Page 57 of The Last Call Home (The Timberbridge Brothers #5)
Chapter Fifty-Three
Cassian
Since I don’t want to scare Delilah, I wait until she heads back downstairs to her temporary bakery—my bar—to begin working on my new project: figuring out who the fuck her father is. Yes, I’m still praying that it’s not Desmond because that would make her the heir to the Syndicate.
I don’t believe she’s a mole. If she is, fuck, she’s not only a good actress, but she infiltrated us easily and we’re fucked.
Though that wouldn’t explain her mother’s fear.
That fear? It's bone-deep, not some telenovela drama that she’s creating to keep us entertained while they try to take over the town.
Which means that if Desmond is her father, he doesn’t just want her back—he wants something from her.
Whether it’s power, revenge, or legacy, none of it ends well.
The images that flash through my mind make my jaw clench so hard that it feels like it might crack. We can’t wait to see what’s his next move. Nope. We have to act now.
We should take her to a safe house. Tonight. Maybe it’s not necessary. Mal’s cabin is safe . . . but also too close to town. Canada might be the answer, after all—Rosalinda had a point. We could also fly them to Luna Harbor as early as tomorrow if I can get my hands on a jet.
No. Fuck that. I can drive them to Boston tonight. No trail. No eyes.
But that’s not a call I can make alone. I have to run it by Malerick—and probably the boss.
I start by texting the picture I have of the bracelet to Finnegan with a short caption:
Need this translated.
He calls within minutes. “Cassian.” His voice lands with grit and tension like there’s a war already unraveling around us. “Where the fuck did you get this?”
“My girlfriend owns it,” I answer, pacing. My pulse’s gone volatile.
“The pastry chef?” he asks.
“Yes. It’s an heirloom,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “Delilah’s father gave it to her mother. She wears it like a talisman—some good luck charm. I believe it’s a prayer?”
“It’s not a prayer,” Finnegan says, already dissecting the image. “It’s Latin—but it’s more than that. It’s a cipher. Old Syndicate shit. It’s not just text—it’s coded. And that etching you’re asking about? It’s coordinates. Or a combination. Could be both.”
My stomach churns, twisting hard and cold.
“Coordinates to what?”
“A lockbox. A safety deposit. A dead drop.” He goes quiet. Then, “Were there any numbers, letters . . .? I can’t make any out from the image.”
“That’s all it had, unless . . .” I should’ve asked her to take it off. Put it under a magnifying glass to see if there was more to it. “Listen, I can see if later tonight I can look at it more closely.”
It’s not like she wouldn’t give it to me if I asked. I just don’t want her to worry about any of this. At least not yet.
“I don’t see Desmond giving that to just anyone—if he had it.
Have you talked to your girlfriend’s mother?
” His tone shifts. He’s already planning and asking questions.
I wouldn’t be surprised if he flies over here.
“What if the father . . .” He doesn’t finish the sentence.
“Harlan, she’s not just caught in the storm.
She might be the fucking reason it started. ”
Everything inside me locks up. My body, my thoughts, my breath. My blood burns hot—reckless heat colliding with the deep chill threading through my cells, like fear trying to take hold from the inside out.
“What are you thinking?” It’s all I can ask because begging her to get her out of here might not work out in our favor. At least not until we know what the connection is.
“We need a long, honest talk with Rosalinda Mora. I need to know exactly where she got that fucking bracelet.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to quiet the pounding in my skull.
“Lilah’s having a girls’ dinner,” I say. “I’ll use that time to pay Rosalinda a visit.”
“Good. But act fast. If that cipher leads to anything tangible, this is it. I need that bracelet, Cassian. Now.”
He ends the call, leaving me with a feeling of urgency coiling low in my gut.
It’s time to call Malerick and let him know that Delilah isn’t just in danger. She might be the centerpiece of something that’s been brewing for years. It’s obvious that she won’t be walking there alone. She has us.
“What do you mean she’s Desmond’s child?” Malerick drags a hand down his face as if he’s trying to wipe the entire conversation off his skin. “This . . . fuck.”
“Exactly.” I drag in a breath that does nothing to calm the burn in my lungs. The tightness in my chest has settled in since my conversation with Finnegan. “We’re just digging through everything. Delilah has that girls’ night out with your sisters-in-law. I’ll be heading over to talk to Rosalinda.”
Malerick’s jaw ticks. “What about the bracelet? You said you need to analyze it.”
I shrug. It’s so casual, but inside, I’m wound so fucking tight I feel like I might detonate. “I can take it before that or after she goes to sleep.”
His eyes narrow. “You’re going to steal it from her.”
“Borrow it temporarily,” I clarify dryly.
“Your pickpocketing days are over, Cass.” He glares at me.
I let the corner of my mouth twitch just enough to bait him. He’s always hated that part of me. Mostly because it means I was practically abandoned by adults and had to look after Mom right before she died. “Sure. But I like it when I get to reminisce.”
“What’s my role?” he asks unamused.
“Supportive partner?” I throw him a wink, teasing, but it doesn’t quite land the way I want. There’s too much on the line. “Probably their driver if I have to get them out of here tonight.”
He groans and rubs at his temples. “I don’t like this. Rosalinda should have?—”
“Told us she was involved with a syndicate?” I cut in, scoffing. “Sure, she’d tell the sheriff right away.”
He drops his hands and glares again. “They have to understand that we’re here to protect Lilah.”
“We’ll convince them,” I assure him. “First, we have to figure out what we’re fighting against.”
There’s too much we don’t know. Too much we might’ve missed.
Delilah thinks she’s safe because the only people in danger are supposed to be the Timberbridge brothers. But what if she’s not, and are we already too late?