Irish Sex Fairy: Ellora's Cave by Kelly Jamieson (the lemonade war series TXT) 📕

that made him choose to follow her and try to get revenge for the wrongs he perceived had been done to him and his family. A misguided, desperate choice, but it was his choice.

And she cried for herself. For the guilt and misery she’d been beating herself up with. For trying to save Gary and then having him die anyway. For the mistakes she’d made.

“I’m sorry,” Scott said, sounding almost as choked up as Keara was. “I’ve been following you for weeks, trying to get up the nerve to do something.”

She lifted her head, tears wet on her cheeks and stared at him. “You’ve been following me?”

He nodded miserably. “I tried to break in here one night. Weeks ago. Then you took off.”

“How did you find me?”

“I’m pretty good on the internet. I uh…hacked into your email.”

“Oh.” She swiped her palms over her face. “Don’t tell me…please…was that you in Kilkenny? On the highway?”

He dipped his head. “Yeah.”

“Jesus, you could have killed me!”

“I just wanted to scare you!” he burst out.

“Oh, Scott. And then…in the shop…was that you that night?”

Again, he nodded. “Yeah. I hid in the storage room for a few hours. I was going to sneak up and…hell, I don’t know what I was going to do. I didn’t know that dude was gonna be there with you.”

She sucked in a long breath. Dear God. She wasn’t going crazy. She hadn’t imagined all those things. When she laughed out loud, Scott shot her a startled look.

“Are there even bullets in that gun?” she asked.

He scowled and picked it up. “Of course there are.”

A knock on her apartment door made both of them jump.

Shit.

She did not want a guy with a gun being startled like that. Who the hell was at her door? How did they get in through security?

Maybe it was the security people, having seen her being dragged at gunpoint into the elevator. Her eyes met Scott’s.

“Who is that?” he whispered, and he held the gun like he meant business with it. Again. Dammit.

“I have no idea.” She didn’t lower her voice, hoping whoever was at the door would hear them and know she was in there. Eyeing the gun, she called out, “Who is it?”

“Jesus!” Scott hissed. “Shut the fuck up!”

“Scott.” She stared him down. “You know this is done. You’re not going to shoot me.”

Another hammering on the door blasted through her apartment. “Keara! It’s Shane!”

She froze. Blinked. She must have heard that wrong. “Sh-Shane?”

“Yeah. I…uh…are you alone?”

Was she alone? What the hell did he think was going on in there? Jesus, did he think she was in there doing some guy on her couch? “Shane!” she cried. “Don’t leave!”

She looked at Scott again and tilted her head. His scowl deepened. “Don’t make this worse, okay? And I’ll try to help you with the police.”

“Cops?” His eyes widened. “That’s the cops?”

“Yes. Yes, it is.”

Shane pressed his ear to the door. Dammit, he could hear them talking in there, and one of them was definitely male. He sagged against the door, head dropping. Who the hell would’ve thought she’d have another guy that fast? Shit. Maeve and his parents had clearly been wrong about her feelings for him.

And he’d driven three and a half fucking hours from Kilkenny for nothing.

“Shane! Don’t leave!”

He straightened. Listened. Nothing. He knew he’d heard that. Keara. A bolt of fear lanced through him like a knife, deep into his gut. Everything coalesced in his head at once—the MVA, the intruder at the shop, the break-in at her apartment—where she was right now. With someone else in there with her. Jesus Christ.

Adrenaline surged in him, made his skin go tight, his muscles rigid. He eyed the door. He took several steps back, then lifted his leg and drove his foot into the door. Sonofabitch! That fucking hurt! But the door broke loose from the frame. She didn’t have the deadbolt on. Stupid. Or good. Okay, in this case, good.

He kicked one more time and a splintering noise filled the air. He charged in, reaching for the gun he still wore on his hip. He hadn’t even been home since he left work and he still carried. He whipped his Glock out and assumed the stance, eyes sweeping the room.

Keara sat on the couch in her living room, gaping at him, eyes about to fall out of their sockets, hands clasped together. A male had jumped to his feet from the armchair across from her, and Jesus, he had a gun and was aiming it right at him.

“Police!” Shane barked. “Drop the gun!”

The young male’s hands shook and the weapon wavered. Shane took a step back and glanced at Keara. “You were right,” the guy said, almost with disbelief. “I thought you were lying.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” she said, standing and walking toward Shane. “Put the gun down.”

He didn’t. His gaze flicked back and forth between her and the guy. “Keara! Sit down, for Chrissake!”

She shook her head and continued toward him. Shane kept the guy in his sights and his gun leveled at him. “Who is this guy?” he demanded. “What the hell is going on?”

“What are you doing here?” she asked, not answering his damn question. He stared at her incredulously, then reached for her and shoved her behind him.

“Drop it!” he commanded again.

“Shane,” she murmured in his ear, putting a hand on his arm. “I don’t think his gun is even loaded.”

He glanced over his shoulder at Keara then back to the other man, confused, stunned, disbelieving. Was she insane? She didn’t know? You always had to assume a gun was loaded. Jesus.

“Scott,” she called softly. “It’s okay. He is a police officer, but he’s a friend of mine. Put the gun down.”

Scott whoever-the-hell-he-was didn’t lower his gun. Keara, sweet as she was, knew nothing about criminals. You couldn’t just tell them to put the gun down and expect they would do it.

“I told you,” she continued. “Just cooperate and don’t hurt anyone and I’ll help make it okay.”

The kid—he