Page 17 of The Thief
Perceptive bastard.
"Maybe I have. Maybe I've been wondering why my grandfather would send a stranger to fetch me instead of coming himself."
"Maybe because the last time he tried to make contact with you, your father, Killian, told him to stay away; said you were better off without the family business in your life."
The words hit like a slap. "Dad refused contact?"
"For years. Henry wanted to reach out after your father died and your ma left, but he held back as Killian was adamant when he was alive. He said you deserved a normal life."
"Normal." I laugh but there's no humor in it. "Right. Because working in a Belfast shithole while everyone I love disappears is so bloody normal."
"That's not what he wanted for you."
"What he wanted and what he got are two very different things."
Freddie's quiet for a moment, studying my face like he's trying to read something there.
"Your father loved you," he says finally. "Everything he did was to protect you. But maybe he was wrong about what you needed."
"And what do I need?"
"Family. People who will have your back when the world goes sideways."
"Like you did last night?"
"I was doing my job."
"Which is what, exactly? Babysitting ungrateful granddaughters?"
"Bringing you home."
Home. The word tastes strange. For eighteen years, home was wherever Dad was. Then it was just me and this flat and Murphy's bar. Now this stranger's telling me home is somewhere I've never been, with people I've never met.
"Why now?" I ask. "What's changed?"
"There's trouble coming. The kind your father was trying to protect you from. Henry wants you somewhere safe before it hits."
"What kind of trouble?"
"The kind that gets people killed."
The way he says it makes my blood run cold. So matter-of-fact, like death is just another Tuesday in his world.
"And Dublin's safer?"
"Dublin's got walls. Protection. Family who will die before they let anything happen to you."
"You make it sound like a war."
"It is a war. Has been for months. People have been dying for months. Alastríona, this arsehole doesn’t care who he takes out, and your name is on his list."
My name. Hearing it from him knocks the air out of me, makes everything he’s said suddenly sharper, harder to ignore.
“I need to think,” I manage.
"How long?"
"However long it takes."
