Page 33 of Sins of the Father

"She's already close. Has been for a while." I return to my desk. "The question is whether she's working alone. Is this a personal vendetta or an official investigation."

Eamon shifts in his chair. "And if it's both?"

"Then we handle both." I pick up the photos from the café meeting. "But I need to know everything first.”

"Does she know you know?"

"Not that I can tell, she thinks she is very careful." I doubt she suspects we are on to her.

"So, she feels safe with you."

"For now." I check my watch. "Which gives me an opportunity to use that false sense of security."

Eamon stands. "Do you need backup at the house?"

"No. Too obvious." I don’t want her to get tipped off. "This needs to feel natural. The boss she slept with, making his romantic move on her."

"You think she'll buy that shit?"

I remember New York. The way she lost all control in bed with me. How real it felt despite everything I now know.

"She has feelings for me. That wasn't fake." I lock the files in my desk drawer. "I'll use that weakness to get what I need."

"And after you have the information?"

The question is stuck there between us, what I have to do and what I want to do. After seven years hunting our family, Orla Nolan knows too much to simply walk away alive. I know better than to leave witnesses.

"We'll see what she know," I say. "Then decide what is best for her."

An hour later,I find Orla at her desk, typing reports. She looks up as I approach, offering a small smile, and wonder how fake it is? Wass he ever happy to see me? Was New York fake too?

"Working hard?" I ask.

"Always." She saves her document. "The Richardson contracts need your signature on them by five."

I perch on the edge of her desk, invading her personal space the way I have for weeks. Watching her reaction, seeing every micro-expression.

"I was thinking," I say. "We both need a break after this week's excitement. How about getting away for the weekend?"

Her fingers pause over the keyboard. "Away? With you?"

"My family has a beach house. Private. Quiet. Good place to decompress." I lean closer. "Just the two of us. Fire place, cozy, nice view."

She looks me in the eye, and I search for any sign she suspects my true motives. Instead, I see what looks like genuine excitement at the invitation.

"That sounds wonderful," she says. "When do you want to go?"

"Tonight. We can leave after work, be there by eight." I stand. "We'll cook dinner, walk on the beach, forget about work for forty-eight hours."

"I'd love that." Her smile appears more genuine now. "But I doubt you ever forget about work."

"Perfect. I'll pick you up at six." I start to walk away, then pause. "Orla?"

"Yes?"

"Bring that emerald necklace you wore to the gala. It looks beautiful on you."

Her hand moves unconsciously to her throat. "Of course."

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