Tristan #2
Tyler shrugs, leaning up against a wall. “It’s not unheard of, but—”
“This was a nice plane,” Luis says. “Like we’re not talking about some mountain man hiding in the Alaskan bush.”
Ian agrees. “Think celebrities flying around.”
Someone who can afford that nice of a private jet isn’t taking a contract hit from a guy in London who sells weed. Cade is a lot more nefarious than people realize, but this is strange.
I rub my face. “Okay. Okay.”
Ian flicks the lighter on again.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Your girl is friends with Ren Callahan, right?”
“Oh, Jesus Christ.” I’m going to throttle him. “You came all the way from Dublin to set up a meeting with Ren. What are—” I roll my eyes when it hits me. “You’re trying to start up in New York as a triggerman. Does your brother know you’re here?”
“What’s my brother have to do with it?” Ian asks, not hiding the moodiness as well as he thinks.
“You’re not going near Fujimori’s,” I decide because fuck it. The last thing this city needs is Ian Hayes walking around. “He’s not going near Fujimori’s,” I tell Luis and Tyler, expecting them to help me enforce this new rule.
Tyler looks like he could care less. “I’ve got my shift in three hours. I will call and check in. I’ve told Luis what to be on the lookout for. And that thing about the plane. . . You do actually have some options.”
He’s right. I could call Ben. Getting rid of a private jet at the scene of a murder is right up Ren Callahan’s skillset.
But something stops me.
There’s another option. It kills me to say it, but it might be the option Isolde agrees with.
I’m going to have to call Hadrian.
“Can he crash at your place?” I ask Tyler, nodding at Ian. I know it’s testing Tyler’s tolerance when he lets out a long sigh.
“Seriously?” he asks.
“He’s not staying here,” I decide, another rule I make up on the spot.
“Why can’t I stay here?” Ian asks, offended.
Because I’m not having him in the same safe house as Isolde, and I’m serious about keeping him as far away from Fujimori’s as possible.
“You do realize Boris Akatov is trying to kill your father?” I tell Cain Murray’s son.
Ian shrugs. “So?”
“So?”
“Who the fuck hasn’t tried to kill my da.” He flicks the lighter again.
“Does your dad know you’re here?”
Ian stares at the flame. “Like he’d give a fuck.”
“Oh, Jesus.” Tyler rolls his eyes. “This is Ciaran’s brother?”
“Older brother.” Ian smiles wide, his eyes flicking down Tyler’s body in a way that makes my insides curdle. “I suppose going back to your place for the night isn’t that much of a hardship. You can even lock me up if you need to.”
Can’t wait until Ian figures out Tyler used to serve cocktails at a sex club.
Ian stands. Tall and lanky with pretty green hazel eyes, he likes to bat at the nearest attractive guy. No one ever recognizes him as Ciaran’s older brother, and not because his skin color is darker.
Ian wears a leather jacket, his vibe rock and roll. Ciaran strives toward his goals. Ian walks lackadaisically through life, stumbling from one thing to the next, normally with a cigarette dangling between his lips.
He’s Cain’s son through and through. Not that he’s spent much time with his dad.
I’m not sure what Ian thinks he’s achieving by showing up here. And I’m not happy that he tried to approach Isolde to set up a meeting with Ren.
Tyler lets out another sigh, but my best friend comes through for me. “Come on, Irish, let me save you from Tris.”
“I’ll let you save me anytime you want,” Ian replies in his Irish accent.
Tyler rolls his eyes and tells me, “I’ll add it to your tab.”
I clap his shoulder and squeeze. “Thank you.”
“Figure out what’s going on and tell me,” he requests. He never quite left the life behind, and it’s not because I keep calling him for help. And he’s right to want to know what’s going on.
The apartment is quiet after they leave. Luis’s dress shirt is wrinkled, and the first few buttons loose. He looks crestfallen, I’ll give him that.
“Do me a favor,” I ask quietly, “and go back to Isolde’s place. Get her favorites.”
She’s going to hate it when she realizes we’ve moved her out of her apartment.
“Cousin—”
I’m not sure why Luis left Isolde alone. I don’t want to think about how close someone came to killing her. Someone put a bullet through her.
I can’t focus on any of those things, though. I need my cousin. I choose not to give into the anger urging me to inspect this mishap closer.
My hand wraps around the door handle. “Just go now, Luis.”
My cousin takes his departure, shooting out like he can’t stand to be here either.
The bedroom is dark, the blinds drawn against the afternoon sun.
“Isolde, baby.” I smooth her hair back.
It’s not the purple nose that makes me upset. It’s the way her face is scrunched up like she’s trapped in a bad dream.
Her fingers curl tight around the blankets. I smooth her hair back, bending down so I’m even with the edge of the mattress.
“Iz,” I whisper. She doesn’t stir. My forehead touches the edge of the bed, and I take in deep breaths, reminding myself that she’s breathing too.
“He tried to get me on the plane.”
My head picks up. “Baby?”
But she’s gone again, diving into a fitful sleep.
I wipe under my eyes, standing back up. Then I go outside and call Hadrian.