I knew my words were barely audible over the TV, but I waited for an answer anyway.
Not that I got one.
I leaped up, snatched the remote from his hand, able to disarm him now he was so weak.
Switching off the unit and the news reporter’s take on what a US president’s backing of a unified Ireland represented, I snapped, “You told me Michelle Keegan was Aidan’s girlfriend. Why did you do that?”
There were a hundred answers he could have given me. A hundred that would have appeased my confusion.
But he didn’t give me one of those hundred.
He gave me, “I serve a cause greater than my own.”
The news report whispered in my mind.
A US president’s backing of a unified Ireland…
The ECD had gotten into the White House.
Oh, dear God.
I garbled, “You wanted Michelle dead, didn’t you? Why?”
He didn’t say a word.
It had to be because she’d given birth to Davidson’s daughter. The ECD wanted him in office, and they always got what they wanted. Now, they had presidential support for their cause.
But…
“Her surname’s Keegan. I know the ECD’s leader is Eamonn Keegan. Are they related?”
Although, if they were, wouldn’t he have protected her?
The second the thought crossed my mind, I almost laughed.
What was the blood between siblings if it came between the cause and a brother?
He stared at the wall, and I knew he wasn’t going to say a damn thing. But still, I tried.
“If they’re related, why wouldn’t he protect her?”
He reached for some water.
“Why would you tell me she was Aidan’s girlfriend?”
He hit the call button.
“Is Fenris one of you? Is Jamie?” I rasped, changing the subject, seeing if that would work.
He closed his eyes in dismissal. “I need to rest.”
That could have been an affirmative, but I had no way of knowing.
I treated my guards like family. Everyone knew that.
Rogan’s son was at St. Paul’s Academy because of me—I was helping to pay Harry’s tuition. When Fenris’ daughter had gotten sick, I’d paid for Jenna’s funeral.
Was I just a dupe to them?
Someone to con? To manipulate?
I thought about the young man outside.
Could Jamie be trusted?
Was he one of these cowards too?
Because that was all they were.
Men who claimed innocents were as guilty as politicians and treated them like collateral damage were cowards in my opinion, and the ECD was home to the worst of the worst.
Nothing mattered to them other than a unified Ireland. Nothing and no one.
My throat closed as I got to my feet. Knowing he wouldn’t give me the answers I needed, I snatched up my purse and stormed over to the door.
I motioned to Jamie and strode down the hall toward the bathroom.
Brothers of the ECD were always marked. Always. And I needed to know. I had to know if Jamie was one of them.
Opening the door to the restroom, I held it wide and directed, “Go inside.”
He frowned at me, but I was Lena O’Donnelly—Five Pointers obeyed me as if I were their queen—and for once, I wasn’t afraid to act like it.
After he shuffled into the bathroom, I ordered, “Check there’s no one in here.”
Confusion in his eyes, he obeyed, opening the doors to the cubicles and peering inside. “It’s clear.”
“Take off your shirt,” I further directed, holding my purse against my chest as if it were a comforter—how I wished it were.
At that moment, only Aidan’s embrace would soothe the ache in my soul, but I couldn’t tell him.
Not if he’d let a cheile guard me.
I couldn’t trust him.
The only man who could give me comfort couldn’t be trusted.
“Ma’am?” he queried warily, breaking into my terror.
“I’m not a desperate old woman who wants to see your body, Jamie,” I snarled. “Take off your shirt. Now!”
At my order, he straightened, dragged off his coat, placed it on the vanity, then followed up with his suit jacket and shirt.
When he was bare from the waist up, I commanded, “Turn around.”
The relief that filled me when I saw he only had ink that Aidan wouldn’t approve of made me shaky.
Japanese tigers and koi fish were one thing, but there were no phoenixes or Irish phrases anywhere on his chest or back.
For all I knew, he might have one on his ass cheek, but I doubted it.
Tradition was tradition for a reason.
My da had that same damn phoenix on his upper arm, much as Michael had. And my elder brothers were the same, fools that they were.
High enough to be covered by a short-sleeved shirt, but easy enough to expose to prove to a fellow cheile they were of the brotherhood.
I pressed my back against the bathroom door as I ground out, “Get dressed.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he muttered and dressed at lightning speed.
Now I knew he wasn’t ECD, I asked, “Do you know how to disconnect a PCA pump?”
“A what, ma’am?”
I took that as a no.
Sighing, I explained, “A patient-controlled-analgesia pump.”
Jamie shook his head. “No, ma’am.”
Damn.
Would Aidan Jr.?
Which of my boys would know how to do this? Would any of them?
The dread in my gut wouldn’t abate.
The Éire le chéile go deo were bad news, and they’d targeted Aoife’s mother. If the cheiles wanted Michelle dead, what was stopping them from wanting Aoife dead too?
If they’d gone for the lover, why not the love child?
I couldn’t let that happen.
Aoife had been safe these last few years because she’d married Finn, but that was no guarantee, was it?
Aoife… I’d already caused that poor girl such devastation. The cheiles terrified me, and meddling was the last thing I wanted, but I had no choice.
I owed her; I owed Finn.
We needed answers.
I was under no illusion that my sons were cut from the same cloth as their father because I’d helped mold them into that. If I tossed Michael at them, then he’d be dead by the day’s end. But dying for the cause was what the cheiles did.
Death was only a way to martyr them. They weren’t afraid of it; they wouldn’t be afraid of my children.
Well, that wasn’t strictly true.
So I called the only man who’d be able to help me, the boy I’d let down, the son I’d failed. Whose soul, to my shame, Michael’s death would rest on…
“Conor?” I whispered, wishing that I didn’t need to do this, wishing there were another path I could take. “I need your help.”
Twenty-Two
Conor
Michael released a moan that had me peering at him over my laptop.
Hatred filled me as he blinked at me, bleary-eyed from the drugs I’d dosed him with.
It wasn’t often that I felt this level of hatred, but it wasn’t often that my world was caving in around me.
Traitors—they were everywhere.
Every. Fucking. Where.
Callum O’Reilly had been my friend since I was a kid. He’d put up with my shit for as long as I’d put up with his. I was supposed to be his newborn’s godfather, but he’d betrayed us.