J. Robb - Vengeance in Death

"It's been fifteen years, more or less, so your memory might be dim even after all the times we had. I recognized you right enough, Brian Kelly, though you've added a stone or two. Perhaps three." Roarke flashed a grin, and it was the grin that did it.

"Well, bloody hell, lock up your women. It's Roarke himself." Brian's lips stretched in a mile-wide grin as he rammed a fist into Roarke's face.

"Christ Jesus" was the best Roarke could do as his head snapped back. He kept his balance, shook his head to clear it.

"Sucker punch," Eve commented, and took another sip of stout. "Nice pals you've got, Roarke."

"I owed you that." Brian shook a finger. "You never did come back with the hundred pounds that was my fair share of the cargo money."

Philosophically Roarke swiped the back of his hand over his cut lip to blot the blood. After the briefest of pauses, both the music and the hum of conversation continued. "It would have cost me more than a hundred pounds to come back at that point with the guarda on the prowl." Roarke picked up his pint, sipped to soothe his mouth. "I thought I sent it to you."

"Hell you did. But what's a hundred pounds between friends." With a roaring laugh, Brian grabbed Roarke's shoulders, yanked him over the bar, and kissed him dead on his bleeding mouth. "Welcome home, you bloody bastard. You there!" He shouted to the musicians. "Play 'The Wild Rover' for me old friend here, for that's what he ever was. And I've heard he's got gold in great store all right, enough to buy a round for the house."

The patrons cheered and the music turned lively.

"I'll stand the house for a round, Bri, if you'll give me and my wife a few minutes of your time back in the snug."

"Wife, is it?" He roared again and pulled Eve forward for a hearty kiss. "Blessed Mary save us all. I'll give you a few minutes and more, for I own the place now. Michael O'Toole, you come on back and give Johnny a hand with the bar. I've got some catching up to do."

He pressed a button beneath the bar and had a narrow door at the far end swinging open.

The snug, Eve discovered, was a tiny private room fitted out with a single table and a scattering of chairs. The light was dim, but the floor gleamed like a mirror. Through the closed door, the music piped.

"You married this reprobate," Brian said, sighing as he lowered himself onto a chair that creaked beneath his weight.

"Yeah, well, he begged."

"You've got yourself a pretty one here, boyo. A long one with eyes the color of the best Irish."

"She'll do me." Roarke took out his cigarettes, offered one to Brian.

"American." He closed his eyes in pleasure as Roarke lighted it for him. "We still have a hard time getting these here."

"I'll send you a case to make up for the hundred."

"I can sell off a case of Yanks for ten times that." Brian grinned. "So I'll take it. What brings you to the Penny Pig? I hear you come to Dublin now and again on your rich man's business, but you don't wander our way."

"No, I haven't." Roarke met his eyes. "Ghosts."

"Aye." Brian nodded, understanding perfectly. "They're thick in the streets and alleys. But you've come now, with your pretty wife."

"I have. You'd have heard about Tommy Brennen and the others."

"Murdered." Brian poured from the bottle of whiskey he'd taken from beneath the bar. "Tommy would come in now and again over the years. Not often, but now and again, and we'd have a song out of him. I saw him and his wife once, and his children, strolling on Grafton Street. He saw me as well, but it wasn't the time to speak to the likes of me. Tommy, well, he preferred keeping certain parts of what had been from his family."

He lifted his glass more in resignation than toast. "Shawn now, he was a rare one. He'd send word back from New York, always claiming he was making a fortune, and when he'd finished counting all his money, back he'd be. A fine liar was Shawn," he said and drank to him.

"I've brought Jennie's body back with me."

"Have you?'' His wide and ruddy face sober, Brian nodded. "That's the right thing. She'd have wanted that. She had a sweet heart, did Jennie. I hope they catch the bloody bastard who did her."

"That's one of the reasons we're here, hoping you can help."

"Now how could I do that, being an ocean away from where the deed was done?"

"Because it all started here, with Marlena." Roarke took Eve's hand. "I didn't properly introduce you to my wife, Brian. This is Eve. Lieutenant Eve Dallas, New York City Police and Security."

Brian choked on his whiskey, thumped his chest to help the air into his lungs. His eyes watered. "A cop? You married a bloody cop?"

"I married a bloody criminal," Eve muttered, "but nobody ever thinks of that."

"I do, darling." Amused, Roarke kissed her hand. "Constantly."

Brian let go another of his rollicking laughs and poured another shot. "Here's to the pair of you. And to the icicles that are forming in Hell."

He'd have to postpone the next.

He prayed for patience. After all, he'd waited so long already. But it was a sign from God, he understood that. He had veered from the path, acted on his own desires, when he had planted the bomb in her car.

He had sinned, and so prayed for forgiveness as well as patience. He had only to listen to the guiding force. He knew that, and was repentant. Tears blurred his vision as he knelt, accepting his penance, his punishment for his conceit and arrogance.

Like Moses, he had faltered in his mission and tested God.

The rosaries clinked musically in his hands as he moved from bead to bead, from decade to decade with a practiced ease and a deep devotion.

Hail Mary, full of grace.

He used no cushion for his knees, for he'd been taught that forgiveness demanded pain. Without it, he would have felt himself uncleansed. Votive candles, white for purity, flickered and carried the faint smell of wax pooling on wax.

Between them, the image of the Virgin watched him silently. Forgivingly.

His face was shadowed by the candlelight, and aglow with the visions of his own salvation.

Blessed art thou among women.

The anthem to the Virgin Mother was his favorite prayer, and no penance at all. It was comfort. As he completed the fifth of the nine rosaries he'd been given as penance, he pondered the Sorrowful Mysteries. He cleared his mind of worldly cares and carnal thoughts.

Like Mary, he was a virgin. He had been taught that his innocence and his purity were the paths to glory. Whenever lust crept its stealthy way into his heart, heating his blood, slickening his skin, he fought that whispering demon with all his might. Both his body, well trained, and his mind, well honed, were dedicated to his faith.

And the seeds of his faith were sown in blood, rooted in vengeance, and bloomed with death.

Eve could hear the low murmur of an international news report from the parlor screen when she awoke. Her body clock was a mass of confusion. She figured it was still the middle of the night according to her system, and a nice, rainy dawn where her body happened to be.

She didn't think Roarke had slept long, but accepted that he needed less sleep than anyone she'd ever known. He hadn't been talkative when they'd gotten back from the Penny Pig the night before, but he had been… hungry.

He'd made love like a man desperate to find something, or to lose it, and she had little choice but to grab hold and join the ride.

Now he'd already been up and working, she imagined. Scanning the news reports, the stock reports, making calls, pushing buttons. She decided it was best to leave him to it until her mind cleared.

She eyed the bathroom shower dubiously. It was a three-sided affair of white tile that left the user's butt exposed to the room. Search as she might, she found no mechanism that would close her in and protect her privacy.