An Irish Death (Gray Wolf: LEGACY #8)

CHAPTER ONE

“Why are we being brought here?” asked the woman in the cart. It was a wide, long cart being pulled by four oxen. Seventeen men and women were crammed into the cart, surrounded by wooden bars, locked with a steel bar.

“Shut ‘yer mouth,” snapped the guard.

“What is happening?” she whispered to a man beside her. He was much older, probably in his fifties at least. She was just a young girl, sixteen, with her life ahead of her.

Wandering the forests near her home, she was searching for berries to help her mother make a pie, when several men attacked her, dragging her to the cart.

It was her worst nightmare. She just knew they would rape her.

But they didn’t. They tied her to a nearby tree and then brought the cart around with several people inside.

It seemed they were making deliberate stops as they picked up different individuals. Young and old. Short and tall. Male and female. There was no rhyme or reason to any of it that she could see.

Up ahead was a dark, foreboding castle sitting on the edge of a cliff. The darkened towers made her fearful, the massive gate suddenly being lowered over the moat.

The old man leaned toward her.

“You must be quiet, lass. You might live longer if you are.”

“Might? I’ve done nothing wrong,” she whispered with tears in her eyes.

“Aye, aye,” he nodded. “But ‘tis a cruel and brutal master of this castle. He will not tolerate anyone looking at him, speaking to him, or denying him what he wants.”

“I don’t know him. I don’t know this place,” she cried. “I just want to go home. Me ‘mam will be worried for me.”

“Shhh,” he said wrapping a thin arm around her shoulder. “It’ll be alright now. Just don’t fight him.”

She stared at the muddy waters of a moat, her imagination taking her to places she didn’t want to be. What was in the dark water? What was in the dark castle? Was he really cruel and what did he want with her?

They passed the outer bailey, then the stables, the smell of manure nearly choking her. Passing through another set of smaller gates, they were now in the middle of the inner bailey.

The cart suddenly jerked to a halt and she pressed against the bars at the back of the cart. When the door was opened, they were ordered out one at a time, forced to stand in the center of the inner bailey.

She stared up at the imposing towers, the dark clouds and rain now making it more frightening than before. The elderly man who’d been so kind to her stood beside.

Hearing footsteps, she didn’t dare look up, heeding the old man’s advice. Then she heard the voice.

“He’s useless. Why waste my time?”

“I’m sorry, me Aire,” said the guard.

He stepped forward and with a thrust of his sword, the old man beside her was dead. She held in the scream she wanted to release, terrified that she would be next. She knew that an Aire was a clan chieftain or someone of influence. She didn’t dare go against him.

The words were repeated over and over. He or she was useless and then there was a pool of blood. One daring young man attempted to run but was brought down by a well-placed arrow to the back of his neck.

Daring to peek to the right and the left, she realized there were only four prisoners left. Herself, and three men.

“See if these four can last,” he chuckled. “If the lass doesn’t make it, you can have what’s left of her.”

****

“What’s that face for?” asked Luke staring at Cam and Eric.

“Do you remember a girl we went to high school with? Allison Broussard?” asked Eric.

“Yeah,” he nodded thinking deeply, trying to bring the face to the front of his memory. “What about her?”

“She called and left a message this morning. Her younger daughter, Aurora, was traveling through Ireland by herself, just sightseeing and disappeared. She asked if we would look into it for her,” said Eric.

“What did you tell her?” he asked.

“I told her we would check some things from our end first and if we had to make the trip to Ireland, we would. The boys are checking credit card charges, hotels, all the usual.”

“Broussard. Didn’t she marry?” frowned Luke.

“She did,” laughed Cam. “To a Broussard. Not related but still, very odd. He died of a heart attack or something about five years ago. Her daughter is mid-thirties, not married, no boyfriend, but has a successful career in day trading.”

“What the fuck is that?” frowned Luke.

“I don’t know all of it,” said Eric, “but according to Jean, day trading involves opening and closing positions in stocks, options, futures, currencies, or cryptocurrencies within a single trading day, ensuring no positions are held overnight. I guess it makes it harder to play the system.”

“Again, what the fuck does that mean?” asked Luke.

“Honestly?” smirked Eric. “No damn clue. Ask your uncle. But Allison didn’t think it had anything to do with her disappearance.”

“Well, let’s check it all and we’ll find out,” said Luke.

“Hey, I have some preliminary information,” said Hiro. They all nodded as the other man took his seat.

“Aurora Broussard arrived in Dublin nine days ago, checking into the Sherbourne Hotel, very nice, very upscale. She paid with a credit card and was supposed to be there six nights. When the maid when to clear the room, all her things were still there. The hotel said they left her a message on her cell phone but she didn’t return the call.

“It’s their practice to leave the belongings in the room for up to forty-eight hours.

If they don’t hear from the guest, they contact the authorities.

Apparently the mother did that the very next day.

She said Aurora called her like clockwork at 0700 her time.

When she didn’t call and didn’t answer her own phone, she called the police.

“None of her credit cards have been used. I cannot find a location for her phone and there is no record of her having checked into any other hotel, bed and breakfast, hostel, or anything else in all of Ireland.”

“What did she do that last day the hotel saw her?” asked Hex.

“Hotel concierge said that he arranged a private tour for her on the western coast of Ireland. It’s a service they frequently do business with and they have a great reputation.”

“Has anyone spoken to them?” asked Hex.

“That’s where we start getting weird vibes. The police said they couldn’t find the driver, Eoghan Walsh. He’s fifty-nine, a widower, no children, no pets. He’s been an independent tour guide for almost twenty years with a stellar reputation.”

“What the fuck is happening?” muttered Eric. A phone rang and Hiro held up his finger.

“Hold on. Legacy. Yes, that’s right. I see. I see. And the body? Got it.” He ended the call and looked at the four men.

“We’re going to Ireland, aren’t we?” frowned Luke. Hiro nodded.

“Someone damn sure is.”