I hope that’s from her grief and not from her father stuffing her with meds. Because if that’s the case…
I shift in the seat, angry at this man I haven’t met. “My mum is excited to meet you after all this. She and Trace’swife Shea-Lynne have a great relationship, too. But Shea works a lot of nights, she’s a party planner.” I nudge her. “And get this, she was really into gardening back home before she and Dad moved here. You’ll have that in common. Maybe you can bring her to your garden when the weather gets warmer.”
“I would love that.” She squeezes my hand, and I pull it into my lap.
“Oh, it’s the next driveway on the right.” Fallon’s voice goes tight and small.
As I turn up the long drive, a three-story mansion rises in the distance, surrounded by a snowy landscape, like a postcard. Only, a dark one.
Something immediately feels off. I’m suddenly very aware that I am walking into an unknown situation completely blind.
The house is a perfect colonial with grand white columns and a stone façade, completely trimmed out for the holidays. Flickering candles encircled by wreaths hang in every one of the many windows. White lights strung across the roof and window panes form a perfect line that screams professional installation.
While I appreciate the simple beauty, I’m a sucker for a chaotic mess of multi color lights and mismatched blinking bulbs. My father didn’t work directly for Fergus O’Rourke in Waterford like Uncle Aiden. As an electrician, Dad kept busy and got a few side gigs with my uncle to ‘fix’ things.
Christmases were always better those years. But Trace and I didn’t mind the simple life. All he cared about as a kid was Shea-Lynne O’Rourke. The dosser’s been in love with her since he was fucking nine and she was twelve.
I steer my Audi up a long curve of a brick-paved road, tires crunching on stray pebbles. Snow clings to the bare limbs of trees overhead, like brand new softballs.
My thoughts come crashing back when we crest the driveway and a guard booth appears beside a heavy iron gate. This town is littered with mansions and manicured everything, but it also has one of the strongest police forces in the state. Crime barely exists here.
So why the private guards? Who the hell is her father?
Trace said nothing suspicious came up. I’m not armed this exact second, but I’ve got a few weapons buried in my bag. Just in case.
I slow to a crawl and lower my window just as two men with assault rifles step out of the booth and block our path.
Oh shite.
And now I know exactly what I look like when I’m carrying my AR. Jaysus, what an eye opener.
I whip my head toward Fallon. “Do we have the right bleedin’ house?”
“Yeah.” She opens her window and waves like this is normal. “It’s me, guys.”
One guard advances to the driver’s side, the other to Fallon’s. My brain clocks every inch of the guy coming toward me. Then my gaze snags on his neck.
That skull and serpent tattoo.
My stomach drops. No fucking way.
Heat crawls up my spine as I force myself not to react. Maybe I shouldn’t have scrubbed off that temporary ink. It might be the only thing that keeps me from getting shot right now.
What the hell is Fallon’s father into if he’s hiring men like this?
I steady my voice and address the one sizing me up, “Mr. Nova is expecting us.”
“This is Mr.Black’shome.” He lifts his rifle a hair, enough to make a point.
Black.
My pulse spikes hard, every instinct roaring awake. That’s why Trace didn’t find anything unusual about FallonNova’sfather. She’s using a different last name.
“Fallon, is your father Elias Black?”
She purses her lips and answers, “Yes. But it’s a secret.”
Oh fuck. Oh fuck.
