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I sit beside him. "Something like that."

"Will he be okay?"

"Yes," I lie, because what else can I tell my six-year-old? That his newfound father might be killed by his psychotic aunt? I am not ready for the family tree talk yet.

"I hope he comes soon," Conor says. "He promised to teach me boxing."

I frown. "Did he now?" Typical Declan, promising my son boxing lessons without even asking me first. The man's back for five minutes and he's already trying to turn my kid into a fighter. Like father like son isn't happening on my watch.

* * *

Conor's finally asleep,and I can't stand another minute in this empty bedroom. The house is fucking huge—Cormac and his money. I pace from room to room, the ocean crashing outside. Who has windows that big in a safe house?

I find Cormac's study and head straight for the bar. Rich bastard has the good stuff, too. I pour three fingers of whiskey and knock back half in one go.

The phone sits on the counter. Nothing. Not a fucking word from Declan. Is he facing down his psycho sister right now? Bleeding in some alley? Already dead?

I drain the glass and pour another.

I check job listings on my laptop, searching for nursing positions in remote locations. New Zealand. Canada. Places a Donovan might not think to look, maybe I should look at Alaska.

Running away is the smart choice. Declan's plan to confront his sister might buy us time, but his family's legacy of violence will never end.

My laptop chimes with an email notification. My boss at the clinic—a final warning to return to work or lose my job. Another part of my life ruined by Declan and his homecoming.

I close the computer and drain my glass.

* * *

Daythree of this fucking nightmare and still nothing from Declan. Not a call, not a text. Meanwhile, I'm here playing make-believe with Conor.

"No, sweetie, we can't go home yet. Yes, this is like a holiday. No, I don't know where Declan is."

Every time the floorboards creak, I grab the nearest weapon. Last night I almost stabbed Jack with a kitchen knife when he checked the back door.

I take Conor to the tiny village, a twenty-minute walk along the coast. We buy ice cream and play skipping stones. He laughs as he throws them into the waves, while I'm watching every stranger, eyeing each car like it might explode.

"Can we get a dog?" he asks as we walk back to the house.

"A dog?"

"Declan said he had a dog when he was little. A big one that protected him."

"Did he tell you that before we left?"

Conor nods. "He said maybe I could have one too."

"We'll see." I make a mental note to have a word with Declan about making promises to my son.

Our son. It still feels strange to think that.

Back at the house, Jack meets us at the door. "Mrs. Brennan, you have a call."

My heart leaps. "Declan?"

He shakes his head. "Mr. Cormac Donovan."

My stomach drops as I take the secure phone. "Cormac?"