Kieran.
From the sounds of it, he’s not alone. Another voice joins his, Ronan’s, and the volume suddenly increases. I can’t make out much of what they’re saying, but I can tell from the tone that it’s not a pleasant conversation.
I glance at Ciara, who only shakes her head.
“I don’t know what’s going on. Just that they had trouble getting hold of Cormac.”
Cormac?
From what I know of the third Sullivan brother, he likes to keep his distance. He’s been living on the West Coast for the past few years, and the only reason he’s back in New York is because of his father’s death. If you ask me, I’m surprised he’s stuck around this long.
Before I can ask Ciara more, Ronan appears in the doorway, his gaze flicking first to Ciara, then to me.
As the oldest of the Sullivan brothers, he’s had to carry more weight and responsibility after Seamus Sullivan’s murder, and it seems to be taking its toll. He looks tired, with shadows etched beneath his eyes, and something about the grave look on his face makes me nervous.
He nods toward Ciara. “I need to check on her.”
Taking the hint, I quickly rise off the bed. “Of course. I’ll give you two a minute.”
I slip from the room, the floor creaking under my bare feet as I pad down the hall toward the stairs.
The air downstairs is heavier, like the house itself has absorbed the weight of Kieran and Ronan’s argument.
I pause halfway down, gripping the banister, my ears straining toward the sound of Kieran’s voice.
He’s pacing around the living room with his phone pressed to his ear. His black shirt is taut against his muscled back, and he’s rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, and I catch the tendons in his forearms flexing as he curls his hand into a fist.
He looks seconds away from putting it through a wall.
“I don’t care what it takes, find him!” He hangs up, curses, then drags a hand down his face.
When he finally turns around to find me standing in the doorway, something in his expression softens, but only slightly.
“Hey.”
“Everything okay?” I step carefully into the room, afraid one wrong move might set him off again.
He exhales heavily, shaking his head as he pockets his phone. “Not really. Cormac’s…missing.”
“Missing?”
“His phone’s been disconnected.”
“Are you sure he just didn’t want to go off the grid for a while?”
“It’s not just the phone. Ronan and I searched his office and found some evidence that points to him being the mole.”
I frown. “Cormac? Are you sure?”
Kieran’s jaw tightens as he glances over to the wall of bookcases, where dozens of family photos are displayed. It isn’t lost on me that after a certain age, Cormac stopped appearing in them.
“No. But I should’ve known. Deep down, I knew he was hiding something. I just never thought it would be this big.” His hands curl into fists at his sides, frustration radiating off of him in waves.
“Are you sure someone’s not trying to frame him?” I don’t know why I’m defending Cormac.
I barely know him, and yet I can see the pain it causes Kieran to consider that his own brother might have been responsible for their father’s death. Betrayal doesn’t cut much deeper than that.
“No. All signs point back to him.”
