round and round even as she reached the car she’d parked in the back lot and climbed inside. Oh God, he’s dead. I killed him. I killed someone. But maybe he’s not dead? Maybe I just winged him? She cranked up the heat despite what had earlier felt like a warm July night. Now she couldn’t seem to get warm. Shock. That’s what it is.
She made it out onto the main street before she noticed the blood spatter on her dress. Her chest tried to close up, and she narrowly avoiding crashing the car into a light post as she scrubbed at the fabric. That almost impact jarred her back to herself. “I am Callista goddamn Sheridan. I’m better than this.”
Better than what? Than murdering a man? She could argue self-defense until she was blue in the face, but the truth was that she’d gone to that club with the sole purpose to see Brendan in his natural environment. She’d been the catalyst that caused the confrontation.
Scenes flashed behind her eyes. Brendan’s hands around that poor girl’s neck. The maniacal gleam in his eyes at the thought of doing the same to Callie. The way the girl’s body had hit the floor with a sick thump.
“Enough.” She concentrated on breathing as she made her way across town, the tight muscles along the top of her shoulders loosening just a little as she crossed into Sheridan territory. “What’s done is done. Didn’t Papa teach you that? Now all that’s left is to clean up the mess.” Literally, in this case.
She parked in the garage, and spent the next thirty minutes scrubbing down every part of the car she’d touched with cleaner. Then she stripped off her wig, heels, and pathetic excuse for a dress, and threw them into the furnace in the basement. This early, there was no one else about, and things had been quiet on the illegal front as well, so she was able to slip on a pair of coveralls and make it back to her room without having to explain her presence.
Callie turned her shower as hot as it’d go and stepped in. Then, and only then, did she bury her head in her hands and let loose the hysterical sobs that had been threatening ever since Brendan Halloran wrapped his hands around her neck. With the water running over her head and down her face, she could almost pretend she hadn’t broken her father’s cardinal rule.
Callista was a Sheridan, and Sheridans didn’t cry.
* * *
“Brendan Halloran is dead.”
Teague O’Malley didn’t look up from the book he was reading. “And?” But he already knew where his brother was going with dropping that tidbit out of nowhere. And the death of an heir was a game changer, more so because the Sheridans had lost their heir less than six months ago. There was a potential power vacuum created as a result, and he had no doubt his father and brother would be racing to fill it.
Aiden dropped onto the coffee table and swatted the book from his hands. “And you know what that means.”
“Shouldn’t you be talking to our father about this?”
“I’m talking about it with you.” His brother turned those guileless green eyes on him, a trick he’d learned from their oldest sister. It had gotten both Carrigan and Aiden out of a shit-ton of trouble while they were growing up—trouble then never failed to fall squarely into Teague’s lap.
The prickling at his neck signaled that he was about to be on the receiving end of another round, and he wanted no part of it. “Go away.”
“Not until you hear me out.” Aiden and Teague both looked up as Carrigan came into the library and closed the door behind her. Fuck. He really was about to get into deep shit if these two were settling down to plot. Aiden must have known he was about to bolt, because he slapped a hand down on Teague’s shoulder, holding him in place. “Until you hear us both out.”
He wasn’t going to get out of this room until he did just that. “You have five minutes.”
Carrigan crossed the room, her long dress swishing around her feet, and perched on the arm of the couch. “That’s all we need.” She looked particularly virginal today in the white dress with her dark hair falling loose around her face. It was a part she liked to play when it suited her—the devout Catholic good girl—and it had kept their father from pushing too