Chapter 27
Logan
This is the reason.
This is the real reason I gave up on God.
Like some divine sight that I didn’t yet see, but knew deep down was coming. She was coming.
Nuala Quinn crashed into my life when I needed her most, and while she has turned it upside down, this was the plan all along.
God’s plan.
He didn’t abandon me.
He set me on a path that led to the ultimate salvation. The ultimate redemption.
As much as that reality is crystal clear now, I don’t forgive Him. Chris had to die so that I could have this. He knew it would be the only thing that would push me out of the church. If I had met Nuala on the street, wearing the collar, I would’ve smiled at her and moved on.
Moved on with my lonely life, being the white sheep in a family full of criminals.
I don’t forgive Him, but I understand now. I understand that this wasn’t just about me. In fact, maybe it wasn’t about me at all, but about Nuala. She needed me.
She needs me in ways that I couldn’t be there for her as a priest, only as a man.
“Shower,” she murmurs, interrupting my dark thoughts. “And then I need food before we face your uncle.”
“Done,” I say, shrugging off the melancholy mood and leaping off the bed. “Anything for my woman.”
“Your woman,” she murmurs with a soft smile, following me to the bathroom. “My man.”
“Your everything,” I say, turning to her briefly before turning the shower on.
The water pounds down, and I test the temperature before I help her step under the spray, my hands skimming over her wet skin as I reach for the soap. She shivers when I trail my fingers down her spine, washing away the sweat and tension from last night.
“Turn around,” I murmur, wanting to see her face.
She obeys, water streaming down her body. I can’t resist cupping her face, my thumbs brushing over her cheekbones. The vulnerability in her green eyes nearly undoes me all over again.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks, reading something in my expression.
I consider lying. Keeping the dark thoughts about God’s plan and Chris’s death to myself. But she’s mine now, and that means no walls between us.
“You,” I say, which isn’t a lie. “How you changed everything.”
Her hands flatten against my chest. “Good change or bad change?”
“Necessary change.” I lean down, kissing her forehead. “The kind that saves you even when you don’t know you need saving.”
She studies my face, searching for something she must find, but she smiles but doesn’t say anything else.
We wash each other slowly, hands exploring soapy skin in silence.
When we’re clean, I wrap her in a towel and myself in another. She sits on the edge of the bed while I hand her the only set of clothes she has with her. We are both in yesterday’s threads, but it is what it is.
When we’re dressed, I ask, “Ready?”
“No,” she admits, checking that the USB is in her hoodie pocket. “But let’s get this over with.”
I take her hand, lacing our fingers together. The simple contact grounds me, reminds me what I’m fighting for. We leave the safety of our room and head downstairs to face whatever Connor has planned for us.
The dining room smells of coffee and bacon. Connor sits at the head of the massive mahogany table, already dressed in an expensive suit despite the early hour. He looks up when we enter, his eyes taking in our rumpled clothes and the way Nuala stays close to my side.
A housekeeper appears with plates of food—eggs, bacon, toast, everything perfectly prepared.
“Eat first,” Connor says, cutting into his eggs. “Business after.”
I don’t argue. Nuala picks at her food, her appetite clearly affected by nerves. I eat quickly, efficiently, knowing we’ll need our strength for whatever comes next.
“So,” Connor says once we’ve finished eating. “Tell me about last night.”
I lean back in my chair, my hand finding Nuala’s thigh under the table. “Well, we found out who Lisa is. Lisa Brennan. She arrived shortly after we did. She claims the notebook belongs to her.”
“Brennan.” Connor’s expression doesn’t change, but from his tone, I know there is going to be absolute hell to pay.
“She made herself look like me,” Nuala says, her voice steady despite the tremor I feel in her leg. “Used me as a body double so she could fake her own death long enough to get away from whoever ordered the hit.”
“Clever,” Connor muses, sipping his coffee. “And ruthless. The Brennans have always been ambitious, but this is a new level of audacity.”
Nuala hands me the USB under the table, and I slide it across the polished wood. “We got Stacey’s files. There is something on there that Lisa wanted. Something that either implicates her or gives her leverage over someone. We need someone with know-how to go through it.”
Connor picks up the small device, turning it over in his fingers like it’s a grenade with the pin pulled. “Where is she now?”
“Got away. But not before we put down her man.”
“Messy.”
“Necessary.” I keep my voice level, matter of fact. “She won’t stop coming for us as long as she thinks we have the notebook.”
“Then we give her the notebook.”
“What?” Nuala snaps, standing up. “No! That’s my leverage to stay alive. If we hand it over, she will kill me for knowing too much.”
Connor gives her a condescending stare that she doesn’t seem to notice. “Dear girl,” he says. “Let the men handle this.”
“Oh, you didn’t,” I mutter as Nuala’s face goes puce.
“Excuse me?” Nuala’s voice drops to a dangerous whisper. “Let the men handle this?”
I close my eyes, already knowing this is about to go sideways fast. Connor has just made the one mistake you don’t make with Nuala Quinn—he’s dismissed her like she’s irrelevant, just when she was starting to feel like she mattered.
She will cling to that feeling with both hands, even if it is potentially ill-advised.
“You heard me,” Connor says, utterly oblivious to the storm brewing across from him. “This is business now. Dangerous business. You’ve done your part.”
Nuala’s laugh is sharp enough to cut glass. “My part? My fucking part?” She leans forward, her hands braced on the table. “I’m the one who found the notebook. I’m the one Lisa tried to sacrifice. I’m the one who got shot at last night while you sat here in your mansion drinking expensive whiskey.”
“Nuala,” I warn, but she’s already past listening.
She doesn’t take her eyes off Connor. “Let me make something very clear to you, Mr. O’Neill.
You know about that notebook because of me.
Lisa Brennan is hunting me, not you. The Garda will be looking for me when they find that body Logan left behind.
This is my life on the line, and you will forgive me if I don’t trust you to save it. ”
Connor sets his coffee cup down with deliberate care. The sound echoes in the suddenly tense room. “You didn’t let me finish.”
“Finish?” she spits out. “Finish?”
Connor rises as well, a power move that forces Nuala to tilt her head back to look at him looming over her. I stand up, ready to interfere physically if things head that way. But I know Connor well enough to know he has a plan.
“We give her the notebook after we make a copy of it,” he says. “It’s the first thing you do in situations like this.”
Nuala fumes on the spot but has nothing to say because how would she know?
“Oh, is it?” she grits out, making me stifle my snort of amusement.
“Yes, it is,” Connor growls. “You see, copying the notebook and handing it back to her gives her nothing. Her leverage is taken away once copies of that notebook are circulated to every head of family in the Dublin underworld. She will move to the very top of everyone’s hit list, and not a single Brennan in this city can save her. Understand?”
Nuala sinks back into her chair, looking resigned. “Yes, I understand. Sorry.”
Connor lets out a noise that sounds a bit like a cross between a scoff and a laugh. “Apology accepted. I’ll get someone over here with the scanner, and then we can go through the USB and see what Ms. Brennan was so eager for you not to find.” He sits down and picks up his coffee cup again.
I sit as well and glance at Nuala. She is chewing her bottom lip, looking mortified. “I’m sorry,” she blurts out. “I’m not used to… this…” She makes a circular motion with her finger.
Connor’s icy gaze lands on her and softens a bit. I smirk because I know what’s coming. “First rule of the house, Ms. Quinn. Don’t keep apologizing.”