Chapter 20
Kori
Rory takes us on a circuitous route, avoiding main roads and occasionally checking his rearview mirror with a vigilance that makes my stomach tighten.
I’ve never been followed before—at least not that I know of—and I find myself glancing over my shoulder at passing cars, wondering if any of them contain Russians looking for Kane’s mysterious sister.
“So,” I say, breaking the tense silence that’s fallen over us, “is someone going to explain what exactly we’re walking into?”
Kane and Rory exchange a look that does nothing to calm my nerves.
“The border regions are... complicated,” Rory begins, his eyes never leaving the road. “During the Troubles, a lot of properties changed hands. Some officially, some not.”
“And Dragon Castle?” I prompt.
“It belonged to the MacGallan family for generations,” Kane explains, twisting in his seat to face me. “Then, during the height of the conflict, it was abandoned. At least, that’s the official story.”
“And the unofficial story?”
Kane’s expression darkens. “That’s what we’re trying to find out.”
“The castle has a reputation,” Rory adds. “Local legend says it’s haunted, which has kept most people away. But there have always been rumors about what actually goes on there.”
“What kind of rumors?” I ask, though I’m not entirely sure I want to know.
“Smuggling,” Kane says bluntly. “Arms dealing. The usual border activities during a conflict. And after.”
I absorb this information, trying to reconcile it with the family I’ve spent the last day with. They seem normal enough—dysfunctional, certainly, but not like international criminals.
“And your father—I mean, Tomas—was involved in this?”
Kane shrugs, but the casualness of the gesture feels forced. “Maybe. Probably. The MacGallans have always operated in gray areas.”
“We’re legitimate businesspeople now,” Rory protests, sounding genuinely offended.
“With occasionally illegitimate side ventures,” Kane adds dryly.
Rory doesn’t contradict him, which I find more concerning than if he’d denied it.
“And the Russians?” I press. “What do they have to do with all this?”
“According to the letter, Tomas ‘stole’ something from them thirty-three years ago,” Kane says. “My sister is all that we know of. Which means either she’s Russian, or she was somehow important to them.”
“A hostage?” I suggest that the word feels melodramatic as it leaves my lips.
“Maybe,” Kane concedes. “Or maybe she’s the daughter of someone important. Someone who would pay to get her back.”
“But Tomas kept her instead?” That doesn’t align with the limited impression I’ve formed of Kane’s biological father.
“We don’t know,” Rory says, taking a sharp turn onto an even narrower road. “That’s what we’re hoping to find out at the castle. If Tomas left another clue, or if—” He cuts himself off, glancing at Kane.
“If what?” I ask.
“If he’s there,” Kane finishes quietly. “If this whole treasure hunt has been leading us to him all along.”
The possibility hangs in the air between us. I watch Kane’s profile, trying to gauge how he feels about potentially meeting the father he never knew was his. His expression is carefully blank, but there’s tension in the set of his shoulders, in the way his fingers drum against his thigh.
“And what would that mean?” I ask carefully. “If he is there?”
Kane’s laugh is short and humorless. “Good question. I haven’t decided if I want to hug him or punch him.”
“Both are an option,” Rory suggests helpfully.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Kane says, but there’s a ghost of a smile on his lips now.
We drive in silence for a while, the landscape gradually changing as we head north. The lush green fields give way to rougher terrain, and the villages we pass through become smaller, more isolated. The sky darkens as evening approaches, and gathering clouds promise rain.
My phone buzzes again—Mark, undoubtedly—but I ignore it. Whatever crisis he’s having can wait. Right now, I’m on my way to an abandoned castle, a potentially haunted castle. Mark's drama seems positively mundane in comparison.
“We’re about an hour out,” Rory announces, checking the GPS on his phone. “Declan and the others should be approaching from the east.”
His phone rings just as he says it. He connects the call through the Bluetooth system of the SUV.
“How’s it going?” Declan asks.
“All good, clear sailing so far,” Rory responds. “How about you?”
“So far so good— Oh shit. We’ve got a tail. I gotta let you go.”
The line goes dead, and we drive on in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.
Declan
“Kat, how many are in the car?” I ask as I take a sharp right around the country road.
She produces a set of binoculars from her purse, then turns in her seat and looks out the back window. “Ah, from what I can see, at least three. One is holding a shotgun.”
“Fuck,” I mutter as I lean forward, grabbing the Glock from my waistband. I hold it over my shoulder and pass it to her. “Here. Safety is on.”
I look over at Wren. The worry on her face kills me, and I want nothing more than to take her away from this life.
I reach over and take hold of her hand. She grips my mine tightly in hers as she reaches into her purse with her other hand and produces an identical Glock to mine.
She gives me a watery smile. “You’re a better shot than me, and I’m a better getaway driver. Switch me spots.”
I nod and unbuckle my seatbelt.
“Okay, on the count of three,” I said, one hand gripping the wheel. “One, two—”
A bullet whistled through the rear window, spraying glass across the back seat.
“Screw three!” I yanked the wheel hard right, forcing our pursuers to swerve. At eighty miles an hour, Wren and I played the most dangerous musical chairs ever: she slid under me while I half-jumped over the console, my knee smashing into the gearshift.
“Jesus Christ!” I yelped, my voice higher than I ever knew possible. “My balls!”
“Focus, Declan!” Kat shouted from the back, leaning out the passenger window with my Glock. She fired two shots, and the trailing Suburban veered wildly.
Wren handled the wheel like a pro, carving sharp angles that made my stomach lurch. “Plan?” she asked, eyes locked on the road.
“Plan? The plan was a quiet drive to meet up with the others. Maybe lunch afterwards!” I rolled down my window, wind blasting my face as I aimed. “Now we’re in a god-damn action movie!”
The black Suburban with tinted windows roared up beside us. The passenger window slid down, revealing a man with a thick accent and a grim determination on his face.
“Who are these assholes?” I squinted through the spray from a mudpuddle coming off the tread of their tire.
“They don’t look Russian,” Kat yelled.
Before I could reply, the Suburban rammed our side, metal screaming against metal. I nearly dropped the Glock as the car fishtailed.
“Shoot their tires!” Wren shouted, white-knuckled on the wheel.
“I’m trying! It’s not easy!” I fired, missing spectacularly and pinging their side mirror. “See?”
A second shot zinged past my ear, the roar of displaced air rattling my skull.
“Oh, hell no,” I muttered. Ahead was a narrow bridge barely wide enough for one vehicle. “Wren! When I say now, slam the brakes.”
She nodded, knuckles whitening.
The Suburban edged ahead, trying to cut us off.
“NOW!”
Wren stomped the brakes. Our tires screeched as the Suburban shot forward. Leaning out the window, I squeezed three rounds into its rear tire. Rubber exploded in a deafening crack.
Their vehicle spun out of control, fishtailing into the bridge railing. It flipped onto its nose, stood upright for a moment, then crashed upside down into the shallow creek below.
Wren pulled to the shoulder. All three of us sat panting, staring at the wreck.
“Holy shit,” I whispered. “That actually worked.”
Kat leaned forward between the seats, her face flushed with adrenaline. “That was some driving, Wren.”
“Thanks, I honestly didn’t think I could drive on the opposite side of the road. Everything is backwards.”
I looked at Wren—my wife, the only woman I ever wanted—her face transformed from terror to something feral, primal. Her pupils dilated black, swallowing the green of her irises. “Rain check on lunch?” I managed, throat dry.
She didn't answer. Just lunged across the console, fingers digging into my hair, and crushed her mouth against mine. Her teeth caught my bottom lip, drawing blood I could taste as she devoured me like a woman starved.
I break away, gasping, my lip throbbing where her teeth broke skin. I run my fingers through her hair, pulling her in for another kiss.
“Seriously?!” We hear from the backseat as Kat shoves open her door. “You have five minutes.”
The the car door slams behind her as I devour Wren.
Kori
“Any more activity reported near the castle?” Kane asks.
Rory shakes his head. “Nothing since that last call. But that doesn’t mean they’re not there.”
“They?” I ask.
“Russians,” Rory clarifies. “Or whoever else might be interested in what Tomas hid.”
“Great,” I mutter. “Just what every vacation needs—a potential standoff with international criminals.”
Kane turns to look at me again, his expression concerned. “You can still back out. We could drop you in the next town, get you a room for the night.”
The offer is tempting—more tempting than I want to admit. But the thought of sitting alone in some strange hotel room while Kane and his family walk into potential danger doesn’t sit right with me.
“I’m coming with you,” I say firmly. “I’ve come this far.”
“Your funeral,” Rory chirps.
“Not helping,” Kane growls.
Rory shrugs. “Just being realistic. We don’t know what we’re walking into.”
“All the more reason to stick together,” I point out. “Safety in numbers, right?”
“Unless we’re all walking into a trap,” Rory counters.
“Again, not helping,” Kane says, more forcefully this time.