“Bullshite. He’ll be fine.”
“I’m not doing it,” I snapped.
“Who’s in charge?” he snarled, shoving me until I was pressed against the wall behind me. His fingers went to my neck and tightened until it was difficult to breathe. My lungs burned, but I didn’t try to stop him, even if my instincts demanded I fight. That would only make Cillian hold on harder. “I am. I fecking am. When this goes down, he’s going in the panic room. It locks with the controls on my phone, so he can’t open it and do something foolish. I’ll let him out when we get home.”
“And what if something happens to us?” My voice was raspy and it hurt to talk, but I had just enough air to speak.
Cillian released his hold on me and stepped back, anger seeping out of him. “I’ll give Oisín the controls, too. I wouldn’t do that to him. I wouldn’t hurt Vail.”
I believed him. He’d never shown any compassion for anyone, but since yesterday afternoon, Cillian had given Vail what he’d never given anyone else. That meant something.
I nodded. “Okay. We’re doing this.”
Cillian’s excited smile made me chuckle. There would be blood. God help us.
18
VAIL
My phone vibratedin front of me on the bed and I stared at it. Rowen had closed the blinds earlier because I was supposed to be trying to nap, so the screen was like a beacon in the semidarkness. The number on my missed-calls notification ticked up to 157, and I suspected I had about as many voicemails. I had a sneaking suspicion the person calling was a police officer because when I’d googled the most recent number three hours ago, shortly after Rowen covered me in a soft blanket on his bed and shut the door, it had come up as a police precinct.
Every other person I knew, including some of my students, had called as well.
Whoever owned this particular number had called me about nine times. I wasn’t sure what I should do. Over and over, my mind supplied various awful options of how my father had died, in vivid splashes of color I’d never seen in real life, and I had trouble shaking them away. My heart raced so fast I could taste it on the back of my tongue and my chest hurt. I curled farther into a ball and stared at the phone. For a while I drifted, then the phone buzzed again, the screen lighting up.
The number I’d researched flashed again.
I couldn’t talk to the police, it was as simple as that. I wasn’t stupid. No one had outright told me, but I assumed that being Irish and all, the guys—my guys—were in the Killough Company. It was the only big game in New York City, as far as Irish mobs went. There was an Irish organization in Dallas run by a man named Orlaith Scully, and his nickname always made me smile because it wasthe Skull, which made me think of the Red Skull and comic books, but any crime family in Texas that wasn’t run by a cartel was insignificant. Scully’s business might even be part of the Killough Company, though I had no proof to back up my theory. Besides, as far as I’d ever heard, none of those people were this far east.
So, I couldn’t talk to the police.
But I had to talk to the police.
I had no clue what I should do.
My office was blown up and my dad was dead. It didn’t matter how dumb the authorities were, eventually they’d come asking me if I was at least alive.
And theywere calling. I slapped a hand to my cheek when the phone lit up yet again, but Lor’s name flashed on the screen this time, not an unknown number. With a relieved moan, I scrambled to answer.
“Hello? Lorcan?” I asked, not feeling much like myself. “Are you all right?”
“Why weren’t you answering? Gosh, everyone’s worried,” Lor said, and I cringed. “Sir, where are you?” Some time went by, and I imagined Lor getting injured at my office. He hadn’t said he was hurt, but I could conjure a crystal clear picture of his cute young face streaked with soot and blood, with that skunk stripe in his hair stained red. “Sir?” He inhaled a deep breath. “Do you need help? I thought... shoot. Please answer me.”
“Sorry. I’ve had a lot.... I do need help, but not anything urgent. Not anything you can do.” My fingers curled into the blanket and I clutched it like it was the only thing keeping me anchored to the earth.
He sighed, and the depth of that feeling carried down the phone line and resonated in my heart. I felt the same way. “Of course. I’m sorry for your loss.” There was an awkward moment that hung between us. “Dr. Atmeyer has been looking for you, along with all the staff, and that librarian who likes you has been up everyone’s ass to find you. She’s scary. I had no clue librarians could be so mean. She yelled at the police because they weren’t looking for you fast enough. She cares about you.Wecare about you.” He let out a grim chuckle.
“Well, that explains some things,” I said weakly. “Didn’t you tell her you talked to me?”
“Habeas corpus,” Lor muttered.
“What? What does this have to do with producing a body?”
He groaned. “If you’re dead, everyone needs to see you, and if you’re not, everyonestillneeds to see you. The administrators are frothing at the mouth over that destroyed building, and about two minutes after it happened, everyone jumped to the conclusion that you’re the reason there was damage that might have injured students. It’s an insurance nightmare. I don’t know what’s going to happen. You have to surface and soon. Sir—”
“I just arrived at that unfortunate conclusion myself about five minutes ago. Get out of my head!” I said, only half joking, but the words pelted from me in a hysterical rush. I tugged my blanket over my head to huddle underneath.
Cillian had been like a bear and didn’t want me doing anything today, and I was half worried he’d try to carry me around the house. Aspen had been about as bad, strangely enough, insisting on bringing me water and snacks. It seemed like he thought grief required food. I peeked out at the pile of candy bars sitting on Rowen’s nightstand.
