Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Tate
I come to the bedroom in the evening to find my wife—my wife—asleep.
It’s been a long day with Keenan assembling his men, conference calls with Leith and my other brothers of the Clan.
It’s taken all my self-control not to blaze this city to the ground until I find my sister, until I know she’s safe.
But one thing I’ve learned as a member of the Clan is that we have to move methodically.
Precisely. Any sudden moves, and I could hurt Islan.
I haven’t seen Fran.
The door to the balcony’s open a bit, and it’s chilly here as a brisk wind stirs. I close it, then turn to her. She’s tucked under the blankets.
Tonight should be a night of celebrating. Our honeymoon. A night to remember. Surrounded by friends, in a place people would pay good money to go to…
We’ll get there.
I can’t wake her, not when I know she’s got so much on her mind and she’s exhausted from the day’s events. It felt surreal, taking my vows to her like I did last night. It feels surreal even having her here with me.
I lie next to her and tuck my arm around her. I could get used to this, her warm body pressed up against mine, her soft hair beneath my chin. I kiss the back of her head and whisper, “I love you, Fran Cowen.”
She doesn’t respond. Dead asleep. Soon, I fall to sleep beside her. I feel her move in the middle of the night, and when I reach for her, she gives me a quick kiss to the cheek.
“Just need a bit of fresh air,” she says. “Rest.”
I figure she’ll stroll out onto the balcony, so I roll over and go back to sleep.
I wake the next morning to bright sunlight streaming in through the balcony door, and an empty bed beside me. I frown, surprised to see she isn’t here.
Didn’t she come back in last night?
What time was it, anyway? I can’t recall if it was the dead of night or early morning, since it was so dark out. It might have been six hours or thirty minutes.
Her phone’s gone, and her shoes are gone.
Warning thrums low in my belly, but I’m so used to it by now I barely pay attention to it. I’ve been trained to expect the worst in any scenario, and half the time I need to remind myself that it’s okay not to expect the worst in any scenario.
Still, I’ll breathe better when I know she’s safe.
I look at my phone and see a text from Fran.
Fran: Good morning! Not sure if you remember, I told you I needed a little fresh air.
I frown. I remember. Where is she? What the bloody hell is she thinking? I don’t want her going for a walk by herself, not when so much is at stake. Hell, even on a good day she’s not allowed to go without a guard on her.
But we haven’t gotten that far yet.
I shove the blankets off and quickly dress, then head downstairs to the smell of coffee, tea, and freshly baked pastries. I walk into the dining room to find Keenan and Caitlin, Maeve, and a few of the grandkids.
“Good morning,” Maeve says brightly.
I skip past pleasantries. “Has anyone seen Fran?”
Keenan stands. “She isn’t with you?”
I shake my head. “Said she had to get some fresh air, not sure what she meant by that. Expected she’d sit on the balcony.”
“She’s likely by the cliffs, then,” Maeve says, spooning applesauce into a chubby little baby’s mouth. “That’s where we all like to take a morning walk.”
Jesus. The beach? Alone?
“You let her go without a guard?” Keenan says, surprised.
I shake my head. “Of course not. She didn’t ask. I thought when she said fresh air, she’d open a bloody window or something.”
“Alright, mate, relax,” he says. “Let’s go look for her. No need to sound the alarm yet.”
But every minute that ticks by seems like hours. I nearly drop my phone when another text comes in.
Fran: I’m sorry, Tate. The wedding was too much, it pushed me over the edge. I need space. I can’t do this.
I stare at the words as if I don’t speak the language, willing myself to understand.
What?
I hit “dial,” but it goes straight to voicemail. Frowning, I show the text to Keenan. Something isn’t right. He shakes his head.
“Is it consistent with her character to run?”
I don’t answer at first, as I think it over. Is he thinking what I am?
Has Fran been put up to this?
I shake my head. “Never. No. She’s brassy as fuck. She’s made some mistakes, aye, but I know something’s wrong here.”
Minutes later, he’s assembled his guard while I head to the beach. No sign of any breaking and entering. My texts to Fran go unanswered, my calls the same. My stomach churns, my nerves on edge as I look for her.
I expect to find nothing. I’m not surprised when the beach is bare, the cliffs as well.
I go straight to the guard at the gate. “Did you see a woman pass by here?”
“Aye, sir, ‘bout midnight,” he says, nodding.
Midnight. That’s bloody hours ago.
“Did you stop her?”
“No, sir, she said she was getting a bit of fresh air. I had no orders to detain our guests, sir.”
Keenan nods. He’s right. It wouldn’t have occurred to him to detain anyone at the gates, and it didn’t occur to me, either. Why would it?
“Did you see where she went?”
“Aye, sir, down to the beach, didn’t she.”
“Did you see her return?”
“No, sir.”
I turn to Keenan. I don’t know the lay of this land, if there is any way to get to the beach other than the stone stairs that Fran and I took earlier, or if the beach leads to a place other than the city centre, so I ask him.
Even when he confirms that only the steps lead to the beach, and the beach leads only to the city centre, my stomach still plummets.
“She could go anywhere, then.”
“Aye.”
I curse under my breath.
Did she run? Or was she coerced? Is it only my pride that tells me she didn’t do this of her own free will?
My mobile rings, and I answer immediately. Leith.
“Tate, is something wrong?”
“Aye,” I tell him, filling him in. “What makes you ask?”
“We got word this morning that all of the Clan Chronicles have been pulled from publication. Nan’s in a right temper, haven’t seen her this worked up in ages. I checked, all social media’s pulled down as well.”
I frown. “We wanted that to happen.” Still, something’s wrong and I know it.
“Can you ask Fran?”
“She’s missing, brother. Can you ask Paisley or Islan if they’ve been in touch with her?”
He blows out a breath. “They stayed at a friend’s last night.”
I stare out at the sea, as one puzzle piece clicks with another.
“Get in touch with them,” I tell him. “Now.”
There’s a brief pause on the other end of the phone.
“What’s going on?”
“Fran’s gone. The girls aren’t home. The books are pulled. Something’s not right, Leith.”
I call Fran again, and then each of my sisters. One after the other, my calls go unanswered.
“Her books were unpublished,” I mutter. “What does that have to do with this? We know Aitkens may have alerted Interpol. We know the Welsh must be involved as well, since we know they gave us a warning last night.”
Aisla and Blair, physically hurt. Anyone who hurt them wouldn’t hesitate to lift a hand to my sisters. Or my wife.
Motherfucker.
I do much better when I have a blatant enemy before me, a target I know I can follow. But this… not knowing where to go or what they want from us. I’d rather handle this with my fists, but have to resort to being level-headed and fucking pragmatic.
“We’ll start by going to Dublin.”
What do they want from us? If they do have my sisters, if they do have Fran… what will they do next?
The ride to Dublin’s brief, as Ballyhock borders it.
We go discreetly with a large team of men, but I’ll be the only one who goes in.
When we arrive, it’s like any old business office park, complete with fake trees and a smiling receptionist who looks surprised to see me but maintains her pleasant smile.
“Can I help you, sir?”
“Need to speak with whoever’s in charge of publishing,” I mutter. It seems like the stupidest place to start, but it’s the only lead I have.
Fran wouldn’t just dump me and then pull all her books from publication at once. Would she?
As I wait in the waiting area, my phone buzzes. Leith.
Can’t find the girls anywhere.
Bloody hell.
I know in my heart something’s gravely amiss.
The minutes tick by slowly as I wait, pacing the small waiting room, when finally, a petite brunette with flecks of gray in the hair she’s pulled back in a tight bun steps in the room. She’s accompanied by a tall, gangly man wearing a charcoal gray suit and round, wire-rimmed spectacles.
“Mr. Cowen?” the woman says pleasantly. “Come with us.”
I follow them to an office, frustrated my sisters and Fran could be in danger and here I am walking down a carpeted hallway like I’m here to sell them windows.
My hands clench into fists, and I do a mental inventory of the weapons I’ve brought.
Guns strapped to harnesses; knives tucked away.
Seems bloody foolish, since I’m not sure where or how I’ll use them.
We take our seats in a small, utilitarian office. Nothing personal on the walls, nothing personal on the desk. No pictures, no knickknacks, not so much as a ring from a coffee cup on the desk.
This isn’t anyone’s office, then, but a holding place. I watch these two closely.
“What can we do for you, Mr. Cowen?” the man asks, and the woman sits beside him mutely. She’s gripping her pen so tightly her knuckles are white.
Something’s wrong.
I get straight to the point. “I know who the author of your Clan Chronicles is, and I married her last night.”
Neither of them registers surprise. Both expected this.
“She went missing, and we found out this morning that all her books have been pulled from sale. I can’t get in touch with her or find anyone who knows anything about her, but you can at least tell me why the books were pulled.”
The man gives me a placating smile. “First of all, congratulations are in order, Mr. Cowen.”
I want to tell him to shut the fuck up.
“Secondly, sir, we frequently make many choices in the publishing journey. Sometimes, we have to make an unfortunate—”
I lean across the table and in one fluid motion yank his shirt so the fabric’s fisted in my hands. The woman squeaks, but the man only eyes me with wide eyes.
“Do you have a wife?” I ask. “Any children?”
“Yes,” he whispers. “Which is exactly why I can’t tell you anything.”
In one hard motion, I yank his head and slam it against the desk. He winces and grunts as I right him.
“Try that again.”
“They’ll kill me,” he whispers.
“I’ll kill you first.”
He blinks and can tell I fucking mean it. “Someone came to my house last night, demanded we pull the series.”
“Did they have anyone with them?”
He shakes his head. “Didn’t see.”
“What was the reasoning for pulling the series?”
He shakes his head. “Don’t know. I imagined something in the books hit too close to home for someone.” He eyes the woman. “We’ve gotten threats.”
“What kind of threats?”
“Cryptic things, warnings that the books have hinted too close to truth. And then the visitors…”
I nod. “Aye. What did they look like?”
He doesn’t answer right away, but when I tighten my grip, he whimpers. “They’ll kill my family.”
“I already told you,” I say, giving him the full truth behind my threat. “I will first. Now you tell me everything you know, and I’ll make sure your family is safe.” One call to Keenan is all I need.
He nods. “Okay, alright,” he whispers. He tells me everything he knows.
The tattoo marks on the arms of the men who came to him.
Their insistence that he call every bookstore and get the books removed from publication.
The fact they were driving a silver SUV.
I take all the notes and call Leith and Keenan on a conference call.
“Welsh,” Leith confirms. “Our sources say they’re in Ireland, that’s what they’re driving. And they’re the ones who might be at risk with the next book publication.”
“We all are. Were,” I tell him. “But they were pulled. All of them.”
He blows out a breath. “Question is, where are they now?”
“We’ll start by tracing their steps back. He says they made him pull the books from publication, which I’m assuming could’ve been done anywhere but maybe they thought he needed to be here to do it.”
Here. Realization dawns on me as I think it over. They’re here. They baited us. They knew we’d find them, and they knew we’d come for them.
“Where?” I ask.
Real fear shines in his eyes. I let him go and reach for the woman. She cringes, but she isn’t fast enough for me. I reach for her, and in one swift motion fist the knot at the back of her head and yank it back. I don’t bloody care who I hurt to get to Fran and my sisters, I’ll find them.
My instincts have been right thus far, the girls are nearby and they’re in bloody fucking danger. The Welsh mob isn’t right in their fucking heads, I don’t know what they’re capable of or what they’ll do next.
“Let her go!” he shouts, on his feet.
“Tell me where they are.”
“Our warehouse!” he says, slumping to the desk when I release her. “They took them to our warehouse, we have evidence they did.”
So this is how the Welsh want to play. They think we’re fair game, that we can play along with them.
We’ll see how that works for them.
I call Keenan, tell him to send protection for these two as I promised.
But I’ll go to the warehouse alone.