Page 123 of The Thief
"I wish I'd been stronger," he continues. "Wish I'd been braver, that I could have protected you better."
"You did protect me. For eighteen months, you kept me safe and whole and sane. That's more than anyone else did."
"Your da would have been ashamed of me."
"No. Dad would have understood. He'd have been grateful that someone cared enough about me to try."
Murphy's quiet for a long moment. When he speaks again, his voice is fading.
"Take care of yourself, love. And tell that Dubliner of yours that if he lets anything happen to you, I'll haunt him from the grave."
"Murphy—"
"Goodbye, Alastríona. I love you like you were my own."
The line goes dead.
I stare at the phone for a long moment, trying to process what just happened. Murphy, the man who gave me a home when I had nothing, is dying in a Belfast hospital because of me. His pub, his life's work, is ash because Trace Harrington wanted information.
"Alastríona?" Jessica's voice is gentle, concerned. "What's wrong?"
"I need Freddie."
She doesn't ask questions, just goes to get him. A minute later, he's beside me, pulling me into his arms while I fall apart completely.
"Tell me," he says quietly.
So I do. Everything Murphy told me, every detail about the torture and the fire and the information they extracted. Freddie's face gets harder with each word, until he looks like something carved from stone.
"We're leaving," he says when I finish. "Now."
"Where?"
"Home. You need to be somewhere safe while we process this."
He's already moving, gathering our things, making phone calls. Stephen appears, takes one look at my face, and starts organizing our departure without being asked.
The ride back to Henry's safe house is quiet. Freddie drives with one hand, the other holding mine; an anchor in a world that's suddenly spinning out of control.
"He's dying because of me," I say finally.
"He's dying because Trace Harrington is a psychopath who tortures innocent people."
"If I'd never left Belfast?—"
"Then you'd be the one that'd be dead."
"And he'd still be alive."
"Maybe. Or maybe Trace would have found another way to hurt innocent people. That's what men like him do."
We pull into the safe house driveway. The security guards nod as we pass, more weapons visible than before. Everyone's on edge, expecting the next attack.
Inside, Henry's waiting with Denis and Malcolm. They take one look at my face and immediately want details.
"Later," Freddie says curtly. "She needs rest."
"Freddie, if there's been a development?—"
