Jessie Keane - Ruthless

She could tell him it was until she was blue in the face: he’d never believe it. All her business trips to New York, he perceived as visits to Alberto. They weren’t of course. Oh, she’d often see Alberto while she was there, but she’d rarely stayed with him. Usually she stayed at the Old-Colonial-style penthouse she owned in Manhattan. She adored Alberto. But not the way she had always adored Max. Which she didn’t any more, she told herself. Not at all. Because he had killed her love for him stone dead.

Max gave a chilly smile. ‘Looks a lot like his dad though, don’t he?’

Before she knew it, Annie was on her feet, the blood singing in her ears.

‘Listen up, will you? Alberto is my stepson ,’ she repeated, glaring at her ex-husband with murder in her heart.

‘Sure he is.’ Now Max stood up too. Annie didn’t flinch – she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. They glared at each other, nose to nose.

‘He is. And you know something else? You and me, we’re divorced. If I wanted to sleep with anyone, you’d have no say in the matter. Even Alberto. Which isn’t the case, which has never been the case, you arsehole .’

Max was silent for a moment, his eyes locked with hers.

‘You know what?’ he said at last.

‘No. What?’ demanded Annie. She could feel the heat of his breath on her face. Could smell the faint citrus tang of his cologne. She wanted, so much, to hit him.

‘I never know whether to fight you or fuck you, and that’s a fact,’ he said. ‘I’m leaning towards the second option, right this minute.’

This was how it had always been between them. Max was deep and dark, forever pulling strings and taking risks, determined to come out on top in anything he did; Annie was obstinate to the last, with a strong need for security and stability. She was his polar opposite. They sparked off each other, attracted, repelled.

She could feel the tug of his attraction, even now. And he could feel hers. She could see it in his eyes, the dilation of his pupils, the red-hot flash of desire evident in the tension in his body.

He started to move forward. Annie drew back her arm and slapped him, hard, around the face. Max stopped in his tracks. He rubbed at his jaw, gave her a glinting smile and stepped forward again, undeterred.

At that moment, the door opened.

‘Am I interrupting?’ It was Alberto.

Max looked at Alberto, then at Annie. ‘You see what I mean? One little squeak.’

Alberto glanced between the two of them. ‘Did I miss something?’ he asked.

‘No,’ they said together.

‘Come in,’ said Annie, glad of the distraction but all too aware that this would only confirm Max’s suspicions: here was Alberto, with her. She’d called for help, and he’d come running.

‘Have a seat,’ she said. Max sat down on the sofa opposite her. Alberto took one of the armchairs. She hoped she wasn’t blushing, but she was very afraid that she was. She could see the mark on Max’s face, where she’d struck him.

Fuck it. I shouldn’t have lost it like that, she thought.

‘OK. This putz who got himself blown up by the car bomb,’ said Alberto. ‘His name’s…’

‘Frankie Day,’ said Annie and Max at the same time.

There was a silence. Annie cleared her throat, and avoided looking at Max. ‘The police filled me in. They phoned, asked me if I knew him. I don’t.’

‘I heard it from my people on the street,’ shrugged Max. He had a network in London who usually kept him up to speed on what was happening.

‘He was a hobo,’ said Alberto.

‘A…?’ Annie frowned.

‘A drifter. A drop-out. And a small-time thief. He obviously didn’t rig the thing. That was down to a red-haired man spotted at the scene just after you left the car,’ said Alberto directly to Annie.

‘You’re not telling us anything we don’t already know,’ said Max.

‘Then where are we going with this?’ asked Alberto.

‘So far? Nowhere,’ said Annie. ‘How was Layla?’

‘You went to see Layla?’ said Max. He didn’t look too pleased.

‘Yeah, I did. And she’s fine.’

‘She’s fucking traumatized, she’s not fine at all.’

‘She’s a tough kid. And I left a few of my guys there.’

‘That’s taken care of already,’ said Max. ‘My boys are on the spot.’

‘Still, a little extra never hurts.’

Annie looked between the two of them in exasperation. ‘This isn’t a contest for who can provide the best back-up,’ she pointed out. ‘We have to find out what’s going on. Or we won’t ever be able to rest.’

‘You think the intruder was Orla Delaney,’ said Alberto.

‘I don’t think. I know,’ said Annie.

Max leaned back in his chair, linked his hands behind his head. ‘Steve wasn’t one hundred per cent sure, but he thought it was, too.’

‘Well, I’m delighted he’s reassured you that I’m not imagining things,’ snapped Annie.

Max gave her a sour smile. ‘This red-haired bloke could be Redmond. You thought of that? And this business with the shamrock. That says Irish, don’t it. A calling-card.’

She had thought of it. And then she had tried not to. Whenever her brain did drift towards Redmond, it stalled in total panic. She had never feared anyone the way she feared Redmond Delaney. If he was out to get her…

‘What?’ asked Alberto, looking at her face. ‘What is it?’

‘Well, it’s just… why Orla ?’ Annie was frowning. ‘Why would Redmond have left it to her to break into the house – assuming this red-headed man is Redmond. It doesn’t make sense. Orla was never one to actively participate in the hard game.’

‘She was always there to yank Redmond’s choke-chain when he got out of hand,’ said Max thoughtfully.

‘That’s it! Exactly,’ agreed Annie. She glanced between the two men. ‘And there’s something else…’

‘Go on,’ said Max.

‘You knew Redmond,’ she said to him. ‘Planting a car bomb – does that strike you as something Redmond would do, in person? He was always…’

‘I met Redmond too,’ said Alberto. ‘He didn’t seem the hands-on type.’

Annie had a vision of Redmond: the sharp Savile Row suits, the black coat, the black leather gloves; his pale, still face that looked as if it had been carved from ivory; his dark red hair clipped sternly into submission, and those stunning, coldly staring green eyes that seemed to lance straight through to your innermost heart. She felt a shiver run through her.

‘Maybe he’s changed,’ said Max, watching her face. ‘Maybe he don’t have the manpower he once had, maybe now he has to dirty his hands.’

Annie nodded slowly. Max could be right. The police said the man they were looking for was bulky and red-haired. Redmond had never been bulky. But maybe, in his middle years, he’d gained weight. Who knew? ‘The police said Semtex was used in the car.’

‘Suggesting what? IRA?’

‘The Delaneys were heading to Ireland when their plane vanished,’ said Alberto, thinking aloud. ‘If they survived, maybe they became involved in the Irish Troubles. Don’t you think that’s possible?’

‘Anything’s possible,’ said Max. He looked at Annie. ‘You’ve warned Ruthie? And Kath and the kids?’

‘Of course.’ And here they were again, plunging the whole family into crisis, forcing them to scatter. ‘Junior’s being bullish about it, I don’t think he’ll go,’ she said.

‘Your cousin… Kath…?’ asked Alberto.

Annie nodded.

‘And Molly, her daughter. They’ve gone?’

‘Kath and Molly have made themselves scarce, even if Junior won’t,’ she said. ‘And Ruthie’s already gone.’