pulling at the string of information about the identity of Brendan Halloran’s killer.
Chapter Fourteen
When she’d agreed to spent time with Teague’s sisters, Callie had anticipated a spa day or something equally relaxing. She’d said yes because she needed that relaxation desperately. Instead, she was near Fenway Park, being towed through the front door of what looked like a warehouse. She glanced at the two younger women who’d been introduced as Keira and Sloan—more sisters—but they didn’t look the least bit surprised to find themselves in a club packed with gyrating bodies with music so loud she could feel it in her blood.
Carrigan led the way around the dance floor and up a set of rickety-looking stairs. She grinned at the man guarding the top, leaning forward to speak directly in his ear, her hands resting on his chest. Callie couldn’t hear his laugh, but she was grateful when he stepped back and allowed them through the door. Inside, it was moderately quieter—at least the point where she could almost hear herself think. She turned to Carrigan. “This isn’t what I had in mind.”
“Maybe not, but it’s what you need.” She turned and strode over to the bar on the back wall, manned by a woman who could barely be seen over the counter.
“Why don’t you sit down? You look a little shell-shocked.” Keira guided her to a U-shaped couch built into the wall. It afforded a small amount of privacy, more than she’d expected because this room was only half-full.
She shot the woman a look. “Are you even old enough to drink?”
“My ID says I am.” She gave a cheeky grin and dropped down next to Callie, dragging Sloan behind her. “This is great. Carrigan never lets me tag along when she slips her leash.”
Things started to fall into place. This wasn’t about her at all—this was about Carrigan. She couldn’t even blame the woman for using any excuse she could come up with to find a legitimate escape from the gilded cage she lived in. Callie knew all about that, being how she was trapped in one of her own. She relaxed back into the seat. She’d been considering making her excuses and getting out of here, but it was the least she could do to stick around for a little while longer. She might not be free in any sense of the word, but it wouldn’t hurt to let these other women have a little taste of it.
Carrigan reappeared with four shots in her hands. “Let’s start this night off right.”
Oh dear God, this is going to go sideways fast. But she’d already decided to stay, so she took the glass and held it gingerly between her fingers. Carrigan sat across from her, next to Sloan. “Here’s to the men who love us, the losers who have lost us, and the lucky bastards who have yet to meet us.”
Keira laughed. “Hear, hear!”
They took their shots, and Callie didn’t miss the sick look on Sloan’s face. Apparently the woman wasn’t much of a drinker—or a partier, since she looked a half a second from bolting. It was enough to make Callie want to hug her, or offer some meaningless words of comfort. Carrigan must have noticed as well, because she put her arm around her sister in a half hug. “I know this isn’t your choice of a good time, but you need to stretch your boundaries a little.”
“For real, Sloan. You’re in danger of becoming that weird sister in the attic who only haunts the halls at night.”
Callie started to smile, but the expression died when she realized neither of them were joking. There were emotional undercurrents in this conversation that she barely understood, so she kept silent and watched it play out.
Keira jumped to her feet. “I know just the thing to get out of your funk. Come on, let’s go dancing.”
“I don’t—” The rest of Sloan’s words were lost when her younger sister yanked her to her feet and through the door leading back the way they’d come.
Carrigan sat back and crossed her legs, making the tiny dress she wore ride up to indecent lengths. “Sisters.”
There was so much meaning and history in the word. “I always wanted one.” Though she’d been happy tagging along behind Ronan on his many adventures when they were children, she’d always longed for someone who would rather play dolls than sword fight with sticks.
“They’re both a blessing and an enormous pain in the ass.” Carrigan shrugged. “But the same