Page 3 of Forbidden Bond

“Good. This will be easier; I’m doing what’s best for all of us.”

All of us? All of him. Nothing about the situation was good for her. It wasn’t good for the McDades or the Stratfords. Wasn’t good for Steeple or her colleagues at The Chronicler. Most of all? It wasn’t good for Lachlan. How could this play out without ultimately shattering his world? She’d already lost one man she loved, two men, losing another would finish her.

For the drive to Strat’s, which wasn’t far, they didn’t share another word.

“Park over there,” she said, nodding to a space by the building. “We’re not going in. I don’t trust you not to…”

If anything happened to threaten Strat, she’d provoke her father into giving her the bullet. She didn’t want Conn setup to take the fall for her murder, but his people would fight his corner. She couldn’t lose a friend. Wouldn’t.

“You care too much about people,” her father said, turning off the engine.

“And you care about no one.” Not even his own blood. “Leave the keys in it.”

“Excuse me?”

“Where’s your phone? Loosen the cuffs and I’ll—”

“No.” He retrieved his phone from a side pocket. “What’s the number?”

Much as she didn’t want to give it, what choice did she have? He dialed on speaker. Shit.

Strat answered, clearing his throat. “Yeah?”

“Kurt?”

Another cough. “What the—”

“I need to borrow your car.”

“Scamp?”

“Please just, come to the window, drop your keys down to the parking lot.”

“What?” he asked again. “What the fuck is going on?”

“I can’t talk.” Her eyes met her father’s. “Please just, drop them out the window.”

“It’s barely fucking light outside.”

She hadn’t thought about the sun. Not that it had risen yet. Not then and it never would again. Without Conn there would be no new day, no sunrise could replace what she’d lost.

“I know, I’m sorry to wake you. It’s important.”

“Come up and—”

“No, I’m not coming up, and I don’t have time to explain.” The answer would be different if she didn’t fear her father flipping out and killing someone else. “I’m not alone.”

“Why’s Ire—”

“Long live the king,” she murmured, hoping he’d remember their conversation about Ire’s potential demise.

Strat was incredible at picking up her cues, at this most important moment, she hoped that skill wouldn’t desert them.Though so early in the morning, he may not have flicked the on switch yet.

Her father’s interjection was unexpected. “He makes you say that?”

“Superintendent?” Strat asked.

Ronald McLeod sealed his lips again.

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