Page 81 of Líadan's Code

“His father offered to marry me,” Lía chimes in, her lips widening into a true smile as they roar with laughter.

“No shit, I need that story,” Mickey says, laughing.

“It was right after Lía revealed that she was the Banshee and taking over the family. Seán had just been killed,” I recall.

“Classy,” Nathan snorts. “That couldn’t have gone over well. What did you do?”

“I shot him and Lía’s uncle between the eyes and caused a bit of panic before we left,” I tell them.

“Rightly so,” Rory says approvingly as the phone rings to tell me that the food is here. My device is a burner, so there’s nothing to trace back to me, and I signed out as a guest under a fake name.

I also asked them to leave the food and groceries at the front door on the table.

“Is that the food?” Mickey asks, standing.

At my nod, he walks out with Nathan, guns clearly showing on their person.

“We’ll stop giving you shit,” Rory says as we listen to the faraway sound of the door opening and closing.

Lía stands straining her ears, but I hear Nathan and Mickey talking as the door shuts again and is locked. A moment later, they come in with the food, and the world didn’t end. We’re a bit on edge right now.

Relaxing, I take the bag with the coffee pods from Nathan and set it by the machine to make after she eats dinner. Gathering paper plates, I set them out as we continue our conversation.

Righting the wrongs of old men is strenuous work.

Who would have thought Lía and I would be here now? I certainly didn’t, but a part of me wishes we didn’t have to leave Jordan behind to make it here.

Jordan

Twenty-four hours after leaving Dr. Kurtz’s house

Líadan and Brendan are doing a fairly good job of staying off the grid. I’m unfortunately finding a footprint of someone searching for the same images that I am in the grid, so I am turning my search onto finding the slimy little hacker who doesn’t know which side of the line is better for his damn health.

Skyler O’Brien is about to taste my fist as soon as I find him. I encrypt my searches, directing them to find him instead. He’s not used to staying off the grid by avoiding video and traffic cameras because he figures no one cares enough.

I care, and I’m pissed the fuck off. I lost my boyfriend and girlfriend in less than twenty-four hours, and I can’t sleep because I’m hyper focusing.

Taking the subway and wearing a knit hat as I slouch in my seat, I make my way across the city to his apartment. I caught him on the cameras headed back to it, but it’ll take a little work to find the exact apartment.

Walking out of the subway station and up the stairs in a pair of dark slacks, long-sleeved green shirt and coat over all of it, I shove my already cold hands into my pockets.

I went shopping for clothing today, and forgot to pick up gloves like an idiot. I remembered comfortable boots and even a scarf, but my hands are freezing. It doesn’t look as if I’ll ever learn.

Snow begins to fall as I walk, reminding me that spring is supposed to be approaching soon. It’s nine at night, and my breath is frosting in front of me. Chicago does whatever the fuck it wants, so the idea of spring doesn’t mean much.

The apartment building is older, the people walking past me appear tired and run down as they rush to their destinations. As I walk up the stairs with purpose, I’m fairly certain that I’m going to inhale mold spores while I’m in here. A quick glance at the register just inside the doorway says that Skyler O’Brien lives in apartment number three-oh-eight.

Well that’s shitty security.

“Hey man,” a resident grunts, unlocking the door beside me.

“Thanks,” I respond, following him inside as if I belong here.

Opting for the stairs instead of the decrepit elevator, I jog up them to improve circulation of my blood. It’s damn cold today. My back is still healing well, but only because of the medicated cream that Dr. Kurtz gave to me. It’s been a little tricky to reach certain areas of my back, but I’m managing.

Poking my head out of the stairwell, I see the third floor is fairly empty. As expected, the air smells stale, and there’s a lingering scent of food that someone recently cooked. Wrinkling my nose, I find Skyler’s apartment door and knock.

“I got your food delivery,” I call out, making my voice gruff and low.

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