Page 10

CHAPTER 10

MAEVE

T he 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?"

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.

* * *

Day three 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?"

"Maeve." His voice sounds tight. "Is the boy with you?"

"Conor's right here."

"Send him to another room."

Fear spikes through me. "Conor, go wash up for dinner."

When he's gone, I put the phone back to my ear. "What's happened?"

"There was an incident." Cormac's tone makes it worse. "Declan's hurt, but stable."

"How hurt?"

"Gunshot wound to the shoulder. He lost blood, but he'll recover."

I grip the edge of the table to steady myself. "And your fucking crazy sister?"

"Missing. The meeting... didn't go as planned."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning she brought more men than expected. Meaning she's more unhinged than we thought."

I close my eyes. "I want to talk to Declan."

"He's sedated right now. The doctor?—"

"Doctor? Not hospital?"

"We can't risk hospitals for this type of thing, Maeve. You know that."

"No, I don't know that. I'm not a fucking Donovan! So, help me God you better not have a vet or a butcher sewing him up!"

Silence on the line. "You're the mother of a Donovan. That makes you family whether you like it or not." The motherfucker.

I want to scream, to throw the phone, to pack our bags and run. Instead, I take a deep breath. "When can I talk to him?"

"Tomorrow, probably. I'll have him call you." A pause. "Stay where you are. It's not safe to leave yet."

"Is it ever going to be safe?"

Another pause. "I don't know."

After he hangs up, I sit at the kitchen table for a long time, staring at nothing. Declan's been shot. He could have died—might still die if this "doctor" of Cormac's isn't competent.

And for what?

I make dinner on autopilot. Conor chatters about the dolphins he saw again, about the stones he collected, about everything a six-year-old notices when his world isn't falling apart.

I tuck him in early, exhausted by the effort of pretending everything's normal.

In my room, I pull out my laptop again. There's a nursing job in Vancouver. A good salary, benefits, a fresh start. We could disappear there, change our names, build a new life.

Conor would forget Declan eventually. Children are resilient.

But I wouldn't forget. And Declan wouldn't stop looking.

* * *

I wake to a man's voice, low and urgent. For a moment, I think it's Declan, that he's somehow made it to Kerry. Then I recognize Jack's tone as he argues with someone downstairs.

I throw on a robe and creep to the landing, peering down into the foyer.

Jack blocks the door, his hand inside his jacket where I'm sure he keeps a gun. "You can't come in. Mr. Donovan's orders."

"I just need to talk to her," a woman says, her back to me. "Five minutes."

"No visitors. Period."

"Please." The woman's voice breaks. "She needs to know what's happening."

I step onto the stairs. "Who is it, Jack?"

Both heads turn toward me. The woman is blond, pretty, and vaguely familiar.

"Mrs. Brennan, go back to your room," Jack says. "I've got this."

"Maeve." The woman steps forward. "You don't remember me, do you? I'm Fiona. Declan's cousin. We met once, years ago."

The face and the voice, I remember—a birthday party at the Donovan house, before I knew what kind of family they really were. She was drunk, and Declan’s dad got pissy about it.

"What are you doing here?" I ask.

"I need to talk to you. It's about Declan and Siobhan."

Jack moves between us. "Mrs. Brennan, I don't advise?—"

"It's okay," I say. "Let her in."

"Mr. Donovan said?—"

"I don't care what Mr. Donovan said. This is about my son's father."

Jack reluctantly steps aside, but his hand stays near his weapon as Fiona enters.

I lead her to the kitchen, aware of Jack hovering in the doorway. "Talk fast."

"Cormac isn't telling you everything," she says, voice low. "Siobhan didn't just shoot Declan. She took him."

Ice fills my veins. "What?"

"He's not at Cormac's right now. They don't know where he is. Siobhan's men grabbed him after she shot him."

"That's impossible. Cormac called me. He said Declan was sedated, recovering."

Fiona shakes her head. "He lied. They're searching for him, but—" She glances at Jack. "The family's divided. Some think Cormac should pay whatever Siobhan wants. Others want to go in guns blazing."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you deserve to know. And because I might know where they're keeping him. Because I have a son too, and this family is fucking stupid."

Jack steps forward. "That's enough. You need to leave."

"Wait," I say. "Where? Where is he?"

"There's an old fishing cabin north of here. It belonged to our grandfather. No one uses it anymore, but Siobhan and I used to play there as kids. Manky old place, but good for hiding things."

"And you think she took him there? Why not tell Cormac?"

Fiona glances at Jack again. "Because I'm not sure who to trust anymore. The Donovan’s are divided, and they are taking sides. If I'm wrong..." If she’s wrong they’d think she was helping the lunatic.

Jack pulls out his phone. "I'm calling Mr. Donovan."

"Do that," Fiona says. "But he'll just tell you I'm lying. He doesn't want Maeve involved."

I study her face, trying to read her intentions. Is this a trap? Or is she really trying to help?

"Show me on a map," I say.

"Mrs. Brennan," Jack warns.

"Show me," I repeat.

Fiona pulls out her phone and brings up a map. "Here. About an hour's drive north."

"I'll go check it out," Jack says. "You stay here."

"No." I shake my head. "If Declan's there, I need to see him. Especially if he is shot, I am a nurse."

"I can't let you leave," Jack says.

"Then come with me. Bring whatever weapons you need. But I'm going."

"What about your son?"

I hesitate. I can't leave Conor alone, but I can't bring him into danger either.

"I'll stay with him," Fiona offers. "I'm good with kids."

"Absolutely not," Jack says.

"Then find someone else," I snap. "But I'm going to that cabin."

Jack runs a hand through his hair, clearly torn between his orders and the situation unfolding. "Let me call for backup."

"No time," Fiona says. "If Siobhan suspects anyone knows where she is, she'll move him. Or worse."

I decide. "Jack, you're coming with me. Fiona stays here with Conor. If anything happens to my son, I'll kill you myself." I turn to Fiona. "That goes double for you."

She nods. "I understand."

"Mrs. Brennan, this is not a good idea," Jack tries again.

"I don't care. We leave in ten minutes."

I go upstairs to dress, my mind racing. I might be walking into a trap. Fiona might be working with Siobhan. But if there's even a chance Declan's being held somewhere, hurt and alone, I need to try.

I check on Conor, still asleep, tangled in his blankets. I kiss his forehead, breathing in his scent.

"I'll be back soon," I whisper.

As I close his door, I notice my laptop on the dresser. The Vancouver job listing still open on the screen.

Choices and consequences.

If I go with Jack to find Declan, I'm choosing this life—the Donovan life, with all its danger and violence.

If I wake Conor now, grab our passports, and slip out the back while Jack and Fiona argue, I could still escape. Still run.

But I know what I'm going to do. I've known since the moment Fiona said Declan had been taken.

I'm going to find him. And I'm going to bring him home.