BLAIR
“How in thehell have I let myself get talked into this OO7 bullshit?” Blair signed her two best friends, who were currently hunkered down under a covered transit shelter across from Ciar’s flat.
If Bébhinn and Mags thought their hoodies and umbrellas made them inconspicuous, they were sorely mistaken.
“We have been sitting here for three hours, Bébhinn. Maybe we should pack it in and find a pub and some dinner where it isn’t pissing down rain,” Mags urged.
“Not yet. I called his work this morning,” Bébhinn insisted, “and he is out today. So, unless he left before the butt-crack of dawn, that man is in his flat and eventually has to come out for food or something.” She threw her hands up, as exasperated as the rest of them.
“Let’s agree. One more hour and then we take a break and assess our plan over a pint,” Blair bargained.
“Fine,” Bébhinn agreed, though her downturned mouth showed her irritation at the compromise.
“Who knew staking out a criminal could be so wet and boring?” Mags shook the rain droplets from her slicker, where the pelting rain had splashed inside the bus shelter, which they technically shouldn’t be resting in as if they were actually trying to catch a bus.
They’d waved on five buses already. Fifteen minutes later, the rain petered off. Fifteen more, and the sun began to shine.
“Thank Christ,” Mags muttered.
Sitting between her and Mags, Bébhinn gasped, “Oh God,” and grasped their upper arms in a fierce grip, “there he is.”
As if the sodden trio were witnessing the eighth wonder of the world unfold before their eyes, they watched as Ciar spoke to a gray-haired woman manning a pram. He was in a suit and clearly dressed for work. They didn’t stand, not wanting to draw attention, but they did gather up their surveillance paraphernalia—i.e., cell phones, snacks, and water—ready to follow their mark if necessary.
Blair wanted to touch her friends to get their attention and ask questions, but she didn’t want any of them to miss a clue about what Ciar’s London life was like.
The three women gasped when Ciar bent and lifted a baby from the pram. He held it close to his chest and peppered its downy head with kisses before gently placing it back in the waiting buggy.
“Oh, fuck no,” Bébhinn moaned.
“He is dead to me,” Mags hissed.
Blair felt shock sting every part of her body. She was sitting, but felt as if she were falling, as if a centrifugal force were bowing her spine.
“That sonofabitch,” Blair croaked out loud in what she knew was her odd-sounding “deaf” speech.
He had a child.
He was a father.
“What do we do?” Bébhinn practically whimpered.
“I think Gray is better off not knowing. This will kill her and rightly so,” Mags sniffed back tears. Her sassy temperament was abandoned.
Blair reached over and touched them both to get their attention as they watched Ciar hail a cab. “The only question is, would you want to know? Would you be hurt if your best friends hid this type of truth from you?”
twenty-six
JONATHAN
“I needto speak to you. Privately,” Blair pointedly stared at his date, who was wide-eyed at the petite, red-headed devil standing next to their table, signing BSL—a table that had cost him a grand to secure.
The only reason he hadn’t told the fairy to screw off was the fact that she was sporting reddened eyes. Blair had been crying, and nothing short of his dying would allow him to brush off one of his best friends.
“Now?” he signed back.
Blair nodded while sucking in a shuddering breath. Blair would never interrupt one of his dates if it wasn’t important, unlike her brunette banshee friend. Mags interrupted life simply by breathing.
“I didn’t know you sponsored special kids, Jonathan. That’s so nice, but why is she here? Where are the girl’s parents?”
