* * *
Tara Donovan isin the sitting room near the front door of Hillview House. She greets us warmly, and I wish, once more, that I didn’t have to be the bearer of bad tidings. But better she find out from us than wake up dead one day.
“This is such a lovely surprise,” she says, waving us to sit down on the lounge suite opposite her chair. “And I can’t wait to hear all about your time in Italy. But what on earth are you doing here?”
We are not alone. In the room with Tara and us are Byrne and Murphy, and O’Hara stands by the door. “We need to talk,” I tell her.
“Alone,” Finch adds.
Tara goes still, except for her hands, which squeeze at the arms of the lounge chair. “Alright,” she says softly, and nods at the men.
But O’Hara hesitates. “Ms. Donovan, I’m not comfortable leaving you here alone.”
“You can stay, Conor, of course.”
“No.” My voice cracks loudly through the quiet room. “Alone, Tara. We mean it.”
Her confusion morphs into concern. “Whatever you have to tell me, you can say in front of Conor, surely.”
Finch puts a hand on my arm. “ Luca,” he says softly. “He has a right to hear what we have to say.”
Finch is right, but if we let Conor stay and the other two leave, it’s hard to tell what might happen. “Fine,” I say, and plow ahead. “We have information on a leak in your family, Tara.”
No one speaks, although Murphy and Byrne move a little closer to where Tara is sitting, as though my words are a threat to her.
“A leak?” Tara repeats.
“Someone in your Family has been working as a double agent for the IFF.” There’s no point sugarcoating it, and I want this over and done with as soon as possible.
Tara looks to Finch, who gives a short nod. “How do you know this?” Her voice is no longer warm.
The atmosphere in the room changes, too. O’Hara comes closer to us as though we might suddenly attack. Murph and Byrne, on either side of Tara’s chair, take a step forward.
“Because we found what the IFF has been looking for all this time,” Finch tells her. “It’s a list that Mom made before she died. A list of every member of the Irish Freedom Fighters that she knew of, and everyone even remotely associated. All their crimes, any evidence she had against them, anything that implicated them. It’s a fucking powder keg. I can see why they wanted it back.”
“Wanted it so badly that they were willing to sacrifice any number of men to get it,” I add, taking up the story. “And when I went through the information, there was one name on there that was familiar to me—and will be to you, too.”
I’m as tense as every other person in the room, preparing for any eventuality. Someone will make a move soon. They’ll have to, if only to break the tension. Tara is gripping the arms of the chair so hard that her fingernails are digging into the brocade.
“I think you’d better tell me who it is,” she says slowly. “But first, perhaps you’re right; I’ll send the men away. This is a private conversation.”
“I don’t like it,” O’Hara says at once. “I’m sorry, Ms. Donovan,” he adds, wincing at her cold, imperious stare, “but it—it feelswrongin here.”
“Yes, it does feel wrong in here,” I say softly. “Because someone in this room is a rat.”
Tara turns her eyes from O’Hara to me. “That’s a serious accusation. You’re telling me one of my closest security advisers is actually a plant from the IFF?”
“Yeah,” Finch says. “That’s what we’re telling you.”
I see O’Hara’s fingers tightening on his gun, and I take a step in front of Finch. I can’t help myself—it’s instinct. Thankfully, he doesn’t try to stop me.
“Alright,” Tara says, paler than I’ve ever seen her, so pale that the light dusting of freckles across her nose stands out in sharp relief. “Then who is it?”
Chapter Sixty-Six
LUCA
Ican see Finch’s reflection in the large antique mirror hanging on the opposite wall, and I feel like I’m sitting in the audience of a play as I watch him silently lift his arm and point. Tara follows his finger, turning her head to stare at the man next to her, disbelieving.
