Page 78 of Claiming Pretty

The thought sent ice through my veins. Nothing could happen to her—not because of me. I couldn’t live with that weight.

I’d have to warn her somehow. But not directly. Ebony would never let it rest until she knew why I was so anxious. Maybe I could speak to her bodyguards instead, suggest they be extra vigilant. Yes, that might work. A quiet precaution to keep her safe.

O’Neill’s voice cut in. “Who did you go on this trip with?”

“A friend.”

“I need names and phone numbers,” he said.

I frowned. “Why?”

“To check your alibi.”

“Alibi?” I repeated, pretending to be confused. “I thought Cormac was only missing. Do you know something you’re not telling me?”

“He was—is—still a missing persons case,” the commissioner replied, but his little slip didn’t go unnoticed by me.

HeknewCormac was dead.

HeknewCormac had been holding me hostage on behalf of the Sochai before he was killed.

But he couldn’t reveal that he knew. Or he’d confirm his association with the Society I escaped from.

He continued. “But with these kinds of investigations, we have to consider all the possibilities.”

I fixed my gaze on him, my pulse hammering in my ears. The veneer of professionalism he wore so tightly didn’t fool me. Not anymore.

There was no way three missing girls—victims of the Sochai—had all been dismissed as “runaways” without the direct influence of someone at the very pinnacle of the Irish police force.

The realization sent a cold shiver down my spine. Commissioner O’Neill wasn’t just complicit—he was orchestrating the cover-up.

And now, he was sitting across from me, daring me to slip, to give him the proof he needed to silence me, too.

The tension in the room spiked, heavy and oppressive. The faint hum of the overhead lights seemed louder now, the soft tick of the antique clock deafening.

Even the air itself felt charged, thick with unspoken threats and the weight of what wasn’t being said.

My skin prickled, every nerve on high alert, as though the very room itself had turned against me.

The dean broke the silence, his voice growing soft, almost fatherly as he reached out to pat my knee. “You’d tell us if you knew anything, wouldn’t you, Ms. McKinsey? We’d hate to see an innocent girl caught up in something way over her head.”

I swallowed down the rising bile in my throat and smiled sweetly. “Of course. Cormac and I might not have been together anymore, but I’d hate to see him suffer anything hedidn’tdeserve.”

My gaze wandered over the desk, trying to look anywhere but at the piercing scrutiny of the men flanking me. I froze when my eyes landed on the penholder.

At first glance, it was an ordinary polished gold piece of office décor. But etched into its surface, small but unmistakable, was a Celtic knot made up of snakes—the crest of the Sochai.

Fuck. It wasn’t just the commissioner. The dean was involved, too.

I was being interrogated by two members of the Society trying to kill me.

A chill ran down my spine and I fought to keep my expression neutral.

“Dean,” I said, forcing my voice into a light, conversational tone, “that’s a lovely penholder.”

Dean McCarthy looked up, startled for just a fraction of a second before his practiced smile returned. “Oh, thank you, Ms. McKinsey.”

I leaned forward slightly, resting my fingers on the edge of the desk as if inspecting it more closely.

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