Page 61 of If You Go
“Ah now, don’t be disrespectin’ your host like that. Thought we were closer, back when I was still livin’ with me wife.” She lets out a slight chuckle. I don’t think the old woman has energy for much more. “Tell me what I want t’know, an’ I’ll have ye out o’ that chair an’ into a proper holdin’ room — a hot shower, a real bed, the whole bleedin’ thing. Sound fair?”I try to tempt her. I need to move her out of here regardless, but this will hopefully be mutually beneficial.
“I won’t tell ya shite, ya rotten gobshite pox bottle. Think I’d give you a single word ‘bout my sweet Surry, ya scut? Feck off, ya wanker.” Her accent is much stronger when she is angry. I don’t remember it being so aggressive the last time I saw her.
Her words also drag the brogue right out of me; it slips through my teeth before I can bite it back, old-country vowelscutting clean through the calm I try to keep. “Ah Jaysus, I’d near forgot how sharp yer tongue could be. Alright then—are there any boats Surry can drive at her da’s house?” I chuckle at my own words and how they sound now. Now I just want to see if she will say anything other than classless Irish insults.
“Yer thick as shite, and twice as ugly. Feck off back to yer hole before Stefan buries ya in it.”
Nope, guess not. I backhand her again, and she lets out a scream. I grab a fistful of her gray hair and bring her face within an inch of mine, ensuring I spit a little when I talk to her.
“Tell me how she will be gettin’ to the port, or you won’t draw another breath to see her with yer own two eyes.”
“Sir, we found her.”
My men interrupt me with the best news I have heard in nearly ten years. I let go of Bridget’s hair, pushing her backward until she falls over onto her back, still tied to the chair. See how the old cunt likes that.
As I walk toward the screens, I see the one they have highlighted. It’s Surry, hopping off a small boat. Only took her two hours, and she dressed pretty well to hide from me, but she can’t truly hide from me, not ever. She has her long, beautiful hair pulled into the hood of a too big black sweater, combat-looking trousers, and black combat boots, with a large orange life jacket and over sized black sunglasses. Even still, she’s as easy to spot as if she had a beacon on her. I cannot wait to see how she has changed under those clothes, but I do wonder where my child is. What she did with him. It was well documented that she was pregnant when she arrived at the hospital that night, but the rest was buried under red tape and paperwork.
“There she is,” I say, the first syllable catching the old brogue before I smooth it out, “go get her. Bring her to me. Bring me my wife.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“THIS IS GETTINGout of hand, we need to make a move. Now. Stop him before he does anything worse,” Sam says, voice flat with that cold certainty that makes people listen.
We’re crowded into Stefan’s office–me, Sam, Josh, Stefan–elbows and maps and too much coffee. It’s been hours since Surry’s panic attack. She’s asleep in her room; the girls and Richie are taking shifts watching over her so she won’t wake alone. I told myself that was enough. That I could sit here and plan and then go to her and be the first thing she sees when she opens her eyes. But the idea of her curled up and fragile while we chase ghosts makes my teeth ache.
“Surry can’t keep dealing with this,” I say. The words taste like iron. “She’s going to break if we keep dragging her through it. My job is to protect her — not just her body. Her mind too. We remove her from this. Full stop.”
Stefan nods; Sam and I lock eyes. They offer no pushback, we’re all in agreement. I feel the small, ugly thing at the edge of my chest–the thought that maybe I should have done more earlier. That if I’d been faster, smarter, this wouldn’t be happening. I shove it down and look for action.
“Let’s see if we can pinpoint a location if I give him a call,” I say. I want to bait him, make him slip. Josh smirks because he knows me the way brothers know each other, the part of me that rants, becomes the part that moves. “Get Corver on the phone so he can tap in and hopefully find this bastard.” Stefan snaps at one of his men, who opens a secure video line, and we get three for the price of one. Corver, Gunnar, and Arnie are on the screen looking at us, and we fill them in on what we want to do.
“What if it makes him angrier?” Sam asks. He’s thinking of Bridget, of collateral. “He might do something worse.”
“If we call, he has less leverage,” I say. “He won’t act until he thinks he can take Surry. He won’t get her.” I pace. I can feel hands on me, the steadying presence of people who know how to take a man apart and put him back together. I see Josh’s hands holding my shoulder, and I look from him to the screen. Gunnar gives me a shallow nod, encouraging me as well.
I pick up the phone. Corver’s fingers dance across a laptop screen–he’s already pushing at Gavin’s comms, trying to get a bead on the man. Five minutes and the line is live.
The receptionist answers exactly like I hate: polite, but a tremor under the surface.
“Hello, you have reached Callie at Kelly Enterprises. How can I direct your call?”
“Send me to your boss, and I won’t take no for an answer,” I say.
“Oh, okay sir, let me see if he is in,” she says, and then the world’s ugliest hold music pulses through the speaker. I can feel all of them leaning in.
“God, even his hold music is fucking ugly,” I mutter. A few of them chuckle; Stefan rolls his eyes. Corver clears his throat and says he’s got a line into Gavin’s work phone; he’s working on the cell. “Do not hang up until I say,” he cautions. I nod.
I don’t want to let the receptionist go, anyways. Her voice is frayed.
“Hello, sir, may I ask who is calling?” she asks when she comes back on.
“No, but trust he will want to talk to me, are you safe?” I can’t help myself. I throw the offer out because I don’t trust the cheap warmth behind corporate voices.
“I’m–I’m sorry sir? I don’t understand your question. Safe from what?” Her voice trembles harder.
“Take this number down. If you need help, call me. Any hour. I or one of my associates will come for you. Do you understand? Take the number down. Now.”
“Sure…okay.” I hear a pen scratch, and I hope it’s not just a habit. I’m not letting anyone be a cog in his machine.
