Page 32 of The Chief's Captive

The memories flood back, but I push them aside. Now isn't the time for reminiscing. I need all my wits about me if we're going to find Eamon before he disappears for good, or worse, if he decides to retaliate again.

We drive past the charred remains of our pub. The pub is now reduced to a mass of blackened walls and crumbling debris, like a scene from a war-torn city. The flames have long been extinguished, but their destructive power still lingers in the charred remains. I turn my head away, not wanting to look at the ruins. The memories it brings up are too fresh.

The acrid smells of smoke and burnt wood fill my nostrils as we drive past the remains. It's a scent now tinged with the bitterness of loss and devastation. The pub was more than a building to us. It was the center of our lives, the heartbeat of our family. Now it's just rubble and ashes.

Lochlan parks the car a few blocks away from one of Eamon's favorite haunts, an old warehouse where he stashes product and runs his illegal gambling ring. "Alright, lads, we go in quiet. Don't want to spook the prey." We all nod in agreement, weapons drawn and ready for anything.

We approach the warehouse cautiously, every step calculated, ears pricked for any sound out of place. The air is thick with the smells of rotting garbage and burnt wood carried by the wind. The area is desolate, save for a few stray cats scavenging through trash cans. It's the perfect place for Eamon to hide, blending in with the filth and decay.

At the warehouse entrance, I motion for Lochlan to cover the back while Connor and I take the front. I try the door. It's unlocked. Eamon's cocky, always has been. He probably never thought we'd come here. We enter single file, our steps silent on the creaking floorboards.

The warehouse is pitch black inside, but I know this place like the back of my hand. We flick on our flashlights, illuminating our path and casting eerie shadows on the crumbling brick walls.The air inside is stale, thick with dust and mold. The smell of death lingers too—Eamon's ruthlessness.

We clear room by room, finding no one but rats and feral cats. My frustration is mounting, my shoulder throbbing with each step. We reach the basement where Eamon runs his card games and deals his drugs. The door creaks ominously as we push it open, the stench of stale cigarette smoke and sweat assaulting our senses. The space is empty save for overturned tables, chairs, and discarded betting slips littering the floor.

"Damn it!" I roar, kicking over a table in anger. Lochlan and Connor quickly train their lights on me, their eyes wide with fear and adrenaline. I'm on edge, one wrong move away from snapping. I take a deep breath to calm myself down. We can't afford any mistakes now.

"He's close," I say through gritted teeth. "I can feel it in my bones."

"Where to next, Ro?" Connor asks, the weight of the night's events etched on his face. He hates this, and I know it’s tearing us apart.

"We head to his mother’s place," I say, already knowing in my gut that Eamon won't be there. He's not stupid enough to go to any of our usual haunts, but we have to check them off the list. "He's gotten cocky. He'll have left a trail."

Lochlan and Connor nod in agreement, their faces grim. We leave the warehouse as quietly as we came, the stench of smoke, sweat, and desperation lingering on our clothes and in our nostrils. We pile back into the car, and Lochlan peels away from the curb, tires squealing as we speed off into the dark night.

The hunt for Eamon O'Rourke, to extinguish his name, continues. I'll hunt all night if I have to. "I need a drink," I tell Lochlan, and he nods. We'll find a liquor store and we'll keep searching, even if it takes days.

22

MAEVE

The sun streams in the window, waking me like normal. It's been more than a week since I've even seen Ronan again. There are fewer guards around the house. He was here briefly for a few hours as he showered and prepared for a wake, though he didn't talk much about it. I could tell he didn’t want to. Something is going on with his family, and I don't know what to make of it. I hear bits and pieces of conversations—mostly about him hunting someone named Eamon.

I sit up in bed and stretch, wondering if today will be the day he comes in to see me. He's left me messages with his staff who still cater to my every whim, saying he's so busy but he'll be with me soon. I actually miss him too, the warmth of his body in bed next to me while I sleep and the way he holds me at night. I'm not sure if this is normal for his routine, if he's on a business trip, or if this is some out-of-the-ordinary event that's pulled him away, but I don't like it.

I slip out of bed, pad to the dresser, and pull out a pair of leggings and a sweater. I asked Brigid to bring me baggier clothing. I'm not showing yet, but it won't be long. My leggingsare the most comfortable thing I have to wear, and oversized sweaters or sweatshirts hide the bit of extra weight I’ve put on. No baby bump yet, but I can see it in my face.

As I dress, I think of my mother. I've been gone for nearly three months now. She has to have given up hope that it's a simple case of missing persons. By now, the hospital has definitely filled my position. My neighbors have probably been banging on the walls with glee, considering I'm not there to report them for noise violations. And my coworkers probably moved on and don't even think of me anymore.

I'm tired but I'm hungry. In fact, I've been so ravishingly hungry for days, I've been ordering four meals a day and still snacking on things. I usually eat in the bedroom, but I do have freedom to roam anywhere in the house. It just feels odd without Ronan being here. Sometimes, I wonder what he's told his staff concerning me. If they know the reason I'm here is because he took me, or if they think I want to be here.

Do I want to be here?

I push the thought from my head and dress. I decide I'll take my breakfast in the kitchen today. The feelings of depression I've had are less now than they have been. I've been feeling better, especially after the night Ronan and I really connected. He was shot, I was frantic. I knew then and there that I was in love, and now I’m not sure how to feel about my future, but I try not to think about it too much.

In the kitchen, I look around for something to eat before Brigid walks in. She's cheery, as usual, wearing a bright red smock and a long green skirt. Her hair is knotted on top of her head and she smiles brightly at me.

"Mornin', Ms. Walsh. What can I get for you?" Brigid stands ready, and I am suddenly undecided. Everything sounds good, and I bet I could eat it all if she cooked it.

"I'm not sure. What do you have?" I pull a stool up to the island and sit. I feel uncomfortable. I never leave Ronan's room unless invited, and that was only a few times. This morning, I just feel bolder, like my old self.

"We have just about everything. How about I make you a nice omelet? I can make it Western style with onions, peppers, cheese, and ham. How does that sound?"

Even as she's speaking, my mouth begins to water. I'm eating for two, and baby O'Rourke is definitely interested in the idea of eating a Western omelet.

"That sounds delicious," I tell her as I perch on the stool, and she gives me a confused look.

"Are you going to wait here? Should I bring it to the room?" It must seem odd to her that I'm out of the room too, given that I've only left it a few times since I got here. But I can't stay cooped up anymore. The room is nice, and she keeps it clean, but I want to stretch my legs.

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