Page 40 of Sins of the Father

"I organize alphabetically. I don't pick which folders to sort. That place was chaos."

Eamon stops directly in front of me. "You’re a liar."

"What?"

"You accessed those specific files multiple times. Why?" He steps closer. "Are you working for the feds? State police? Or selling information to our competitors?"

"I work for Cillian," I say, standing my ground despite his closeness. "Call my references."

"We did." His smile turns cruel. "Found some gaps."

My heart races but I hold his gaze. "I don't understand, you’re cornering me in the carpark over gaps in my resume?."

"You’ll understand soon enough." He moves aside. "Drive safe, Orla Kelly. Boston roads kill people every day."

I unlock my car without taking my eyes off him, get inside, lock the doors. In my mirror, Eamon watches me drive away.

I stop at a coffee shop ten blocks from the office. After buying a drink, I sit in the corner booth for fifteen minutes, making sure no one followed me. The bathroom is private.

I text Doyle.

Mycover is blown. Need to get out.

His answer comes quickly.

There’s a Family meeting Thursday. We need you to wear a wire, you can’t get out until then.

I stare at my phone. Seven years of waiting comes down to this choice. Justice for Dad versus what I feel for Cillian. Revenge matters more than my heart.

I type.

Are you fucking crazy? Eamon is on me like a rash. How will you wire me? Huh? He is watching me, they all are.

Park bench. Public Garden. Noon Thursday.

I erase our conversation, flush the toilet, wash my hands. My reflection shows Orla Kelly, a tired, overworked assistant. I don’t recognize her at all—she is really thinking about protecting the monsters that killed her father.

At home, I plan for Thursday, how to get away in the middle of the day. How to make sure he invites me to dinner. What to wear to hide a wire. How to avoid the additional security checks. What to do if I get caught. How to stop feeling guilty about Cillian, and tell my heart that I can’t catch feelings for him.

While planning, I push away my thoughts of Cillian. How his touch felt. How he looked at me at the beach house. How betraying him will feel.

I focus on Dad instead. The blood pooling under his desk chair. The papers scattered across the floor. The justice I have been waiting seven years for.

CHAPTER 18

CILLIAN

Islam my office door and pour three fingers of whiskey. My hands shake—rage, not fear. Eamon's words echo in my head from three days ago.

"She's digging into Thomas Nolan's files. That's not random, Cillian."

Thomas fucking Nolan.

The whiskey burns down my throat. I grab my phone.

"Matthews. My office. Now."

He arrives in two minutes. Good.

---