Chapter One
The pain in her neck was the only constant that Siobhan could track for the first thirty minutes or so after being shot. Even the thought made her mentally stumble and try to find some other logical explanation for her neck hurting and the blood making her red scarf sticky. People like her didn’t get shot, especially outside the ballet in some indiscriminate crime spree.
She heard Cormac, her brother’s friend, talking to the police as they loaded her brother Shane into an ambulance.
“It seemed like a random drive-by, officer. We were standing outside the back of the Morrisey Performance Hall, waiting for Siobhan O’Mara, when the car drove by. They had already fired, I think, before anyone noticed they had guns.”
She managed a vague smile at the officer when he turned to look at her. A paramedic was busily bandaging her neck wound, and she clutched the red scarf in her hand, unable to stop scrunching the part that was crunchy with her dried blood. “I’m a ballerina.” Perhaps the cop interpreted her words as meant for him, but she was speaking her own thoughts aloud. Why would someone shoot a ballerina?
When the paramedic indicated she should climb into the ambulance, she cast a longing glance at Cormac, who was occupied with his interview and couldn’t come along. There wasn’t room anyway, with Shane in the ambulance already.
As she stepped inside with the medic’s assistant and took a seat on the bench, she glared at the two guys hovering over her brother. They were his bodyguards, but Bruno himself took up most of the extra space in the back. “Get out of here,” she snapped.
They ignored her, both leaning over her brother, who was speaking urgently. His voice was soft and strained, but she could detect his urgency when he said, “Find her.”
Wallace looked annoyed, but nodded. “We’ll find the Russian chick, boss.”
Mia. Siobhan struggled to remember her surname, having just met her brother’s girlfriend that same evening, during intermission. The name wouldn’t come to her, but she remembered it had a Russian sound.
The paramedic who had bandaged her nudged the big blond brute. “Look, buddy, you gotta get out of here. We don’t have enough room for everyone.”
“I ain’t leaving my boss.” Bruno spoke with determination, crossing his arms and making himself truly formidable—as if he’d been puppy-like before.
Wallace tapped his shoulder. “Come on, Bruno. Mr. O’Mara wants us to track down his whore. We’ll get that done and be at the hospital in no time.”
“You shouldn’t talk about Ms. Kasilli that way.” Bruno frowned at his shorter partner.
With a shrug, Wallace slipped out of the ambulance. As Bruno turned sideways to move past her, Siobhan put a hand on his shoulder. “Bruno?” At his nod, she bit her lip. “Was that woman the reason we were shot?”
After a brief hesitation, he half-nodded before leaving the vehicle. The medic closed the doors, and they were off a moment later.
Siobhan stared at her brother, who was thrashing and whispering Mia’s name. Was he going to be okay? Anger filled her at the thought of some woman endangering her brother’s life. He was her bastion of support and the main person in her life, since their mother lived in Florida. For a second, she wanted to tear every dark hair out of the petite Mia’s head.
A deep breath restored some calm, and she remembered the way her brother had hovered so protectively over the other woman. His hands had stayed securely on her, and she’d seemed just as drawn to Shane. Her first impression of Mia had been a quiet woman with kindness in her eyes, haunted though they had been.
Her gaze changed to speculative as she assessed her brother. Siobhan wasn’t naïve. She knew her brother was mixed up in the criminal underworld. His involvement went way back, to the afternoon he had killed their father to save her life when she was just six years old. Too young then to understand,
The pain in her neck was the only constant that Siobhan could track for the first thirty minutes or so after being shot. Even the thought made her mentally stumble and try to find some other logical explanation for her neck hurting and the blood making her red scarf sticky. People like her didn’t get shot, especially outside the ballet in some indiscriminate crime spree.
She heard Cormac, her brother’s friend, talking to the police as they loaded her brother Shane into an ambulance.
“It seemed like a random drive-by, officer. We were standing outside the back of the Morrisey Performance Hall, waiting for Siobhan O’Mara, when the car drove by. They had already fired, I think, before anyone noticed they had guns.”
She managed a vague smile at the officer when he turned to look at her. A paramedic was busily bandaging her neck wound, and she clutched the red scarf in her hand, unable to stop scrunching the part that was crunchy with her dried blood. “I’m a ballerina.” Perhaps the cop interpreted her words as meant for him, but she was speaking her own thoughts aloud. Why would someone shoot a ballerina?
When the paramedic indicated she should climb into the ambulance, she cast a longing glance at Cormac, who was occupied with his interview and couldn’t come along. There wasn’t room anyway, with Shane in the ambulance already.
As she stepped inside with the medic’s assistant and took a seat on the bench, she glared at the two guys hovering over her brother. They were his bodyguards, but Bruno himself took up most of the extra space in the back. “Get out of here,” she snapped.
They ignored her, both leaning over her brother, who was speaking urgently. His voice was soft and strained, but she could detect his urgency when he said, “Find her.”
Wallace looked annoyed, but nodded. “We’ll find the Russian chick, boss.”
Mia. Siobhan struggled to remember her surname, having just met her brother’s girlfriend that same evening, during intermission. The name wouldn’t come to her, but she remembered it had a Russian sound.
The paramedic who had bandaged her nudged the big blond brute. “Look, buddy, you gotta get out of here. We don’t have enough room for everyone.”
“I ain’t leaving my boss.” Bruno spoke with determination, crossing his arms and making himself truly formidable—as if he’d been puppy-like before.
Wallace tapped his shoulder. “Come on, Bruno. Mr. O’Mara wants us to track down his whore. We’ll get that done and be at the hospital in no time.”
“You shouldn’t talk about Ms. Kasilli that way.” Bruno frowned at his shorter partner.
With a shrug, Wallace slipped out of the ambulance. As Bruno turned sideways to move past her, Siobhan put a hand on his shoulder. “Bruno?” At his nod, she bit her lip. “Was that woman the reason we were shot?”
After a brief hesitation, he half-nodded before leaving the vehicle. The medic closed the doors, and they were off a moment later.
Siobhan stared at her brother, who was thrashing and whispering Mia’s name. Was he going to be okay? Anger filled her at the thought of some woman endangering her brother’s life. He was her bastion of support and the main person in her life, since their mother lived in Florida. For a second, she wanted to tear every dark hair out of the petite Mia’s head.
A deep breath restored some calm, and she remembered the way her brother had hovered so protectively over the other woman. His hands had stayed securely on her, and she’d seemed just as drawn to Shane. Her first impression of Mia had been a quiet woman with kindness in her eyes, haunted though they had been.
Her gaze changed to speculative as she assessed her brother. Siobhan wasn’t naïve. She knew her brother was mixed up in the criminal underworld. His involvement went way back, to the afternoon he had killed their father to save her life when she was just six years old. Too young then to understand,
Similar Books
