Page 10 of His Obsession

She turned slowly, her amber eyes flashing with a mix of anger and wariness. “Mr. Kavanagh,” she said evenly, though the stress in her voice was unmistakable.

“I trust you’re enjoying your evening,” he said, his gaze dropping briefly to her lips before returning to her eyes.

“Immensely,” she replied coolly.

Her father’s voice called her name from the entrance, but she didn’t move. Not yet. Callum leaned closer, his voice lowering so only she could hear.

“I’ll see you again soon,” he murmured. “And next time, we won’t be interrupted.”

Her breath hitched, and he saw the faintest flicker of uncertainty in her expression before she turned on her heel and walked away.

Padraig sighed, swirling the wine in his glass. “You’re playing with fire.”

Callum’s smile widened as he watched her disappear through the door. “Good thing I like the heat.”

The low hum of conversation buzzed around him, underscored by the clink of silverware against fine china.The Celestial Stagwas at its peak dinner hour, every table occupied by Dublin’s elite. The scent of good food mingled with the faint tang of wine and filled the air. Yet the Guinness in Callum’s hand tasted bitter as he listened to Padraig deliver the news.

Padraig leaned forward in the booth, his wiry frame tense, his pale blue eyes darting around the room before settling on Callum. “It’s Lynch. His crew’s been sniffing around, asking questions about the Fitzwilliam family.”

Callum’s dark gaze flicked toward Padraig, the easy demeanor he’d worn moments ago vanishing. “What kind of questions?”

Padraig glanced down at his own pint, shifting uncomfortably. “They’re asking about connections. Trying tofigure out if there’s overlap between us and them. Specifically, about her.”

Her.

The word hung in the air like a knife poised to drop as Callum processed the implications.

“Isolde,” he said quietly, the name slipping from his lips like a threat.

Padraig nodded. “Word is, Lynch thinks she’s useful. Maybe leverage. Or bait.”

Callum set his glass down with deliberate precision, his fingers curling into a fist against the polished wood of the table. The thought of Eoin Lynch’s crew anywhere near Isolde sent a dark, simmering rage through him. She was already too close to the fire, thanks to her unfortunate timing at the gala. Now this?

The familiar weight of his shoulder holster pressed against him, a cold reminder of the world he operated in. He could feel the reassuring presence of his Glock beneath his jacket, but even that didn’t ease the apprehension coiling in his gut.

“Bait,” Callum repeated, his voice low and dangerous. “If Lynch thinks he can use her against me, he’s more of a fool than I thought.”

Padraig leaned back slightly, sensing the shift in Callum’s mood. “What do you want to do about it?”

For a long moment, Callum said nothing. His eyes drifted across the room, landing on the empty table where Isolde and her father had dined earlier. He could still see her in his mind’s eye, the way her lips had pressed together in that stubborn line he’d come to expect when she was trying to conceal her emotions. The way her eyes had flared with something that wasn’t entirely fear when he’d brushed her arm as she passed.

She didn’t belong in his world. But now, thanks to Lynch, she wasn’t just a liability—she was a target.

“Double the surveillance on her,” Callum said finally, his voice sharp as glass. “I want eyes on her at all times. No one gets near her without me knowing.”

Padraig frowned. “You sure about that? Bringing more attention to her could?—”

“I don’t need your opinion, Padraig,” Callum interrupted, his tone icy. “I need results.”

Padraig nodded quickly, his shoulders stiffening. “Understood.”

Callum picked up his glass, brought it to his lips, but then set it down without taking so much as another sip. He turned it loose, unfinished, and leaned back in his seat, his eyes fixed on Padraig.

“And if Lynch or any of his crew get within striking distance of her,” Callum continued, his voice dropping into a growl, “they don’t walk away. Understood?”

Padraig’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Understood.”

As Padraig slid out of the booth, Callum’s gaze returned to the restaurant’s entrance. He thought of Isolde’s expression when she’d left, the stiffness in her shoulders as her father ushered her toward the door. The way her breath had hitched when he’d whispered that they weren’t done.

---