Lor let out a horrible, sad sound. “They’re old people. I don’t know, that’s when they scheduled it. Probably to keep from conflicting with campus activities later.”
More guilt had a hold of me. I hadn’t been doing the things I should in order to be completely functional at work. I was letting everything slide and putting too much on Lor.
“I’m on my way,” I said faintly and hung up. I glanced around. No one was here to go with me, and now was not the time to be leaving the house alone, but Mr. Killough hadn’t thought I would be a target when I talked to him. I took a deep breath and held it.
Yeah, I had obligations outside of my men. I dressed carefully in a gray tweed suit, very aware the Historical Society folks had a specific idea in mind when they thought of what I should look like. I even put on a red bow tie and gave myself a smile in the mirror over the dresser. After that I called a cab for the first time in months. Before I left I went into Fallon’s room because I’d heard the struggle as Mr. Killough’s man—Nurse? Doctor? Whatever—helped him up the stairs, but he was asleep.
The medical professional in question sat in a chair by Fallon’s bed, holding Fallon’s wrist while staring at his watch.
“How is he?”
“Fecked-up.” The man grinned at me, and his shoulders sagged when I didn’t smile back. “He’ll be fine after a few days. I have a list of things for ye to watch out for. If he needs to go, the hospital might ask a few questions, but just tell them he was in a household accident out of state if it comes to all that. Maybe fell off a roof at a property he owns cleaning the gutters. The trick is ye don’t want them asking for car or home insurance—”
“Can you stay for a couple of hours?”
He blinked at me. “Aye. Why? Are ye worried? I can leave clear instructions—”
“No, I have someplace to be.”
His mouth fell open. “I was under the impression... uh, did ye clear that?”
“What do you mean?” I asked, feeling murderous. I’d had just about enough of people making decisions for me today.
He flushed. “I heard ye had an arrangement with the Shaughnessys. That ye were their... uh....” He cleared his throat. “Theirs.”
I glared, and he dropped his gaze to the floor.
“You can stay, then?”
“Aye.”
I nodded and left as I heard a car horn honking out front—the taxi I’d ordered. It had been forever since I’d gone anywhere alone. The driver refused to start the trip without me prepaying three hundred and fifty dollars, but I didn’t blame him. It was a hell of a ways to go if I stiffed him. The ride into the city took longer without Cillian or Fallon driving—both were experts at navigating the traffic as if it was nothing—and I was pushing the clock by the time I strolled under the gray stone façade of Briar Hall with absolutely no idea what I would talk about.
Lor actually ran to me with his arms out and hugged me when I stepped into the back of the high-ceilinged banquet room. He was warm and friendly in my arms. The relief on his face made me feel more guilt than I had in a long time. One table of elderly gentlemen at the rear noticed my arrival and started clapping, which began a polite smattering of applause that had my face hot. Lor let go and scuttled around to hide behind me.
“Hello,” I said, waving around the room. One gorgeous woman in a short black dress that hugged all her curves, with dark hair cut just below her ears, stood and waved at me, blowing a kiss. She made a habit of stopping by my office—or had before the fire. I had no idea what to do with that type of attention, so I stood there overheating. There was a podium at the front of the room, and I was sweating bullets as I wandered that direction through the tables, giving nods to people as they acknowledged me on my way. Lor followed me onto a small, raised platform, sticking out in his jeans and MCU hoodie, and he gave me big eyes when I stepped up behind the podium. I reached toward the microphone to turn it on, and he grabbed my hand.
“I like your skull barrette,” I said, gaze landing on it where it was tucked right in front of his ear. “Very lifelike.”
He blinked for a second, then waved a hand. “Thanks. What are you going to talk about?”
I stared at him, shrugged, and smiled. “I don’t have trouble talking about history.” I turned on the microphone and looked out at the rapt faces. Most of them were older than my students by several decades, but a few of them were in my classes, I was fairly sure. I never could understand the draw of events like this. “What would everyone like to hear me talk about today?”
Laughter ruffled around the room as if they thought I was joking.
Lor whispered, “How about—”
“How about the Killough Company,” someone in the crowd called. My throat nearly closed. Why would anyone say that? I’d never written about it in my previous books. I’d never mentioned it in a class...or had I?
“What? We get a choice?” An older woman up front beamed around at her friends. “I want to hear about John Gotti. That’s what I was hoping for.”
Relieved, I smiled in her direction. “Ah, the Teflon Don. Great choice. Who doesn’t want to hear all about the Gambino crime family?”
I opened my talk with an assessment of Gotti’s sentence of life in prison, and then before I knew it, Lor was tapping me on the shoulder with a big smile.
“You’re done.”
“Oh,” I said to laughter from the crowd.
