Page 15 of Dublin Debacle

Emily had no response to this. “Daphne, I have to go. Please be careful leaving the pub. Text me when you get to your flat.”

“I will. You be careful, too.”

After ending the call, Emily stared at the cell phone, going over what Daphne had said about the fights breaking out all over the city, about the Radical Nationalists and, finally, the comment about the accidents.

She’d had her own doubts about her father’s accident. When she’d gone to the morgue and forced herself to view the charred remains of his body, she’d asked if they’d found his wedding ring.

No ring, melted or otherwise, was found on the body or in the car. She’d left the morgue with more questions than when she’d arrived. If that had been her father’s body, he would have died with his wedding ring on his finger.

She knew her father. He’d loved her mother so much, he’d refused to remove the ring, even though he’d spread word that she’d divorced him when she’d left for the States. He wouldn’t have willingly removed the ring. Had someone stolen it before her father had died in that wreck? Had someone taken it while he was being processed at the morgue?

The one question she came back to over and over... Was the body found in her father’s car that of Seamus O’Brien?

If it wasn’t her father, who was it, and where was her father?

Emily hadn’t mentioned her thoughts to her brother or her uncle.

Finn had been in his own private hell over the loss of the father he’d only just begun to know.

Emily wished she could have been more of what he’d needed. She’d failed her brother in their time of grief.

With the death of her mother, the potential death of her father and now the attack on her uncle, her family was imploding, and she could do nothing to stop it. Would Finn be next, or would it be her?

She called her brother’s number. After five rings, his phone rolled over to voicemail. Her brother’s voice recording sounded. “Leave a message, I’ll get back to you.”

Emily struggled with what to say and finally settled on, “Hey, Finn, it’s Emily. Call me as soon as you get this message.”

As she ended the call, she second-guessed her method of delivery. Her brother didn’t like talking on the phone. He preferred text messages. She was about to key in a text message when Jack emerged from the hallway into the sitting room, shirtless, his hair damp and droplets of water glistening across his muscular chest.

All thoughts evaporated with the moisture in her mouth as Emily’s gaze swept over the American from his shoulders to the waistband of his jeans and lower.

He flung his shirt over one shoulder and tipped his head to the side. “Your turn.”

For a moment, she remained rooted to the floor.

When his lips twitched in the hint of a smile, she realized she was staring.

Heat burned up her neck into her cheeks. “Right. My turn,” she muttered, unable to form anything more coherent or intelligent.

Clutching her cell phone to her chest, she ducked past him and all but ran to the bathroom. Once inside with the door shut, she leaned her back against the door panel and remembered how to breathe.

Emily was no prude. She’d seen half-naked men before and fully naked men when she’d dated in college. So, why the moronic reaction to a stranger’s bare chest?

Okay, his chest was broader than any of the men she’d known. And muscular.

She ran her tongue across her suddenly very dry lips, wondering what it would feel like to touch his bare chest with the tips of her fingers. She bet it would be rock hard if the six pack he sported was any indication.

Forget her fingers.

What would it feel like to run her tongue across his six-pack?

Emily moaned.

“Everything all right?” Jack’s muffled voice calling out through the wood paneling made Emily jump.

She pressed her palms to her burning cheeks as she faced the door, glad it stood between them. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, of course. I won’t be long.”

“I’ll warm up the pizza for when you’re ready,” he said.

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