Hours later, when they once again pulled up outside the little yellow house where Ian Doyle resided, he was leaning back against his truck, staring pointedly at his watch (even though they were exactly on time). Against their better judgment, Emily and Alex had been cajoled into attending dinner with the Doyle clan, the promise of getting to see Finley constantly dangled in front of them until they played along.
Emily threw the car in park, already bristling as Ian approached. She didn't like that Ian had refused to give them directions, insisting he accompany them. Everything about this man rankled her sense of self-preservation, but much as she disliked it, he was their only connection to Finley and they therefore had to play nice.
"One of you should ride with me," he said, leaning down to peer in the driver's side window at the two women, "And the other follow. I can tell you where we're going and why and that way maybe you can find your way back on your own." He grinned, patted his hand on the roof of the car, then headed back to his truck.
Several moments of silence passed, neither woman liking the obvious show of power and control, so smug in his belief that they would play along...because, really, what choice did they have?
"Well..." Alex said on a sigh, reaching into the backseat for her coat, clearly intending to be the one riding with Ian...and giving him exactly what he wanted.
"Where do you think you're going?" Emily said because there was no way in hell she was letting her wife ride alone with a Doyle.
Alex gave her a pointed look. "You think he wants you in the passenger seat?" She wasn't stupid – she knew that Ian was a dangerous man, but she also knew that he was the only connection they had to Finley and sometimes you have to play nice no matter how morally repugnant it may feel.
"No. I know he doesn't. I don't care what he wants," she said gruffly. "I'm going, you drive." She knew she was being overprotective, that Alex was capable of taking care of herself, but her cop instincts were telling her something was just off with the situation.
Alex was already halfway out the door. "It's fine, Em." She was willing to do whatever it took to get Finley back and if that meant letting the Doyles call the shots, then she was willing to do that. She shut the door behind her, then paused to offer Emily a silent plea to trust her. "Follow close."
"She's not going to have any trouble keeping up, is she?" Ian asked upon glancing in the rear-view mirror (yet again) and finding Emily still following close on his bumper in spite of the speed at which he drove.
"You keep looking in the mirror often enough, you can see where she is..." Alex said. She was still polite, but she also didn't want Ian to mistake her as being weak now that she was without Emily's more intimidating presence.
He grinned to himself, as he finally witnessed the claws coming out. "I guess she just doesn't want you to get too far out of her sight. Which I understand." He reached into his pocket, pulling a cigarette out of the pack stowed there. "You mind?" he asked, gesturing at her with the cigarette.
"It's your car. You don't need my permission," she said, words walking the fine line between submissive and powerless. Her body language, on the other hand, made it clear that she wasn't going down without a fight.
He scoffed, making it quite clear that he didn't believe she was nearly as demure as she pretended to be. "You strike me as the kind of woman men are always asking permission of..." he said, taking both hands off the wheel so he could light the cigarette.
She laughed a little. "Expert, are you?"
"I have been around more than a few women who want men to ask permission before drawing a breath," he remarked and it was almost an accusation.
Alex rolled down the window to breathe in some fresh air as cigarette smoke filled the car. She didn't seem to know how to respond in words, though, which seemed to amuse him. "How much further?" she asked at length.
"You mean: how much more of me do you have to put up with?" he corrected, tone not quite teasing, but not quite threat.
Catching herself just short of replying in kind, Alex took a steadying breath and once again plastered on her subservient smile and said, "We just want to see Finley."
He grinned to himself, knowing he was getting under her skin. "Yeah...he's a good looking boy, there. And his mother's a fine looking woman." A few moments passed while he watched her squirm uncomfortably as he openly objectified the woman her son had married. "You know, Killian never asked me for a word of advice in his life..."
"You don't say." She almost wished she'd let Emily come instead...but also had a strong feeling that the combination of Emily and Ian would have been particularly explosive. She reminded herself that she was doing this for Finley and it would all be worth it when she could put her grandson to sleep in his bed at home. She would quite literally do anything for him.
"And if he had," Ian continued, apparently oblivious to her struggle to tolerate him, "I would have told him to do exactly what he's done: marry yourself a widow. You'll be getting a grateful woman."
Alex felt physically ill hearing him talk about Maggie as if she were a dog rescued from the pound, an animal he'd saved from slaughter. It was all she could do to keep her smile in place and bite her tongue, lest she ruin the tentative armistice between two women and the entire Doyle clan. Play nice, she had to remind herself, For Finley's sake.
