Chapter 2
939 Words
Chapter Two
Inside the van, Orla pulled out a set of spare clothes and got changed. Lorcan chuckled. “We can literary live in this van.” Orla glared at him.
“What took you so long?”
“My device was jammed.”
Orla stared at him for a second and then she rolled over laughing. “Your jammer was jammed!”
Lorcan threw this arms up. “It’s not that funny. It jammed, and then it started working again without me even fixing it. Damn it. And why are you wet from top to bottom?”
Orla dried her long black hair with a towel. “It flash-flooded in the dungeon, and I slipped.”
Lorcan c****d an eyebrow. “You slipped?”
“Yeah. You think I went for a swim in the Thames?”
Lorcan said nothing, his striking blue eyes leveled at hers for brief moment. He ruffled his thick black hair, making its ends spike up, then he pulled out his pack of cigarettes.
“We’re not done with the job yet, Lorcan.”
“You’re not going back in there.”
“The hell I’m not.” Orla pulled up the zipper of her jacket and tied up her hair. Then she snatched his cigarette before he had a chance to light it. “This will kill you.”
Lorcan shrugged. “If you want to go back in there, I want my cigarette.”
She shoved the cigarette back into his hand. “This is the last one of the month.”
Lorcan smiled. “That’s negotiable.”
He lit his cigarette and took a drag. He glanced back at Orla and saw that she stood next to the van, holding the kitten. Through the screen of smoke he exhaled, she was beautiful—tall, lean, milky skin, big dark eyes, full of secrets.
“You’re not taking the cat back in there, are you?”
“Of course. He needs his mother,” Orla deadpanned and left with the cat in one hand and a carry bag in the other.
Lorcan shook his head. He squashed his cigarette on the ground and followed her.
A moment later, Lorcan was helping Orla climb in from a window at the back door of the building. He had managed to cut off the security system at that end of the building.
“Are you sure? It can’t be that easy to enter this building,” Orla whispered.
“Well, the guy isn’t exactly a high-profile drug lord. I think he’s just an ordinary rich guy.”
“Ordinary rich guys don’t collect multi-million dollar antique collections without putting decent security systems in place to protect them.”
“Maybe my skills make all security systems look ordinary then.”
“I like that explanation better.”
They entered a wider hall way that led to the collection room. The kitten trailed right behind Orla. It paused and hissed. In front of them was the collection room, trashed. Blood was everywhere. The body of an old man was on the floor in a pool of his own blood. A few feet away was the body of the mother cat.
The kitten kept hissing. Orla picked it up. “Shhh, it’s okay darling. We’ll take care of you.” She slid the cat inside her carry bag, where it stayed still and stopped hissing.
Lorcan checked the man. “He’s dead. We have to get out of here, Orla. Don’t leave anything that might incriminate us.”
“We’re here already. He’s dead. He doesn’t need that vase anymore. We might as well take the merchandise for the client.”
“Jesus Christ, Orla.”
“It won’t take long.”
Orla darted to the secured cabinet. She put her gloves on and worked on the lock. In a few minutes, she had the cabinet opened. Inside the cabinet was a large vase, prominently placed in the middle. It was too large to fit in the bag, plus she had the cat in there. She grabbed the vase and held it in her arm. As she walked toward Lorcan, the bony arm that grabbed at her in the dungeon poked up from the floor, grabbing and pulling at her foot. The cat hissed inside the bag. Orla stumbled and fell. The vase dropped to the floor, shattering into pieces.
Lorcan charged toward Orla. He helped her up. “Are you okay?”
“Did you see it?” Orla asked.
“See what?”
“Nothing. Don’t worry. The vase . . . it’s broken.”
“That I can see. Leave it. We have to get out of here before the cops come.”
“I have to get another one. Something else in replacement for this. It won’t take long. We can’t go back to the client empty-handed.”
“No! I said no, Orla.” Lorcan half-dragged, half-carried Orla out of the house.
A short moment later, their little van was zooming rapidly along the highway, heading back toward London. Orla sat on the passenger seat with the cat on her lap.
“We can’t exactly take care of a kitten, can we?” she asked.
“Why not? It’ll just be like a kid.” Lorcan smiled at her.
Orla narrowed her eyes. “It’s a cat. Not a kid.”
Orla silently cursed herself. She couldn’t offer him a better explanation. A kid between them would make a family. That was no-go territory for her.
“Right. A cat it is. Certainly.” Lorcan glanced at the cat. “Don’t worry. We won’t call you Edward or anything like that.”
Orla laughed. “Of course not. Losing his mother was tragic enough for him! What do you want to do about the murder?”
“Nothing. By the way, the police just received an anonymous tip regarding that murder. The tip must have come from Mr. Edward here.” Lorcan grinned.
“He’s not Edward.”
“Right. No Edward then . . . Listen, do you want me to go talk to the client with you regarding the vase?”
“Why? You think I can’t do it myself?”
“Of course, you can. I’m just saying,” Lorcan smiled, but the smile faded quickly. He kept on driving, while Orla absently scratched the cat’s neck, sending it into ecstasy. The smile on her face had long since faded.
- Writer
