Tiernan A Dark Irish Mafia Romance - Jane Henry Page 0,39

he says, jerking his chin at Carson, Clan bookkeeper and resident hacker. Brady’s our private investigator. He looks to Cormac next. “Cormac, you’ll call Walsh as well. Get him in here for a private chat, will you?” Local police chief.

Cormac nods. “Aye.”

Then his eyes come to me. “Tiernan, pack a bag. I’m sending you and Aisling to St. Albert’s. Just for now, a few days. We’ll visit at the weekend and update you on all that’s going on, but you’ll be safest there.”

The Clan’s finishing school’s a second home to me. Many of the Clan’s family and friends are employed there, as teachers and staff while raising the younger Clan members before being inducted into our Clan.

It’s a simpler arrangement than here at the mansion, but we’ve had heavy security detail there for bloody ages.

“It’s a veritable fortress,” Keenan says. The mansion is, too, but if anyone comes looking for me or Aisling, the mansion is the first place they’ll go. “I’ll be able to communicate easily with you if you’re there, and you two will be safe. Let’s do the investigation. Your only job is to keep her safe and be sure she doesn’t do anything that puts us in danger.”

I nod. “Aye.”

Keenan looks to Lachlan next. “Bring Fiona here. It’s time the girls reunite.”

Lachlan winces. “You sure about that, sir? They broke off their friendship on rocky terms—”

“See to it they’re reunited,” Keenan orders, firmer this time. “If Aisling has a friend and lover in the Clan, she’ll be more loyal. Especially a girl like her, who has bloody nothing.”

Friend and lover. The words settle over the room, and every goddamn person hears them. All eyes are on me, though it’s Lachlan he’s talking to.

“Aye,” Lachlan says. “I’ll do that.”

Will they forgive each other? I’ve learned over the years that you can force many, many things, but friendship isn’t one of them. My conversation with Fiona earlier today leaves me hopeful, though. And Aisling’s in need of a good friend.

“Tully.”

Tully’s brows shoot up, at attention. “Aye?”

“Secure the bunker.”

Keenan’s last words settle like lead in my belly. He’s sending me away. He’s taking precautions. And he’s preparing for a fucking lockdown.

Chapter 10

I’m sleeping on my friend’s couch, still hungover from the night before. It’s easier to forget things that are painful and hard when you’re dead to the world. I welcome the oblivion.

I sit up when my phone buzzes insistently. One after another. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

I stare at the screen and don’t recognize the number, so I shove it back to the floor. Someone was kind enough to cover me with a blanket. I pull it back over my head. But it’s no use now. The phone rings, and rings, and rings.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

“Would you answer that fucking phone?” I toss the blanket aside to see some guy I don’t know sitting at a barstool by the kitchen counter. He’s got a large cup of something hot and steamy, and he rolls his eyes at me as he takes a sip. “Answer the phone and I might be persuaded to get you some tea.”

I reach for the phone and groan. I hit the “on” button and answer.

“Is this Aisling?”

“Aye. Who the hell is this?”

“Your father’s neighbor, Beatrice.”

I’m almost fucking sober now. “Is everything alright?”

She sighs. “No, love. I’m so sorry, but the police are trying to get in touch with you.”

My heartbeat accelerates, and my mouth goes dry. I swallow with difficulty. “Are you… am I…” I don’t know what I’m saying.

“Last night, the police found your father, love. He was… he shot himself, it seems.”

“Is he alright?”

She pauses. “You’ll have to ask the police,” she says with a sigh. “I don’t know. I found your number on your father’s phone, so I gave you a call.”

“Thank you. I’ll come straight away.”

I hang up the phone, and the anonymous bloke at the counter’s looking at me funny.

“You alright?” he asks.

No. No, of course I’m not alright.

My father’s shot himself.

I don’t know if he’s okay.

We’re not close and haven’t been for years, but at the end of the day, he’s my fucking father.

“Fine,” I lie. I shove the blanket off, thankful I’m still clothed. There are other mornings I wake and can’t say the same. I pull my mobile out again, and search for a cab ride.

“Where to, miss?”

I tell him my address, the place I once called home.

Aisling

With a belly full of food and the memory of what Tiernan’s done to me the past few days, I actually fall