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Monthly Archives: July 2012

Chapter seventy-nine

 

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Chapter seventy-eight

 

Chapter Seventy-seven

 

Chapter seventy-six

It’s finished!  Black Irish is now a published book!

It is available at the CreateSpace store (https://www.createspace.com/3938530), Amazon (http://www.amazon.com/Black-Irish-T-L-Andersen/dp/1478251077/ref=sr_1_9?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1343513945&sr=1-9&keywords=t.l.+andersen), and Smashwords for e-readers (https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/209308).  This is my fifth published book and I am very excited!

 

Chapter seventy-five

 

Chapter seventy-four

 

Chapter seventy-three

 

Chapter seventy-two

 

Chapter seventy-one

It was a real challenge to avoid the bodies sprawled all over the place.  Abbey gingerly stepped over Gordon, Robert and Bartholomew, all who were softly snoring on the floor.  They checked out of their hotel to stay with Liam’s micro army at the house.  The three men had all graciously given Abbey the bed in what was at one time Sloan’s childhood bedroom.  It was too bad Abbey couldn’t sleep.  There was too much on her mind.  Between her imprisoned husband and her unborn child her mind couldn’t rest.

Abbey shuffled down the steps.  In the dark she could make out the figures of Liam’s men sleeping in chairs, on the couches and all over the floor.  One even made his bed on the coffee table.  Abbey turned as she noticed the kitchen light on.

Liam sat at the kitchen table still dressed in his black ensemble.  He carefully studied a metal box sitting on the table before him, taking sips from a bottle of whiskey as he did so.  He smiled at Abbey as she sat at the table beside him.

“Abbey, it’s two in the morning.  Are you alright, lass?” Liam asked.  “Can I get you some crackers or ginger ale?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” Abbey answered.  She pointed at the box.  “What is that?”

Liam grinned proudly.  “The last of its kind.  There are none left like it.”  He gently picked the box up and rolled it over, his index finger pointing at the etching on the surface.  Abbey squinted, just barely able to make out the immature scrawl of her husband’s signature.

“It’s a bomb,” Abbey whispered in alarm.

“An unarmed bomb, yes.  Of Sloan’s design.  He had a horrible habit of signing them.  It’s what implicated him in a lot of his bombings.  It seemed to be the only shrapnel they could ever find, the plate with his name on it.  See this.”  Liam slid the cover off.  “It has three stages.  The first two are violent chemical reactions.  The third compartment is where we pack explosives.”

“Do you get it out and look at it often?” Abbey asked, just a bit disturbed.

“No.  We are using it tomorrow night.  We got word they are transporting Sloan to a maximum security prison.  We are attacking the convoy transporting him.  And we are using this.”  Liam lifted the metal box in his hand.

Abbey’s heart beat hard in terror and anticipation.  She didn’t want to know just how Liam planned to use the bomb to free Sloan.  Now she was certain she wouldn’t be sleeping tonight.

Chapter Seventy

Abbey sat on the staircase of the little gray house as she watched the buzz of activity in the living room.  She didn’t want to interrupt or get in the way.  Her husband’s fate was in these men’s hands.

It gave her time to reflect.  The little abnormalities she found in Sloan’s life suddenly made sense.  Like the jet.  The jet belonged to Sloan.  His name was on the title.  Had they flown into Belfast it would have sabotaged what was supposed to be a covert trip in and out of Northern Ireland.  It didn’t matter though.  Abbey and her sour stomach blew their cover.

There were still a few things she didn’t understand.

“How are you doing?”

Abbey’s head shot up finding Gordon leaning on the banister.

“I’m alright.  Gordon?”

“Yes?”

“I get it that Sloan said his life was in danger.  Why is mine?”

Gordon rubbed his chin as he thought.  “There are many people who would like to see Sloan dead.  There are even more who want to utilize his “talent”.  Sloan had no weakness to exploit.  That is, until he met you.  These people have no conscience and would not hesitate to hurt, even kill you to make him bend to their will.”

Abbey felt the hot rush of tears fill her eyes.  She led him into this mess.  She blinked frantic to stop them.

“You aren’t his chauffer, are you?” Abbey murmured.

“No, I am his handler.  When it was imperative to get Sloan out of Ireland, the IRA didn’t deem it wise to send a teenage bomber loose in Europe.  I was chosen to accompany him, to keep him out of trouble.”

“But you are so close.”

“Aye.  In my heart Sloan is my son.”

Abbey buried her face in her hands as she sobbed.  “I am so sorry to get him into this.”

Gordon knelt beside her as he rubbed her shoulder.  “You are not to blame, Abigail.  Sloan knew the risks.”

Abbey gulped a few deep breaths as she wiped her tears away.  “And Robert and Bartholomew?”

“For lack of a better term, they are bodyguards.  They were originally hired after an attempt on Sloan’s life.  But in reality we are brothers.  We are family.”  Gordon gazed at her as he smiled.  “All five of us are family.”

“Six.”

Abbey and Gordon turned at the voice.  Maggie stood in the front doorway, a piece of paper clenched in her fist.  Her wide eyed look was filled with disbelief.

“What do you mean six?” Abbey asked.

“Abbey, when was your last cycle?” Maggie pressed.

Abbey thought as she organized dates in her mind.  Her brow creased confused.  “I don’t remember when my last period was.  Why?”

Maggie stretched her hand holding the piece of paper out to Abbey.  “Abbey, you’re pregnant.”

Abbey shook her head.  “I can’t be.  Sloan always used protection.  He never…”

Then it struck her.  Memories of the club restroom filled Abbey’s mind.  She pressed her hands to her gaping mouth.  The sudden shock at Maggie’s news twisted her stomach.  Without a word she dashed for the bathroom.