Ramsay(37)

Brogan's phone rang repeatedly, annoying and distracting me, but I let  it go to voicemail. Who still had a landline anyway? I had my cell phone  sitting on the desk beside me, and if anyone needed to get a hold of  me, they would have called that number.

Once I'd finished working, I closed Brogan's computer and went into his  kitchen and dug through the refrigerator. It held a small amount of  food, but I found a yogurt that hadn't expired and an apple that still  looked decent and ate it in his living room in front of a late afternoon  talk show.

By the time I'd finished the food I was already bored. Sighing, I  cleaned up and went up to my room. Despite doing a whole lot of nothing  for the past week, I still wasn't used to being idle, and I definitely  wasn't used to feeling like a caged animal.

Picking up my phone, I dialed Stuart's number. Just as it'd done for the  past couple of days, it went straight to voicemail. I left him a brief  message, telling him I was worried about him and to call me. Just as I  was putting my phone down, it chimed with an incoming text.

Brogan: Fionn is bringing dinner by. He has the door codes. I'll be home asap.

Me: Okay. Everything all right?

Brogan: Just held up.

I sighed. Well, okay.

An hour later, I heard the beeping of the keypad outside Brogan's door  and a second later, Fionn's voice called, "Lydia? It's Fionn."

"Hey," I said as I descended the stairs. Fionn stood in the entranceway.  He grinned, holding up several brown paper bags. "Howya? I hope ya like  Chinese."

"I do. Thanks." When I got to the bottom, I said, "By the way, it's nice  to officially meet you." I shifted awkwardly. "The other day was . . ."  I drifted off, not knowing exactly how to finish that thought.

Fionn laughed. "The other day was gas. It's not often I see Brogan  snookered. I knew then we'd be mates." He winked and I let out a  confused laugh. I followed him into the kitchen where he set the bags on  the counter.

"What does snookered mean exactly?" I asked. Fionn paused in unloading the food from the bags.

"Em, it's a heavy defeat." He grinned and I laughed.

"Ah. And you're happy your friend was defeated?"

"Lydia, there's not a thing in this world I wouldn't do for Brogan, but I  told him he was gona make a bags of this whole situation if he insisted  on doin' things the way he thought he needed to, and so some defeats  are victories in disguise. I like to think that party was one of them.  Maybe even for the both of ya, shur ya know like." He winked again.

"Okay, um, make a bags . . ."

Fionn leaned against the counter. "Ya want a lesson in Irish slang,  Lydia?" he asked, laughing again. I loved the way he said my name, the  same way Brogan said it when his accent emerged: faster than those with  American accents, and with an emphasis on the a.

"Yes," I said. "Can you stay for dinner? I'd love it if you would."

"Well, that's the best offer I've had in donkey's years." He glanced at  me as he started unpacking a bag. "That means a long time."

Grinning, I grabbed dishes, napkins, and silverware and took them to the  small table next to the kitchen. Fionn carried over the numerous  cartons of food and retrieved a bottle of wine from the wine fridge at  the end of the island.

He opened it and brought that over with two wine glasses. Pouring, he  said, "Okay, the first thing ya gotta know is how to greet someone. Ya  ask, what's the craic? It means, what's up, what's the news?"                       
       
           



       

I remembered Rory had asked me that at Brogan's office what seemed like a  hundred years ago. "What's the craic?" I nodded. "Okay. What about the  shur ya know like phrase?"

"Em." He nodded to the cartons, indicating I should start, and I grabbed  one with some kind of noodles in it and started dishing it onto my  plate. "That's just a sayin' like ya might put 'ya know' on the end of a  sentence."

"Got it."

We ate dinner, talking and laughing, Fionn teaching me enough slang to get me started and educating me on some sayings.

Saying, "Relax the cacks," meant "Calm down." "I'm as sick as a small  hospital today," meant "I'm feeling rather ill," and was usually used  after a heavy night of drinking. The question, "Do you fancy a few  scoops?" meant, "Would you be interested in an alcoholic beverage?"  scoops pertaining to pints in particular. "Her face looks like the back  of a bus," referred to a very unfortunate-looking person, as did a woman  with "a body from Baywatch, and a face from Crimewatch."

I had to believe Fionn made up some of the phrases himself as they were  too outrageous. But by the time we were done eating, we'd finished off  the bottle of wine, and I was laughing me cacks off, which meant  laughing my pants off. I didn't remember ever laughing so hard, and my  cheek muscles hurt.

The keypad beeped and Brogan came through the door. "What's the craic?" I called out, raising my empty glass of wine.

Brogan closed the door, an amused look on his face as he walked toward us. "I see there's a party going on without me."

I smiled at Fionn, but when I looked more closely at Brogan, he looked worn and tired. "You okay?" I asked. "Are you hungry?"

"Yeah." He sat down and grabbed a container, taking my fork and eating straight from the takeout box.

"Should I open another bottle of wine?" Fionn asked.

"Definitely," I said. Fionn stood up to grab a bottle.

"Did everything go all right today?" I asked Brogan. "Any news on my brother?"

"I'm negotiating with them. I don't have a definite answer yet." His  gaze skittered away from mine, and I wondered if there was something he  wasn't telling me.

"Oh," I chewed at my lip, "okay. Do you think-?" I was interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell.

Brogan's brow furrowed, and he set the container of food down. Whoever  it was downstairs rang again. "Jaysus," Brogan muttered as he stood up  and walked to the monitor near his door. He opened the cover and looked  at the camera, seeming to still. I heard him utter another curse, his  shoulders moving up as if taking a fortifying breath. He pressed the  button, and a woman's hysterical voice came over the speaker.

"Brogan, let me up!" It sounded as if she was crying.

"Be the Lord Jaysus," I heard Fionn mutter. I looked over at him in  confusion, and his face was tense. He glanced at me and there was none  of the amused laughter that had been there only moments ago.

"Courtney, this isn't a good time," Brogan spoke into the monitor. "I'll call you."

"He's getting out," she screeched. "Oh my God, Brogan, I've been calling  you for days, and you haven't answered. Let me up!" Brogan leaned his  head against the monitor. I watched him, nervous dread moving through my  stomach. Who was she?

He turned toward me, our eyes meeting across the expanse of the room.  "I'm sorry, Lydia," he said softly before he pressed the button,  allowing access to the screaming woman on the street below.

I felt my face blanch, but I blinked, trying to gather myself. I'd just  been happily sipping wine and laughing, and now something I didn't  understand was about to happen and apparently it wasn't good.

Brogan looked at Fionn. "Will you-?"

"You don't have to do this, Brogan," Fionn said quietly. They traded a  few quick, tense lines in Gaelic, the language flying by me so quickly I  couldn't even attempt to grasp a word. But then Fionn sighed and  nodded. "Yeah."

Brogan turned as the pounding on his door began and opened it. A  brunette woman-I thought it was the woman from the first garden party  I'd seen him at in Greenwich-rushed into his apartment and threw herself  at him.

"What's happened, Courtney?" he asked.

She sucked in a huge sob, gathering herself and standing straight. "He got parole."

"Parole?" Brogan sounded confused. "They said-"

"I know what they said!" she yelled. "They changed their minds. I don't  know! All I know is he's getting out next month. Oh Brogan, I need you.  Hold me. I just . . ." she sobbed again. "I need you to hold me." She  threw herself into his arms again and he let her, wrapping his arms  around her. My stomach dropped. Not knowing what to do, I stood on shaky  legs, my buzz suddenly gone, and took my dish to the counter.                       
       
           



       

My movement must have registered with her-Courtney-because she  straightened up, pulling away from Brogan and looking around him to me.  "Who's she?" she demanded. I blinked, flushing under her disdainful  scrutiny.