Free In the Teeth of the Wind by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

who I'm talking about."
    "What's she got to do with it?" Myra remembered the look the bartender had given her that night. The
    uneasiness she'd felt with the woman's interest in Irish.
    "She set him up." Rhianna watched the other woman's eyes closely.
    "I warned him," Myra said, shaking her head. "I warned him!"
    Rhianna tensed. "Warned him how?"
    Myra looked up at her. "I called him. Left a message on the machine. I told him not to let her in."
    "Why did you do that? Who is she?"
    "No one ever told me her name," Myra said, reaching for another cigarette. "All's I know is she's
    trouble. Every time she latches onto a man, there's trouble."
    "What kind of trouble?"
    "You don't ever see him again," Myra said. She threw the unlit cigarette down. "They're usually
    married, you know? I just figure it's a blackmail thing." She shrugged. "Get 'em drunk or drug 'em up then
    take pictures." She risked a glance at Rhianna. "That kind of thing."
    "Blackmail," Rhianna said. "Pay up or she'll go to the wife?"
    "She usually asks me if they're married." Her brows came together. "Come to think of it, she didn't ask
    if Irish was; just wanted to know who you were."
    "What else did she ask?"
    "All she wanted to know was his name, who you were. That's it."
    "Have you seen her lately? Does she come in any special night?"
    Myra thought about it then shook her head. "I haven't seen her since that night, come to think of it. It
    ain't like I look for her, you know? Like I said, the bitch is trouble."
    "Yeah," Rhianna agreed. "I got a feeling she was real bad trouble for Irish."

____________________
    *Chapter Twelve*
    The Irishman's ability to withstand the demon riding his back for longer than most men could surprised
    the Colombian. Nolan had resisted him for a month before he gave in to the need to alleviate the craving
    on his own. But the day came when he gladly took the needle to his own flesh. And in the end, he
    thought, it had not really been the addiction that had driven Conor Nolan to begin injecting himself with
    the drug. It had been the threat to bring the woman to the silo.
    "Rhianna?" The Colombian could still hear the ache in the Irishman's voice when he spoke that one
    word.
    "I can abduct her as easily as I abducted you." He'd extended the syringe to his prisoner. "Either
    administer the drug to yourself from now on or I'll send word to my men to bring the woman here and
    you can watch me addict her."
    The Colombian understood Nolan's dilemma - the shame that would come when he finally gave in to
    injecting himself with the narcotic. Until then, it had been easy for him to pretend others were to blame for
    the addiction now raging out of control. It had been comforting to know he had had no say in the terrible
    thing that had befallen him. But to actually shoot up with the drug? To actively take part in his own
    decline from law-abiding citizen to drug addict was a different matter altogether.
    "Don't you care what happens to her?" the Colombian had pressed.
    "Just give me the damned thing. I'll do it," Nolan had snorted as though the admission hurt him worse
    than any man-made torture. The Colombian wondered if Nolan had heard the eagerness in his own
    voice.
    It had been most pleasant - most pleasant, indeed - to watch the Irishman drive the needle into his
    thigh. The humiliation, the guilt registered on Nolan's pale face, but it was the long sigh of defeat that was
    like music to the Colombian's ear when the Irishman pushed the drug from the syringe into his vein.
    "You will be unable to live without the drug now," the Colombian whispered.
    "Just leave me alone," Conor said, lying back on the cot. He barely noticed when they re-cuffed his
    hands and ankles to the cot.
    "A few more days," said the Colombian. "That's all. A week at the most. Then you can go home."
    Conor shrugged as if to say it didn't matter. "Sure. Whatever you say."
    The Colombian smiled at the slurred words. He watched until the Irishman was under.
    ****
    He