Page 82 of Redemption

Since Jay is sleeping, I leave his room to find Thomas. I could call Finn, but he’s too far away chasing his own lead. I locate Thomas in the spacious, modern kitchen making himself a coffee.

He holds up his cup in offer.

I shake my head.

“You’re looking a little pale. You worried about Finn?”

A slight smile quirks up my lips at the notion. “No. My father called and asked to meet me at the Fox’s Burrow on Thornback Road outside Kilkenny. Can I take a few of your men with me?”

Thomas raises his eyebrows and sips his drink. “You can take more than a few, I reckon. Finn’d skin me alive if anything happened to ya.” His expression turns pensive. “Unusual for your father to call you?”

“He hasn’t been answering my calls for days. He says he’s in trouble. But he has a history of dragging me into waist-deep shit when I was only at my ankles before.”

“Maybe you should wait for Finn?”

“He said I should leave now. If he really needs help, he’s my father.” For better or worse, I can’t abandon him when he needs me.

“Leave now,” Thomas muses. “Strange that. How would he know where you are?”

A great question. The dots connect and form a different picture. A trap? “Maybe I’ll need more than a few men. It was his voice on the phone. If he’s in actual danger, I have to help him. If he died and I did nothing after he called me pleading…” I ease my fingers along my brow. Finn would tell me not to leave. “I’d never forgive myself.”

Thomas drains his cup and sets it in the sink. “Come with me. I’m not sending you to Kilkenny without a plan of action and a substantial number of men. I know which side my bread is buttered.”

The drive to Kilkenny is longer than I expected, and the whole time I stare out the window, clutching my phone in my hand. I half expect my father to call me to say he’s left Kilkenny, and there’s no need to come. Wishful thinking.

Three of Thomas’s men are in my bulletproof car. Following us is another bulletproof car with four other men inside. Thomas suggested I text or call Finn to give him the details of the plan we cobbled together to meet my father. If I did that, he would have told me not to go, then raved at Thomas about my safety. Wouldn’t have mattered how careful he was or how many security people he gave me, nothing would ever be enough.

These mixed-up emotions are another reason I didn’t go to Boston. We would have spent too much energy worrying about each other. Out of sight, out of mind doesn’t work for us. Everything is worse when Finn and I aren’t together.

Having me ride to my father’s rescue would grate on Finn. He thinks my father is a waste of air, and while there are days I agree with him, he’s my parent. Not all my memories of him are bad. We had good times—particularly before my brother died. After that, my mom and dad as I knew them, closed up, and closed in. How much can I blame them for protecting their hearts? How traumatized would I be by the loss of Lucas? Would I ever recover? My miscarriages wrecked me. I can’t imagine losing Lucas who is a child with his own personality, a child I’ve held in my arms through feedings, teething, and sleepless nights. All his potential—gone in a flash. The loss must cling to a person like tar.

“Thomas texted,” the guy in the passenger seat says and glances over his shoulder. “He got confirmation the Fox’s Burrow isn’t in business anymore. You still want to go?”

I bite my cheek and consider my options. Seven guards. Bulletproof car. We went over various ambush scenarios with everyone. They’re armed to the teeth.

If the building is abandoned, he could be a hostage. He could be hurt or injured.

Or he may not realize it’s no longer a functioning bar. To some extent, that’s like him. Pick an out-of-the-way spot that just so happens to be closed.

He could be dead.

Something about the voice on the phone didn’t ring true to me, but I can’t put my finger on the difference. Stilted—a smidge—not enough for most people to notice.

He needs me, and if I rail against him for not being there when I need him, I can’t let him down now. He might be a shitty father, but he’s still family.

“We’re going.” I give a decisive nod.

The men check their guns and their ammo, but that’s the only indication I get about their level of comfort with my decision.

We approach an intersection in the middle of nowhere, and up ahead is a pub, the windows boarded-up with plywood, a single car sitting in the parking lot facing the road.

Relief sprouts in my stomach. He’s here alone. My clueless father has picked a place that’s no longer in business.

But when we get close enough for me to peer at the driver, I realize it’s not my father, but by then it’s too late. Other vehicles are streaming out of the rear parking lot, charging toward us. Gunfire bursts from the other cars, pinging off ours. My driver wheels us around and speeds along the road we’ve come from.

Leaving isn’t the plan we cooked up with Thomas. “This wasn’t one of the plans. What are you doing?” I yell over the bullets hitting the car.

“Thomas’s orders. If it’s an ambush, we secure you and get out.” The guy is checking his mirrors, and a thin sheen of sweat coats his forehead.

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