Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
The familiar frustration rose, but she refused to let it show on her face as she followed John through the hallway connecting the garage to the house and to her father’s office. He and another of his men, Lee, were talking intently, but broke off when she walked through the door. Her father rose, straightening to his full six feet. “Where have you been?”
She stopped short. “What’s going on?”
“We have a strike against the Hallorans tonight, but it was on hold until you got home—which you should have been over an hour ago.” He nodded at Lee, and both he and John left the room, closing the door behind them.
She turned to look, the sinking feeling in her chest telling her everything she needed to know about what kind of violence was planned tonight. “Papa, you have to call them off.”
“I have to do no such thing.”
“Victor Halloran is striking out because he just lost his son. Surely you can understand that and talk to him instead of escalating the issue?” With each strike and counterstrike, it was becoming more and more likely that this war couldn’t be stopped, no matter what Callie and Teague did.
My fault. She tried to brush the thought away, but it grew teeth and burrowed into her mind. If she’d gone along with her father’s plans to have her marry Brendan, then they wouldn’t be facing war and the deaths of people she knew and cared about. “Please, Papa.”
“You dare to compare Brendan to your brother?” His fists clenched, and her stomach dropped before she forcibly reminded herself that her father had never raised a hand to her in twenty-five years. It was unlikely he’d start now. She hoped. Papa glared at her like he knew this was truly her fault. “You must hold your brother in low esteem.”
Ronan had been nothing like Brendan. He’d hardly been perfect, but he wasn’t a monster by any definition. How could Papa think she really felt that way? Her heart beat so quickly, she half feared it’d beat itself right out of her chest. It was tempting to back down and slink away to her room to take her fourth shower of the day, but there was more at stake than her pride. She took a deep breath and tried to keep her voice temperate. “I’m not saying that at all. I’m just saying our resources would be better spent doing anything except going to war.”
He waved that away as if it weren’t a completely legitimate argument. “You’re too soft, my girl. Oh, you can be ruthless when you’re backed into a corner, but you always hesitate to take preemptive attacks. Halloran struck at us during a moment of celebration. If I allow it to pass without retribution, all the little weasels and cockroaches will come calling, and no one will be safe. You value your safety, don’t you? Our people’s safety?”
Of course she did. That’s why she’d worked with Micah to get safeguards in place in case the Hallorans attempted a strike closer to home. But she hated the fact that they were potentially escalating the violence in the name of safety. It seemed so backward no matter which way she looked at it. “There has to be another way.”
“There’s not. Now, go get some sleep.” His gaze coasted over her, settling on her neck. “You look like you need it.”
Her hand flew to her throat. She’d been so distracted with thoughts of Teague that she’d completely forgotten to put her scarf back on. “I—”
“Did I ask for an explanation?”
She froze, searching his face. There was a heavy knowledge in his eyes. “Papa…” She forced herself to stop talking and think. He’d been in this line of work far too long not to recognize what the bruises on her throat meant. He might not know who put them there, but he must suspect something or he would be grilling her for more information the same way Teague had.
Does he know?
Papa moved around his desk and set his hands on her shoulders. “I failed you once, Callie. Let me make it right.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and then he walked away, leaving her staring at the empty chair behind his desk.
He knows.
She reached blindly for a chair and stumbled over to sink into it. Her father knew she was the one who killed Brendan—had probably known from the second the news got out. She’d done her best to slip her tail, but someone had seen something. Callie touched her still-tender neck, guilt making her want to curl into a ball and sob.
Papa was doing this for her.
There was no other explanation that made sense. He wasn’t the type to let a skirmish escalate into a war, not if there was any other option. The fact that he was doing it now made her think he was waving the red flag in front of the bull that was Victor Halloran to keep their people distracted from their investigation.