4 Chapter 4

“Damn straight. Portia would have my—she’d come after me if I let anything happen to you.”

“Of course.” My mother might look as if she was too delicate and refined to use anything more than words to indicate her displeasure, but she carried a Smith & Wesson Centennial wherever she went. In addition, she had been accomplished in savate—French kickboxing—and was gradually getting back into the swing of if after breaking her hip in that “accident” last fall. Mark was wise to be cautious around her. I raised the bottle to my lips and tipped it back, humming in pleasure as the cool ale flowed down my throat.

Mary Kate stopped by our table and placed another bottle, this one labeled Dungarvan Special, in front of me. “From the Boys.”

“That’s very kind.” I was curious enough—and thirsty enough—to try the unfamiliar beer. I picked up the bottle opener and removed the cap.

Mary Kate gave me a charming smile and bounced off to see to her other customers

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