In the Arms of the Wind (14 page)

A stool was rolled over to the bed and Danny did as he was ordered, keeping possession of Kaycee’s hand in his. He blinked when his uncle used a fresh gauze pad to clean the wound.

“Tweezers,” Dr. Gallagher instructed the nurse.

Danny winced as his uncle extracted something from the wound and was annoyed to feel a trickle of blood start down his cheek.

“Looks like you and a chip of concrete had a difference of opinion, Danny, and the concrete got in the last word,” his uncle pronounced. “A butterfly suture should close the wound nicely.”

“Did you look at my lady’s chart?” Danny asked as his uncle applied the bandage.

“Yes I did. She has a slight concussion from her run-in with the same chunk of concrete it appears.” There was amusement in the surgeon’s voice. “I suggest the two of you refrain from any more arguments with said culprit. Concrete will win every time.”

“She’s going to be all right?” Danny questioned, looking up at his uncle.

“Nasty scrapes on her knees but other than that, she’s okay. We’re going to keep her here overnight just in case, but she is going to be just fine.” He put a hand on his nephew’s shoulder. “Would it do any good to tell you to go home and come back for her tomorrow?”

“No.”

His uncle squeezed Danny’s shoulder. “I didn’t think so.” He turned his attention to Kaycee. “It was nice meeting you, Kaycee, and my dear, you have my deepest sympathies for catching the eye of my miscreant nephew.”

“Say good night, Uncle Mikey,” Danny mumbled.

The surgeon laughed and shooed his nurse out ahead of him.

“It was nice meeting you, Dr. Gallagher,” Kaycee said, and was rewarded with a wave of the surgeon’s hand.

Danny scooted closer to the bed—her hand still in his grip—and reached up with his other to cup her cheek. “Are you okay?”

“I’ve got a nasty headache and my knees sting big time, but I’m all right,” she replied.

He turned her hand so he could kiss the palm. “I’m sorry, baby,” he said against her hand.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“If anything had happened to you…” He shuddered, pushing the thought as far from him as he could.

“What do they think I know, Danny?” she asked, her eyes begging his when he looked at her.

“Baby, I don’t have a clue, but I’m going to find out. We’ll have men watching you all the time. I’ll get to the bottom of it. I promise you.”

She caressed his cheek. “I know you will.” Her attention went to the butterfly strip on his temple. “You need to go home and…”

“I’m right where I need to be,” he said. “Where I want to be. You aren’t going to get rid of me that easily.”

She looked past him to a short, squat nurse whose dark eyes were sharper than a tack as they stared back at her. There was anger on the woman’s pinched face and tight lips.

“Mr. Gallagher, you have a visitor who wishes to speak with you,” the nurse snapped.

“Who is it?” he asked.

“I didn’t ask,” the nurse replied then pivoted on her heel and was gone with a snap of the curtain.

Danny drew in a long breath then slowly exhaled. He stood, leaned over Kaycee and kissed her forehead. “I’ll be right back,” he told her.

“I’ll be right here,” she said with a little smile.

He pushed the curtain aside, looked for the waspish nurse and when he caught sight of her, she pointed to the double doors through which he’d been led. He went to the doors and out into the ER waiting room. The moment he saw the dark-suited man standing near the nurse’s desk, he knew who had come to see him.

“He’s in your uncle’s office,” the suited man said as Danny approached.

Danny nodded and took the corridor that led to the bank of elevators, not surprised the suited man fell in behind him.

“Has he put a guard on me?” Danny asked as they waited for the elevator.

“Yes sir,” the man replied.

“And my lady?”

“I believe so.”

The metal doors shushed open and Danny went into the cage, the suited man close on his heels.

“Do we know who was in the car?”

“No sir, not yet, but we will,” was the reply.

Nothing more was said as the elevator engaged, taking them to the third floor and the bank of offices of the hospital staff. When the doors opened, Danny was not surprised to see two more suited men standing to either side of the door leading into his uncle’s private office. One opened the door for him as he drew near then stepped aside, clasping his hands as Danny walked into the office then turning to close the door when Danny was inside.

The older man sitting behind the ornate mahogany desk was the only occupant of the room. His steady blue eyes tracked Danny’s approach but he did not speak until Danny was seated in a chair positioned in front of the desk. His lined face was without expression, thin lips pursed into a straight line.

“Your uncle tells me you received a minor wound.” The voice was strong, the words carrying the lilt of Connemara from whence the speaker hailed.

“Yes sir,” Danny acknowledged. “It’s nothing.”

“It could have been much worse,” the old man said. “We could have been planning your funeral, Daniel.”

Danny squirmed beneath the glare of those wintry blue eyes. “I’ll be more careful.”

Danny’s grandfather clasped his thin, blue-veined hands together over a stomach that was still as flat as the day he’d stepped off the ship at Riker’s Island.

“As much as I hated doing so, I made a call to Terrence Malone,” the old man said with a twist of distaste animating his lips. “He swears on his mother’s grave he had nothing to do with the attempt on the young woman’s life this evening nor was any of his men involved in the murder of Rosemary Adams.”

Danny’s brows drew together. “Did you believe him?”

“I detest the little bastard, but yes, I believe him. It is not to his advantage to lie to me.” The blue eyes narrowed for a moment then relaxed. “He did, however, demand the return of the thumb drive he tells me he knows you took.”

“Are you going to give it to him?”

The old man smiled nastily. “Of course. We have what we need from it. He’s welcome to have it back.”

“I can’t believe Malone will let bygones be bygones even when you do.”

“Oh, he says he will have his pound of flesh from the murderer of his man, but we both know that’s not going to happen. From the way he said it, he knows you were the one who sanctioned Gerring.”

Danny thought about that for a moment. “You think they were after me tonight instead of Kaycee.”

A slow nod was his answer.

Thankful he’d had a gun with which to return fire under the lightweight jacket he’d worn to dinner, Danny released a long breath. “That doesn’t explain Rosie’s death.”

“No, it doesn’t,” his grandfather agreed. “I’m inclined to believe there is a third party at work in that situation.”

“Someone else she was dealing with?”

The old man gave an expressive Gaelic shrug. “Who knows? Your brother is looking into it.” His face tightened. “Now tell me of this young woman.”

All his life Danny had been afraid of the man sitting across from him. Xavier Gallagher had been as brutal as they came in his heyday and his enemies had had reason to tread softly around the Irish mobster. Xavier had brought his deadly aim, nerves of steel and detached emotions directly from the IRA to America, willing to do whatever it took to become rich in the new country. He could shoot a man down without so much as a blink of his wintry eyes or garrote him from behind while humming a lively Celtic tune. In his advancing years, Xavier had no time for those weaker than himself and no respect for anyone who would not or could not stand up to him. He’d had two loves in his lifetime—his wife Maire Margaret and his son Declan, who had perished in the last days of the Korean Conflict.

“
Sí grá mo chroi, Daideo
,” Danny said, using the Irish term of endearment for grandfather as he told the old man Kaycee was the love of his heart.

“You’ve known her less than a week, Daniel,” the old man scoffed.

“How long did you know
Maimeo
before you knew you loved her?”

Faint warmth entered the frigid blue eyes of the old gangster and he almost smiled.

“
An grá a théid fán chroi Ní scaoiltear as é go bráth
,” the old man said gently, repeating the words in English for emphasis. “When love enters the heart, it will never be driven from it.”

“I knew the moment I laid eyes on her that she was the one,” Danny stated.

“That seems to be the way of it at times,” his grandfather agreed. “As I recall you did not say such things with the other one so I believe this may well be the right one.”

“I’ll do whatever I have to in order to keep her,
Daideo
. They’ll have to kill me to keep me from her.”

“Strong words,” the old man said. “Warrior words.”

“True words,” Danny declared.

The two men stared at one another for a long, silent moment then Xavier Gallagher smiled slowly.

“All right, Daniel, then bring her to supper with you this Friday night,” his grandfather ordered. “I would like to meet her and judge for myself whether she is the right one for you or not.”

Danny stiffened. “It doesn’t matter if you do or don’t.”

“I suppose not,” the old man said. “You said as much about the other one.” He cocked his head to one side. “And how did that work out for you, Daniel?”

A grin pulled Danny’s lips. “Not very well. Just as you predicted.” His grin faded. “Kaycee is different.”

“We’ll see,” his grandfather said.

“She has to be protected,
Daideo
. We need to find out who killed Rosie Adams and why. Kaycee isn’t safe until we do.”

“As I told you, your brother is looking into it. Whatever information the woman was tortured to get may have been revealed and you will find you are worrying needlessly. Let’s hope that is the case, Daniel.”

* * * * *

Johnny Gallagher didn’t look up from the crossword puzzle he was doing—the passion of his life, second only to the string of mistresses he kept well hidden from Moirrey, his wife of eighteen years. “Well?” he asked.

Jack Barnes glanced at the bar where bottles of liquor gleamed in the indirect lightning overhead. He licked his lips but made no request for something with which to wet them.

“He’s staying at the hospital with the broad,” Barnes reported. “She had a slight concussion, but he caused that rather than the bullets when he pushed her down.”

“And Danny? How did he fare in the attempt on his life?”

“A nick to the side of his head where a chip of concrete hit him. Your uncle put a Band-Aid on it.”

“Umm,” Johnny mumbled. “The gunmen certainly weren’t very skilled, were they?”

“He was carrying and fired back. Took out the shooter, wounded the driver. Shooter’s dead.” Barnes shifted uneasily as Gallagher lifted his head and shot him an inquisitive look. “Driver too. Nothing to trace them back to us.”

“You used out-of-state talent—and I use that word loosely—I hope.”

“Yes sir.”

Gallagher returned to his puzzle. “I got a call from the old man. He thinks Malone took out a hit on Danny. I want it to stay that way, Jack.”

“It will,” Barnes assured him.

“You may go.”

Barnes took one last look at the expensive booze then left. As he neared the front door, he saw his boss’s wife at the top of the stairs. He nodded politely.

“How is Danny?” she asked.

“Just a scratch, ma’am,” Barnes told her.

“Thanks be to God for that,” she said in her soft Irish accent.

“Yes ma’am,” Barnes replied. He paused with his hand on the door, but when she said nothing else to him, he nodded again and opened the door to leave.

Moirrey Murphy Gallagher came slowly down the stairs, the silk of her peignoir swishing gently against her long legs. Her long red hair flowed freely down her back and picked up the color in the freckles that dotted her cheek and nose. Green eyes intense with worry, she walked into her husband’s private study and over to his chair.

“Can I get you anything, John-o?” she asked.

“A touch of Bushmill’s?” he queried without taking his eyes from the crossword puzzle.

She turned away, walked to the bar and chose a crystal decanter from the sparkling array lining the back bar.

“Jack said Danny’s all right.”

“Uh-huh,” Johnny responded.

“That’s good.” She poured him a liberal amount of the whiskey and brought it over to his chair, set it on the table beside him on a coaster then went to a chair across from him and curled up in it. “Have you set men to guarding your little brother?”

Johnny grunted a reply as he filled in one of the words that had been plaguing him all evening.

“You wouldn’t want anything to happen to Danny.”

Lifting his attention from the puzzle, Johnny leveled it on his wife. “I know you wouldn’t,” he said.