Michael (Connelly Cousins #3) Read online

  “Her husband is going to meet us there. Kyle’s going to flip out. Lina wasn’t exaggerating when she said he worries about her. “

  Bailey didn’t know what to say to that, so she remained silent and concentrated on the task at hand. The Jag handled like a dream under her control. As she took yet another turn expertly, she felt Stacey staring at her.

  “What?” Bailey cast Stacey a quick sideways glance.

  “Thanks.”

  Bailey gave her a little smile. “Thank me when we get there.”

  Kyle was waiting at the Emergency Room entrance when Bailey pulled the Jag into the lot. She recognized him as one of the men she had seen with Michael earlier that morning and sucked in a breath. His hand was on the door before she even killed the engine.

  “What happened, Stacey?” Lina was in his arms and he was moving into the emergency entrance. Stacey was right behind him, struggling to keep up as she explained the situation.

  Bailey bent down to put the keys under the floor mat when her door suddenly opened. “I’ll take those.” Bailey looked up... and up... past the massive chest and into the face of the golden-haired man she’d also seen that morning. Bailey got out of the car slowly and put the keys in his hand.

  She heard the rumble of the Harley approaching. Johnny looked at her with familiar, luminous green eyes. Bailey stepped backward along the car; Johnny made no move to stop her.

  “He’s in love with you, you know.” He said it so quietly she wasn’t sure she’d heard him right. Bailey blinked once before taking off in a full sprint into the shadows just as the Harley came around the corner.

  Johnny pocketed the keys and closed the driver side door.

  “Lina’s already inside?” Michael asked. Johnny nodded.

  “Bailey drove her in, didn’t she?”

  “Yeah.”

  “She’s gone?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Yeah.”

  Johnny threw an arm around Michael’s shoulders and they walked together into the building.

  Bailey watched from the shadows as the two men disappeared into the bright lights of the ER entrance, shaking her head as realization dawned. So Lina and Stacey were part of it, too.

  She couldn’t really be too angry with them, though. She liked both women, and whatever the reason, they had helped her.

  As she turned and took off at a sprint, she genuinely hoped Lina would be okay.

  Chapter Eleven

  The first thing Bailey did was head back to her apartment. She changed into black jeans and a black shirt, laced up her black Doc Martens, grabbed her leather jacket and her emergency bag and was out the door in less than five minutes. She’d kept her rent paid three months in advance so she didn’t feel too bad about skipping out. She taped a prepared envelope with a pre-written apology just inside the door and slipped quietly down the stairs.

  The next thing she did was stop by the diner to offer a personal apology to Mr. O’Leary for having to leave him short-handed without notice, but Alyssa informed her that he’d just left for the hospital, having received a call that his pregnant granddaughter had just been rushed to the ER.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Bailey murmured. Conlan O’Leary was Lina’s grandfather. Which meant that he was probably Michael’s as well. She couldn’t help but smile just a little. She’d been surrounded by their family the whole time and she’d never even known it.

  She handed the sealed envelope to Alyssa, gave her a quick and totally unexpected hug, and was off again before Alyssa could process what had just happened.

  With a deep breath and an ache in her heart, Bailey said goodbye to Birch Falls and melted into the shadows, blending in with the skill developed over too many years of practice, and disappeared.

  * * *

  The waiting room seemed unusually small with Michael, Johnny, and Kyle pacing around it. Stacey sat quietly in the corner, folding and refolding a flyer she’d found on top of the magazines. Conlan alternated between sitting next to her, holding her hand and pacing the floor with the others.

  Michael was torn between going after Bailey and being there for his baby sister. It was a hell of a thing, but he wasn’t leaving until he knew Lina and his little niece or nephew were going to be okay.

  After what seemed like an eternity, a doctor came out to speak with them. Everyone stood, anxious for news.

  “Mr. McCullough?”

  Kyle stepped forward, rigid with tension.

  “I’m Dr. Samuelson. Your wife is resting comfortably. We’ll be moving her upstairs to a semi-private room in just a little while.”

  “Is she okay? What about the baby? Can I see her?”

  “Relax, Mr. McCullough,” the doctor said with a calming smile. “Both are doing fine. Your wife is suffering from severe dehydration and a rupture of the esophagus, most likely a result of chronic vomiting. We’ve got I.V. fluids and anti-nausea meds going into her now. I take it she’s been having severe bouts of morning sickness?”

  Kyle nodded. “She hasn’t been able to keep anything down, but her doctor told her it was normal and it would pass.”

  A dark look crossed over Dr. Samuelson’s face. “That may be true in a lot of cases, but I don’t think this is one of them. With a special diet and some anti-nausea medication, the rest of the pregnancy should progress without incident.”

  “Can I see her now?”

  “Please. She’s been asking for you.” Dr. Samuelson smiled wryly. “I believe she offered to show me a new place to put my stethoscope if I didn’t let you in soon.”

  Kyle smiled and everyone in the waiting room laughed, releasing some of the tension that had been riding them hard for hours. “Then I suggest you point me in the right direction, Doc, because my wife is not one to issue idle threats.”

  Assured that Lina was in good hands, the others filed out into the cool night air a short time later. Conlan insisted they all head down to the diner. Michael promised to catch up with them there and made a quick trip to Bailey’s apartment first, on the off chance Bailey was hiding out there.

  She wasn’t.

  Eleven o’clock came and went, and Bailey didn’t show for her shift. Michael knew in his heart she’d already gone. Conlan seemed to know it, too.

  “I’m going to miss that lass,” Conlan said. “Assuming, of course, that someone doesn’t get off his sorry arse and bring her back where she belongs, that is.” He looked pointedly at Michael.

  “Daideo,” Michael said heavily, “it’s more complicated than that.”

  “Bah!” the old man snorted. “Do you love her?”

  “Daideo -,”

  “Do. You. Love. Her? It’s a simple question, Michael. It deserves a simple answer.”

  Michael clenched his jaw. “Yes, but -.”

  The old man’s fist pounded hard into the table, startling them all. “Goddamn it, lad! Ye said it yerself, ye were going to make her yer bride! I can’t for the life of me fathom how any man would be willing to throw away a chance at that kind of happiness, much less a Connelly man.”

  Michael was stunned at the vehemence with which his grandfather spoke. He looked to Johnny for support, surprised to see him nodding his head in agreement.

  “He’s right, Mike. You saw Kyle tonight, man. He would die if anything ever happened to Lina or the baby. And nothing in this world could keep me from Stacey. When there was a chance I could lose her...”

  Johnny broke off, unable to voice the rest, even now. Michael knew he was referring to the experimental surgery she’d had and the complications that resulted from it. His brother had been a basket case for weeks, refusing to leave her side.

  “But you didn’t,” Stacey reminded Johnny. “And now you are stuck with me forever.”

  Johnny kissed her passionately, and for several moments they were lost in a world of their own. When Johnny finally released her, Stacey’s eyes were dazed.

  “That’s what I’m talking about,” Conlan said ap
provingly, pinning his eyes on Michael once more. “Did Bailey look like that after you kissed her?”

  Yeah, she had, Michael thought, remembering how she, too, had hesitated, eyes mouth slightly parted, eyes unfocused, as if she’d temporarily forgotten where she was.

  “That’s what I thought. Now, how are we going to get her back where she belongs?”

  “It might be harder than you think, Daideo,” Stacey said slowly. “I don’t think Bailey’s like other women.”

  “Well of course she’s not, lass,” the older man scoffed. “What would a Connelly man want with some ordinary woman?”

  “What do you mean, love?” Johnny asked.

  “I think there’s a lot more to Bailey than any of us realized. I get the impression that she’s, well, running from something.”

  Conlan and Michael shared a knowing look. Stacey was too shrewd to miss it. “You already knew that, though, didn’t you?” She didn’t wait for an answer before continuing. “You should have seen her tonight. She was a completely different person – confident and in charge. She practically carried Lina to the car with one arm. She drove that Jag like she’d been born in the seat, and we were hauling ass down that mountain.”

  She gave them a minute to digest that. “And don’t you think it’s just a little strange that three men who grew up in these mountains, one of them an Army Ranger, were unable to track her, or find the slightest clue as to her whereabouts? I’m telling you, Bailey knows how not to be found, and that’s not normal.”

  Just then Alyssa came bustling over to them, holding something in her hand. “I forgot to give this to you when you came in, Mr. O’Leary. Bailey was in earlier and left this for you.”

  Conlan wasted no time in tearing off the end. A small index card fell out, along with a handwritten note. He scanned it quickly, then read it out loud.

  Dear Mr. O’Leary,

  Thank you so much for all of your kindness. You opened your doors and your heart to me, and I will never forget that. You are a very special man, and I will miss you.

  I wish I could explain why I have to leave so suddenly, but you are a nice man and I don’t want to lie to you. Of all the places I’ve been, I think I will miss Birch Falls the most - for its beauty and charm to be sure, but mostly because of people like you.

  Try not to worry about me, sir. Despite appearances to the contrary, I do know what I’m doing.

  Go raibh míle maith agat,

  B

  “What did that phrase at the end mean? Was that Irish?” Stacey asked.

  “Aye. It is an old way of saying thank you. Loosely translated, it means something like ‘may you have a thousand good things’. I haven’t heard that in years.”

  “She speaks the Irish then? No wonder you like her so much, Daideo,” Johnny observed with the hint of a smirk.

  “What’s on the card?” Stacey asked, pointing to the rectangle that had fallen out of the envelope.

  Conlan picked it up and smiled. “It’s the recipe for her cinnamon rolls.”

  “Better hold on to that, Daideo,” Johnny teased. “Wouldn’t want that getting into the wrong hands.”

  Conlan grinned even wider and handed him the card. Johnny’s mouth dropped. It was written in Gaelic.

  “Michael Seamus Connelly,” Conlan O’Leary said with a twinkle in his eye, “if you don’t find that woman and marry her, I will.”

  His grandfather was right. What the hell was he doing sitting here? Bailey was his croie, goddamn it, and he was going to find her and straighten this shit out once and for all.

  “Let’s go, Daideo, and grab your rental keys.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we’re going to find out what the hell’s going on, and this way, you won’t have to replace the locks afterward.”

  Michael was silent as he worked his way through Bailey’s abandoned apartment. The place was immaculate. Not a speck of dust or dirt anywhere. It was sparsely furnished. The cable hookup hung neatly tied from the wall, the television off in a corner, clearly unused. A few bottles of water were in the fridge, along with some vanilla soy milk and some vegetarian entrees in the freezer. Michael laughed at the single box of Count Chocula in the cupboard. One dish, one mug, and one fork sat in the draining tray beside the sink. It was all very ... lonely.

  Michael started walking toward the bedroom as Conlan O’Leary moved toward the desk in the living room.

  Clearly, this was where Bailey had spent most of her time. A beautifully crafted quilt in various shades of green covered the bed. Stacks upon stacks of books were piled all over the room. Most were romance novels, Michael noted with some amusement, including a huge collection of Salienne Dulcette’s. He wondered if Bailey knew she’d spent the day with the author, not realizing that Salienne Dulcette was the pen name of Stacey Connelly.

  The closet was half-full, mostly with conservative, practical clothes, though it was all meaningless, he thought. Bailey could make a brown paper bag look sexy. His eyebrows did raise at the slinky little emerald green mini-dress he found in the back. He held it up, picturing how the hem would barely cover her ass, how the deep V-cut would flirt with her navel. He decided that no matter what else he did in his life, he would see Bailey in this dress.

  Michael sat down on the bed and looked around. Her presence was very strong in here. He held her pillow to his face and inhaled. Her sweet, warm scent filled his nostrils and he closed his eyes. His grandfather had been right. He would do anything to have Bailey in his arms again. And once he did, he would never let go.

  Michael replaced the pillow and stood up. He walked casually to the window and looked out. A small shadow behind the curtains drew his attention. Upon closer inspection, he found a rope attached to a folding grappling hook, and a pair of gloves. Seeing for what it was – an emergency escape – only heightened his sense of urgency. Bailey wasn’t just running from him, she was running from whatever had brought her to Birch Falls in the first place.

  She was still in danger. That shit was going to stop, sooner rather than later. Once he found her – and he would find her – he was going to eliminate that threat once and for all and make sure she never felt unsafe again.

  In the interest of thoroughness, he checked out the bathroom next, but found nothing to help him find her. Body wash, shampoo. Toothbrush, toothpaste (cinnamon flavor). A fluffy white microfiber robe, hanging from the hook.

  The place was clean. And he was no closer to finding her than he’d been an hour ago.

  “I think it’s time to give Ian a call,” Conlan suggested quietly, as he stood in the doorway.

  ***

  Ian Callaghan was one of Michael’s cousins. He lived above the family-owned pub across the river in Pine Ridge, and was known for his knack for unearthing any kind of information, no matter how deeply it was buried, or by whom.

  That was how Michael found himself walking into Jake’s Irish Pub the next morning.

  “Hey, Mikey, good to see you,” Jake greeted with a grin. Jake was the second born of his seven cousins and had taken over ownership of the pub from his father, Jack. “Long time no see.”

  “Yeah,” Michael grinned back. It had only been a couple of months since Johnny’s wedding. “The place is looking good.”

  “Thanks. You probably haven’t seen it since the latest reno. But that’s not why you’re here, is it?” Jake asked, giving him a knowing look.

  “Is Ian around?”

  Jake nodded, thumbing toward the private kitchen. “He’s in there, grabbing some coffee.”

  “Rough night?”

  “Worse,” Jake grinned. “Woman troubles.”

  Michael laughed, feeling the truth of his cousin’s words. His gut hadn’t been this twisted in, well, ever. “That makes two of us.”

  He walked into the kitchen to find Ian brooding at the table. At Michael’s entrance, Ian lifted his gaze and smoothed his features into a mask Michael knew all too well.

  “Mike! What’s up, man?”
>
  “Ian. I was hoping you could help me out. I need some intel.”

  Ian sat up in interest. His gaze sharpened. “Anything for you, Cuz, you know that. What do you need?”

  “Anything you can find on a woman that worked for Daideo. She goes by the name of Bailey Keehan, but I’m pretty sure that’s not her real name.”

  A dark eyebrow lifted. “Purely business?”

  “No, man. As personal as it gets.”

  Ian nodded then stood. “Right then. Come on up, and grab that pot of coffee. Oh, and be quiet,” he grinned mischievously. “If you wake up Jake’s wife Taryn, she’ll kick your ass.”

  Michael followed him up to the third floor, taking in the dizzying display of digital equipment that took up more than half the room. Ian pointed to a rolling chair beside the desk and flexed his fingers. He typed in a series of passwords, then said, “Okay, tell me what you have.”

  So Michael told him what he did know. When she started working at the diner, the cash-based rental agreement. To his credit, Ian didn’t bat an eye; he just kept tapping the keys at a blurring speed. Michael went on to mention “Robert White” and the incident at Tommy’s, which did elicit a slight frown.

  “That’s fucked up. Got a picture?”

  Michael nodded and pulled out his smart phone, bringing up a few cameo shots he captured of Bailey at the diner shortly after Daideo had called him in.

  “Awesome.” Ian touched the phone to some kind of scanner, and within seconds, Bailey’s images filled the screen.

  “I’ve got some new facial recognition software I’ve been playing with. If she’s ever had her picture taken – like a driver’s license or a school yearbook or something – we should get a hit. I’m going to start with the east coast, but if that doesn’t turn up anything, I’ll expand the search. Could take a day, maybe several depending on how far out we have to go.”

  Ian tapped a few keys and sat back. “Any distinguishing features? And I don’t mean hair or eye color – those things are easily changeable.”

  “She’s got a couple of tatts.”

  “Perfect. Tatts are like signatures. Fingerprints, if they’re unique enough. Tell me about them.”