“Hell,” I say, moving faster and kneeling beside him. “Ronan …”
“You know him?” Reed asks.
“Not really. One of Aoife’s men.”
He snickers. “You mean used to be one of Aoife’s men.”
I side-eye him, standing. “I need to call her.”
“Not the best leader if she’s not keeping tabs on her men. His body’s been here awhile.”
My brow furrows as I rip my phone from my coat pocket. “The coroner just got here. We don’t know how long he’s been here.”
Reed shrugs. “I’m just saying. You’re awfully cozy with the Irish, Grayson. I’d think twice before letting her warm your bed.”
I ignore him and press Aoife’s contact information in my phone. I don’t need to think twice. I’ve thought through itten timestwice. While my mind riots at the idea of loving her, my heart is defiant. Which makes this phone call all the more painful.
“Hey, you!” Aoife answers, happy. It makes my stomach clench.
“Hey, I’m going to need you to come down to the recycling place at the Bunker Hill Industrial Park. I’m really sorry.”
She hesitates. “Why?”
“It’s Ronan …” I wince. How can I tell her?
“What do you mean?”
I wrestle in my silence for the right words.
“Grayson? Where’s Ronan?”
Even though I clear my throat, it still cracks. “He’s dead. Shit. I’m sorry.”
“I’ll be there in twelve minutes.”
The click as she hangs up is unsettling. I’m not sure I expected a full-fledged breakdown, but I anticipated shock, anger, tears—her voice was cold, detached. It takes several seconds for me to put my phone away and carry on with my job. I do so until I hear the rumble of her Ducati exactly twelve minutes later.
Aoife rolls in, undeterred by the crime scene tape crisscrossing between dumpsters and bulldozers. She steps off her bike, releasing her head from the helmet. Her hair flutters around her face before falling onto her thick leather jacket. The high collar frames her grave expression, and it’s impossible todismiss. She avoids eye contact with one of the deputies, almost sneering as he tries to stop her. Crossing her arms, she searches the crowd of officers and police personnel until her gaze slams into Ronan’s body. Her steps falter midstride, and she grinds to a halt. Gaze focused on his body and his body alone, her chest rises and falls faster and faster until her feet move again, quicker this time. She reaches the outskirts of where the body has been sectioned off with more tape and tiny white flags and chews the inside of her lip.
She fidgets but doesn’t avert her eyes from his body.
I wish I knew what she was thinking, what was occupying her thoughts. Selfishly, I want her to find comfort with me, or wish she’d turn around and allow me to look at her, actually look at her.
Aoife sways, and when she tries to ask the coroner something, a deputy finally shuts her down. When she stumbles back, I move toward her.
Icy snow crunches beneath my feet, and I struggle to maintain a natural pace as I approach her. “Aoife,” I breathe out. The bubbly personality I got to experience this weekend is now akin to my own somber torment.
Her brows pinch further when she turns to look at me. “Where’s his head?”
“You don’t need to see that.”
“I want to.” She shoulders past me, knocking my arm as she approaches Reed, who stands closest to it.
Reed blocks her view.
“Get out of my way,” she spits.
He glowers at her. “Lucky for me, I don’t answer to you. You have no authority here.”
