Page 20 of Irish Reign

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Fiddles with the handle of his teacup.

I push my advantage while I can. “And while we’re talking about Aiofe… You let her see Father Regis, and he helped, for a while at least. But she needs more now. She needs to test that voice of hers. She needs to use her words. Get her a real doctor, Braiden. If you truly believe your job is to keep her safe, get her someone to talk to.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” he complains, pushing back from the table. I let him go.

Aiofe and I don’t get to the Liberty Bell, or Independence Hall, or the Franklin Institute, the art museum, or the aquarium. But at four o’clock in the afternoon, my phone buzzes with a message. There are three names listed, with phone numbers and links to websites.

Braiden

Choose one and call for an appointment. Pay what it takes to get her seen next week.

8

BRAIDEN

After her weekend of enforced leisure, Samantha moves fast on making the appointment for Aiofe. She shifts her own schedule so she can be there for the girl. I put Rory O’Hare in charge of their security. He’s the man Patrick said I could rely on.

Because, despite my most pointed phone calls, my Warlord is showing no sign of coming home from Boston any time soon. He’s too good a man to break by giving a direct order. Not when I can’t be sure he’ll take it.

But O’Hare brings me his plan before Samantha and Aiofe leave the hotel. He’s got one man in a car in front of my girls and one man in a car behind. Liam Murphy will drive Samantha and Aiofe with O’Hare riding literal shotgun, a weapon in his hands from door to door, courtesy of Pennsylvania’s open carry laws.

It’s a good approach, the sort of thing I’d plan myself. I sign off on it.

When they get back, O’Hare reports directly to me, in the Presidential Suite. He says no one followed them there or back, and I believe him. He’s able to recite the make and model of every car that entered the therapist’s parking lot while Aiofe and Samantha were inside.

Samantha reports in too. “I wasn’t allowed to sit in on the session,” she says.

“So how do you know it worked?”

“Therapy doesn’twork, not like that. It’ll take a few visits at least. After a month or two, we can ask Aiofe if she wants to continue.”

I shake my head. “No Kelly has ever needed a head shrinker.”

“And look how well your family handles trauma.” She doesn’t look at my scarred arm. She doesn’t need to.

“Fine,” I say. “We’ll talk to her in a month.”

“But there are some changes we need to make in the meantime.”

“What sort of changes?” I ask warily.

For the first time since walking into the suite, Samantha looks uncomfortable. “We should have a funeral for Birte. And for Grace Poole too.”

“The fire’s still under investigation,” I say.

“And it might be for months. Aiofe needs closure now.”

“Do you honestly think she’s strong enough to face a crowd of people?”

“There won’t be a crowd. Just the family and a priest. You can tolerate a legitimate priest conducting the service, can’t you?”

That’s a dig about our wedding. A taste like quinine paints my throat. “Go ahead,” I concede. “Schedule it at St. Columba’s.”

Samantha nods, as if she’s crossed an item off a long list. “I want to enroll Aiofe in summer school.”

“You’re out of your feckin’ mind.”

“She’s already gone three weeks without classes. And I’m not sure how much she learned before she was talking. I spoke to Fairfax today, and he thinks John Bell might stay in Patagonia. Aiofe needs to be reading at grade level.”

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