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"What did you tell him?"

"That I didn't know. That it was complicated."

"The grown-up answer for everything." I smile.

She glances at me. "What would you have said?"

"That I want to. That there's nothing I want more."

She turns away. "We should finish packing. Cormac's men will be here soon."

I grab her hand. "Maeve. When this is over?—"

"Don't make promises you can't keep."

"I'm coming back to you."

She touches my face, her fingers tracing the scar above my eye. "You better."

Two hours later, I watch the car drive away, taking my heart with it. Maeve didn't look back, but Conor waved from the back window until they turned the corner.

CHAPTER10

MAEVE

The Kerry house perches on a cliff edge, nothing but wild Atlantic waves crashing below. It's beautiful in a stark, isolated way—a fortress disguised as a luxury home. Floor-to-ceiling windows face the ocean, but I know they're bulletproof. The front door looks like oak but feels like steel when I push it open.

"Is this our new house now?" Conor asks, dragging his backpack across the gleaming floor.

"Just for a little while." I drop our bags in the hallway, too exhausted to carry them further.

Cormac's man—I think his name is Jack—brings in the last of our things. "Mr. Donovan says to make yourself at home. Fridge is stocked. Security system's already armed."

"How long are we staying?" I ask.

Jack shrugs. "Till it's safe."

"And when will that be?"

"When Mr. Donovan says so." He hands me a phone. "This is secure. Only call the numbers programmed in. Mr. Donovan—Declan, not Cormac—will contact you on this."

I take it, my stomach turning. I'm trapped in Donovan business now, exactly what I spent six years trying to avoid.

"I'll be outside if you need anything," Jack says, then leaves us alone in the massive house.

Conor wanders to the windows, pressing his grubby little boy hands against the clean glass. "Look, Mom! Dolphins!"

I join him, squinting at the gray shapes in the distant waves. For a moment, I forget why we're here, caught up in my son's excitement. Then reality crashes back - we're hiding from killers who want to use my son as a bargaining chip to win some ridiculous family feud.

"Let's find our rooms," I say.

The master bedroom takes up half the second floor, with its own balcony overlooking the ocean. Conor claims a room with bunk beds—meant for Donovan nephews who never visit, I guess. He bounces on the bottom bunk, testing it.

"Where's Declan?" he asks. "Is he coming later?"

"He had to stay in Dublin for a while."

"Is he fighting the bad guys?"