Chapter 32 Nuala
Nuala
Iglare at the screen. The image isn’t crystal clear. It’s a reach, at best. But then, maybe not. I mean, it’s possible. My dad could be anyone, so why not this guy? “If this is true, that makes Lisa what? My half-sister? My cousin?”
“Probably cousin. Brennan has two children, both in their forties,” Connor says. “We can find that out easily enough.”
I nod slowly, ignoring the look Logan is giving me.
This is a surprise, sure, but it’s not like I need to sit down or anything.
It is what it is. Not once did I ever wonder who he was or what he was doing.
He was a sperm donor, and I had no need to daydream about what might’ve been. I was too busy trying to survive.
“I’m okay,” I say, waving my hand at him.
“Are you sure? This is…” He trails off, not having a word for it.
“It’s fine. Who knew my potential dad was a homicidal maniac?”
“It’s actually not fine,” Logan says, his voice tight with concern. “This changes everything.”
“How?” I ask, still staring at the screen. “I never had a father anyway. This is just putting a name to a void.”
But even as I say it, something cold twists in my stomach.
If Cathal Brennan is my father, that means he’s been orchestrating a situation that nearly got me killed.
It means that Lisa had absolutely nothing to do with anything, and we just look alike because we are family.
It was Cathal pulling the strings. Thinking back to what she said last night, me looking like her was neither here nor there. There was no big plot.
I groan. “We’ve been looking at this all wrong.”
“What do you mean?” Logan asks.
“Me looking like her isn’t anything to do with anything. It is a mad coincidence, like she said. She is a puppet in this. Cathal is the mastermind. The notebook. Stacey knows about Cathal. And if Cathal is my father, and he’s been manipulating this whole situation...”
“Then he might’ve wanted you to have that notebook specifically,” Logan finishes, with a scowl. “But why?”
Connor leans forward, his expression calculating. “Insurance. The best kind. Blood.”
My stomach lurches. “So what? He puts his illegitimate daughter in danger to...what? Make sure the notebook gets to the right people? To you?”
“Or to see who would protect you,” Connor says, studying me with new interest. “If you’re his blood, even unacknowledged, he’s probably been watching you for years.”
The thought makes my skin crawl. All those years of struggling and he has been watching from the shadows?
“That’s sick,” I whisper.
“That’s family,” Connor replies, his voice oddly gentle. “The most complicated kind of leverage there is.”
Logan’s hand grips mine. “Okay, but me walking in there and being attracted to Nuala, was completely random. How does any of this fit the new narrative?”
“Maybe it doesn’t,” I say. “Maybe Stacey was acting on her own. She knew exactly who you were when you walked in. Maybe she thought you were the only ones who could end this?”
“That makes more sense than anything else we’ve come up with. But it’s all just hearsay. We still don’t know who the shooters belonged to for sure. We don’t know why the accountant was killed. We don’t know why the guy at the bar was checking who you were. There are still too many heads.”
“O’Rourke,” Connor interrupts Logan, tapping the screen on a man who looks like a top-class thug. “It makes sense why he went to ground if Brennan was behind the arms deal you witnessed,” he says to Logan. “How sure are we that the men who dealt with O’Rourke are the ones who shot up the club?”
“We aren’t,” Logan says, and I let out a noise of frustration.
“We are going around in fucking circles here! We need answers. There is only one place we are going to get them.”
“If you say Cathal Brennan, I’m going to have to lock you in a room until you come to your senses,” Logan growls at me.
“As much as I would like to confront him, no, that’s not what I was going to say.”
“Then who?”
“The bankers who were at the meeting in the club that day.”
He stares at me like I just grew another head. But then his face splits into a grin. “Well, fuck me.”
Connor chuckles. “The very men and women who have been bankrolling this fucking endeavor since day one. Well done, girl. We’ll make an O’Neill out of you yet.”
I beam with stupid pride. It’s the most sense of belonging I’ve had in my woeful life. It’s twisted that a crime boss’s approval is the warmest thing I’ve felt in years, but I’ll take it. I straighten my spine, pushing down the nagging fear that I’m in way over my head.
“Who’s the easiest target?” I ask, looking between the two men.
Connor turns to the laptop. “Dave. Cross-reference the guest list from the function room with the notebook. Find me someone who bleeds easily.”
Dave types furiously. The rapid clacking fills the silence.
“Here,” Dave says, pointing a shaking finger at the screen. “Eamon Walsh. Private lender. He deals in high-risk bridge loans.” He taps a bit more. “Look here on the main CCTV. He was the first to leave the Sailing Club after the meeting. That means he didn’t want to linger.”
Logan straightens up. “Looks like we are going to pay Mr. Walsh a visit.”
Connor nods and sits back down behind his desk. “Have fun.”
“That’s it?” I ask.
“This is your thing. Go and fix it.”
I exchange a look with Logan, who shrugs. I follow Logan into the hallway. The heavy door clicks shut, sealing Connor inside with his secrets and his power plays. My hands shake. I shove them into the pockets of the hoodie to hide the tremor.
“Eamon Walsh,” I say, testing the name. “Where do we find him?”
Logan checks his phone. “Dave sent the address. He keeps an office in the financial district.”
He heads toward the entrance, his stride long and purposeful. I keep pace. He opens the front door. The cold air hits my face, sharp and biting.
We head for the SUV. I climb into the passenger seat. “Shouldn’t we change first? Look at the state of us?”
He smirks. “Okay. Let’s go shopping.”