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“What’s the matter?”
“I,” Sophie blew out a breath. How exactly was she to say that Cian McKenna, Liam’s beloved benefactor, is Darcie’s murderous, thieving, and recently deceased father? “How much do you know about him?”
Liam shrugged his shoulders after putting another forkful of food into his mouth. Sophie was right. He was starving. “Only that he’s an avid art collector. Oh, and he collects vintage cars too. He had me over to his home once when he commissioned a painting. He had all sorts of art. Mostly paintings, though. I saw a Monet and a Renoir, very impressive. And he’s very generous, but—and I hate to admit it—but there was something about him that made me uneasy.”
“Yeah, I bet.” Sophie stabbed a tomato with a fork and popped it into her mouth.
“What do you mean?”
“Cian McKenna is Darcie’s father.”
That caught his attention. “You’re joking.”
Sophie shook her head and took a bite of sausage and continued talking with her mouth full. “I’ll tell you the story but you have to swear never to repeat it.”
Liam swore to take the story to his grave. Then, once they had finished their breakfast fry-up and refilled their coffee, they settled onto the sofa—him at one end, Sophie at the other, their toes touching. She told him about Darcie and Connor meeting, her adoption, discovering Cian was her biological father, and finally, what happened that fateful day when he stood with the O’Brians to save Darcie’s life.
When she neared the end of her story, Sophie struggled with the words but decided to just spit it out. “Cian died. He was killed.”
Liam blinked twice. This was a lot to take in. Darcie’s story alone was enough to bowl over anyone, then to find out his benefactor was dead.
“If you’re worried that this means I’ve lost my living, don’t. I have customers everywhere and to be honest, I’ve made enough to be comfortable. I don’t need any more. A man can have too much, you know?”
“Too much money or too much of everything?”
Liam considered for a moment. “Too much of anything that has the potential to ruin him.”
“And too much money would ruin you?”
“I think so. I’m not terribly good with money, I’m ashamed to say.”
“You always were a dreamer.”
“And you were always more practical.”
“But you’ve done well for yourself. That can’t be bad.” Sophie said looking around her.
“Do you think you would have ended up here if you hadn’t married?” he asked.
“You know what? I kind of do now. Connor’s always banging on about fate. I always thought he was moron but now I can’t help but admit that, yes, I think I would have ended up right here,” she pointed down at the floor, “no matter what.”
She sank deeper into the sofa cushions, playfully starting a game of footsy with Liam. They laughed and teased each other for a few minutes before their teasing gave way to kisses—somehow, she had ended up on his side of the sofa, on top of him. Then, amidst the blur of the moment, a thought struck her like a lightning bolt.
She pulled away quickly. “We forgot about Cian!”
“Well, what’s the problem? I mean, I can see the coincidence, and the story is horrendous but what has this got to do with us?”
“I overheard Connor and Simon talking with Shamus. They never actually saw Cian’s body.”
“What do you mean? You said they were in a car crash and Nan held him in her arms.”
“Yes, but Aunt Nan swears he was still alive when the ambulance took him. She was in another one with Shamus and that’s the last anyone saw of him.”
“You can’t be serious? You think Cian…. What? Faked his own death?”
Sophie sat up. “Well, it would make sense. Aunt Nan and Shamus had a present waiting for them when they got back from their honeymoon. A painting, and the note was signed from Cian.” Then a thought sprung into her head that was so obvious she smacked her forehead. “Do you know an artist named Rory O’Toole?”
Liam’s lips curled into a smile. “I do as it happens. You’re looking at him.”
