Bobby cleared his throat. “Son, Tierney here was the All Lakes Champ five years running. She’s a regular shark, this girl.”

  “So I see,” said Burr, glancing at the table before lifting his eyes to Tierney. “You want to finish up here so we can have our food or what?”

  “Don’t you want to play?” she asked all innocent-like.

  “My guess is that you’re going to nail the 13 into the side, the 11 into that corner, and bounce the 12 off the side and dunk it in the other corner. Right?”

  “Maybe I’ll mess up,” she said as she sank the 13 exactly where he said she would.

  “Five-year champ? I don’t think so,” said Burr.

  “You never know,” she said, knocking the 11 into the opposite corner with a sassy grin.

  Burr chuckled at her, enjoying the views of her body leaning over the table, the way she confidently lined up her shots and sank them. He imagined her at one of his local haunts in Boston, the two of them playing Suzanne and Connor, and everyone surprised that his small, mostly soft-spoken girlfriend was a pool shark too.

  Girlfriend.

  Huh.

  Wouldn’t that be something? For Tierney Haven to end up as his girlfriend?

  Wouldn’t that make up for the last three lonely years living in the gutter with rats?

  Wouldn’t that be something to live for? To wake up next to and fall asleep beside?

  Tierney Haven…all his?

  “Eight ball,” she whispered in his ear, jerking his thoughts back to reality as her soft breath kissed his skin. “Left corner.”

  Crack. Slide. Plop.

  She won the game with every solid ball still left on the table, exactly where they were when she broke less than ten minutes ago.

  “What a woman.” One of the men at the table beside them sighed.

  I couldn’t agree more, thought Burr.

  “Sorry I didn’t warn you,” said Tierney after hanging up her cue. “But you sort of set yourself up with that ‘pointers’ comment. I couldn’t resist.”

  “You’re a woman of hidden talents,” he said, placing his cue on the rack next to hers.

  “Nah,” she said, looking shy again now that the game was over. “Just good at pool.”

  “You’re good at a lot more than that,” he said, gazing into her emerald-green eyes, and wishing with all of his might that Sean was already in jail.

  “Now who needs a room?” chirped Brittany, who suddenly appeared beside them. “Come on. Food’s getting cold.”

  Tierney turned to follow Brittany back to the table, and Burr said a silent prayer that he’d have enough patience to keep her safety a priority no matter how surprising, no matter how tempting, no matter how completely wonderful she was.

  CHAPTER 10

  Over the following week, they settled into a groove together—sharing meals, taking long walks around the grounds of Moonstone Manor, visiting with Tierney’s brothers and Brittany on Wednesday night, and spending quiet time together in the evenings, watching TV or reading.

  Tierney was a balm for the upheaval of Burr’s soul, which had been tried and tested, burned and battered over his long years in the service of Sean Shanahan. Like a soldier returning home after a long and gruesome battle, Burr desperately craved the well-ordered gentleness of Tierney’s quiet life, and to his everlasting gratitude, she shared it with him selflessly.

  On their early morning and evening walks, often hand in hand, she’d point out flowers (she said her favorites were asters, but she always bent down to pick buttercups as they walked), or points of historical interest. There was a wishing well at one far corner of the property, and she still brought a penny to throw in every time. And hidden in a quiet copse, there was a stone bench with the initials LCG (Lily Christopher Gish) engraved on it. Almost completely overtaken by wild lilies, he was fairly certain it was Tierney’s favorite place on the entire estate because she smiled so broadly whenever they passed it.

  He’d finally seen the view from the lookout tower, which was sweeping and grand, showing the entirety of the New Hampshire Lakes Region, but it didn’t hold a candle to Tierney’s smile as she took it in, wisps of her black hair blown back from her cheeks as she grinned at him. “Beautiful, right?”

  “Never seen anything more beautiful,” he’d answered, looking straight into her eyes.

  It was hell not to reach for her, not to touch her and kiss her, and at night, when she closed her door and turned off her light, his deprived body longed for hers, ached for hers with an unholy level of arousal. He’d taken to long walks in the dark, followed by cold showers before bed. It didn’t help much. He wanted her. Bad.

  But perhaps even more important, he’d begun to realize that he needed her—Tierney Haven was bringing him back to a place of hope after a long sojourn with the damned.

  Was it possible to spend three years in hell and leave it behind?

  It had always seemed so unfair to Burr that names became inextricably bound in the world of crime. I say Hinckley, you say Reagan. I say Oswald, you say Kennedy. Why should murderers have the legacy of their names being bound with men of honor? They didn’t deserve it, and he hated that it was so. And now, he wondered, would his name—Burr O’Leary—be bound to the New Killeens for life? Would both be spoken in the same breath forever?

  You’ve heard of Burr O’Leary! They guy who brought down the New Killeens thirty years ago!

  No tale of the New Killeens would be complete without mentioning Burr O’Leary, the Boston cop who lived undercover with them for three years and…

  If it isn’t Burr O’Leary, yer man who knocked off the New Killeens!

  He didn’t want that legacy. In fact, he hated it. Passionately.

  Burr knew he had done his job and done it well, but he had not come back from the battle unscathed. And he didn’t know how to bear a life wherein he was reminded—good-naturedly, but at every turn—that once upon a time, he’d done something good that had required him to see and do terrible things. He’d watched as men had their limbs broken, lives destroyed, and unmarked graves filled. He never wanted to think about the New Killeens again as long as he lived.

  And being with Tierney made that possible.

  She didn’t ask much about his life in Boston, outside of questions about his family, and that was fine with Burr, because he really didn’t want to discuss his work. Her life—her sweet, serene life—was a throwback to simpler times, eons away from the gritty streets of Southie and the treacherous corners of Dorchester.

  He’d checked online, and there hadn’t been one murder or robbery in Moultonborough since before 2004. Well over a decade. Not that there wasn’t some violent crime here and there, but compared to the rest of the country, or—for fuck’s sake—Boston? It was practically nonexistent. It was a different world than his, and part of him—a growing part of him—coveted it.

  “Summerhaven party tomorrow,” said Tierney as they walked the south path, the last rays of dying sun filtering through the trees in gold and orange.

  They’d been over to her brother’s camp this morning to help set up, and once again, Burr had been struck by the love and loyalty between the Haven siblings, which inevitably made him think of Suzy. He’d considered calling her once or twice, from a pay phone or his burner, just to check on her. But he figured it was better to wait. As soon as Sean and his gang were arrested, Burr could return to Boston, explain everything to his family, and hopefully resume his place in their lives. He desperately wanted to be a son and brother again, and—for the first time, thank you, Lord—an uncle too.

  “Yeah. What time do you want to go?”

  “We can leave here around one thirty. As soon as I’m done here, okay?”

  “Sure thing.”

  Tierney had explained that as of Labor Day on Monday, Moonstone Manor would only be offering tours at nine, ten, eleven, and twelve o’clock every morning—and only on Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays. Her free days and September afternoons would be spent readying the estate for the long winter ahead.

  It had been almost two weeks now since he’d arrived on her doorstep and just about as long since she’d made that fateful call to Mass General. By this point, Burr was almost positive that either one, her phone call to the hospital hadn’t been traced, or two, if it had been, and they’d tried calling her number, received an out-of-service message, and considered it a dead end. The New Killeens worked quick, and they would have shown up by now if they had her address. That said, he still wouldn’t leave her until he was one hundred percent certain that her safety was assured.

  While lying in bed at night, trying not to think about Tierney, he’d processed some of his feelings about Ray’s betrayal. He still didn’t understand how Ray could sell him out like that. For three years, Burr had considered Ray his best friend, his lifeline to his old life; almost a brother. But somehow, Ray had been behind Suzy’s shooting and Fat Billy’s unsuccessful hit on him. Why? Money? Power? Burr didn’t know, and mostly he didn’t fucking care. It didn’t matter. Ray was a rat. The rest was just noise.

  But knowing that Ray, someone Burr had trusted implicitly, could so casually betray him made him feel unsettled. Would he ever be able to trust another partner? How could he do his job effectively in the future if he couldn’t let down his guard around a future partner? It bothered him. It worried him. His job was not just his livelihood but a large part of his identity, and if he couldn’t do it well, who was he?

  “Penny for your thoughts,” said Tierney, taking his hand in hers and braiding their fingers together.

  He welcomed her touch. It made it harder for him not to want more, but it also soothed the riot of emotions inside of him. “Just…thinking.”

  “Exactly. Ergo the offer of a penny.”

  “Bad deal for you,” he said. “They’re not worth a penny, aisling.”

  He just didn’t want to talk about Ray or the New Killeens or his job. The closest he could come to talking about any of it was mustering up a question about his hometown.

  “You ever been to Boston?” he asked.

  “Many times,” she answered. “To the museums. To Broadway shows. Shopping for a first communion dress with my mother. Once for the Saint Patrick’s parade.”

  “What did you think?” he asked.

  “About the parade?” she murmured, hedging the question. “Well. I…um…”

  “You didn’t like it?”

  “Not at all. I was terrified,” she confessed. “There were so many people, and everyone was drunk and rowdy, bumping into each other and getting into fights. I…I don’t know. They were drinking green beer and yelling ‘air-inn go braw’ in butchered Irish, and I—I guess I just didn’t get it.”

  “Probably because you’re Irish every day,” he said. “You don’t need a parade to celebrate it.”

  “Maybe…but no,” she said, “it was more than that. I think it was just too much for me. The city. The craziness. I’d prefer a family dinner of corned beef, mashed potatoes, and cabbage. An Irish blessing before. A long walk after.”

  He chuckled softly at her quiet idea for the perfect St. Paddy’s Day celebration, so different from the way Boston celebrated—and yet so completely appealing.

  “Yer puir Oirish, Tierney.”

  “Guilty,” she said.

  “So you’ve only been to Boston as a tourist,” he confirmed, dropping the accent.

  She nodded. “Yes. I’ve never lived there. I’ve never lived anywhere but New Hampshire.”

  “Never visited friends there? During college? Stayed in a dorm for a weekend?”

  “Nope. I’ve never stayed longer than a night, and frankly, I was always relieved to come home.” She chuckled softly. “Unless you haven’t noticed, I’m a country mouse, not a city mouse.”

  He’d noticed. Of course he’d noticed. It was one of the most appealing things about her: that she didn’t seem to require the modern conveniences that most of the woman in her generation took for granted.

  “I saw you got your phone replaced.”

  “I did. Someone broke it.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  “Ah, it’s all right. I only use it to talk to family.”

  “I never see you on Facebook or Instagram or anything,” he said as they headed down the hill, back toward her cottage.

  “I have accounts on both,” she answered, “but I’m bad at keeping them updated.”

  “You don’t care about them?”

  She sighed. “Not really. I mean, everyone I care about is here. I see them. They see me. Why would they need to look at my Facebook page? Actually…maybe that’s a little selfish. My mom might like it—to see the boys and me at family dinner or enjoying a day at Summerhaven—but I share pictures with them when I visit them, which is at least once a month, so…no. You’re right. I guess I don’t care about Facebook or Instagram. Life isn’t lived on a computer. It’s here,” she said, spreading out her free arm, “all around us.”

  Was it any wonder this unique woman had so captured his imagination?

  He squeezed her fingers gently, thinking about the fact that sooner or later he’d need to go back to Boston. His life was there—his job, Suzy, everything. Not only would he have to go back to testify against Sean and the New Killeens, but he needed to mend fences with his family. Not to mention, there were friends there he hadn’t seen in years. He should catch up with them, right?

  Soon he’d leave her and go back to Boston.

  …which sounded awful.

  He comforted himself by remembering that she’d promised to hold on to her feelings and wait for him, but right now, he was having a hard time imagining where Tierney would fit into his real life, and it troubled him. How could they give things a try if he needed to be in Boston and she couldn’t stand it there?

  “What about you?” she asked, as though reading his mind. “What do you love so much about Boston?”

  “Ah,” he said. “I’m sixth-generation Boston proud. Fourth-generation cop. My sister’s there. My aunts, uncles, cousins, friends. My father and mother are in Florida, but they used to come back up once a month and at least for three weeks at Christmas and in the summer. I don’t know…” His voice trailed off. “I don’t know if they still do that, but I assume they do.”

  “You’ll find out soon,” she said, adjusting their hands so that her palm was flush with his. “They’ll be so proud of you once they understand everything.”

  He wasn’t as certain as she.

  He’d done his job, sure, but there’d been collateral damage in Suzy’s injury, and it felt like a betrayal of sorts. His sister hadn’t signed up for the risks he’d taken; it seemed unfair that she’d paid such a high price. Would his parents and sister forgive him? He hoped so. He desperately hoped so. But he’d understand if they needed time. He’d wait years if that’s what it took. One day, they’d be ready to accept him again, and he’d be there, in Boston, waiting.

  Far, far away from Moonstone Manor and the sweet, soothing presence of Tierney Haven.

  They were approaching her cottage, which was lit by the moon, and his heart felt like lead, and he let go of her hand at the door.

  He liked her so much—more every hour of every day. It was going to hurt to say good-bye. He wasn’t bound to her, but he was firmly attached, and it hurt when attached things were forced apart. It would be painful for both of them, and if he wanted to spare them that pain, it would be best to leave quietly as soon as he found out that Sean had been arrested. It would be best to leave in the dark of night, without a word, without the torture of good-bye.

  He knew this, and yet he couldn’t bear to imagine it, so he forced it from his mind, leaning down to tenderly brush his lips against her forehead as his heart tried to imagine a scenario in which they could stay together.

  “Thanks for walking with me,” he murmured, his lips lingering against her skin.

  “I love our walks,” she whispered, her voice soft and low, her breath dusting his throat and making him shiver.

  “Thank you for letting me stay here with you, Tierney,” he said, knowing that when he returned to his life, he would have her to thank for any healing that had taken place—both physically and emotionally—while he’d been away.

  “You’re protecting me,” she said, her voice breathless.

  “You’re letting me,” he murmured.

  His lips grazed her skin again, gently dragging against the warm softness, his hands fisted by his sides as he fought against pulling her into his arms. He closed his eyes, breathing in the light scent of her shampoo, and he realized he wasn’t sure who was protecting whom anymore. He was vigilant in making certain that the property of Moonstone Manor wasn’t breeched, but she had given him sanctuary here, and there was a part of him—a strong and growing part—that she’d guarded in her own gentle way.

  “I’m going to check on the gate,” he said, drawing away from her.

  “Yes. Right.” She cleared her throat and pushed up her glasses. “And my Kindle’s waiting for me.”

  “Oiche mhaith, aisling,” he said, his voice reverent and low as he looked down at her, trying to memorize every moment he had left.

  “Good night, Burr,” she answered, backing up against the door, turning the knob, and walking inside.

  ***

  Tierney sat on a blanket beside Burr, their hands clasped inconspicuously between them, while Ian sat on Burr’s other side, and Brittany sat beside Tierney.

  Fireworks lit the sky, and the small crowd on the point oohed and aahed their appreciation.

  Tierney turned just a touch to see bright white reflected in Burr’s eyes, his lips upturned as he glanced at her quickly before training his gaze back at the sky for more magic.

  It had been a pretty perfect day. Tierney had led her four morning tours, then locked up the estate; packed a bag with towels, a bathing suit, and a change of clothes; then given her Jeep keys to Burr to he could drive them up to Summerhaven. On the way, Jason Mraz’ song “I’m Yours” had played on the radio, and she had grinned at Burr, who sang along in a pleasing tenor and occasionally looked over at her, as though he was singing to her: