But to protect her.
Who’s going to protect Abigail?
The question crashed through my mind and it had me on guard. That was the real question. We all knew it. Surely, Richard had something on the books to protect her at all times. Even if she was off in some other country in the world. Declan would have to take care of that. I’d make sure he did, too.
Because with Richard dead, his daughter was surely a target.
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Brody.”
“Come here. Let me hug you.”
“My god, what has happened to your family?”
People surrounded us. Wrapping us up in their arms and soaking us in their fake love. Their fake condolences. Their fake—well, everything. Someone thrust flowers into Declan’s arms. Someone else loaded Mom down with pans of food. Gael interjected to help her out before Flynn came out of nowhere, trying to part through the crowd. We had put him on guard duty. To keep watch outside the doors of the church with the bodyguards we hired for the funeral. I was glad he flew in to be here. And even more grateful that he felt the need to protect this church while we were all in it.
But my eyes quickly gravitated over to Abigail.
As I mindlessly hugged people I would have rather interrogated, I noticed her standing off to the side. Did no one recognize her? Did no one know who she was? The thought baffled me. How did no one know what Richard’s own daughter looked like?
He showed pictures of her as much as he could.
Then, I saw someone approach her. A woman. And the more I watched, the more I realized who it was. Patrick Maguire’s mother. The matriarch of the Maguire Family. She walked up to Abigail with a look of shock on her face before embracing the girl tightly. Abigail’s eyes widened. She didn’t move to hug the woman. She looked more uncomfortable than anything else, and I pushed my way through the throng of people.
Through the crowd that quickly gathered around her.
“We haven’t seen you in years.”
“How are you doing? Where are you living now?”
“Your father meant so much to all of us. If you need anything, let us know.”
“Abigail, you look so grown up.”
“And beautiful.”
“You look just like your father.”
“His eyes, oh! And his thick head of hair.”
I cleared my throat. “All right, you guys. Let’s give her some space. She’s grieving and a bit in shock. She just got in a couple days ago.”
I felt her eyes on me as I pulled the crowd away from her. They were overwhelming her. And I saw how uncomfortable she was with them touching her. I slipped through the crowd and pushed them back. Moving them as I saw fit. People grumbled. Some of them muttered curses against me as I made my way for her. But I heard her words from afar. I registered them as I got to her, ushering people toward her. One by one.
While her eyes bored holes into the profile of my face.
I watched her as she managed to conjure enough class to hug the people around her. Though, the more her back stiffened, the more I wondered if I needed to tell them to stop giving her hugs. Maybe she was better with handshakes? She definitely wasn’t comfortable with the cheek kissing.
I ran my eyes up and down everyone that came past me. And nobody was getting past me if they wanted to speak to Abby. She was under our protection until further notice, which meant I needed to make sure no one was packing heat around this girl.
“I didn’t even recognize you. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“I’m sure it warms your father’s soul to have you here. Even if it is under these circumstances.”
“Do you need anything? Anything at all?”
“My gosh, you look so grown up, Abigail.”
She cleared her throat. “Abby, actually. Only my father called me by my full name.”
There it was. That sentiment again. But no one listened. I kept eyeing people down for weapons, and they kept calling her “Abigail.” Like what she wanted didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.
People could be so selfish during times like this.
My eyes caught Declan as he stood in the middle aisle of the church. He watched me with narrow eyes as he held Ciara close to his side. All of my brothers stared me down, actually. Mom, too. I didn't know what the fuck they were watching, but they needed to get home.
I’d be alone with Abby once we were finished.
It took almost an hour for the crowd to die down. For people to stop coming up to her and wanting to selfishly rub themselves all over her just to feel a bit better about themselves. There were some people I didn’t allow to approach, though. Like Patrick Maguire. And James Daly.
Why the hell did James Daly even show up at this fucking thing?
“You okay, Abby?”
I watched as she turned her head toward my voice. “Yes. I’m fine.”
I snickered. “In my world, when a woman says ‘fine,’ it never means ‘fine.’”
“Well, I’m not a woman you have to consider. So, I’m fine.”
“Well, I’ll be considering you until you leave. There’s still much to talk about.”
“Yes, there is. I actually have a need to speak with Declan, if his schedule is open.”
I’m sure you do. “I’ll let him know, but I’m sure it won’t be an issue.”
Her deep green stare hooked stoically to mine. She had her father’s countenance. Strong. Masked. Never wearing her emotions on her sleeve. Her curves were clad in an all-black outfit like most of us sported. The pencil skirt she wore had a black blouse tucked into it. Showing off the swell of her hips and playfully masking the voluptuous peaks and valleys of her torso. The black juxtaposed her creamy skin. Her beautiful blonde hair.
And those eyes.
I almost got lost in those eyes.
I pulled myself out of my trance long enough to hold my arm out to usher her back over to the family. I knew she had to have felt isolated. Especially by being in a city she didn’t consider home. I looked at Declan one last time before he nodded his head. I wasn't sure what the fuck he was approving with that head nod, but it didn’t matter. We needed to get out of this church before we made targets of ourselves.
I figured that was why Flynn looked so nervous, at least.
Gael sighed. “Abigail, you look very—”
“Abby, actually. I’d really appreciate it if everyone simply called me ‘Abby,’” she said.
I nodded. “I’m sure that won’t be an issue. Will it?”
Declan grinned. “Of course not. Abby, welcome home. I wish it were under better circumstances.”
She cleared her throat. “When you get some time, I’d enjoy sitting down and speaking with you. I have a few things I’d like to discuss regarding my father’s will as well as my accounts.”
Declan nodded. “I assumed as such. My schedule is free and open to you. Whenever you’re available, I’ll push back what is necessary.”
She smiled softly. “I appreciate that.”
But the smile didn’t reach her eyes. And that unnerved me.
“We need to get back home. Come,” Flynn said.
“Where did you come from?” Abby asked.
Flynn grinned. “I was out front helping guard the gates. So to speak.”
Abby blinked. “Is there a reason for such protection at my father’s funeral?”
Mom butted in. “This is most certainly conversation for the kitchen table. Possibly over some coffee?”
Gael nodded. “Or whiskey.”
Abby wrinkled her nose. “Don’t tell me this family is still drinking that Daly swill my father loved so much.”
I chuckled. “Not a Daly whiskey fan. What do you prefer, then?”
Abby’s gaze fluttered up to mine. “A nice glass of dry red wine.”
I grinned. “Duly noted.”
She snickered. “Not sure why you need to note that, but—”
I licked my lips. “Do you always fight everyone you come
into contact with?”
She turned to face me. “Is that something you’re concerned about?”
“Not particularly. Just a fun quirk in your personality I’ve come to notice.”
“You know nothing of my personality, Brody.”
“Maybe you should stick around, then. So we can get to know those quirks.”
“Or, I can have my meeting with Declan and be on my way.”
“Anxious to get out of town?”
“Anxious to get back home, Brody.”
I nodded slowly. “Well, let’s not keep your plane waiting then.”
Her eye twitched. “I loved my father very much. But no one can grieve in a place that isn’t home.”
“I never said anything about you not loving your father.”
“You did judge me, though. I heard it in your voice. Saw it in your eyes.”
She read people like her father, too. Which could be a valuable asset in her father’s murder investigation.
If Declan would grow the set of balls he needed to tell Abby how her father really died.
“Why don’t we all go back to the house and put out this fire, yes?” Mom asked.
I grinned. “Not sure what fire you're talking about.”
Abby let out a bitter giggle. “So, you don’t feel the smoke coming out of your ears right now?”
I smiled. “Cute. But first, the reception. We shouldn't keep hungry people waiting.”
And when she blushed, my pelvis churned with a salacious desire that had my brain spinning.
3
Abby:
“I don’t believe we’ve met yet.”
I turned at the sound of the soft voice and found myself face to face with a slender girl. I recognized her from the funeral service. The young woman on Declan’s arm. My eyes fell to her massive engagement ring and my blood boiled. They had plenty of money. Money they had access to right now. And yet, my father gave me money out of what he always said were my “own accounts” in the form of a monthly stipend. Evenly spaced out. Always the same amount, no matter what. Why the hell my father didn’t simply turn over the accounts to me once I graduated college was beyond me. I mean, that was the original plan. Turn over my trust fund and the assets he had in my name to me once I started my life outside of school.
Then, magically, it changed.
And I had a feeling Fiona had something to do with it.
“No, I don’t believe we have,” I said.
She held out her hand. “Ciara. I’m Declan’s fiancée.”
I shook her hand. “Abby. I’m Richard’s—”
“Biological daughter, yes.”
I winced at her words. “Just ‘daughter’ is fine.”
“Sorry. It’s just how I hear you referenced. You know, since the brothers—”
“I’m his daughter, and they’re his adoptive sons. There’s no need to designate me.”
She paused. “Right. Sorry.”
I turned back toward the crowd before she started up again.
“So, how does it feel to be back in Chicago?”
I sighed. “Well, I’ve barely seen the boys. Fiona has only contacted me via phone despite setting me up in a rather lavish hotel penthouse. And now, I’m being fully and completely ignored by the people who I guess are more family to my father than I am to him.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Guess it’s going just fine, to answer your question.”
She rubbed my back, but I stepped away from her touch. I hated people touching me. It reminded me of the touches I’d never get from Daddy again. I knew I had to wait until we all got back to the brownstone before I approached Declan. But did they all really have to ignore me beforehand? I mean, there wasn’t even a place for me at the family table! There were five seats. Four for the boys, and one for Fiona. No seat for me. The biological fucking daughter.
Figures.
“Fancy seeing you here.”
I drew in a deep breath at the sound of Liam’s voice.
“It’s been a while,” I said.
I looked up into the face of Patrick Maguire’s son. And holy hell, did he ever look like his father. A towering inferno of muscle and biceps as big as my thigh. His bright red hair had darkened over the years to a nice auburn that matched the full beard on his face. The freckles along his nose and cheeks softened his appearance. Until his gruff voice came falling from thin little fish lips.
Lips he got from his mother, no doubt.
“You look great,” he said.
“How nice of you to compliment me at my father’s funeral.”
“When else am I going to be able to compliment you if I don’t see you outside of these walls again?” he asked.
“Back at it with the flirting, huh?”
He winked. “Is it working?”
I snickered and shook my head. “You’re relentless, Liam. Even after all these years.”
“You were the cutest thing when we were younger. And now, you’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
“Everything all right?”
No. “Yes, everything is fine.”
He chuckled. “You sure about that?”
“Why wouldn't things be fine?”
“Don’t think people don’t notice.”
I furrowed my brow. “Notice what?”
“The lack of space for you at the family table. The way Fiona and her boys haven’t come up to you once to speak. The way Brody pushed aside everyone at the funeral service like he owned you. Like they own you.”
I didn’t like the way he was talking. But it gave me an idea. Something to leverage against Declan, should things not pan out my way during our conversation later on.
I sighed. “People are noticing?”
Liam nodded. “Unfortunately. What they’re doing to you isn’t right. You’re Richard’s daughter. They have no stake in that man except for Fiona, since she put up with him for so long.”
“That’s my father you’re speaking of.”
“Sorry. It’s just… you know how your father could get sometimes.”
I slid a bit closer to him. “I suppose we all did.”
“Do you plan on sticking around for a while? I’d enjoy taking you out somewhere. You know, just to talk. Or if you need a shoulder to cry on. Or something.”
“I see you have big shoulders to utilize.”
He chuckled. “So, you noticed.”
I grinned. “Just as you noticed how well I’d grown into my body.”
I looked up at him and watched his gaze fall down my body. He made no effort to cover up his lust for me. And I played right into his hand. If he wanted to openly hit on me at my father’s funeral reception, I’d let him. Because he would be a great tool down the line of Declan didn’t want to free up my accounts and let me go on my way.
Time to party.
“You know, if this reception is too much for you, we could go somewhere quieter,” Liam said.
I drew in a deep breath. “Offering to help me grieve, huh?”
He shrugged. “People grieve in different ways. You seem uncomfortable with crowds. I’m only offering to get you away from the crowd since it’s very clear to me they don’t care about you.”
His words stung. “I appreciate the offer.”
“It’s there for you to take up anytime. Okay?”
“Do I look like my father?”
I searched Liam’s stare as he took the moment to trace his stare along my body again. I wanted to punch him. Gouge his damn eyes out. But I let him have his fill. He wouldn't lay a hand on me, but he didn’t need to know that. I simply needed him to play his part in all this.
“Actually, you do,” he said.
I sighed. “Okay.”
“Does that bother you?”
I shrugged. “I’d like to not see my deceased father whenever I look in the mirror.”
“That makes sense.”
“They won’t even tell me
how he died, you know.”
I hated the sound of my voice breaking. Especially when I needed to stay strong. I clenched my hands trying to abate the shaking of them. I needed Liam to see me strong. I didn’t need to break down in front of him. Or in front of anyone.
I’d do plenty of that once I got home.
“They won’t what now?” he asked.
I snickered. “They won’t tell me how my own father died. It’s like some family secret I’m not privy to. Like they think I’m stupid.”
He scoffed. “That’s utter bullshit. You want me to talk to them? I could get my father t—”
I shook my head. “It’s fine. I’ve got it. Just you listening helps, though. Thank you. I’m sorry I’m dumping on you.”
“It’s what I’m here for. And seriously, if you want to get out of here, just say the word. We can go on a drive. Go back to my place. Go out to eat. Whatever you want.”
“I appreciate that more than you know, Liam.”
He rubbed my back and I wanted to twist his damn arm around his back. My toes curled at his touch, and not in a good way. The calluses on his hands picked at the silk fabric of my blouse. I stomached it as much as I could. I couldn’t push him away when I needed him close. But the more I stayed in Chicago, the more I wanted to go home.
To leave all this behind and never come back.
Part of me wanted to leave so I didn’t have to face my father’s death. I could keep waiting for his phone calls forever and justifying why he wasn’t calling. Why he wasn’t visiting for the holidays. Or my birthday. I could go back to Switzerland, convince myself he was still alive, and go back to living my life.
The sooner I get my inheritance, the sooner I can get the hell out of here.
So, I let Liam continue rubbing my back.
Even though I wanted to throat punch him for it.
“Can I tell you something?” I asked.
His hand fell away from my back. “Of course, Abigail.”
Brody: The Callaghan Mafia #2 Page 2
