Spark of Hope (MacKenny Brothers #3) - Kathleen Kelly Page 0,54
dirty clothes hamper.
“That’s it?” I ask.
“What were you expecting?”
I shake my head and turn my lips down. “More of a fuss?”
“That’s only in the movies. This will look like he drank too much and fell asleep in the tub.”
“How do you know he was drinking?”
“He normally does.” Sean points to the bottle of brandy he’s procured from Carlos’ bar. “I’ll put a glass next to the bath, drop a little in the water, and when they do an alcohol test on him, they’ll connect the dots and rule it an accident.”
“Bruising?”
Sean’s lips turn down. “Unlikely. Depends on how quickly the coroner gets to the body. Bruising can take up to two days to appear. Carlos will be found tomorrow. His housekeeper comes at eight. They should assume drowning.” Sean nods to himself. “Wait for me downstairs. Touch nothing, remember?”
I nod and jog downstairs. Sean joins me not a minute later.
“Let’s go home, brother. My woman will be worried. What did you tell Lola?”
“Nothing. I gave her an extra painkiller. She’ll sleep for hours.”
“Clever. Beth would kick my ass if I did that.”
“Does she know?”
“She suspects, and when this hits the news, she’ll know. But Beth is cool. She’s one of us.”
He holds a finger to his lips, and we step out into the darkness of the early morning. Jogging back to the spot where we parked the car, Sean strips off, as do I. The clothes and the gloves are put into a plastic bag.
“I’ll burn these,” states Sean.
My jeans and T-shirt are on the back seat, and I change into them.
“Sean?” He looks at me. “Thank you.”
“Fuck you, Kyle. I would’ve done that even if you didn’t come,” Sean teases, then the smile falls from his face. “It’s not only blood that binds us. It’s ink.”
“And death.”
Sean scowls and shakes his head. “Only if you let it.”
I climb into the car, and Sean drives. It’s not until we get to Da’s house that I speak, “I owe you.”
“Nope.”
“Yeah, I do.”
Sean shakes his head and then points to the Mercedes parked in the driveway. “When did Loch get here?”
“Shit, I didn’t know he was here. Did you know he was seeing Annette?”
“Nope, and we should kick his ass for that.”
“He seems serious.”
Sean scoffs. “He doesn’t know how to be serious with a woman. And Annette is practically family. You did warn all of us off.”
“Something tells me that there was no way I was going to be able to stop it from either side.”
“Do you think the Rochas will come after us?”
The sudden change of conversation confuses me. I let out a long breath and slowly shake my head.
“No. You did good.”
“Yeah.”
I open the door and get out. “Watch your six, brother.”
“I always do.”
Sean pulls away from the curb, and I head inside the house.
Lochlan is in the kitchen, making himself a sandwich.
“What are you doing here?”
“Checking on you.”
“Where’s Annette?”
“I left her safe, warm, and all tucked up in bed at her loft.” He hands me half his sandwich. “Where were you?”
“Here.”
“Funny, Kyle. Where were you?” repeats Lochlan.
“I had things to do. But if anyone asks, I was here… all night.”
He narrows his gaze and gives me the once over. Then he says, “You were here.”
I clap him on the back and walk toward my bedroom.
“Is it cool if I stay the night?”
“Loch, this will always be your home. You never need to ask.” I keep walking.
“Thanks, brother.”
I hold up my hand and do a two-fingered wave. I’m about to enter our bedroom when Logan’s door opens a crack.
“You okay?” I ask.
He opens it the rest of the way, his hair is mussed from sleep. “Is it finished?”
Tilting my head to the side, I point to the front room. “Come on. Let’s have a talk.”
His eyes are bright as he nods and follows me to the front room. Maybe he’s been lying in bed waiting for me to come home. Apart from his bed ruffled hair, it doesn’t appear as though he was asleep.
Logan sits on the couch, and I sit next to him.
He clasps his hands together, hangs his head, and asks, “Did you get the man who killed your friend?” Then he twists his head to stare at me. “What did you do with Mom… I mean Yvette?”
I suck in a breath. This kid isn’t MC, but he is family. Studying his face, I understand he would want to know. The question is, should he know?
“Smokey wasn’t my friend… he was more than that. The men in my