d go with him, if only for the pleasure of hearing him pronounce the word teeves. If the air in Ireland was soft, the language often matched, but the th sound in words was often pronounced with a hard t. Deciphering speech was one of many things she’d had to learn when she came. Like names. She glanced up as Sean’s boyfriend, Cathal, sat next to him.

  “Hey, Cathal.”

  Irish for Charlie, Cathal’s name was pronounced Kay-hul. That one had taken a while to get used to. Sometimes she’d felt like she needed to write people’s names down and practice so she didn’t stumble over them all the time.

  “Sean’s right; you’re lookin’ knackered.”

  She shook her head, took a sip of the cool hard cider before setting it on the wrought-iron table. “Rough night.”

  Sean frowned. “You were saying that yesterday. Coming down with something?”

  No, but something will be coming down on me soon. “Maybe.”

  Anytime now, she figured. Fionn had gotten on a plane late last night Ireland time, midafternoon in the States. He was here, on his home soil; she didn’t need computer records to tell her that. She could feel it. She should walk home, pack—not that he’d let her take anything with her when she left. Even revealing the threat to his mother would earn her nothing more than a short reprieve, if she was lucky.

  She usually wasn’t. There was always the chance that he’d simply snap her neck and be done with it. In the glimpse she’d caught of him at the airport before he’d boarded, he certainly looked grim enough.

  She’d stopped watching after that. Hell was coming for her, and everything inside her shouted to run, get away, save herself. There was no saving herself; she’d known that when she tipped him off. The only weapon she possessed was her brain, and that wouldn’t help her against a man as angry as Fionn.

  She shivered in her chair.

  “Now I’m getting bothered,” Sean said, leaning toward her. His cool hand landed on her forehead. “You’re no’ feeling warm. Maybe I’m needing to feed ya—chicken noodle soup, yeah? That’s what strengthens you up in America.”

  Leave it to the chef to feed her. “I’m fine, Sean, really.”

  He slid his hand down, the backs of his fingers resting against her cheek as he frowned. “You’re not all right, Lyse.”

  No, she wasn’t. Unable to resist, she reached up and took his hand. The truth was, she was scared. She’d faced charming Fionn and serious Fionn, but the man coming for her wouldn’t be charming and would go way past serious. In her head she knew she deserved anything he chose to do to her, but her body couldn’t get with the program.

  She squeezed his hand tight, then dropped it to reach for her cider. “If you knew it was your last day on Earth”—or your last day free—“where would you spend it?”

  Sean’s worry turned to amusement as he glanced at his boyfriend. He really was beautiful to look at, with that raven-black hair and half grin. Almost as beautiful as—

  “Getting the shift.” He winked at Cathal.

  As if she’d even needed to ask. Of course he’d be in bed with his boyfriend.

  “Smart man,” Cathal said, his smile full of promise. With his thick brown hair and dark eyes, he was equally as handsome as Sean. Ireland had its share of gorgeous men; that was for sure.

  “Well, that’s no help for me,” she teased. “Y’all aren’t into girls.”

  Sean chuckled. “There are plenty o’ men in Quigley who’d be happy to take you for a ride.”

  He said it often, which was why she doubted it. Oh, it was a nice thought, but she knew better. She wasn’t the type to draw men’s attention. A virgin at twenty-four. Not just a virgin—she’d never experienced the touch of a man besides a few fumbling kisses in fourth grade. Hardy…what had his last name been? The thought of him actually kept the smile on her lips. Hardy had been before she was taken out of public school. Before her brain had been indulged and her desperation to prove she was worthy had truly taken flight. Before she’d passed eight grades and four years of college in seven years and became the youngest computer genius formally on the government’s payroll at the age of sixteen.

  If the stereotype of male computer nerds were that they died virgins, her experience as a female nerd wasn’t that far off. She hadn’t cared, not when Fionn was a part of her life. The only man she’d wanted touching her.

  That dream had died a painfully agonizing death two months ago. Or so she’d thought. But now, as much as her heart beat in her throat with fear, there was a small part of her that welcomed his hands on her any way she could get them.

  She shook her head at her own stupidity and sat back, letting Sean and Cathal’s conversation flow over her while she sipped her cider. Soaking in the sounds of villagers laughing and arguing and drinking all around her. The courtyard sat between the Hairy Lemon and a burger place she swore was McDonald’s in disguise. Anytime she got homesick—and Sean wasn’t around to be appalled—she’d stop in and get takeout. They even had the same combo she’d grabbed too many nights on the way home from work at Global First.

  The thought squeezed around her heart. A gulp of cider didn’t push it away, but it was all she had available that might help.

  Michael, the local butcher, and Jared from the corner store where she often went to pick up breakfast toastie, sat at the table next to them. The young woman who checked her out at the Tesco on the edge of town chatted happily with a group of teens looking too young to drink, except the legal drinking age in Ireland was eighteen. Wouldn’t that have been fun when she was younger? She could’ve actually participated when her teams socialized after work.

  Across the way, a couple of politicians she only knew by sight argued, their wives looking bored. Lyse’s eye was caught by the wild gesture of an arm, bringing her focus to Philippe and Pierre, twins who’d opened a French patisserie a few months before she’d arrived in town. Their pistachio truffles were the best thing she’d ever put in her mouth that Sean hadn’t cooked, but she wouldn’t tell him that. Their storefront was just across the street, the window lit up to display a tantalizing array of gold-leaf-decorated chocolates.

  She almost moaned just glancing their way. The sound choked off in her throat as she did a double take that had nothing to do with the treats. That was all due to the shadow standing just beyond the window—the shadow with the right height and width, with the tiniest hint of auburn at the top to be the man she’d both hoped to avoid and longed for with every breath left inside her.

  The shadow shifted, heading for the street.

  Her glass slipped from her hand.

  “Lyse!” Both her companions reached for the glass, but it was Sean who caught it in his sure palm, barely allowing a drop to spill. “Feck it.”

  She dragged her gaze back to him. “I’m sorry.”

  Sean settled the glass on the table before he turned to her. “Wan, you’re white as a sheet. Let me take you home.”

  And risk Fionn hurting him? No.

  She sucked in a breath, trying to calm her pounding heart. “I’m okay, I promise.” Standing, she leaned over to brush a kiss across his cheek, then patted Cathal’s shoulder. “Really, I’m fine. Just need a bit of fresh air a
nd to go to bed.”

  “We—”

  She wouldn’t see them again. What did you say to people who’d made such a difference in your life when you so desperately needed them? Was it better to just walk away or say goodbye?

  It didn’t matter; all that mattered was protecting them.

  She pointed a shaky finger at Sean. “Stop. I said I’m fine.” Dropping her hand, she let her eyes go soft, reflecting all the things she couldn’t tell him, not now. “You’re right; I’ve got something coming on. A good long rest will fix me up, okay?”

  He still didn’t look happy; the glance he shared with Cathal was filled with a determination she could not let him follow through on.

  “Hey,” she said, and waited till he looked up at her. “Thank you. Really.” For so many things I can’t say. “I’m going to walk home and go to bed. Stay here and enjoy the night.”

  He nodded, his reluctance plain. “I’ll be checking in on you when I get home.”

  That would probably be too late, but she smiled anyway. “Take care.”

  Lyse left the courtyard before Sean could respond.

  Ireland has a lot of sidewalks, the streets fairly well-lit. People spent more time here on foot than they could in Georgia, where the nearest store could be ten miles away depending on how close to a town you lived. She walked along Main Street for a couple of blocks, refusing to rush and give away the game. No one else would get hurt if she could help it. No one deserved to get hurt but her.

  The night was still as she turned onto the road that led to her apartment, silent except for traffic, but that didn’t mean she was alone. She could feel him breathing down her neck—figuratively now, though she knew it wouldn’t be for long. She’d imagined his warm breath on her most vulnerable spots for so many years.

  A ragged chuckle left her. Whatever was ahead, it wasn’t going to be anything like her fantasy daydreams of Fionn. No, this would hurt; she had zero doubt about that.