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“I feed him info. He believes we’re buddies. That’s what you want, right? For me to get close.”
A crease appears in Lorcan’s forehead, and he swallows his drink. “I want to know who killed my father.”
I understand that desire. Since seeing Chad’s photo earlier, the urge to find the person who killed him is almost consuming. If there’s a choice between this mission and finding Chad’s killer, I’m not sure what I’ll choose. “Why do you think it was Finn?”
“I guess if I want you to unravel this, I need to tell you something.”
“It would help. I don’t have to ask pointless questions if I already know everything you know.”
“The day he died, the house was empty. That never happens. There’s always staff or guards—someone. Finn inherited everything. Almost everything. This place is mine, but the rest is his.”
“Unless your father was going to change his will, Finn would have inherited it no matter what, right? There’d be no need to kill him. Did they get along?”
“No. Not for years. The trouble between them began when our father caught wind Finn was fighting for Derry’s dad. Before that, they seemed fine most of the time. Never overly close. My mum was the main parent. Father was too busy running his empire, killing people… not getting killed.”
“When did you and Finn stop getting along?”
Lorcan’s brow creases. “Hard to pinpoint.” He throws back his drink and crosses the room to pour himself a second.
Lorcan must not be aware Finn thinks their father had his mother killed. Why would he tell me if Lorcan doesn’t know? What game is Finn playing? “You two never got along?”
Lorcan takes a seat in an armchair and gestures for me to do the same. I wander to a chair and drop into it. A sigh escapes me, and I put my elbows on my knees.
Lost in thought, it takes him a few minutes to answer me. “We got along okay,” he says, his voice soft. “Till my mum was dying. I was sitting beside her, her breathing labored. Only fifteen. A kid. So hard to watch someone you love die like that. Worse than anything, I wager.” His voice is flat despite the painful subject. “Two people I worshipped the most speaking for the last time. And what does he say? He leans over her and says he wished she’d died instead of his own mother.”
“Oh,” I breathe out. I’m not sure I could imagine Chad ever saying something similar to my father.
Lorcan grimaces. “As you can imagine, our relationship started to sour after that. Twenty years later, here we are.” He spreads out his arms. “Living in the same house but having almost nothing to do with each other.”
“You weren’t here when your father was killed?” I have the answer, or at least I think I do.
“In Ireland. Father was trying to get some deals going there.”
“So why do you think it wasn’t the O’Malleys?”
“Nothing to gain. Nothin-a-toll.” Lorcan’s voice has the lilting quality I’ve come to associate with his authentic self. There’s a hint of an Irish accent, a little bit of a Boston one underneath. “Derry’s a braggart. He wouldn’t be able to keep it to himself, consequences be damned.”
“You still want me to go there tomorrow?” I set my drink on the table beside me, reclining into my chair.
“No.” Lorcan shakes his head.
But I want to go back. Chad’s there. The truth is there, somewhere.
“We’ll give it a few days.”
“Then I’ll go back.”
Lorcan grins. “Yes. Definitely you. It’ll piss him off.” The grin fades. “Not alone, though. Never alone. Understood?”
“You don’t trust me?”
“Trust is earned.” He sweeps my glass off the table. “Still, it’s not you. It’s him. If he thought he could get the best of you, he’d do it in an instant.”
“Kill me?”
“Among other things.” The glasses clink as he drops them into his dishwasher.
I push my hands into the pockets of my jacket. “We’re done?”