Page 132 of Illicit Heir
Recess is an O'Leary territory, which means the garda aren't on any O'Connor's side.
I don't have to think about it. I speed up, and a chase begins. It takes four exits and several cars banging into each other before I veer off the motorway.
I don't know where I'm going, and the garda stays close on my tail.
I speed through a town, beeping my horn so that a handful of pedestrians move out of the way. The garda slows to maneuver around them, and I turn in front of a rubbish truck at the right time.
There's a loud crash. I glance into my mirror in time to see steam coming out of the hood of the garda's car.
"Finally," I shout but continue to drive fast, trying to figure out where I'm at and making my way back toward the motorway.
It takes longer than I want to find the entrance, and I curse myself for so many things.
We should've gotten more men to infiltrate the O'Learys.
I should have protected Samuel better, not that I know how.
Then more questions appear.
How did Caleb even find out he was an O'Connor?
His death is on my hands, but I push the guilt away. I can't worry about him right now. The only people who matter are Lauren and my baby.
I continue driving toward the seaside. Rain starts to pour so thick I can barely see. My tires skid across the pavement, and I almost lose control of the vehicle. It forces me to slow down, and I grow antsier.
The remainder of the drive turns torturous. Every second that passes makes my skin crawl, and I wonder if Caleb's already there. Does he have her in his possession?
When I finally exit in Clifden, it's dark from the storm, and I have to slow down even more. I realize I have no plan. I don't know anything about this town. I've never been here. I don't know how many bed-and-breakfasts there are here, nor can I pinpoint the one Lauren's hiding out in.
I grab my phone and pull up a list of options, and my gut drops.
I stare at a dozen options. I switch to view them on the map, figure out where I'm at, then drive to the closest one.
I pull up, but it's shut down as if no one's been here for ages, so I don't waste any time going inside. I drive to the next one, park close to the steps, climb them, and ring the bell.
A dark-haired young woman opens the door, asking, "Hi, can I help ya?"
"Aye. I'm looking for Lauren. She might call herself something else. Strawberry-blonde hair. Blue eyes. Tall. She's pregnant."
The woman looks like she has no idea what I'm talking about and shakes her head. "I'm sorry, but I don't know."
I'm not taking any chances. As far as I know, she could be the best liar in the world. So I shove past her, calling out, "Lauren!"
"Sir, I don't know who you're talking about," she claims in a scared voice.
A man appears. "Can I help ya?"
"Aye. I'm trying to find the mother of my child. Where is she?" I demand, feeling crazed.
He shakes his head. "There's no one here but my wife, a few older guests, and myself."
I shove past him, unconvinced, feeling desperate. I open every door I pass while they object, following me.
The man threatens, "I'm calling the garda if ya don't leave."
I spin on him, grab his shirt collar, and push him up against the wall.
The woman yells, "Don't hurt him!"
