been an hour since I’d last heard from him. Certainly too early for him to come striding back in the house, and he would have met my fist with his face if he had driven all the way back home without messaging.
Unless… what if they’d found Da, and the news wasn’t good. Was Misha the type to deliver bad news as soon as possible, or did he think that needed to be in person?
It suddenly seemed so important to know which kind of man he was. But which did I want him to be?
It didn’t matter. Because Da wasn’t dead. Which meant Misha wasn’t deciding how to deliver the news to me. Because he was busy tracking down information. I couldn’t accept any other possibility.
Patrick went to pour himself another glass of Jameson and frowned when only a couple of drops fell out. “Oy! Who finished the bottle and didn’t replace it?”
“That’d be you, smartarse,” Jack said, tossing a rolled-up sock at Patrick’s head, and missing. Where had he gotten a—oh. Jack lifted his bare foot and stretched it onto the coffee table, then removed his other sock, the bottom gray brown with dirt and age. Connor wrinkled his nose beside him.
“Jesus, Jack! When did you last wash those monstrosities?”
Jack held the sock to his face and sniffed, wrinkling his nose slightly, then shrugged. “Don’t smell all that bad. Could go another day or three if needs be.”
Connor gagged. “That’s an atrocity.”
Patrick raised his empty glass in the air. “The real atrocity is this here empty glass. Liam! How abouts you get us another bottle of Jamo?”
“Why don’t you get it yourself, you lazy lummox?” Liam nursed a nearly full glass.
“Because I’m older than you is why. Someone hand me Jack’s sock so I can punt Liam with it.” Patrick waved his hand in the air, waiting for someone to hand him the sock.
Mark shook his head. “As if any of us have a desire to touch Jacky-boy’s rotting footwear. I’m not sure whether we ought to call in a hazardous substances team or an archeologist to deal with it.”
Patrick gave a huff of frustration. “Forget Jack’s sock. The important thing is, who’s going to get the next bottle?”
“You are,” half the room responded.
I folded my hands in front of my lips, as if that could soften my displeasure. “Do you really think this is the best time to be drinking?”
Patrick blinked rapidly, as if not processing what I’d said. “When isn’t it the best time to be drinking? I mean, as long as it’s whiskey.”
“What if the Novaks call and they need us to jump in a car and save Da?”
Patrick spread his hands innocently. “Isn’t that why we have you, Rory? You’re the DD. The designated downer. Besides, we O’Malleys fight better with a little liquid fire in our veins, don’t we, boys?” He pounded his chest and everyone else raised their glass to that.
“No, you just think—” My phone buzzed and I quickly raised it. Misha had put himself into my phone with three hearts following his name. I held a finger up to the others as I swiped to answer. “Yes?”
“Do you want the good news or the bad news first, Irish?”
My heart seized in my chest. “Bad news. Always the bad news first.”
“We’ve got an in with the dragons, but that isn’t a guarantee of anything.”
“What?” I shook my head. Had I missed part of what Misha had said? “Are you fucking with me, Novak?”
“Shoulda asked for the good news first. We didn’t find your da, but we did scent him where they took the photo and we tracked them.”
“So where are you? Are you following them?”
Behind me, the clan started mobilizing.
“Not exactly. Like I said, it was dragons. They took off flying, according to our trackers, and are apparently sonsabitches to track unless you’re also a dragon.”
Like I said, it was dragons. When the fuck had he—oh. Right. It was right there in the bad news. We got an in with the dragons.
“Where we heading, Rory?” Patrick hovered by my side. I shook my head, turning to block him out so I could focus.
“Tell me everything, Novak. And try not to skip around this time.”
He did. “We’re about thirty minutes away from your place. I’m sorry I didn’t call you as soon as I had info. I had to talk to Pops before I could share our connection with the Chens. My papa was good friends with Li, but, well. You know dragons. Wait,