focused her attention on Gideon. Sparks fired from her pale green eyes, and they might have shot straight into his blood. He was on fire now. On fire and burning ⦠for her. Just like always.
She jabbed him in the chest. âWhy donât you yank that stick out of your ass?â she rasped.
âStop.â He caught her wrist. âIâm on duty and Iâm not going to listen to your temper or your tantrums.â
âMyâ¦â Her brows shot up almost to her hairline. âYou son of aâ¦â
She jerked her hand away, or tried.
âNeil.â He shot him a look. âGet lost.â
âListen here, Chief.â Neil coughed and shuffled his feet. âYou realize Moira and I arenât really planning to cut up some miserable son of a bitch. He needs a lesson and all, but we wouldnât do that, would we, Moira?â
Moira bared her teeth up at Gideon.
âI hear you and understand, Neil.â He didnât look at the other man. âNow, go deal with your crew. I appreciate them getting out here so promptly.â
Moira jerked on her wrist again, and this time he let go.
She stumbled back half a pace and he reached up to steady her, but she smacked at his arms.
âWhat the hell is your problem?â
Her eyes, hot now, glittered up at him. âDonât touch me!â
Then she gasped and pressed a hand to her throat.
âWould you stop tearing your throat up so much?â Exasperated, he gestured to the house. âGo inside. Let Ella Sue make you a hot toddy or something. She sure as hell makes them strong enough.â
Maybe it will calm you down . He thought it. He didnât say it.
But it must have shown on his face anyway.
âMaybe I donât want to go inside!â She shoved up onto her toes, pushing her face into his. âYou donât get to tell me what to do, Gideon Marshall. Hell, you are leaving, remember?â
Then she spun around and flounced off.
Nobody could pull off a flounce quite like Moira McKay.
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CHAPTER EIGHT
There are few certainties in life.
The sun will rise.
The sun will set.
Everybody dies.
Money speaks.
Friends will abandon you.
Family will always stand beside you.
The McKays will destroy everything that matters.
Heâd grown up hearing those very truths. Even as his father lie dying, the cancer eating him from the inside out, heâd heard that truth.
They stole it all, boy. Iâve done what I can, but nobody listens to a sick old man. I have no voice. Money is the voice and they have it. I donât.
He knew those truths and he kept them close.
Kept them and worked hard.
Years had passed since the day his father was lowered into the earth, raining drenching him from the outside in as he stood alone by the grave.
There wasnât anybody else. It had been just his father and him.
Now it was just him.
Him and the knowledge that the McKays had taken everything from his family. Not just once, but time and time again.
Heâd been nudged out of the classes he wanted over a sodding McKayâMoira McKay, the elegant, icy queen had swept into the college where heâd been holding on with a wish and a prayer. Only a day after heâd been told he would most likely be able to get into the class he needed to finish out his major a year early, heâd been notified there wasnât any room left.
And who did he discover was a late enrollee?
Moira McKay.
A few years later, heâd been working in the French Quarter in New Orleansâlearning, always learning what he needed to accomplish his end goalsâand there sheâd been, this time with her younger brother in tow. On a buying trip, sheâd hardly said two words to him and later, heâd walked into the pub where his girlfriend worked and discovered said girlfriend all but wrapped around Brannon McKay.
Sheâd all but thrown her knickers in that boyâs face. He hadnât been much more than
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