Fits.
“Then who?”
“I don’t know. Believe it or not, I’m too busy to keep track of who you’re bickering with.”
“Bullshit. You made that your business the moment you found out about Joey and me.”
“I still don’t know.”
We’re not getting anywhere. Jesus must feel the same because he offers a compromise. Who knew hell froze over?
“You need me as much as I need you if we’re going to keep Jocelyn safe. Whoever the fuck this is has thehuevosto attack a cartel daughter and mob girlfriend. I’ve heard the stories about your family. I may as well call her your wife.”
“You should.”
Huevosmay mean eggs, but I like it better than balls. Much more accurate. I look at my dad, then Seamus. My dad nods, and my brother rolls his eyes. It’s not like that was a secret. Seamus holds out his phone, so I can see the notes app.
Tiernan and I will head over there now. We’ll see what we can learn from your place. Tonight we’ll go to J’s.
They’ll wait until it’s dark, so people aren’t as curious. Seamus may have loathed cross-examining Tiernan when they met during a trial because he poked holes in her qualifications, but we all know she’s the best at what she does. We don’t involve her often, but this isn’t the first time we’ve needed her to tell us what happened with a fire or tell us how to make sure no one pins a fire on us.
“I have some calls I need to make. Joey’s safe where she is. If I have to go out, four men from my family will be where she is.”
“You still won’t tell me. She’s my daughter, O’Rourke.”
“And until I know who did this, I trust no one who didn’t give me or doesn’t share my DNA. She might be your daughter, but she’s mine.”
Let him decide what I’m claiming. As far as I’m concerned, she’s my everything. More than my house will burn if anyone threatens her again. I’ll burn all this motherfucker down.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Joey
That wasn’t exactly a disaster, but it didn’t go well. It’s not like I thought we’d all be sitting together, havingcafé y pan dulce—coffee and sweet bread. Maybe if we were at my parents’ house, and my mom was there. Definitely not over the phone or even in NYC. I wouldn’t have invited my father, brother, and Cormac to my place. It’s—it was—a far too enclosed space for the three of them. It seems we won’t be having them over to Cormac’s house. I can’t imaginepapáor Santi wanting to come here, either. I doubt Cormac’s parents want to play host to them. That’d be like hanging steaks on themselves and walking into a lion’s den.
If my head hadn’t started hurting at the beginning of the call, it certainly would be by now. I glance at the bottle on the bedside table and see it’s a powerful painkiller. Not quite narcotic, but pretty damn close. I reach for it and the glass of water. I’ve just swallowed when my phone rings again.
Work.
Fuck my life.
“Hello.”
“Jocelyn, you better have a good excuse for why you aren’t back here. You had two meetings this morning you missed without permission.”
“I had a gas leak at my apartment that started a fire. It nearly killed me. Can I have the afternoon off?”
Things have been practically hostile between Martha and me for the last few days. Sarcasm won’t win me any friends, but she’s been riding me like a fucking pony at a fair.
“Are you all right?” Some genuine concern.
“I have stitches in my leg and my head.”
“Dios mio!” My God!
“I was too out of it to remember the meetings. Please pass along my apologies.”
“Jocelyn, I know you wouldn’t lie about something that serious, especially since you’ll need a doctor’s note to miss more work.”