Nothing more.
I type a reply and erase it twice before sending.
Good.
The word feels insufficient. If Patrick planted that bomb, then he’s been playing a longer game than I allowed myself to believe. He waited until my guard was down, until I was building something stable, and he cut it at the root.
My gaze drifts toward the ring safe across the room, the one I haven’t opened in over a year.
Eva trusted me to keep her safe. Riley trusts me now.
The difference is I know exactly who I’m fighting this time.
The office door opens without a knock, and Nikolas steps in, face tight.
“There’s movement on the western docks,” he says. “Patrick’s pushing a shipment through tonight. No paperwork. No clearance.”
I rise slowly and reach for the folder still warm from Conor’s hand.
“Call the harbor master,” I say. “And bring me every camera angle you’ve got.”
Roarke’s replacement nods once and moves, phone already in his hand, and I stay where I am with the file open on the desk, eyes on the grain of the wood instead of the page. The room is full again within seconds, men stepping in and out with updates,paper, names, times, partial sightings, and every one of them wants an answer now.
I give them one at a time.
“Lock east gate access after nineteen hundred.”
“Done.”
“No trucks rerouted without my approval.”
“Understood.”
“Get me the customs supervisor on Kinsella’s old lane.”
A second nod, another call placed, another set of boots crossing the hall.
By the time the door opens again, I expect Roarke’s replacement or Conall with camera pulls, but it’s Riley, and she stops in the doorway with one hand still on the frame like she came in fast and thought better of it the second she saw the room.
Her color is wrong. She looks steadier than this morning, but she still looks like she should be in bed.
“I need a minute,” she says, and her voice is calm, though I catch the edge under it.
Three of my men are still in the office, one by the map wall, one near the desk, one waiting with a tablet. I glance at her, then at the clock, then back at the men.
“Later,” I say. “Tonight.”
Her eyes flick to the others, then back to me. “Cillian.”
“I know,” I reply, softer now, and I step around the desk before the men can pretend they are not listening. “I’ll hear everything tonight, but I need to move on this now.”
She presses her lips together, and for half a second I think she might push, which I would almost respect if she did, but she doesn’t. She swallows once and nods.
“You should lie down,” I add. “You look like hell.”
That nearly gets a smile out of her, but it fades before it lands. “You always know how to make a girl feel cherished.”
“Go rest,” I say, and I touch her arm as I pass her, brief and low on purpose. “I’ll send for my mother to come over, and if you need anything before I’m back, you tell her, not the staff.”
