Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 85365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
“Need to see for myself first,” he says. “I don’t want to alarm anyone, put anyone through more than what they have.”
“They never found his body,” Islan says, swallowing a large bite of her sandwich. “But the investigator said they had every reason to believe he’d been killed in the accident.”
Kane nods. “Was paid to tell you that.” He sits, brooding, in the corner of the office, and every once in a while I catch him and Tate in a silent battle of wills, like each of them is silently declaring, come at me, bro.
Men.
“About that,” Kane finally says, talking to Islan but keeping his eyes on Tate. He’s well aware of what Tate is capable of. When he speaks, it’s still jarring hearing his American accent. “The accident was initially a setup from the Welsh. I know because I was already stationed with them when Tavish supposedly died. But this year, he was taken into custody by Interpol.”
“What did the Welsh do to him?” she asks in a whisper.
He shakes his head. “Probably best you don’t know.”
She glares at him. Aye, that look is familiar. “Don’t you get on your high horse and decide I’m too delicate a fuckin’ flower to know what happened to my bloody brother.”
He grins at her, and nods. “Ah, right. Forgot myself there for a minute.”
“Tell me.”
He looks to Tate, who still glares at him. “The Welsh interrogated. Blackmailed. Seems your father owed them money?”
“Doesn’t bloody owe them fuckin’ anything anymore,” Tate mutters.
“Aye,” Kane says. “They tried to get information out of him, but it was useless, you see.”
“Why?” Islan asks.
“He sustained head trauma. Had amnesia. Didn’t bloody know who he even was at first.”
“And you know all this how?”
He sighs. “I’ve followed his case for the past year. I’ve asked everyone I know. My associates believed him affiliated with the Welsh for a time, and they apprehended him.”
“And why was he brought here, to Ireland?” Tate asks.
Kane turns to him. “I knew you were here, and Islan was. And I couldn’t blow my cover.” He frowns.
“And you didn’t tell me!” Islan looks at him in surprise, her eyes wide. I can’t quite read her expression. Is she angry, or shocked? Maybe both.
“Islan, I was fully immersed into the Welsh by then and couldn’t risk either of us being exposed.”
It’s then that I realize the enormous risks he took, how dangerous this has all been for him.
“Tate, lay off,” I tell him. “He’s risked everything to keep Islan safe and bring Tavish back to you.”
“Risked everything,” Tate mutters. “Easy for you to say, when the bloke isn’t bangin’ your bloody sister—”
Islan winces, a rarity for her. “Good luck with that,” she says to me. “Honest to God, the crassness.”
I grin at Tate. I love everything about him.
We hear footsteps, talking and laughter and back slapping. Tate looks to Islan. She rises wordlessly and takes his hand.
A moment later, the door opens, and a tall, thin bloke who looks so much like Leith it’s unnerving, walks into the room. He’s a bit ragged and battle-worn, but he has the vibrant Cowen Clan eyes and the lithe, strong physique they all bear.
He looks about the room, as if stunned, like he’s just woken from a dream.
He looks to Tate, then Islan.
“Tate?” He looks to Islan next. “Islan?”
Tate’s got him in a bear hug, and Tavish extends an arm to Islan. My throat feels tight, my eyes blurry with tears. We’ve somehow rolled back time.
The Cowen family’s whole again.
The sun’s almost fully set, small fingers of gold and orange and rust on the horizon. I felt a bit out of place down there, during the reunion. Tate called the rest of the family, and there was a right good reunion, though virtually. I quietly took my leave when Flora came on. Would break anyone’s heart to see and hear the raw pain when she saw her son, as if the years of mourning and grief spilled out of her all at once in a brutal, but necessary, cleansing.
I went up to the room and sat in one of the chairs, letting dusk settle around me. Planning my future.
The books are gone. I know that now, and I know it’s for the best. And it makes me sad when I think about it. Of course, if I had it to do over, I never would’ve used their family as inspiration to begin with.
But I love them. I love them all so much, and it was so tempting to write more and more stories of love and redemption about them. The paychecks didn’t hurt.
I know now it was far too risky, too dangerous for any of them. I owe so much to them for the havoc I’ve caused.
The door opens, and Tate looms in the doorway.
“Didn’t know you’d come up here, lassie,” he says quietly.