Chapter 19 Keira
KEIRA
The SUV pulls up to Café Vienne, a cozy spot tucked between brownstones on a quiet street in Back Bay. I picked it specifically because it's out of the way, somewhere we would feel comfortable talking without a hundred eyes on us.
I scheduled this meeting myself to make it look normal to any prying eyes at the office.
I'm meeting Helen Walsh, senior accountant at the Killaney Family Trust. She's worked with the foundation since before I graduated college, and my internal team flagged her as someone close with Shadowharbor. Not suspiciously close, just comfortable with them.
And right now, that's all it takes to catch my interest.
Octavian cuts the engine and steps out before I can even unbuckle my seatbelt. The door opens, cold air rushing in, and this time, he grabs my hand before I step out.
His palm is warm as he helps me out. My heels hit the pavement, and I'm about to let go when his fingers tighten around mine.
"Please don't do or plan anything to jeopardize yourself," he says, his voice low and serious. "And if I say anything, just listen, please."
I tilt my head up at him, surprised by the edge of something almost pleading in his tone. It's not an order. It's a request.
I lean in slightly. "I won't do anything reckless, don't worry. I won't make your job difficult today. You brought me coffee yesterday, so I'll take it easy on you."
I pull my hand away, but he grabs it again.
My breath catches.
For a moment, neither of us moves. His thumb brushes against the inside of my wrist, just once, and the touch sends electricity up my arm. His dark eyes search mine, like he was expecting me to fight him or snap back the way I usually do.
I swallow and force a smile, needing to break this tension before I do something stupid.
"Just wanted to hold my hand, huh?" I ask, my voice light and teasing.
Yet there's a large part of me that wants him to say yes.
His gaze drops to my lips for half a second before he lets go and steps to the side, shutting the car door. The movement brings him close, his shoulder brushing against mine, and I catch his cologne, the scent I've come to search for whenever he's near.
"Let's go," he says, nodding toward the café doors.
I walk ahead, and even though I don't look back, I feel him behind me. The heat from his hand on mine wraps around my arm, spreads across my body, and pools low in my belly.
Octavian takes a few big steps and grabs the handle of the door, opening it for me.
I look up at him and smile as I walk in.
Inside, the smell of espresso and fresh pastries fills the air. Soft jazz music is playing from the overhead speakers, and only a few tables are occupied. A man with dirty blonde hair is on his laptop writing, and an older couple is sharing a croissant.
Helen waves from a corner booth, her dark hair tucked neatly behind her ears and a warm, genuine smile on her face.
I slide into the seat across from her, and Octavian doesn't follow me to the table. Instead, he takes a seat at another table a few feet away, his back to the wall, his eyes scanning the room like everyone is a potential threat.
No more standing outside, I guess.
Helen leans forward, her manicured nails tapping against the table. "Keira, it's so good to see you. I was thrilled when you reached out. Always love to chat with our fearless leader."
I laugh. "I don't know about fearless, but I'm glad you could meet," I say, keeping my tone light and friendly. "I've been meaning to connect with more of the Trust's team, especially now after everything that's happened."
"Of course, sweetheart," she says, reaching across the table and patting my hand. "The explosion was horrible. I can't believe it. I was so relieved most everyone survived. How are you doing? You look great."
I smile, and a waiter comes over and slides a cappuccino in front of me and an americano in front of Helen.
"Oh, I don’t think that's hers," Helen says to the waiter and then looks at me, "I didn't order you anything because I wasn't sure.”
“This was ordered by him,” the waiter says and nods toward Octavian.
"Oh, he’s with me. This is perfect. Thank you," I say, and the waiter leaves.
I take a sip, and we start talking lightly at first. The usual stuff: fundraiser logistics, donor thank-you emails, small talk about the Trust's current campaigns. She mentions a few new grant applications, some expansion projects, a partnership with a local clinic in Boston. All routine.
Then I steer the conversation where I want it to go.
"That all sounds so amazing. You know, the more we do, the more I feel like I lose some connections with our partners," I say and take another sip of my drink. "Do you ever work with Shadowharbor directly?" I ask, tilting my head like it's casual curiosity.
"All the time," she says without hesitation. "They're the backbone of our outreach program, among other things. Funding comes from them, mostly. They do all types of projects."
I nod. "Oh really, like what?"
"Oh, God, all sorts. Shadowharbor seems to fund everything.
Clinics, gyms, schools, and lately, political reform campaigns.
Trying to push out some of the older voices, I think.
Make room for new leadership here. I don't know if that's good or bad," she stops and takes a sip of her coffee, "but they're very invested in the community.
Honestly, I think they do more for Boston than the city itself sometimes. "
"That's impressive," I say, leaning back casually. "I heard something recently, though. Someone mentioned they also fund something called Morrígan or something like that. Ring a bell?"
Helen's eyes flick upward, just for a second.
"A little. Once or twice, really," she says carefully. "Some of their reps have these unusual ideas. Fringe types. They think Boston was stolen, and that everyone running it is illegitimate or imposters. I think that's why they started funding these campaigns."
I keep my face neutral, even though my pulse kicks up. "What?" I say and force a sarcastic laugh.
She shrugs. "I know. There are just a few that openly say that, though. I don't know much more. I'm not really into talking politics, so I don't engage with it. They sensed it, and that was that."
"Yeah." I nod like it's nothing, but my mind is racing. The Morrígan Order. The black feathers. Warehouse attacks. Declan. Bridget's body. The reason I have a six-foot-six enforcer a few tables away.
"And Shadowharbor tolerates that? People being so open with their views like that?"
She shrugs again. "They tolerate a lot if the money's flowing. Some of these people are executives, some are low level. I guess if they just talk about it among other believers, it never becomes an issue."
I nod again, taking a sip of coffee. "Well, so interesting for such a large company."
She laughs. "You know, on the topic of them, something I think is interesting happened about two or three weeks ago," she says.
I pause. "Oh? What was it?"
"Well, I was paying one of their routine invoices, and the business name at the top wasn't Shadowharbor. It said Skyjester LLC."
My brows shoot up. "Skyjester?"
"Yes, and when I called to tell them, they were frantic. Like I'd said a word I wasn't supposed to see. They said it was a mistake. I told them not to worry, but they were adamant I shred it and they'd send me a new invoice."
I sit back slowly. "Did you?"
"Shred it? Of course. That's what they asked." She stops and laughs. "I'm a sucker for detective stories, but I'm sure it's nothing. Just corporate weirdness, you know?"
I smile. "Yeah, probably."
I'll definitely be looking into Skyjester LLC.
Why would they have a separate company name listed on their invoice? A shell? A front?
Whatever it is, they didn't want it seen.
I change the subject, and we start chatting about her life. Her husband's job, her daughter's wedding, just normal stuff.
"Well," I say, looking at my watch, "I have another meeting I need to prepare for."
"Oh, absolutely, I should get back to the office myself. I just love talking with you," she says and finishes her coffee.
"I agree, I had a great time. You're really helpful with things."
She smiles warmly. "I try."
Helen stands, pulling on her coat.
"I'll take care of these. You have a great day," I say.
"Oh, wow, thank you. You too," she says and walks away.
I sit in the booth for a moment, staring at the table.
Skyjester LLC.
Finally. My first real lead.
I pull out my phone and check for messages. Nothing.
I call my dad for a second time today. Straight to voicemail. I hang up without leaving a message. He never checks them.
I call my mom again, same thing, but she'll get hers.
"Hey, Mom, it's me again," I say, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice. "Give me a call when you can. Love you."
I hang up and stare at the screen.
They've been completely avoiding me, going through Callum for everything. I know my dad's all business and serious, but Mom usually breaks code. She always checks in.
The silence is starting to scare me more than I want to admit.
I slide out of the booth, and Octavian is already there, holding the door open for me.
"Did you get what you were after?" he asks as we step outside.
I raise an eyebrow. "Oh, you're on my side now?"
He doesn't answer right away, and I sigh.
Keira, you need to chill and stop getting so defensive and worked up.
"Sorry," I say quickly. "It's—"
"I've never not been on your side," he cuts in. "Like I said, I just won't let you do stupid shit like running down men across Boston."
I stop walking and turn to face him. "Won't let me?"
He steps forward. Close. Towering over me, his shadow swallowing mine. "No."
I should snap back. Should say something smart, but no. I think about him shirtless in my gym, the way his muscles flexed with every movement, the way his sweaty skin caught the light.
My gaze drops to his lips and then back up. I want to both slap and kiss him at the same time, and not just out of curiosity.
Something about the way he's looking at me makes me wonder how his lips taste, and what I'd do if I ever found out.
I just roll my eyes. "Let's go."
As we start walking again, my phone rings.
I pull it out, hoping it's my mom, but it's Declan.
"Hey," I answer as Octavian opens my door.
"Hey, Keira," Declan's voice is focused. "We've been working on the footage from the main entrance and ballroom," he says. "The guy Octavian chased and killed, I'm pretty sure he's the one who set the charge, but that's not the interesting part."
"What is?"
"We found another video. From the security desk. Of someone letting him in."
"Okay," I say, unsure what to make of it as Octavian shuts my door and slides into the driver's seat.
"It was one of your employees."
My stomach drops. "Are you serious?"
"Yeah. You can see he's wearing one of the Trust badges, the ones with full access. Still cross-referencing faces, but I'm going to send you some images in a few hours. Tell me if you recognize him, okay? We think he might be a mole working at the Trust. You'll know better."
A fucking mole inside the Trust. Jesus.
"Okay, sure. Send them as soon as you have them," I say, my voice steady even though my mind is spinning.
I almost tell him about Skyjester, but I stop myself. I can dig first. See where it leads. If it's solid, I'll bring it to the table. But if it's nothing, I won't waste anyone's time.
"Alright. I'll text you when they're ready," Declan says. "And Keira?"
"Yeah?"
"I love you. Be careful."
"I will. You too."
He hangs up, and I stare at the phone for a moment.
Skyjester. A mole. My parents still avoiding me.
I don't know what I'm walking into next.
But I know I don't want to walk into it alone.
I turn to Octavian, who's watching me with those dark, unreadable eyes.
"Take me home, please," I say.
He nods and puts the SUV into drive, and as we leave, I can feel it again.
That tension simmering between us.
Not just the kind that happens when you argue with someone who wants to throw himself between you and a bomb.
The kind that happens when you're not sure if the next time you touch them, you'll stop.
This isn't just protection anymore. It's way more fucking complicated than that.
And if I'm not careful, it's going to swallow me whole.