by Zara Keane
“Fair enough.” Malachy led the way into his cramped living room and gestured for Shane to take a seat. In an ironic echo of Frank’s actions in his office the other week, the priest opened his liquor cabinet and poured two generous shots of whiskey. “I think we could both do with a drink,” he said, handing a glass to Shane. “How much do you know?”
Shane took the glass. He wasn’t in the mood for whiskey, but he needed to do something with his hands that didn’t involve punching a priest. “I saw my original birth certificate. I was born on the fourth of April in Kildare, not on the fourth of January in Dublin. My mother is listed as Theresa Delaney, and Francis Malachy Delaney is down as my father.”
Malachy ran a hand through his silver-gray hair. “I wasn’t a priest when you were conceived. Not that that makes having an affair with my brother’s wife any better.”
“No,” Shane said coldly. “It doesn’t.”
The priest knocked his whiskey back in one and looked Shane straight in the eye. “You have to understand. Theresa was stuck in a miserable marriage. Patrick was in prison for most of their marriage. When he wasn’t locked up, he was busy getting drunk and chasing other women. By twenty-five, she was stuck at home with three kids under the age of five, no money coming in, and a husband who’d just been sent down for a five-year stretch.”
Shane snorted. “And you offered a convenient shoulder to cry on?”
Malachy had the grace to flush. “It wasn’t planned, Shane. I was back in Dublin after a stint in Boston. I was having doubts about the life I was leading, and I wanted to get out. For years, I’d convinced myself we were doing the right thing by fighting for a free Ireland. Part of me still believes that. But I never signed up for the drug smuggling and the gun running and all the other stuff we did to finance our cause.” His smile was bitter. “Most of us, me included, lined our pockets with some of that money and told ourselves it was okay. Everyone else was doing it, so why shouldn’t we?”
“Going from a paramilitary-come-drug-smuggler to a priest is quite a jump.”
“Yeah, I know.” Malachy rubbed his stubbled jaw. “Getting Theresa pregnant was the last straw. We thought we were doing the right thing by keeping you in the family. Chantelle had just lost a baby, and she and Francis agreed to adopt you and raise you as one of their own.”
“Theresa could have left Patrick, and you could have stood by her.”
Malachy shook his head sadly. “It wasn’t that easy in those days. Divorce was still illegal in Ireland, remember?”
“You could have gone abroad,” Shane insisted. “If you’d wanted to keep me, you’d have found a way.”
“We considered all our options, believe me. Theresa wouldn’t leave her kids.”
“If Patrick was the waste of space you described, which I totally believe, why the hell didn’t you just leave and take the kids with you? You could have gone to America and stayed with Theresa’s family.”
“We went over our options for months.” Tears filled Malachy’s eyes and his voice developed a warbly quality. “All the time Theresa was down in Kildare, waiting for you to be born, we talked of little else.”
“Ah, yes. Kildare. I suppose she headed off to hide and give birth.” Shane sneered, anger swelling in his chest. “What a fucking cliche.”
“Patrick would have killed her if he’d known.” Malachy cleared his throat and stared imploringly at Shane. “That’s why we changed your birth month, just in case it ever came out that Theresa was your mother. With the timing of Patrick’s stint in prison, a baby born in January could have been his.”
“Whereas he’d have known an April baby couldn’t be,” Shane finished, his nails digging into his palms. “I can’t believe you gave me to Frank to raise. Chantelle was useless, but Frank’s a bully.”
Malachy hung his head, his usually erect posture slumped. “Francis wasn’t a great father substitute for you, I admit, but he’s loyal. He knew Patrick’s temper, and you were family. We protect our own, even from our own.” The doorbell rang again, and Malachy drained his whiskey glass. A muscle flexed in his cheek. “I’m sorry, Shane. I have to go. I know it’s terrible timing, but I don’t have a choice.”
“A conference for Catholic priests is a matter of life or death?” Shane didn’t even try to keep the bitterness out of his voice.
Malachy opened his mouth as if to say something, then shook his head. “Trust me when I say it’s urgent. I’d cancel if it weren’t.”
“Where is this urgent conference being held?” Shane asked. “If I’m being brushed aside for a bunch of dudes in dog collars, you can at least tell me when you’ll be back.”
“Switzerland,” Malachy said after a long pause. “My return flight is booked for Tuesday. I’ll call you when I land.”
The doorbell sounded for a second time, this time longer than the first. Shane grabbed his jacket and strode down the hallway.
“Shane?”
He turned and faced Malachy, eyebrow raised. The man appeared older than he had when Shane arrived, and wore his weariness like an ill-fitting coat. “Go and talk to Lar,” the priest said. “Please. Let some good come of this discovery. Until recently, you two were close. Now you know he’s your brother, you need to patch things up with him.”
Shane’s stomach flipped. A few weeks ago, gaining Lar as a brother would have been a dream come true. With the current strain on their relationship, he didn’t know how to feel. Outrage? Elation? A weird mixture of both? In contrast, the news that Kaylee was his cousin, and not his sister, didn’t change his feelings for her one iota. And he didn’t give a damn about losing Tom and Greg as biological siblings—they’d never been close.
“Promise me you’ll go see him?” Malachy’s eyes pleaded with him, but all Shane felt was numb.
“I’m making no promises to you. As far as I’m concerned, you can rot in that hell you preach about.”
“Shane, please—”
But Shane shrugged into his jacket and left the house without a backward glance.
25
Ruthie leaned her forehead against her bedroom door and warm tears spilled down her cheeks. How had she managed to mess up her life quite so spectacularly? Shane, Kevin, the Kowalskis…they all jumbled together to form one massive vortex that threatened to suck her in and never spit her out.
She grabbed a tissue from her nightstand and blew her nose. Now that Shane knew she’d been spying on him, any chance she’d had of getting the money to pay the Kowalskis had vanished, along with Shane’s affection. Her failure to keep her cover secret would end her career with the Jarvis Agency, but she didn’t give a damn about them. Her chest rose and fell with simmering resentment. If Travers hadn’t put pressure on her, she’d have been more cautious. But even if Shane hadn’t caught her in the act, she’d still have betrayed his trust. Ruthie collapsed onto her bed and buried her head under the pillow.
A knock on the door interrupted her litany of self-recriminations. When she’d arrived home, she’d been too upset to notice whether or not her father’s or brother’s bedroom doors were closed. “Yeah?” she said between sniffs.
“Ruthie?”
She sat upright when she heard her father’s voice. Dad was wearing his favorite pair of button-up pajamas, the ones she and Kevin loved to tease him about—red polka dots that time and multiple washings had faded to pink. They would have looked ridiculous on any man, but Big Mike’s bulky frame lent them a particular absurdity.
“What’s wrong, love?” he asked, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.
“Nothing. I’ll be fine, Dad. Don’t worry.”
“You’re crying, love. That’s not nothing.” He came over to sit on the edge of her bed. “Please tell me what’s going on. I know you’ve had something on your mind. Maybe I can help.”
“Oh, Dad.” She allowed him to envelop her in his strong arms and leaned into his broad chest. For a moment, she was a child again, confident in the knowledge that her father c
ould right all wrongs and heal every pain with a single kiss.
He stroked her hair. “What’s up, Ruthie? Why are you so upset? Is it Shane?”
“Partly. I’ve made a mess of my life and I don’t know how to fix it. I tried to help someone, and it backfired. I ignored my conscience and got sucked into doing something I knew was wrong, and I justified it by telling myself it was for a good cause.”
“Care to give me the specifics?” her father asked. “I don’t care what you’ve done or why. Just tell me, and we’ll try to fix it.”
She shook her head. “It’s too late to fix most of it. I messed up big time.”
“Shane?” he prompted again. “You two were getting cozy at the party.”
“As were you and Siobhan,” she countered with a small smile. “How’s that going?”
Her father’s broad face flushed. “I’m taking her out to dinner next week. To a proper restaurant.”
Ruthie swallowed a laugh. Big Mike’s idea of a proper restaurant left a lot to be desired. Left to his own devices, he’d take Siobhan to Nando’s. “I can recommend a couple of places she might like.”
“That’d be great. Thanks, love.” His gaze grew shrewd. “But before we worry about my dinner date, I want to know if I need to knock young Shane’s block off.”
Ruthie rolled her eyes. “No, Dad. Shane behaved like a gentleman.” A very sexy, very naked gentleman, who’d taken her virginity a couple of hours ago. Yeah, better leave that part out.
“Why won’t you tell me what’s bothering you? Seriously. I want to help, if I can.”
She squeezed his arm. “I know you do, Dad. Maybe tomorrow. I have a decision to make and I need to sleep on it.”
“Fair enough. You know where I am if you change your mind.” He patted her on the head and dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Get some sleep, love. You look exhausted.”
“I’ll try.” She squeezed his arm. “Thanks, Dad.”
“What for? I didn’t do anything. I only wish you’d let me.”
“You were here for me. That means a lot.”
“Of course I’m here for you. I’m your dad.” A slow smile spread across his broad face. “Want some hot chocolate?”
“Only if you spike mine with Bailey’s.”
He laughed. “No problem. I’ll bring it up to you in a few minutes.”
After her father had left, Ruthie lay back on the bed and stared unseeing at the ceiling. Tomorrow—today, actually—she’d have to decide which truths to tell and which to leave unsaid. Whatever she decided, someone would get hurt, and she’d have to live with the consequences.
For the second time tonight, Shane rang a doorbell at an unsociable hour of the night.
A minute later, the intercom crackled into life. “Yeah?” Lar stifled a yawn.
Shane waved at the security camera. “Hey.”
“Shane? Hang on a sec.”
Lar answered the door in his underwear, clearly half asleep. He scrutinized Shane. “Jaysus, man. You look like hell.”
“It’s been quite a night,” Shane said dryly. “Can I come in?”
“Sure.” Lar stood aside and Shane stepped into the house, leaving Lar to lock up.
“Drink?” Lar asked when they reached the kitchen.
“I just had one at Malachy’s. A coffee would be great though.”
His cousin grinned. “One sickly sweet coffee coming up.”
Shane dropped onto a seat and leaned back. “I can’t believe you’ve started stocking caramel syrup. Go on, admit it—you’re secretly a fan.”
“Hell, no.” Lar chuckled. “Tammy likes it. I keep it on hand for when she comes to stay.”
“Shame she couldn’t come to Siobhan’s party.” Shane had a soft spot for Lar’s daughter, even though he didn’t know the girl well. Fairly or not, Tammy’s mother limited the time she spent with her ex-con father, and Shane suspected Lar wasn’t keen on Tammy hanging out with her extended family.
“Tammy will be coming to stay with me in July for part of her school summer holidays,” Lar said, shaking coffee beans into the machine. “You’ll see her then.”
The familiar whir of the grinder and the scent of freshly ground coffee soothed Shane. He’d spent many happy evenings at Lar’s house, watching bad porn and crappy movies, or cheering on their favorite football team. It felt good to be here, despite the shitty circumstances. “Sorry to call around so late,” he said belatedly.
Lar placed a frothy latte in front of Shane. “No worries. From your expression, I figured it was important.”
To Lar’s credit, he was uncomplicated in that regard, and always willing to drop everything to help the people he cared about, including Shane. Why had he lost sight of Lar’s everyday actions and focused on the words he hadn’t shared? Frank. He’d allowed himself to be manipulated by the man, temporarily forgetting Frank’s talent at spotting weaknesses in others. And he’d gone straight for Shane’s Achilles’ heel—Lar.
By the time the coffees were ready, Shane had slipped Ruthie’s flash drive out of his pocket. “Got your laptop?” Shane asked, taking his latte from the coffee table. “There’s something you need to see.”
Lar raised an eyebrow. “Sure. It’s in the office. I’ll go get it.” He slipped into the home office that was located just off the kitchen and emerged with his laptop under his arm. He keyed in his password and handed the device to Shane.
With Lar leaning over his shoulder, Shane inserted the flash drive. The two file icons appeared on the screen.
“What’s this?” Lar growled. “Who’s keeping files on you and me?”
“Ruthie.” Shane failed to keep the bitterness out of his tone. “Or whoever it is she’s working for.”
Lar whistled. “Well, shit. You know Gen doesn’t trust her, right? Emma does, but she’s more gullible.”
“I hadn’t picked up on that vibe, but it doesn’t surprise me. Gen trusts no one.”
“No one is an exaggeration, but yeah, she’s cautious. She was in the spy business a long time.” Lar crossed his arms over his chest. “So…what’s in our files?”
“Everything.” Shane clicked on Lar’s. “It lists your time in prison, the deal you made to get out early, every woman you’ve ever fucked. The usual.” His eyes slid to meet his cousin’s.
Lar swore in a mixture of English and Irish. “I’m sorry, Shane,” he said after he’d drained his swear word vocabulary. “I couldn’t tell you about the deal. If I had, I risked going back to prison.”
“What did you tell them about us?” Shane asked, his voice raw. “What did you tell the spooks about our family?”
Lar leaned back in his chair and pulled a face. “More than I wanted, less than they’d hoped for. They were mostly interested in Frank. Where his money came from, who he met, that sort of thing. They didn’t give a shit about him running a brothel. After I got sent to Boston, they wanted to know all about The Lucky Leprechaun. Who worked there, who the regulars were, and if Con and Frank were receiving payments on behalf of the paramilitaries.”
“And were they?”
“Of course.” Lar rolled his eyes. “All of Frank’s clubs cook the books. He’s laundered a ton of money over the years.” Lar took a sip from his espresso cup, a belligerent jut to his jaw. “Listen, Shane, I know Frank’s your father and I understand you feel loyal to him, but he fucked me over. Him and my father. I didn’t kill the security guard. I wasn’t even fucking there the night of the robbery. I should never have listened to them. I should never have taken the blame. They hired a slimy lawyer who told me I’d be out in a few months, tops. I was seventeen and stupid enough to believe him.”
“I understand.” And, for the first time since he’d discovered Lar’s deal with the government, he did. On a rational level, he always had, but in his heart, he’d wanted his cousin to be able to come to him and tell him everything, even if it made no damn sense for Lar to do so. “I’ve never kept secrets from you. Whatever there is to know about me, you
know. Finding out that the trust wasn’t a two-way street cut deep.”
Lar rubbed his jaw and sighed. “I do trust you, Shane. I trust you with my life. My not telling you about the deal had nothing to do with a lack of trust. You have no idea how many times I came close to spilling the whole sorry story to you. Keeping something that big from you hurt.”
“So why didn’t you tell me?” Shane demanded. “You say you wanted to, and you had ample opportunity over the years.”
A pained expression passed over Lar’s face. “Apart from the confidentiality part, I didn’t want to cause problems between you and your dad. We’ve always been close. I was reluctant to put you in a position where you felt you had to choose between us. If I’d told you the truth, it would have put you in an awkward situation with Frank. He’s a dickhead, but he’s still your father.”
“Actually, about that—” Shane broke off and shook his head. “No. There’s something I need to tell you before I show you my file. A few weeks ago, I installed bugs in your house. I also hacked your security cameras and your and Gen’s phones.”
Lar stared at him open-mouthed. “Uh, okay…why?”
“One word. Frank.”
Lar’s expression hardened. “The conniving bastard. So that’s what he has you doing as your final job for the family ‘firm’?”
“Yeah.” Saying it was a relief, like a weight being removed from his shoulders. “When Gen came on the scene around the time Dan and I told him we wanted to join you in forming the Triskelion Team, Frank started getting suspicious. An MI6 spy with a connection to the attack that killed his oldest son? That triggered alarm bells. He’s not aware of your get-out-of-jail-free deal, but he knows damn well you don’t like him.”
Lar snorted. “No one likes him. Even Malachy doesn’t like him, and he’s a priest.”
This made Shane laugh. “I don’t think being a priest and liking dickheads is synonymous.”
“So where are these creepy crawlies?” Lar asked, more incredulous than annoyed.
