Page 168 of Three Irish Kings
After a couple of moments, I pull away, straightening up and sniffling. I wipe a hand across my face. “I’ve still got work to do.”
“You need food and rest, Dare. You look like shit.”
I know he’s right. I’ve seen the bags under my eyes, the stubble on my jaw, the clothes I haven’t changed in three days.
Feeling slightly better since Cillian comforted me, I switch tactics, looking up Cormac’s wife in every database I can think of—hospitals in the area, gym memberships, anything. I don’t know how this is going to end up being important, but it’s all I can do.
Cillian crosses his arms over his chest. “If I have to physically carry you to bed, I will.”
“Just try it.” But I’m distracted, and there’s no edge to my voice.
I’m researching everything, looking for anything and everything that might give me a clue, when finally, something pops up on the screen.
A hospital visit. Sixteen years ago. The patient: Matilda Grace Callahan.
His wife’s dead, so it isn’t her death that interests me. It’s the hospital visit all those years ago.
I narrow my eyes, scanning the medical reports, and finally, it clicks.
“Cormac has a child.”
Cillian straightens up, standing up to his full height. “He has awhat?”
Cormac paid for the visit with an alias’s credit card, but he didn’t think to use an alias for his wife, who we all knew because he’d paraded her around the whole time they were married.
But a child?
He must have kept the kid locked away.
I can’t exactly blame him. I want to do the same with Isla and the baby, especially after all this.
It takes me another half hour to find the birth certificate, and Cillian stands behind me the whole time, watching with an expression of almost awe on his face.
Irene Callahan.
I take a deep breath. This is it, my last chance of the day.
My breath catches in my throat as I type “Irene” into the password bar, and it starts to load.
If this doesn’t work, I’ll be locked out until tomorrow.
The camera feeds start to pop up on my screen, and I whoop.
“I always thought you were smart, but this is crazy, Dare. You’re a genius.”
I’m not listening. I’m scanning the cameras and then... there it is.
The feed isn’t great quality, but I can still make out her form.
Isla sits on a bed, playing cards with a smaller girl. Probably Irene herself.
My feelings of victory slowly dissipate.
Isla really is at Cormac’s mansion.
I can’t see her face, can’t tell if she’s hurt or not, but it gives me some hope that she’s playing cards.
“Shit,” Cillian mutters. “I was almost hoping she wasn’t there.”
