Page 8 of Dublin Debacle

He jumped out and helped Paddy O’Brien to his feet and into the back seat, where he lay across the leather seats and closed his eyes.

“Thank you,” Emily said and slid behind the steering wheel.

Jack hurried around to the front of the vehicle and climbed into the passenger seat.

Emily frowned. “It really isn’t necessary for you to come. I’m sure you have other things to do rather than tag along with a couple of strangers.”

“If you don’t mind, I could be of assistance getting him into and out of the car.” He glanced over his shoulder at the old man. “I’m not sure he can make it out of the back seat on his own, and, as capable as you are, it’s just easier with two.”

Emily’s frown remained for a long moment before she sighed. “You’re right. I don’t think I could get him out without causing him a lot more pain. But as soon as we get him to the doctor, you don’t have to stick around.”

Jack nodded. “I get it. I’m a stranger, and you don’t know me from Adam, but seriously, I only want to help.”

“Why?” she asked, her fingers wrapped around the gear shift.

“I’ve seen enough violence that I want to help when I can.”

Emily pushed the shift into gear, drove to the end of the alley and out onto the street.

“Any idea who might have done this to your uncle?” Jack asked.

Emily’s frown deepened. “I can guess.”

When she didn’t offer her guess, he pressed, “Do you think it was the Travellers?”

She snorted. “Who else would it be? There’ve been rumblings. Those who have chosen a life outside the family have experienced accidents or have gone missing.”

“You think that’s what happened to your Uncle?” he asked.

Emily nodded. “They were probably trying to convince him to return to the fold and sign over the pub to them.” Her lips twisted. “Only the pub isn’t his to sign over.”

“Is it your father’s?” he asked.

After a tight shake of her head, Emily stared at the street ahead. “Not anymore,” she said.

“Did he sign it over to the Travellers?”

She snorted softly. “No. He left it to me and my brother.”

“Emily,” Jack said softly. “Where is your father?” He knew the answer before Emily responded.

A single tear slipped from the corner of her eye. She reached up to brush it away. “He died a month ago in an automobile accident.”

Jack hated asking, but needed to know, “Was it an accident?”

She gripped the steering wheel too tightly; her knuckles turned white. “There was no other evidence to suggest otherwise,” she said, her tone flat as if she recited the words from a soulless report.

“I’m sorry,” Jack said. “Did they test his blood for alcohol or drugs?”

“My father didn’t drink or take drugs. But they couldn’t test him anyway. There wasn’t much left after the fire.” She turned at a street light and drove another block, moving slowly while blinking back tears.

Jack reached across the console and touched her arm. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

She took one hand off the steering wheel and scrubbed the tears from her cheeks. “Yeah, well, I got a few good years with him. I just wish he was still around for my brother.”

“Does your brother help out with the pub?” Jack asked.

Emily shook her head. “Not since my father’s death. He moved out of the flat and took a job on the wharf.” She slowed to a stop and waited to turn onto a major road.

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