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“The answer for Finn is also no.”
Understanding dawns on me. “You set him up.”
“I suspected O’Malley would give me shitty terms, that he’d be an ass to you at some point. I wasn’t sure how much I’d have to poke my brother to get him to step in. Not nearly enough.”
If Finn thought the O’Malleys killed his father, he wouldn’t become involved with them, or he’d seem reluctant to do it. He even warned me Lorcan associating with the O’Malleys was like declaring war. Then he swooped in and stole the deal, but not before sweetening it first.
“You knew.”
Lorcan gives me a brisk nod. His whole body is primed with tension. Deep down, he doesn’t want Finn to be guilty. “He’s all the family I’ve got left.” His voice is quiet in the night.
“Have you talked to him? I mean, actually asked him?”
Lorcan runs a hand through his hair and chuckles. “You don’t understand him yet. Asking is as good as saying I think he did it. I do. He won’t admit it if I ask. It’s not worth the trouble it would cause.”
“Then what am I doing here?”
He raises one hand and then the other. “Left hand, right hand. You’re the distraction as much as the detective. He might let something slip. If he doesn’t, he’ll be so focused on trying to get the best of me through you he’ll never know what I’m planning.”
“Can I know?”
His mouth twists into a half smile. “No.”
“Maybe I could help?”
“Finn would smell your lies a mile away. You can’t know. Tell him what you like. Plan A and Plan B exist for every move.”
The chilly air hangs around us, and I shiver. A strange, companionable silence develops in the darkness.
“Was Derry decent to you today?”
“Enough. I can handle myself.”
His gaze roams over my face. The tenderness in the hazel depths unnerves me. “Shall we run?”
“Are you leading?”
“Sure,” he says, amused. “I don’t mind being chased once in a while by the right person.” Lorcan smirks at me before taking off at a steady pace.
I fall into step behind him, letting the pounding of my feet on the trail lull me into oblivion. I was chasing him, and it wasn’t only on the path.
Chapter Sixteen
Afew weeks later, I’ve managed to gather secondary information that might be useful in a conviction, but neither one of them has let me into the conversations they have together. Those seem to happen when I’m sleeping or off on another errand. My Irish isn’t getting much of a workout. Otherwise, they dance around each other like two boxers, more preoccupied with defense than landing a direct hit.
I’m cooking myself some lunch when Finn strolls into the kitchen. “I hear we’re having company tonight.” He grabs a coffee mug out of one of the cupboards next to me.
“Yep,” I say. “You got a problem with that?” Without looking at him, I drop more tabasco into the sauce on the stove.
“If I did, I wouldn’t be taking it up with you.”
“Ah, yes. You’d speak to yourdeartháir beag.”
Finn raises his eyebrows as he pours himself a cup of coffee. “Ay, I would.”
“It’s not nice of you to mock his accent.”
“He’s my brother. I can do what I want. Just because it gets you all wet to hear it, doesn’t mean it isn’t a bit of a farce.”