Page 14 of The Irish Redemption

“Keep an eye on them.”

“Understood.”

“We do have a more immediate problem,” Cian remarks. “We can’t get into the crime scene. This new detective has the place sealed off and patrolled like crazy. None of them are ours, or Italian, so unless you know of a ghost that can get us in there, I have no idea how we can get in and find out what the fuck Brenden was even doing there.”

That is a pressing problem. There are too many unknowns around Brenden’s death like why the fuck he was even in that shitty motel in the first place. A look at the crime scene would give us a chance to check for anything he might have hidden before he died. I step away from my siblings, forcing myself to pace as my fingers seek comfort in the lighter buried in my pocket.

“The girl,” I say eventually. “She works there. I bet she can get in.”

“Really?” Cian snorts. “You want to entrust another thing to a fucking stranger?”

“What else do you want me to do, Cian?” I spin around, anger crawling up my spine like a rabid snake. “We don’t have the cops, we don’t have the crime scene. All we have is a fucking cleaner and a dead brother, so tell me, Cian, what brilliant plan do you have to get us in there, huh? Do you want to shoot your way in? Because more cop eyes on us right now would be fucking brilliant.”

“I don’t fucking know,” Cian snaps back, his voice rising. “I’m not the fucking Captain. It’s your job to guide us, but doing it on the back of some stranger?”

“Hey!” Saoirse steps between us, her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “One more word out of you and I’ll rip your balls off, you understand?” She glares at her twin, pointing one sharp, manicured finger at him. “And you.” Her angry eyes whip around to me. “I know you’re itching for a reason to explode, but Cian is right. You’re the Captain now, so rein it the fuck in, will you? I’m not some fucking mediator.”

Cian and I glare at one another for a few heated minutes until sense and Saoirse’s words finally sink in. She’s right, annoyingly so. The urge to lash out is so strong that I’m latching onto the slightest hint of discourse, hoping it will let me pound some flesh. But my brother doesn’t deserve it. He’s in as much pain as I am.

A silent apology passes between the two of us and Cian steps away, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“If Ma were here, she’d slap the both of you,” Saoirse mutters.

I clasp her shoulder and squeeze. “I’m sorry.”

“Fucking emotional men,” she grumbles, then she flashes me a sad smile. “It’s fine.”

Before I can say more, the elevator doors hiss softly and Hank strides out with Evelyn by his side. She’s changed into a pair of blue jeans and a light green shirt that strains slightly over her chest and is open enough to give a tantalizing flash of skin just below her neck.

My eyes linger for a second, but Evelyn is too nervous to notice my wandering eye. Her own gaze darts back and forth between the three of us while she twists her hands together and chews on her lower lip.

“Boss.” Hank greets me with a nod. “Satisfied?”

I follow the tilt of his head to Evelyn and nod. Having her turn up at the police station in the same clothes would have raised too manyquestions. She looks a little rough with messy hair and dark circles under her eyes, but she looks the part and that’s all that matters.

“Hungry?” I ask as Evelyn stops nearest me, likely because I’m the only one out of the three of us whom she’s spoken to.

Evelyn shakes her head.

“Right,” Cian snaps, and he abruptly approaches Evelyn. “It’s so fucking simple that a monkey could do it. You see this?” He pulls a tiny black square from his pocket and holds it in the palm of his hand. “You need to get this onto her desk near her computer. Stick it in a drawer or in a pen or something, as long as it’s near her computer, alright?”

With wide eyes, Evelyn nods so quickly that her hair bounces about her face.

“And this one.” He pulls out an even smaller one. “You need to get this on her person.”

“I—” Evelyn squeaks. “Her person?”

“Yes,” Cian sighs, visibly irritated. “On her person. How else the fuck do you want me to say it?”

The moment he roughly grasps her wrist, my spine jumps and I wrestle down the urge to shove his hand away from her. I’ve no idea where such a territorial urge came from, but it takes all my strength to remain still as Cian shoves the bugs into her hand.

“On her person. In her pocket, in her bag, hell, fucking kiss her and shove it down her throat for all I care.” Cian snaps his hand away and grumbles something under his breath about uselessness. “Don’t fuck it up.”

Following that, he strides away with Saoirse and slams his way out of the building. His anger is justified and I don’t hold it against him, but it irritates me the way he spoke to Evelyn when she’s clearly shaken to the core.

However, why I even care remains a mystery to me. She’s just a maid. The last person to see my brother. Other than that, she doesn’t matter.

“Wow.” Evelyn puffs out her cheeks. “No pressure.” Her words are soft, as if she’s talking to herself, so I don’t respond as I lead her out of the building to the car parked outside. As Hank opens the door for her, I catch her firmly by the forearm and stop her from climbing in.

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