Her pretty hazel eyes opened and she managed to include everyone crowded into the little room with a single glare. “So, are you all one big, happycrime family?”
“Not family,” I said sharply.
“Aye, we’re brothers,” Cormac said at the same time. After an amused glance at my narrowed eyes, he grinned tauntingly. “Different despicable organizations, though.”
Blowing out a long breath, I stepped close enough to Fee for our chests to touch. She stubbornly refused to back away, glaring up at me.
“You have to do this,” I said softly. “The lives of your father and grandad depend on it. I have the resources to protect you.” Her nipples hardened into little, diamond-hard peaks and I could swear this Irish witch was doing it to distract me.
“What about the farm?” she said. “Someone has to be here to look after the animals, and it’s almost harvest time for the specialty rosemary beds.”
Finlan sounded like he was strangling when he talked, but at least the old man was seeing reason. “I can call up those agricultural students at Uni who interned here, they’ll cover for us.”
“I’ll send guards in to protect them,” I said.
Fee crossed her arms, an action I noted with some regret since it covered those enticing nipples, and stepped back. “We’ll pack.”
“Make it quick,” I said. “We don’t have much time.”
I’m not going anywhere without Noreen!”
Of all the Cassidys to make a fuss, I didn’t expect it to be Martin. Fee’s father drifted pleasantly through life with the gentle smile of a simpleton and an inescapable sense of optimism. But he was the one digging in his heels while I was trying to get these three the hell off the farm before someone showed up with a case of grenades and a flamethrower.
“Da, we can’t bring a goat to London,” Fee tried to reassure him. “The students know how to care for the livestock.”
“It won’t be enough!” He had his arms around the goat, snuggling in and not noticing that Noreen was eating the back of his jacket. “She’s pregnant! She needs specialty care.”
Those MacTavish arseholes were enjoying this far too much. “Ya have a trailer, mate?” Dougal helpfully called out. “We can hook it up to one of the vehicles.”
As God as my witness, I would break that man’s nose before the day was over.
Martin cheered up. “Aye, that’ll do. I’ll just kit her out and we can be on our way.”
Fee’s shoulder gently bumped mine. “You’re beginning to regret this, eh?”
“From the moment it left my mouth.”
“You built your own temple, I see. This is a spectacle.”
Fee stood in the two-story entryway of my house in Knightsbridge, surveying the carved walnut staircase that swept up to the second and third floors, the massive crystal chandelier, and the Italian marble floors. Her hands were on her hips, her lip curled and looking vaguely nauseated.
“I’m in hell. That’s it. I got shot back there at the farm and now my soul is in hell, trapped in this depraved, venal testament to capitalist excess.”
“You’re not insulting me,” I said, “hell is my playground.”
“Unsurprising, since you’re Satan’s favorite son,” she sneered, “I’m sure you’re familiar with the postcode.”
If she was this upset now, I can only imagine the incandescence of her fury when she discovered I’d bought the two neighboring multimillion pound mansions and connected them to mine. I didn’t like neighbors. Which meant I also hadtwenty or so extra rooms that had nothing in them but dust.
Charles, my PA, had greeted us at the door with a pale, sweaty face and a weak smile. He stood in the corner, looking ready to bolt down the hallway as if he was expecting me to pull my gun out and shoot him.
“You and I will have a discussion later,” I said. “But for now, take Mr. and… Mr. Cassidy upstairs to their rooms.”
“When will Noreen be here?” Martin asked plaintively. The sweet but simple man actually thought that demonic goat was going to fly into London on Alastair’s seventy-five-million-pound private jet. Personally, I would have enjoyed Alastair’s expression when Noreen sprayed shit all over his custom leather seats, but he’d made arrangements to have one of his men drive the beast here from the farmhouse.
“In…” I checked my watch, “in about eight hours or so. In the meantime, do go with Charles, and make yourself at home. We’ll speak at dinner.”
Fintan said nothing, throwing his rucksack over his shoulder and heading up the stairs, trailed glumly by his son.
