Chapter 25
Kane
Declan studies the map a moment longer, then straightens with an unexpected sigh. His shoulders drop slightly as he shakes his head.
“No,” he says finally. “We’re not doing this. Not yet.”
I stare at him in disbelief. “What do you mean, ‘not yet’? Our sister is out there—”
“And she’s been out there for years,” Declan interrupts, his voice unusually measured. “If Dad has kept her hidden this long, rushing in blindly could put her at risk. We need to approach this carefully.”
“Since when are you the voice of caution?” I demand, anger bubbling up. “You’ve been pushing this whole treasure hunt from the start.”
“I’m not saying we abandon the search,” Declan clarifies. “I’m saying we need to gather more information before we go charging into the mountains. If these Russians are as dangerous as Dad claims, we need a plan.”
I want to argue, to insist we leave immediately, but there’s a logic to his words I can’t dismiss. Still, every minute we delay feels like another minute Ella remains in limbo.
“What do you suggest?” I ask tightly.
“We take a day or two. Regroup. Do some research on this Viktor Petrov, figure out if he’s still a threat.” Declan rubs his temples. “We’ve been running on adrenaline since we found that first letter. We need clear heads for what comes next.”
Wren nods in agreement. “He’s right, Kane. We’re all exhausted, and exhaustion leads to mistakes.”
I look at Kori, seeking her opinion. Her eyes meet mine, steady and thoughtful.
“A short pause might not be a bad idea,” she says gently.
I exhale slowly, letting go of some of the tension in my shoulders. “Fine. Where do we regroup?”
“Let’s head back to that first hotel we stayed at when we arrived,” Declan suggests. “The one near Malin Head.”
While Declan steps outside to make the call, I pace the conference room, unable to settle. Kori watches me from her seat at the table, concern evident in her eyes.
“She’s waited this long,” she says softly. “A day or two won’t make a difference.”
“I know,” I admit. “It’s just... now that I know she’s real, that she’s out there somewhere, waiting feels impossible.”
Declan returns, looking frustrated. “The hotel is fully booked. Some technology convention has taken over the entire place.”
“Now what?” Rory asks.
Before anyone else can suggest alternatives, Kori speaks up. “You could all stay at Wavecrest. There’s plenty of room, private, and close to the Wicklow Mountains. We would need to stop and get some food in the house.”
I stop pacing, surprised by her offer. “Are you sure? That’s a lot of people to impose on you.”
She smiles, a slight but genuine curve of her lips. “It’s not an imposition. There's bedrooms and plenty of sofas to sleep on.”
“That’s very generous,” Wren says. “Thank you.”
And so, it’s decided. We’ll spend a few days at Wavecrest, researching Viktor Petrov and planning our approach to finding Ella. I’m still chafing at the delay, but as we drive back toward the coast, with Kori beside me in the passenger seat, I find my anxiety gradually easing.
“What changed your mind?” I ask her when we’re alone in the car. “About the delay, I mean.”
She considers this for a moment. “I think... I know what it’s like to rush into confrontation without thinking. When I found that photo of Mark and Lana, I immediately booked a flight to Ireland. I didn’t confront either of them, didn’t make a plan. I just ran.”
“And you regret that?”
“Not entirely,” she says, gazing out at the passing countryside. “But I wonder sometimes if I should have stayed, forcing them to face what they’d done. Take control of the narrative instead of letting them write it without me.”
Her words sink in, resonating with something inside me. Taking control of the narrative—isn’t that what I’ve been trying to do since finding that first letter? Instead of letting Tomas’s secrets define me, I’m actively pursuing the truth on my terms.
“You’re pretty wise for an Airplane Girl,” I tell her, earning a smile that warms me from the inside out.
The next three days at Wavecrest fall into an unexpected rhythm.
Mornings are spent around the dining room table, with laptops and phones as we dig into Viktor Petrov’s background.
Rory proves particularly adept at this research, unearthing details about the Russians’ business empire that range from concerning to downright alarming.
“He’s technically retired,” Rory explains on our second day, “but his son Mikhail runs everything now. Same operations, different names on the letterhead.”
“And what exactly are these operations?” Kori asks where she’s making coffee.
Rory and Declan exchange a look that speaks volumes. “On paper, import-export, shipping, some real estate,” Rory says carefully. “Off paper... Well, let’s say the Petrovs have never been too concerned with the legality of their business ventures.”
“So, they’re still dangerous,” I conclude.
“Potentially,” Declan agrees. “But they’re also legitimate businessmen now, with reputations to protect. They can’t just send hitmen after a woman who was supposed to marry into the family twenty years ago.”
“You hope,” Wren mutters.
Afternoons, we split up. Declan and Wren continue their research, while Rory and Kat explore the surrounding area, ostensibly scouting for potential threats but mostly enjoying what amounts to an unexpected vacation. And me? I find myself drawn to Kori like a magnet to true north.
We walked to the beach, where she found me buried.
We hike along the coastal cliffs, the wind whipping her choppy hair into even more chaotic patterns.
We sit on her porch in the evenings, watching the sun sink into the sea while sharing stories—her marketing career in Toronto, my nomadic existence before settling in the city not more than a half-hour drive from her house, her childhood in London, my complicated relationship with the man I thought was my father.
On the third day, the rain keeps us indoors. The others have gone into the village for supplies, leaving Kori and me alone in the cottage. We’re in the kitchen, making lunch, when she asks the question I’ve been avoiding.
“Are you afraid to find her? Your sister?”
I pause in the act of slicing bread, considering my answer. “Yes,” I finally admit. “What if she wants nothing to do with us? What if she blames me for Tomas staying away all these years?”
“Why would she blame you?”
“Because he was protecting us both. If I didn’t exist, maybe he could have been with her openly.”
Kori shakes her head, stepping closer to me. “That’s not how it works. Tomas made his choices. Neither you nor Ella is responsible for them.”
She’s so close now that I can see the flecks of amber in her brown eyes and smell the subtle scent of her shampoo. Without thinking, I set down the knife and reach for her, my hands finding her waist. She doesn’t pull away.
“How did you get so smart?” I murmur, drawing her closer.
“Trial and error,” she says with a small smile. “Mostly error.”
And then I’m kissing her, or she’s kissing me—it doesn’t matter who starts it. What matters is the way she melts against me, the soft sound she makes when my hands slide up her back, the heat that builds between us with an intensity that surprises us both.
We stumble from the kitchen to the living room, never breaking contact. Her hands are under my shirt now, exploring the contours of my chest while I trail kisses down her neck. We collapse onto the sofa, her beneath me, her legs wrapping around my waist as I press against her.
“Is this okay?” I ask, pulling back just enough to see her face.
Her answer is to pull me down for another kiss, her hands now working at the buttons of my shirt.
I help her, shrugging it off before reaching for the hem of her sweater.
She sits up slightly, allowing me to pull it over her head, revealing a simple black bra that contrasts beautifully with her skin.
“You’re gorgeous,” I tell her, meaning it more than I’ve ever meant anything.
A blush spreads across her cheeks, but she doesn’t look away. Instead, she reaches for me again, pulling me back to her with a confidence that makes my heart race. My hands find the clasp of her bra, and she arches to help me remove it.
We’re so lost in each other that we don’t hear the front door open. Don’t register the sound of footsteps in the entryway. It’s only when a man’s voice—unfamiliar to me but clearly not to Kori—cuts through our haze that we freeze.
“What the fuck is going on?”
Kori pushes me back with such force I nearly fall off the sofa. Her face, flushed with desire seconds ago, now drains of color as she stares at the doorway.
“Mark,” she whispers, scrambling to cover herself with her discarded sweater.
I turn to see a man standing there—tall, expensively dressed, with the conventionally handsome features that belong in a corporate headshot. His expression is a mixture of shock and fury as his gaze moves from Kori to me and back again.
“I tried calling,” he says, his voice tightly controlled despite the anger radiating from him. “I must have left twenty messages.”
“How did you find me?” Kori asks, her voice small but steady.
“Jen told me you were staying at Wavecrest. It wasn’t hard to get directions in the village.” His eyes narrow as they focus on me. “Who the hell is this?”
I stand, acutely aware of my shirtless state but refusing to show embarrassment. “Kane,” I say simply, not offering my hand or any further explanation.
Mark looks me up and down, taking in the tattoos, the scars, everything that marks me as different from him. His lip curls slightly. “This is what you ran to? Some Irish drifter?”
“Don’t,” Kori warns, standing now with her sweater clutched to her chest. “Don’t you dare judge me, not after what you did.”
“What I did was a mistake,” Mark says, his tone shifting to something more placating. “What you’re doing is... is...”
“Moving on?” I suggest, unable to help myself.
Mark’s eyes flash dangerously. “Stay out of this. This is between me and my wife.”
“Soon-to-be ex-wife,” Kori corrects, her voice stronger now. “I told you on the phone, Mark. It’s over. I’ve already contacted a lawyer.”
“Because of one mistake?” he demands. “You’re throwing away five years of marriage over one mistake?”
“Sleeping with my sister wasn’t ‘one mistake,’” Kori says, and I can hear the pain beneath her anger. “It was a betrayal of everything we built together. Everything I thought we were.”
Mark takes a step toward her, and I instinctively move to block his path.