Chapter 24
SORCHA
Patrick is in the kitchen when I come in, sleeves rolled to his forearms, hands braced on the kitchen counter and his reading glasses on top of his head like a dirty little slut.
Darragh is perched on a stool with a beer, watching his brother like he’s waiting for an answer to a question I didn’t hear.
Titan lifts her head, tail thumping once against the floor, then she drops it back down like even she’s sick of the tension that’s been mounting around here.
Patrick’s gaze snaps to mine. “Where’s Liam?”
I glide past him to the kettle, resisting the urge to pinch his arse.
If I do, he’ll throw me onto the counter and fuck me right here in the kitchen, even with Darragh present.
Tempting, but it’s not the time. We need to sort this Liam thing out before the Mahoney volcano erupts and drowns us all in molten lava.
“Probably out doing something stupid.”
Darragh snorts. Patrick doesn’t. He watches me as I fill the kettle, the silence stretching until Darragh squirms and gets up to grab another beer.
When I click the kettle on, Patrick finally speaks. “You spoke to the girl.”
“I did.”
“And?” His voice is gruff, like he’s questioning someone in his teams.
I turn, arching a brow at him and leaning my hip against the counter. “And she’s not a liar.” I tip my chin at him as though inviting an argument.
Patrick’s jaw flexes. “You can’t know that.”
“I do know that.” I fold my arms. “I’ve seen liars, Patrick. I’ve met them. I’ve married into a family full of them.”
Darragh lifts his beer. “Cheers.”
I point at him. “Not a compliment, D.”
“You just don’t appreciate my skills, Sorch.”
Patrick takes a step closer. “Sorcha.”
That one word is a warning. The kind he uses when he’s trying not to lose his temper in front of me, which is almost worse than when he actually does. He jerks his head at his brother. “We’ll talk later.”
Darragh meets my gaze and mouths a sympathetic “good luck” before tucking tail and leaving. Coward.
I sigh and push off the counter. “She’s terrified, Patrick.”
“So, Liam is right. She’s hiding something.”
We both sit at the table, with steaming mugs of tea cradled in our hands. I should maybe have sat beside him instead of across from him, because all I can do is bite my lip so as not to groan at those forearms taunting me. Not. The. Time. Sorcha.
He doesn’t miss when I press my thighs together, and to his credit, he doesn’t pull me over the table to do me right there.
“Yes. She’s hiding something.” I reach into my pocket and pull out the burner, setting it between us like it’s a grenade. “And this is part of it.”
Patrick doesn’t touch it. “She had that on her?”
“She did. And before you ask—no, I haven’t given it to Liam. Or told him, and I’d prefer if you didn’t either.”
Patrick keeps his gaze on the phone for a long moment, then he looks at me. “Why?”
“Because I like my brother-in-law alive.” I go with being blunt. Patrick isn’t a beat-about-the-bush kind of guy. “And because if Liam gets his hands on that, he’ll do what Liam always does when he’s hurt.”
Patrick’s cold stare is replaced by understanding. “He’ll go to war.”
“Exactly.”
He slides his glasses from his head down onto his nose, and it takes all my strength not to whimper. What is it about a strong, tattooed mafia boss with rolled up sleeves and reading glasses?
“Does it have numbers saved?”
“One, a girl’s name.” I flip it over. “It’s a cheap thing. No passcode either.”
Patrick picks it up and turns it in his hand, studying it like it might contain everything we need to know about Rowan. “Did she say who it’s for?”
“She didn’t.” I pause. “Not directly.”
Patrick’s eyes lift. “Sorcha.”
I blow out a breath. “She said if she doesn’t message this person tomorrow, people will die.
” I hope to God I’m doing the right thing trusting my husband with this.
I hold up a hand. “I won’t let you hurt her, Patrick.
She’s a sweet woman, scared to death. Whatever she’s into is clearly scarier to her than you and your brothers. That says all it needs to.”
The air in the kitchen changes, like the temperature drops by five degrees. Patrick’s fingers tighten around the phone. His gaze flicks toward the hallway. “She told you that?”
“She didn’t want to,” I admit. “But she’s at breaking point.
And whatever is happening… she thinks it’ll land on Liam.
On all of you. She said something about him using his leverage.
Small stuff but next time it’ll be bigger.
And that he’s someone powerful who’s been building a case.
That he’ll come with warrants and evidence. ”
His expression shifts. A subtle, dangerous thing. The kind that makes me remember exactly who he is when he isn’t being my husband.
“And you believe her.” It’s not a question.
“I do.”
“Why?”
I hesitate, and for the first time tonight, I feel something like fear crawl up my spine—not because of Patrick, but because of what it means if I’m right.
“I know what a woman in love looks like, Patrick.” My cheeks heat.
His eyes narrow.
“She flinched when I asked if Liam hurt her. Like the idea offended her.”
He tips his head as if it isn’t enough. Ironically, in the depths of my soul, I know that if I believe her, it’s enough for him to give her a chance. He just wants every detail I have.
“When she said his name, she said it like it hurt her to breathe.”
Patrick’s gaze drops back to the phone. “If she’s being threatened, we need to know who’s behind it.”
I know what that tone means. Someone’s about to get a fist full of Mahoney they didn’t order.
“And we need to know fast. Because Liam’s going to push and push and push until she cracks. And when she does, she might not be the one who breaks.”
“Exactly.” He pauses. “You said she’s more afraid of something else than she is of Liam.” Patrick’s voice goes low. It’s part of his process, to keep going over and over things because lies are harder to keep straight than the truth.
“She is,” I repeat. “It’s not just a grudge, Patrick.”
I watch him as he watches the burner on the table. Pieces of a plan clicking into place as his brain works overtime. “How long has she had it?” he asks.
“Long enough that she was panicking about not making contact. She kept asking for it back.”
Patrick’s head lifts slowly. “A check-in schedule.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“That means whoever’s on the other end expects compliance.”
“And if they don’t get it, they act.” I take a long drink of my tea and encourage Patrick to do the same, but he’s already halfway down the path to figuring this out. His tea is the last thing on his mind.
My husband, the workaholic.
He stands and walks to the window, staring out into the night like he can already see danger coming up the drive. “Where is Liam taking her?”
“The Doyle Arms.”
Patrick’s shoulders tighten.
“What?” My skin tingles. One thing I’ve inherited since joining this family is a healthy, okay, maybe unhealthy sense of paranoia. It’s exhausting.
He turns, and the look in his eyes makes my stomach drop. “If someone is watching her. If someone is tracking her. If someone is waiting for her to slip…”
My stomach plummets. I already know what he’s thinking.
“…then Liam just walked her straight into public.”
Called it. “You think it’s someone local?”
“I think.” My husband’s voice is like steel. “That if she’s been controlled for years, it won’t be by amateurs.”
The silence that follows is thick. As Patrick starts moving with intent, the front door opens and Titan darts into the hallway.
From her excitement, I’m guessing her new bestie is home.
A delighted squeak from Rowan as the dog greets her confirms they’re back and they’re safe.
A familiar pang of relief spreads through my chest.
Before anyone comes into the room, Patrick shoves the burner phone into my pocket.
“Give it back to her. Let her keep her check-in.” The look he gives me is so calm, it’s terrifying. “Don’t tell her you told me. Let her think you kept her trust. After tomorrow when she’s made contact, we’ll find where she’s hiding it and have our tech people see if they can get any info from it.”
This is the difference between Patrick and Liam. Liam, driven by instinct, runs in before he knows the building is on fire, Patrick figures out his foe before he strikes.
My throat tightens. “I can do that.”
“Keep gaining her trust, being someone she can talk to.” His face turns almost soft. “God knows you could have done with a friend when you were first here.”
I stare into my tea. I made the right decision talking to Patrick. He’ll be precise, stealthy, and he’ll figure this whole thing out without terrifying the poor woman living upstairs.
“And Sorcha?”
My head snaps up. “What?”
“If she tries to run…”
I lift my chin. “She won’t.”
Patrick’s gaze holds mine. “If she tries to, don’t stop her.”