“Okay,” he began determinedly. “Twenty-five years ago, the Northern Irish underworld was enforced by one Seamus O’Malley. My father was one of the agents for the English government tasked with keeping the peace as much as it was possible to do so, while at the same time acquiring evidence that might be used against the top people in order to put them in prison.”
Jenna already knew she didn’t like the way this conversation was heading. She knew of her adopted father’s career before his retirement, and of the time he had been stationed in Northern Ireland, of course. It was how the Steele couple had known and become friends with her mother.
But she had never heard of the Irishman Seamus O’Malley.
“Twenty-three years ago, Seamus O’Malley was sent to prison for the rest of his life. No parole. No pardon. Life means life. And his wife, who was pregnant at the time,” Atticus continued evenly, “was the one who testified against him in exchange for a new identity and life for herself and her unborn baby.”
Jenna pulled back to look at Atticus, but his expression remained unreadable, that dark brown gaze unwavering. She moistened the dryness of her lips. “Me?”
Atticus nodded. “You.”
Jenna pulled out of his arms, relieved when he didn’t fight her on it but let her stand and move away from him.
Her thoughts were racing.
Her father’s name was Seamus O’Malley, and he was—had been—the enforcer of the Irish Mob in Northern Ireland before she was born?
Wasn’t an enforcer the one who not only knew where all the bodies were buried, but was responsible for putting them there?
And Jenna’s father, Seamus O’Malley, was one of them. No, not just one of them—the one.
Not only that, but her mother’s testimony had sent him to prison for the rest of his life?
All that was bad enough, but what shocked her even more was that the Steele family seemed to have had that knowledge for all these years too.
She gave a slow shake of her head. “How could you all have known that and never told me the truth?”
Atticus had known the accusations would come. They all had. But it had been Sarah’s wish that Jenna not be told the truth about her father, a wish all of the Steele family had respected.
Until now.
Events were now such that it was no longer viable to keep that truth from Jenna. For her own safety. “You’ve never asked about him—”
“I’ve never asked?” she cut in incredulously. “All these years, I assumed the marriage was so awful, the breakup so terrible, that my mother couldn’t even talk about my father, and that Joanne and Simon decided it wasn’t their business to do so either.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Oh please.” Jenna glared at Atticus. “My father is a criminal. He was sent to prison for life because he killed people.” Her gaze sharpened. “Oh God, does he still kill people…?” she added uncertainly.
“Jenna—”
“God, Atticus.” Jenna was shaking so badly, she had to place the palm of her hand flat on the wall to stop herself from swaying. “Do you think he had Edward Jervis and Jon Worthington killed because of me?” Even as she said the words, she knew that couldn’t be right. “No, of course, he didn’t,” she dismissed. “He hasn’t shown any interest in me for the past twenty-two years, so why would he start now?”
Atticus stood but didn’t move any closer when Jenna held up a warning hand. “As far as we knew, he hadn’t known you existed for the past twenty-two years.”
Jenna stared at him. “What…?”
“Sarah left O’Malley when she was only three months pregnant with you. It was the reason she left him. She didn’t want her child growing up in that world.”
“So he didn’t know about me?”
“We thought he didn’t.”
“You no longer believe that?”
Atticus was really at a loss to know what to think when all he wanted was to take Jenna in his arms and protect her from hearing any more of this.
In the same way O’Malley wanted to protect his daughter?
No, not in the same way. Atticus would protect Jenna with his own life, yes, but he wouldn’t cold-bloodedly order the deaths of two men in order to do it.
The question was, had Seamus O’Malley?
“Recent events seem to indicate it’s possible he’s known of your existence all the time—” Atticus broke off as the internal telephone rang. “I’m guessing that might be Reception informing me the police are downstairs and want to talk to me.”
“Because they believe you’re complicit in those two deaths?”
He shrugged. “It’s a natural assumption to make considering I threatened Worthington.”
Nothing about this situation was natural to Jenna.
Not who her father was.
Nor the possibility he might be involved in the deaths of two men.
One thing she did know with absolute certainty—this knowledge of Seamus O’Malley meant there was no future for herself and Atticus. Their night together had been wonderful, more so than Jenna could ever have imagined. But that was all they could have when she was the daughter of a notorious Irish gangster and Atticus was the eldest son of a respected and much-admired agent for the English government.
Chapter 12
Three days later.
“There is no way they would ever have considered allowing you in to see Seamus O’Malley without my endorsement to the request,” Simon Steele assured Jenna lightly as she fidgeted in the chair beside him in the waiting room at this high-security prison. The Steele parents had arrived from France two days ago.
Simon was very like a thirty-years-older version of his twin sons, Rourke and Logan, rather than any of his other sons. Now aged sixty-one, Simon had looked and dressed more like the urbane Rourke before his retirement the previous year. He more resembled the laid-back Logan now he had allowed his hair to grow a little longer and relaxed his dress code while living in the South of France.
Jenna was just grateful for Simon’s presence, totally unnerved by the whole experience of the armed guards, the barred rooms, and knowing she was being watched constantly on one security camera or another. “I feel bad for having dragged you all into this. In the past as well as now.”
Her adopted father smiled. “We became involved the moment Joanne held you just seconds after you were born. She was Sarah’s birthing partner, and after six boys, there you were, a red-haired, beautiful baby girl. Joanne fell in love with you instantly, and I wasn’t far behind,” he acknowledged ruefully. “We would rather have become your parents in any other way than we did, but be assured, we have loved every moment of having you as a much-loved daughter in our family. I know the boys feel the same way.”
Jenna gave a choked laugh. Only a parent could possibly call the tough, rough Steele brothers “boys.” “Atticus is currently being held at Scotland Yard and questioned about the deaths of Edward Jervis and Jon Worthington,” she reminded guiltily, Atticus’s guess as to who his visitors were three mornings ago having proved correct.
The Detective Inspector’s request for Atticus to accompany him and his two subordinates had been made politely enough, but nonetheless, it still came over as intent rather than an actual question. Atticus had been held at the well-known police headquarters ever since.
The story in the newspapers that morning hadn’t exactly helped Atticus. One of the reporters outside the bank the previous day had managed to get photographs of Atticus looming over Jon Worthington in a menacing manner before he was taken away by Ben. Once Jon Worthington’s death became public knowledge, that particular newspaper had exploited their possession of those photographs.
Jenna shuddered at how Atticus had been tried, found guilty, and sentenced, over and over again in the gutter press, these past three days.
“Not for too much longer, if I know my wife and sons,” Simon assured Jenna dismissively. “They have no real evidence to charge Atticus with anything, least of all mu
rder. Joanne will continue to pressure them into releasing him while the two of us are here.”
Joanne and Simon Steele really were two of the most amazing people Jenna had ever known. Joanne was like a tigress when it came to any of her children. Simon was less emotional but just as ferocious in his protection of his family. Jenna felt more honored than ever to have been included as part of this wonderful family. Even more so now that she knew her biological father was a noted Irish mobster.
Simon squeezed her hand. “We aren’t only the sum of our hereditary genes.”
“Your sons are.” She liked to tease the Steele brothers, but she had always adored each and every one of them, and she was in love with Atticus.
“Even Atticus?” Simon guessed at least some of her thoughts. “I’ve heard you refer to him as an arsehole more than once.”
Color warmed her cheeks. “You weren’t meant to hear that.”
The older man grinned. “Atticus is very like his mother. Beautiful, even magnificent, but short of temper and with no patience whatsoever for the vagaries of others.” He gave a shake of his head. “I have no doubt she will have ripped the sergeant on desk duty at the police station a new one by the time Atticus is released,” he added with satisfaction.
Jenna gave the expected smile in response, at the same time as she shot Simon a glance from beneath her lashes. “I don’t really think Atticus is an arsehole.”
“We know that,” his father soothed gently. “We all—” He broke off, the two of them standing as the steel door slowly opened and the prison governor stood outside.
“Mr. O’Malley is now in the visitors’ room,” the middle-aged man informed them gravely as he stepped into the waiting room. “As you know, there will be guards present at all times. There will be no touching. And the visit is of fifteen minutes duration only.”
Jenna wondered, as she accompanied the two men down the stark gray corridor with its many guards and security cameras, whether there would be enough conversation between her and Seamus O’Malley to fill even fifteen minutes.
She wasn’t sure how she felt about discovering her father at this late point in her life, and was currently focusing only on achieving Atticus’s release from custody or, as the police preferred to put it, “helping them with their enquiries.” Jenna wanted his name cleared of all wrongdoing in regard to the deaths of Edward Jervis and Jon Worthington.
She still found it difficult to believe the two men were dead, but she had absolutely no doubts Atticus had no involvement in those deaths. He would protect his family, yes, even kill for them, but he would do it himself, not hire or instruct someone else to do it.
“Okay?” Simon gave her hand a reassuring squeeze as they came to a halt outside the room where she was to meet her biological father for the first time.
Jenna had looked Seamus O’Malley up online these past couple of days, if only so that she wouldn’t be in complete ignorance in regard to him when the two of them met. There had been a lot to read about his trial and his behavior leading up to that trial. His reputation as the vicious enforcer of the Irish Mob in Northern Ireland was undeniable.
Photographs taken during his trial had shown him as being a large and handsome man in his late thirties, with bright red hair and steely pale green eyes.
It seemed odd to Jenna that she had inherited her own red hair and green eyes from this man she hadn’t even known existed just days ago.
She’d always thought her facial features similar to old photographs she had of her mother, but perhaps even that would be tested in the next few minutes.
“Okay,” she answered firmly, her chin tilting in determination as the security lock on the door was released and she stepped forward to meet her past.
“Jenna has gone where?” Atticus had barely stepped out of the police station before he exploded.
“You will draw in three long breaths,” his mother advised evenly. “Slowly in, then slowly out again. Then you will count to fifty. If after that you still wish to make an exhibition of yourself in the middle of the street, I will ask one of your brothers,” she indicated the four men surrounding the two of them, “to find something heavy to knock you over the head with. When you regain consciousness, we’ll talk. Reasonably. Sensibly.”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Atticus found it difficult not to smile at his mother’s threat. It wasn’t idle either. Simon might have been the one who worked for the English government for forty years, but Joanne was more than capable of kicking ass too if the situation warranted it. Bringing up six sons, all of whom had eventually joined the army, and with a very often absent husband, had warranted it.
“Calmer now?” she enquired mildly seconds later.
Atticus grimaced. “Not really. But I know you well enough to realize you’ll follow through if you have to.” He sobered. “But I do need you to tell me why Jenna has gone to see O’Malley.”
Joanne raised blonde brows. “Because she, like all of us, believes he is responsible for the deaths of the two men you’ve been questioned about for the past three days.”
Rourke gave a pointed wrinkling of his nose. “You really do need a shower, bro.”
“Jenna is more important—”
“Jenna is with your father and perfectly safe,” his mother assured him. “You, however, need to be alert and ready to offer her the comfort of your arms—preferably clean ones—and a shoulder to cry on, if necessary, when she returns. At least that’s what I’ve heard,” she added dryly.
Atticus gave his brothers a fierce scowl from under lowered brows. “Good to know you have my back.”
Lucan snorted. “Believe me, none of us want anything to do with your front!”
“We’re happy to leave that to Jenna,” Haydn drawled.
“Fuck, yes,” Logan dismissed.
“Bunch of fucking comedians,” Atticus muttered under his breath.
His mother raised her brows. “Might I remind you that this ‘bunch of fucking comedians’ has been working day and night alongside your father to produce evidence to clear your name of any wrongdoing? Which is why you are currently outside the police station rather than still inside it.”
His mother had a way of always being right. “Thanks, guys.” He didn’t look directly at any of his siblings.
“Better,” his mother approved. “Now I’m going to be kind and not question you as to what they might have meant by their remarks regarding you and Jenna. Instead, I suggest we all go back to our hotel suite. Atticus can borrow some of your father’s clothes once he’s showered off the grime of the police station, and then we can all go down to the restaurant and have lunch.”
Any one of the brothers would have gladly hosted their parents’ frequent visits back to England, but the older couple always insisted on staying at a luxury hotel in the heart of the city. A home away from home, they always called it, and treated it as such.
Nevertheless, Atticus had no doubts that his mother’s decision for them all to go back to the hotel was her way of diverting attention from the fact three of their immediate family members were missing: Bryce and, more noticeably, Simon and Jenna.
The brothers might squabble amongst themselves, they always had, but they were a solid wall against the rest of the world if one of them was threatened.
“Are we all agreed?” his mother pressed.
Aged in their thirties, each several inches over six feet tall and outweighing their mother by at least a hundred pounds, they all knew better than to disagree.
Atticus would have to wait a little longer to see Jenna again.
He’d thought of doing nothing else since they were separated so abruptly three days ago.
Chapter 13
Twenty-three years spent locked away in a prison cell had wrought unmistakable changes in Seamus O’Malley.
Now aged sixty, his shoulders were no longer as muscular or broad as they had once been.
His red hair was liberally streaked with white.
The pale green eyes were no longer as steely.
A green gaze that ate up everything about Jenna the moment she stepped into the room. “You look just like her,” Seamus murmured appreciatively, seated on the opposite side of the table from where two other chairs were placed and obviously meant for Jenna and Simon. He also might have spent the last almost quarter of a century in an English prison, but he hadn’t lost the charming Irish brogue.
Jenna couldn’t stop staring at the man, stumbling slightly as she sat down in one of the chairs, very much afraid she might fall down if she didn’t. Nor was Jenna under any illusions as to who the “her” was that she looked like. “She testified against you twenty-three years ago, was responsible for putting you in here,” she reminded.
O’Malley remained unperturbed. “Sarah did what she had to do to protect the both of ye.”
Jenna frowned. “You aren’t angry with her?”
He gave Simon a sideways glance. “Why would I be angry with her when the living proof of what we set out to do is now seated opposite me?” He gave a half smile as Jenna stared at him blankly. “Bring our daughter into the world and keep her safe.”
Jenna’s gaze narrowed. “I don’t understand…”
Seamus sat forward, much to the chagrin of the watching guards. The Irishman waved off their concern. “I wouldn’t hurt me own fecking daughter!” He scowled his displeasure before turning back to Jenna. “Ye shouldn’t have come here. It was never what Sarah or meself wanted for ye.” He glared at Simon. “Ye should have known better than to bring her here.”
Simon raised his brows. “Your presupposing I could have stopped her.”
Seamus’s mouth quirked. “A chip off the old block, is she now.”
“Stubborn as hell,” Simon confirmed.
“You’ve looked after my girl well since Sarah died,” the other man acknowledge softly. “You and yer woman both.”
Jenna was totally bewildered by this conversation. By the look almost of respect exchanged between two men who, twenty-five years ago, had been on opposite sides of what was gangland warfare.
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