Chapter 47 #2
I nodded, conflicted over the memory of that revelation.
For over two decades, I imagined how it would feel to peel back LK’s skin, layer by layer, with my knife.
I imagined watching her bleed out. Seeing the life vanish from her eyes.
Taking in the first gulp of fresh air, knowing I’d dealt her the killing blow.
Now that was tainted by the blood we shared and her connection to my wife.
It shoved me harshly into a stalemate between revenge and clemency.
“All joking aside.” Liam cleared his throat. “We need to go over what happened.”
They recounted the details of the recording Brody made of Maeve’s attack. Some resonated. Distant memories came forward the more I tugged at them. Others were new, details as foreign as French.
“Big Charlie didn’t make it,” Liam added, “and Arthur’s on the mend, like you, but it was touch and go for a while. His sister says he’s finally pulling through.”
Fuck. I swept a hand down my face. We grew up watching Big Charlie’s fights in the ring, the three of us cheering him on, win or lose, no matter how bloody and swollen he got.
He taught me to fight and even took a bullet for me once.
And Arthur, he’d been one of the first to stand by me when I took over for Da.
“Explain.” I had no memory of them being in my office. In fact, as far as I recalled, neither of them had reacted to the panic-button alert.
Liam rubbed the back of his neck. “Seems LK poisoned them too. Offered them spiked coffees before your wife opened the door. They both drank them.”
“And Alizé’s? Maeve brought her one too.”
“No, Cranwell had hers and Maeve’s cups tested. Nothing in them but coffee.”
I relaxed back against the bed’s reclined backrest and mulled over that information.
“She was after me.” Unlike the Love Knot Killer’s previous victims, it was obvious she never meant to hurt Alizé.
For that twist of events, I’d be forever thankful.
It didn’t settle the score, though, not by a long shot.
“Make sure Big Charlie has a wake worthy of the man he was. May he rest in peace.”
“We’ll handle it.”
“And you.” I pointed at my middle brother, whose nose remained buried in his computer screen. “Oi, Brody. Look up when I talk to you. You owe my wife an apology, and it better be a damn good one.”
He grunted, his mouth twisting with a grimace. “She should just be thankful I recorded everything and saved you both.”
Liam whistled low and shook out a hand in front of him. “Ooh, low blow, deartháir. Taking credit for Alizé keeping you on the line, that’s beneath you.”
“That’s not—” Brody sputtered.
I squared my shoulders and sat up a little straighter. “Don’t make me pull the apology out of you.”
“Not like you can bloody well do anything right now.”
Oh, he was asking for an old-fashioned beatdown, a brawl the likes of which the three of us hadn’t engaged in for years. Now that was something to look forward to.
“How long until I make you eat those words?”
“Give it your best shot.” The violent tilt of his mouth matched my own.
“Oi, both of you.” Liam stepped between us, effectively nulling the buzz. “As good craic as it might be, this isn’t the place for it, and we still need to discuss what we do with LK.”
I whipped my gaze his way. “What condition is she in?”
“Still in surgery, the last Cranwell said.”
I dipped my head and scratched my thumb over the corner of my jaw. “How much does he know?”
“The basics. We haven’t said more. I’m not certain what he’d believe either.
I, for one, without the recording, could never have believed this turn of events.
I mean, you can’t make this shite up. Your wife, best friends with our half sister, who’s been moonlighting as a serial killer since she was a baby.
Laoise Healy groomed her, making a child handle the stabbings.
That’s mental. I don’t even know where to start with that clusterfuck.
Can we even hold Maeve accountable for that? ”
Brody went on to detail information Cranwell had discovered about Maeve’s adopted mother.
The woman we researched as Laoise Healy moved to the United States under the name Morrigan Hackett the same year Fiona did.
She worked as a labor and delivery nurse at Massachusetts General Hospital until a week after Fiona died, which would have given her access to alter Fiona’s medical records.
After that, she took on a slew of different job posts over the years, including a salesperson at an electronics retailer, a CCTV operator, an alarm technician, a private security officer, a janitor, and more.
Amidst all that, she homeschooled Maeve, which Cranwell suspected was meant to isolate her under the guise of protection and make Laoise the only adult figure Maeve could rely on.
The weight of our half sister’s history bore down on me like an omen I couldn’t shake.
Despite all the harm she caused, part of me blamed myself for the woman she’d become.
I was the oldest. I should have pressed our father more about Fiona when she left.
As I grew up, I should have looked more closely at what happened to her.
Maybe if I had, I’d have known Maeve existed.
I’d have found her and saved her from this fate and her abuser, because that was exactly what Laoise Healy and her alter ego Morrigan Hackett was: a child abuser who groomed our sister into a murderer for her own deranged ideals.
As the eldest, it had always been my job to look after my siblings, especially when it came to an abusive parent.
Brody and Liam, I’d helped. For Maeve, despite her vendetta against us, I couldn’t help feeling like I’d failed her.
“If we’d known, things would’ve been different.”
Liam snickered. “Can you imagine her growing up with three mobster brothers? The girl would’ve gone mad.”
I raised a brow, unimpressed.
He gripped his neck. “I mean, not mad, not really… That’s not…I meant… Fecking hell. I banjaxed that up real good, didn’t I? A real gobshite.”
“If the cap fits,” Brody piped in.
Liam punched Brody’s shoulder, then asked, “You think she would have liked us?”
“What’s there not to like?”
“Well, you’re a temperamental fucker, and Brody’s too dry for his own good.”
“I’m precise.” Brody clicked and typed away on his laptop. “Nothing wrong with that.”
“I’m the only one worth knowing in this trio.” Liam chuckled at his own joke. “So, captain, what do you propose we do with her?”
“We can’t kill her,” Brody cut in with blunt resolve.
His tone made my jaw tic. Only days ago, he blatantly attacked my wife at the mere thought she was involved.
Now he defended the real killer. He held up his open palm.
“Don’t get me wrong. I want her dead. I wish I could wring her neck myself, but…
she’s family. We take care of our own. Even someone like her. Even if she doesn’t deserve it.”
I winced as a little nausea and abdominal discomfort made an appearance, but he was right.
That didn’t mean I liked it. If family didn’t matter, we would have put our father in the ground decades ago, back when his fists first broke our bones or when his reckless gambling threatened all our lives.
He’d argue now that letting him live while the Parkinson’s disease ravaged his body was a crueler end, but there was a sort of justice to it that a quick death never would have dispensed.
Liam’s jaw dropped. “You’re suggesting we somehow get her out of FBI hands?”