Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
But she wasn’t a Sheridan, so it wasn’t an issue.
Jude stopped in front of the photograph that had started all this. The one his mother had kept with her always, right up until sorrow finally won and she took that last step into permanent sleep. She’d managed to stay alive until he was grown, which was astounding when held against the truth that a vital part of her had died with her husband and other sons. If she hadn’t been pregnant with Jude—her late-in-life miracle baby—she would have finished what Colm Sheridan started the same day that she buried her boys.
He touched the photograph, the faces familiar because of how often she’d pointed to them, telling him stories about how Neal had been a little hell-raiser, even from infancy, and how Carey had been quiet and solemn and watched everything around him with wide green eyes. About how they’d grown up big and strong and become a threat Colm couldn’t ignore.
About how he’d butchered them in one fell swoop, he and his men attacking in the wee hours of the morning and killing every single man the MacNamaras had to call their own, whether family or hired help.
It had been a slaughter.
He turned the photograph facedown, unable to stand the happy faces staring back at him. It was for his mother he’d gotten into the killing business, honing his already considerable skills. She’d prepared him as best she could and when she couldn’t do any more, she’d slipped away to be with her lost loved ones. Her death had been the final push he needed to move forward and take that first contract.
He couldn’t blame her. What did one son compare to the two who were lost? To the beloved husband who she’d never stopped mourning?
It didn’t make him miss her less, though.
Almost there. I’m so close to bringing justice to the Sheridans once and for all. The rest of Boston can rot for all I care.
What would he do after he’d avenged his family?
Jude turned, facing the direction of the O’Connor house despite the fact he couldn’t see it from his position. There was no future for him—not the kind that included a woman or a family of his own or any sort of stability. He’d seen too many things, had done too many things. There was no coming back from that, even if he wanted to. He’d never even stayed in one place for more than a few months, and he didn’t imagine he was going to start now.
But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t use his time waiting for Sorcha O’Connor in Callaway Rock well.
Chapter Four
Sloan delivered a plate of eggs Benedict to the judge—who didn’t seem to have a name other than his title—with a smile. “Let me know if I can get you anything else.”
“I know that accent.” He studied her from beneath his bushy gray eyebrows. They gave him the look of a quizzical owl. “East Coast…New York?”
She froze, then mentally berated herself into relaxing. “Philadelphia.” It wasn’t the truth, but Philly natives’ accent was close enough to Boston’s for someone to mistake the faint trace of accent she had if they weren’t familiar with it.
His frown cleared. “Ah, yes, that’s it. You’ll have to tell me sometime how you came to end up here in our little town.”
Sloan’s smile slipped. “Of course. Another time, if that’s all right?”
“Yes. Go, go. Don’t let me keep you from your work.” He focused on his breakfast, releasing her, but her panic didn’t dissipate as she headed for the kitchen. She’d thought leaving her past in the past would be as easy as relocating and starting a new life. It had never occurred to her that everything from the way she carried herself to the way she spoke could give her away.
It doesn’t matter. None of these locals care where you came from, other than wanting a good story.
Knowing that didn’t change the fact that the walls felt too close. Sloan stopped just inside the door to the kitchen and concentrated on breathing in slowly through her nose like Jessica, the yoga instructor, had taught her this morning. Three breaths and she wasn’t in danger of fleeing out the back door and never returning. Another five and she even managed to turn around and head back into the main dining area.
All her hard-won calm disappeared when she saw Jude lounging in the corner booth. Lounging wasn’t the right word. He looked like a big cat who was as likely to tear out her throat as purr and rub against her.
Rub against…
She tried and failed to shut the thought down. From there, it was a slippery slope to thinking about what she’d done last night while picturing him.
It was almost enough to make her flee into the kitchen again. Or it would have been if not for the knowledge that Marge had given her a chance, and the woman wouldn’t take kindly to her hiding in the back when there were customers to be served.