as if you’d seen a ghost, and now you look about ready to lose your dinner.”
“I’m not feeling well. That’s all.” She seemed to realize she still had her hand in his and jerked it away. “If you’d stop touching and taunting me, the nausea is sure to pass.”
“Nice try.” He used a single finger under her chin to force her to meet his gaze. “You have a lot of secrets, angel. I’m going to enjoy finding them out.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
“Tell me something.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think I will.”
Her sass was a subtle thing. The words were delivered with a perfectly polite pitch, but she hadn’t given an inch since they met. Even knowing his life would be a whole hell of a lot easier if she were a submissive little mouse, he liked that she seemed to have a spine made of steel. “How do you feel about being sold off into marriage for the sake of your family?”
“I—”
A scream cut through the low chatter of the hall, followed by sharp sounds similar to a car backfiring. Gunshots. There was a breathless pause while Teague tried to process the fact that someone was shooting, and then he moved, grabbing Callista and dragging her beneath the table. It wasn’t an ideal position because they were on a raised stage above the other tables, but any cover was better than no cover. He shielded her body with his, while he scanned the room.
O’Malley men had done the same thing he just had with the rest of his siblings, and a good portion of the guests. There were only a handful of idiots running for the doors. He met the gaze of one of his father’s men, Liam, and jerked his chin toward the exits. The scream had come from there.
They had to figure out who had pulled the trigger, and they had to figure it out now.
* * *
Callie squirmed in Teague’s grip, trying not to notice how good he felt against her while she searched for her father. “Papa!”
“I’m here.” He waved a hand from the other side of a wall of muscle that was John, his personal bodyguard.
Thank God. She allowed herself to relax a little. Whatever else had gone wrong, her father was okay. She glanced at Teague, taking in the intent way he searched the room. “What happened?”
“That’s what we’re about to find out.” He let out a breath. “We can get up now.”
She followed his gaze to where a man had just come back inside. One of his? It had all happened so fast, she couldn’t begin to say if it had been an attack or something else altogether less sinister. But all rational responses aside, her gut said this wasn’t all caused by an accident of some sort. No, this had been intentional.
It was nearly impossible to climb out from beneath a table with any level of grace, so she took Teague’s offered hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet. Or that was the excuse she told herself. It certainly wasn’t that she wanted to feel his skin against hers again.
Papa was already in motion, shouting orders in direct counterpoint to Teague’s father. The end result was the same—a group of men rushing to the main doors to find answers.
The man who’d come back in the doors approached their table and spoke in a low voice. “A drive-by. One of the guests was winged, but the bleeding has already stopped.”
A drive-by? Who would dare?
But even as the thought crossed her mind, she knew. “Halloran.”
“It makes sense.” Teague frowned. “Apparently he’s not too keen on the idea of you switching out husbands without missing a beat.”
She took a step back, removing her hand from his. For a moment there, she’d almost forgotten that he was an O’Malley and little better than an enemy. She turned away from him and stepped carefully around the fallen chairs to her father. She nodded at Micah, one of her father’s long-term men. “Talk to the couple outside. Find out everything you can.” She waited for him to head toward the doors to turn to her father. “Papa, I think it was the Hallorans.”
“Victor Halloran might be a crazy bastard, but not even he’s crazy enough to attack both our family and the O’Malleys at the same time. No, it must be someone else—some hotshot kid with a gun and more balls than sense who wants bragging rights for a skirmish with the