He laughs. “Don’t tell your da you know that word.”
“What word?” Raffy asks.
“Fuck,” Declan says.
Lola sees an escape and darts out the door. Raff takes off after him with all the other animals in tow.
Declan slowly walks toward me. “Pepper’s a badinfluence.”
“So are you,” I say.
He traces a finger over my lips, then dips his head close. I can almost feel the soft, firm pressure of his mouth on mine.
“I’m his uncle, and your bird’s definitely been teaching him bad words.”
I bite back a laugh. I don’t want to have these unexpected bursts of liking him. “You taught him.”
“Some.”
My heart thrums. I want his kiss. I want…
“The food for Pepper, was it okay? Your mam gave me bird food, but I didn’t want that to be all he had. So I had Maeve ask your housekeeper, and she said the bird ate a lot of fresh fruit and vegetables.”
“Ask him yourself,” I say with a smirk.
Declan pulls back to smooth Pepper’s feathers. “Do you like your food?”
“Fucking brilliant,” Pepper squawks.
I wait until Pepper finishes eating and basking in all the attention, then I follow Declan out of the room. He pulls the door closed behind us.
“Any word on Daddy?” I ask.
“These things take time,” he says. “I still don’t know who has him.”
“What about whoever shot at us? Did you find anything out about that shit show at my apartment?”
In the hallway, he turns and presses me into the shadows. My limbs weaken, my bones melting under the intensity of his stare. “You. Shot atyou.And the dead bird…” His lips graze my ear. “I buried it in the back garden.”
My breath’s hard to catch. I want to shove him away so badly for pointing out what I already know about the shooting. But the soft shadow in his eyes stops me.
Because Declan Murphy, dangerous mafia man,took time out to respect the little creature, and his heart just might hurt for it.
Or maybe I’m projecting. “Why would someone do that?”
“People do sick things. The bird was young, but…” he sighs. “I didn’t see any wounds, and no one had broken its neck. Maybe they poisoned it, maybe they found it after it fell from its nest, or maybe it died of shock. I don’t know. But I did my best. Little Filbert’s at rest now.”
I stare at him. “You named the bird?”
“Out of respect.”
“Filbert?”
He shrugs. “It fit.”
Tears sting my eyes. I don’t like him. He’s my prison guard, a spy, and my keeper. So why does him doing something that sweet make me want to cry and melt in a different way?
“I’m going to go for a run after dinner, if you want to come.”
