Bronwyn looks so fragile. So scared. And she doesn't even know that tonight could be the night she's taken again.
My god, Ihaveto stop it. Christ, if she only knew what was really at stake.
“Where is he now?” Bronwyn asks quietly, her voice just above a whisper.
“Still sleeping,” I lie.
But he's not sleeping. He's barely conscious, still disoriented and fucked up from the concussion. When I checked on him twenty minutes ago, he didn't even know what day it was.
Bronwyn reaches for my hand and squeezes it. “You were so brave, Erin. I don't know how you did it. Howdidyou?”
“I… I love your brother,” I say simply. It's the truth.
I tap my fingers on the table. One, two, three, four. But nothing soothes me now. Nothing except… except him.
I want my husband.
Today's the day the doctor's supposed to come. Cavin's supposed to bring him to see Bridget at the hospital. But Cavin can barely stand, let alone drive across the city and coordinate a medical consultation.
What the fuck am I going to do?
“Cavin said Dr. Rosenberg was coming today,” Caitlin says. “Your mam talked to me about it.”
“Aye,” I say. “Cavin was supposed to bring him to see my sister.” I clear my throat.
Caitlin looks at me, but nobody asks questions.
“We'll have somebody else bring him, lass.”
I nod. “Okay,” I whisper.
Kyla gives me a look but doesn't call me on anything. She doesn't trust me. I don't think I can blame her.
The kitchen door swings open, and Declan walks in, looking like he hasn't slept either. The McCarthy family may be brutal, but they love each other, and their loyalty runs something fierce.
Declan's jaw is tight, and there's something in his eyes that makes my stomach drop to my toes.
“Declan,” I say, standing up so fast my chair scrapes against the floor. I'm a bit dizzy. “Did you find out who hit him with the pipe?”
I tap my pocket. One, two, three, four.
He glances at Bronwyn and Kyla, then jerks his head toward the hallway.
I follow him out, my heart pounding. Truth be told, I don't trust the McCarthy family unless my husband's in on it. But I have to now.
“Tell me you found something,” I say the second we're alone. “Tell me you know who the fuck sent that bastard after my husband.”
“I got intel this morning,” Declan says, pulling out his phone, his voice taut. “Ran the prints from the pipe. Got a name, location, the whole fuckin' lot.”
And then he stops, staring at his phone.
“What?” I demand. “What is it, Declan?”
“It's gone.”
“What do you mean, gone?”
“I mean, it's fuckin' gone, Erin. The file, the intel, all of it.” He swipes through his phone, his jaw clenching tighter with every passing second. “It was here an hour ago. I had everything, and now… now it's gone.”
