Mr. Riley did not seem offended. He shook her hand once before gently releasing it and guiding her hand back down to the armrest. “I’m your security detail while we take young Mr. Duncan here to get his cast removed.” He gave Ollie a nod, which had ‘young Mr. Duncan’ blushing redder than a firetruck. Mr. Riley had the good sense to ignore it. “And please call me ‘Thorne.”
When Thorne moved his arms, she saw the outline of his guns under each arm. “And what makes you think you are capable of protecting me and my son, Mr. Thorne?”
“Just Thorne,” he reiterated. “And do you honestly think I’d have gotten as far as your driveway if your army of leather-clad bikers didn’t think I was worthy to stand in your presence, Mrs. Duncan?”
“Jenna,” she said automatically. And she had to admit he had a point. She looked to Lucky. “You trust him?”
Lucky nodded. “He was vetted by Keys and Bulldog. He and his brother are Keys’ first employees.”
“Your brother?” Jenna inquired, not seeing a second strange man around.
“Aesop, ma’am,” Thorne told her, looping his thumbs into his belt, “but he goes by ‘Goose’.”
“With a name like Aesop, I can understand why,” Lilly remarked under her breath. Jenna had to press her lips together to keep from reacting. She wasn’t as adept as her husband at hiding her emotions.
Thorne, though, heard. “Our mom was a History of English Literature professor. Of my two brothers and me, trust me, I got off the best with ‘Hawthorne’.”
Jenna studied the man for a moment. “Military?”
“SEALs,” Thorne said with a steep nod. “Twelve years. Goose too. Our youngest brother, Grimm, is still active duty.”
Jenna tipped her head. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it as to why, but she liked Thorne. More than his military background, he was direct and he certainly had the air of an oldest sibling. Like Jack, he held himself steady as if he was battling the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“Well,Thorne,” she said pointedly, leaving off the ‘Mr.’, “I should probably warn you that I have no idea how to drive this thing.” She indicated her new chair.
He offered her a crooked smile. “Well, ma’am, that’s why God made steel-toed shoes, and if that doesn’t hold up, I have one hell of an insurance policy.”
The bright afternoonApril sun combated the cooling zephyr coming from the east. Green grass and the surrounding foliage were starting to emerge from their winter dormancy. Little hats with pompoms bounced every which way as high-pitched laughter of carefree innocence echoed around the large playground, providing the illusion of tranquility and peace.
A woman in her early twenties sat facing the playground while rocking a stroller back and forth in a rhythmic pattern. Her long beige peacoat protected her from the chilled plastic bench made to look like wood. The gray wool beanie on her head had a silver butterfly barrette that sparkled in the afternoon sunlight. Faded jeans were tucked into high-heeled boots with a pointed toe. Her eyes never strayed from the little girl in a fluffy pink coat with white gloves and rosy cheeks as she ran from slide to stairs with the endless energy of youth.
Two men in long black coats stood directly behind the woman, their stern gazes completely out of place and unaffected by the air of happiness surrounding them. Both were so bored and pissed, likely by the assignment handed to them, that neither noticed right away when Steel sat down next to Roisin Gavigan on the bench.
By the time they did, both were silently disarmed and discreetly forced at gunpoint to back away from the park bench by Ranger and Cage. It happened so quickly and seamlessly that not even the watchful soccer moms caught wind of anything amiss.
Though her eyes shifted, telling Steel that she knew of his presence beside her, Roisin continued to rock the stroller back and forth.
“I donna kin what game yer playin’ at, but me daughters are innocent, now,” she finally said in a thick Irish accent.
Steel nodded evenly, his eyes also on little Maebh as she once again ran for the stairs that would take her up to the top of the slide. “I know,” he assured her. “I mean neither you nor your daughters any harm, Roisin. There’s no reason to fear me.”
“Is that why you removed me guards?” she asked. She uncrossed and recrossed her legs to change position. Steel was sure it was to conceal her hand reaching into the diaper bag at her side. With her connections to the Irish mob, it could be either a gun or a knife.
But Steel wasn’t here to fight. He meant what he said to the woman.
“I think the real question to be asked is if they were here to protect you…or to keep you in line?”
Her silence was answer enough.
Steel reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the same picture of Melanie that he’d shown to Tracy Marigold. For the first time since joining her on the bench, Roisin shifted to look athim more fully. One eye was still clearly on her daughter at the slides.
“This was my daughter,” Steel told her, trying desperately to ignore the knife twisting in his heart at the use of the past tense. “Her name was Melanie Daphne. She was nineteen years old, a freshman in college.”
Roisin didn’t move to take the picture, which was good because Steel wasn’t offering it. “Yer him. The father.”
Steel stared at Melanie’s smiling face for a heartbeat longer than necessary before he tucked the picture back in his coat. “I’m her father.” There was no past tense used in that statement. He wouldalwaysbe her father. Her death did not change that. “Your husband didn’t pull the trigger of the gun that ended her life, but he did aim it.”
“Are ya here to claim yer vengeance, then? Daughter for daughter?”
