Chapter 29 Sorcha
Sorcha
“No,” Alex says. “We cleared him years ago.”
“Maybe you didn’t do a good enough job,” I hiss, getting thoroughly pissed off with this day. I need a beer, a shower, and bed. But none of those things are on the horizon. More like an arrest, an interrogation and a hard cot in a jail cell.
Alex glares down his nose at me like I just insulted his mother or something, but before he can berate me for questioning his investigation, we hear a noise of someone creeping through the brush.
Alex’s hand immediately goes around his back, where he produces a Glock as the guys draw their blades.
“Don’t shoot,” a female voice hisses, crawling out from under a bush and into our line of sight. It’s none other than Emma Ryan.
“Hey,” I snap, louder than I should’ve, going for her to scratch her eyes out.
“It wasn’t me!” she squeals, holding her hands up, looking ridiculous with twigs stuck in her blonde hair, her blue eyes wide, and her clothes torn and dirty.
“What wasn’t you?” I hiss.
“I didn’t set you up, and I don’t know who killed Smythe. I didn’t even know he was dead when you went in there. He left me a note on my desk to say to call you into his office when I got in this morning.”
“So how did you know he was dead?” I whisper.
Her cheeks flush. “I eavesdrop, okay? It’s how I stay one step ahead.”
“And yet you didn’t know the VC was dead when you sat your arse down at your desk this morning,” I say dryly.
“I try to keep ahead with the political shit, not murders!” She yanks at a twig stuck in her hair.
“How did you know we’d be here?” Ciar asks, ignoring the hissing and spitting. “In fact, how did you?” He turns to Alex.
Alex’s eyes flick between Ciar and Emma, his expression unreadable. “After Axl texted, I tracked his movements. Lost you for a while, but I know the old tunnels.”
Axl doesn’t say a word, like being stalked by his dad is simply the done thing.
“And you?” Ciar presses Emma, his blade still in his hand.
She breathes in deeply, knowing she has to spill, but is reluctant to do so. “You know about the executor?” she asks me carefully. When I nod, she relaxes a fraction. “My uncle, Mickey Ryan, is the executor for this generation.”
“What?” I snap. “So, he didn’t kill Smythe?”
Emma frowns. “Why would he do that?”
“Because he is a fixer in the criminal underworld,” Alex states. “It’s kind of what he does. Fucking bastard,” he adds under his breath. I shoot him a glare. He glares back. “I’ve worked with him for years. This stings.”
“Oh, poor fucking you,” I snarl.
“Focus,” he clips out.
Emma shakes her head. “Look, maybe he did, maybe he didn’t, who knows? What I do know is that Mickey has been the executor since my grandfather died fifteen years ago. Your marriage to Axl Rhodes triggered the release of the guardianship.”
“Guardianship of this mysterious inheritance?”
Emma nods.
I lick my lips. “What is it?”
She shrugs. “No one knows.”
I scrub my hand over my face. “This is fucked up.” I breathe in deeply and then focus. “The letter in the library, Mickey left that for me?”
“What letter? I don’t know anything about the ins and outs. I’m not even supposed to know about the executor. I…” Her cheeks flush again.
“Eavesdropped?” I finish for her, letting her squirm.
“Yes,” she says shortly.
I roll my eyes. “So why are you out here, skulking around in the woods? You never answered Ciar’s question.”
Emma shifts uncomfortably, her eyes darting between all of us like she’s calculating her odds of survival. “Because when the taskforce showed up, I panicked. I knew they’d come for me next since I was the one who called you to Smythe’s office. I ran and hid.”
“In the woods directly near campus?” I ask, suspiciously.
“Where else was I meant to go?”
I watch Emma’s composure crack, her hands trembling as she pulls another twig from her hair. She’s terrified, and despite my better judgement, I can’t help but feel a sliver of sympathy. She’s caught in the same shitstorm we are.
“So where is Mickey now?” I ask.
“I don’t know. He doesn’t exactly keep me updated on his schedule.” Emma wraps her arms around herself.
I blow out a breath. “Okay, I suppose it doesn’t matter. His job is done. He gave us the map, so he’s out. As far as we know, he had no reason to kill Smythe.”
“Unless Smythe was getting in his way,” Cillian says.
“Right,” I mutter. “So, we still don’t know jack. We don’t know who killed Smythe or what this supposed inheritance is, and we are stuck out in the woods when we should be under the chapel.”
“Why under the chapel?” Alex asks.
“That’s where the map led,” Axl explains. “We got locked down before we could move out, and then we had to run.”
Alex nods. “Go back to the townhouse, all of you. I’ll sort this shit out.”
“How?” I ask.
“By doing what I do best,” he says cryptically, pulling out his phone. “Emma, come with me. You’re safer under my protection than skulking around like a criminal.”
Emma’s eyes widen, but she nods quickly, clearly recognising this is her best option.
“But if I find out you’re lying about any of this, I’ll make sure you end up like Smythe.”
She pales but doesn’t argue.
I watch them disappear into the trees, Alex’s hand firmly on Emma’s elbow like he’s escorting a prisoner rather than protecting her.
“Well, that was enlightening,” Axl says dryly once they’re out of earshot.
“Was it?” I ask, my voice sharp with frustration. “Because I still don’t know who killed Smythe, who set me up, or what the fuck I supposedly inherited. All I know is that I’m wanted for murder and hiding in the woods like a fucking fugitive.”
“Woods that are about to be searched,” Cillian says, his gaze on the horizon. “We need to move.”
Panic hits my chest, and I nod, letting him take my hand and lead me further into the woods, trusting him to take me to relative safety until Alex can hopefully fix this gigantic mess.
I’m placing a lot of faith in a man I just met, but I don’t have any choice.
I don’t have the power or influence to fix this myself, and I’ll be damned if I call Cian to help dig me out of this hole.
We move deeper into the woods, the damp earth squelching under my boots. Cillian keeps a firm grip on my hand, his fingers laced through mine like he’s afraid I’ll bolt. Behind us, I hear Ciar and Axl following, their footsteps heavy but controlled.
My heart hammers against my ribs, adrenaline spiking every time I hear a sound that isn’t us. The taskforce is out there somewhere, hunting me, and I’m running through the woods like a fucking animal. Again. How many times am I going to have to run in my life before I get to stand my ground?
The answer to that is as plain as the nose on my face.
When I have enough power.
That day can’t come soon enough.
Cillian leads us through the woods to the back of the row of houses where Axl’s townhouse sits. I recognise it now after our mad dash through the woods after we were shot at.
“Bet you wish you’d never crossed paths with me,” I mutter as Axl unlocks the back gate.
“Never,” Cillian says, squeezing my hand.
We follow Axl through, my chest tight with emotions I don’t have time to process. The back garden is eerily quiet, the usual sounds of campus life muted by distance and the lockdown. We move quickly across the lawn and slip in through the back door.
Inside, the silence is oppressive. My nerves are stretched so thin I jump when Ciar closes the door behind us with a soft click.
“Upstairs,” Axl says, already moving. “If they come searching houses, we need to be somewhere they won’t look.”
We head up the stairs, my legs shaking from exhaustion and adrenaline. We pass my room, and keep going until we reach the end of the hallway. He presses his palm against the solid wall, and a section of it swings inward with a soft hiss.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter, staring at the hidden passage.
“Told you this place has hidey-holes.” He gestures for me to go first.
I step inside, my phone light revealing a narrow space that runs between the walls. It’s not as cramped as the tunnels, thank fuck, but it’s not exactly spacious either. There’s enough room to stand and move, but not much more, and a set of narrow steps going up into the roof space.
The guys file in behind me, and Axl shuts the door.
I take the steps slowly, wondering what delights will greet us in the roof space, but I’m surprised to find it quite comfortable, if a little small for three massive guys and me.
There’s a sofa and a chair, a small table, and supplies piled up in the corner.
“What’s to stop them from just coming up here and finding us?” I ask, flopping down on the sofa.
“It’s under the attic space,” Axl explains. “If they search the attic, they will be above us.”
I stare at him, trying to process the logic. “So, we’re literally hiding between floors?”
“Essentially, yes.” He drops down beside me, his thigh pressing against mine in the confined space. “They will never find us.”
“We hope.”
Ciar settles into the chair, his massive frame making it look like doll furniture.
Cillian rummages through the supplies, pulling out bottles of water and a box of crackers.
“Here.” He tosses me a water bottle, and I catch it reflexively. “Drink. You haven’t had anything since breakfast.”
I twist the cap off and take a long pull. The cold water hits my parched throat, and I gulp it back before taking a pile of dry crackers. It’s better than nothing, so I bite into one and chew thoughtfully, hoping that Alex is a miracle worker and we can get out of here before nightfall.