[15]

But who was “they”?

“It’s okay,” Haley soothed. “Don’t stress yourself. You did the right thing. You needed to talk to me, to let me know that someone might now know that I’m alive and where I am—and not be happy about it.”

“I don’t know. I do know I need to contact your grandfather and tell him where I am.”

“He knows.”

Duncan stilled. “But how?”

“He showed up on my doorstep earlier. He’s at my house.”

“What?” He gaped at her.

“Yes, that was pretty much my reaction too, but he and his friend, Hugh McCort, flew in today on his private jet.”

“Oh no, that’s not good.”

“Why?”

“Your grandfather has enemies. Very powerful, far-reaching enemies that he has no way of protecting himself from because he doesn’t know who they are. He should have stayed in Ireland, where he had security and protection. As long as he stayed at the castle, he was relatively safe. This could end very badly for him—and you.”

He shifted, his fingers worrying the sheets. Haley covered his hand with hers. “I’ll make sure he’s all right. He’s got police protection on him as we speak.”

Her words seemed to soothe him somewhat.

Haley needed to check in on Micah and Zeke, and then she needed to get with Olivia to plot a schedule for the two new clients she was determined to take on—her grandfather and the Hampton family. She patted Duncan’s hand. “I’ll look in on you later. Get some rest.”

His eyes drifted shut. She followed Steven out of the room and they paused just outside the door.

Haley rubbed her eyes. “All right. I need to make a list.”

“Of what?”

“Of my thoughts. Of all the crazy stuff going on that I can’t keep track of.” She groaned. “And I need to go home and make sure my g-grandfather—and Hugh—are settled in. And I probably need to stop at the grocery store.” She started to pace. “I’m not prepared for guests. I mean, am I supposed to get up and cook breakfast in the morning? Or . . . or . . . what? What am I supposed to do?” She spun and waved her hands. “What. Am. I. Supposed. To. Do?”

Steven grasped her upper arms, and even in her close-to-panic state, she could tell he was careful not to jar her wounded side. “Haley. Chill. Stop. It’s going to be all right.”

She drew in a deep breath. “Right. Sorry. I didn’t mean to dump this on you.” What was she doing? She didn’t have panic attacks. She was calm. Cool. Nothing bothered her or rocked her off her axis.

Except someone shooting at her twice—no, make that three times—not to mention wounding her. And the whole issue of learning that her entire past had been a lie and that someone had killed most of her family. And then there was the small matter that her mother wasn’t her mother . . . She pressed her hands to her eyes and tried to still her mind.

“It’s fine to dump on me. I don’t mind.”

“Thank you, but I do.” He wasn’t Olivia or Katie or Maddy. What was she doing? Another cleansing breath. “No. It’s okay. A momentary little breakdown there, but I’m fine.” Or would be.

“You’re entitled.”

“Maybe so, but now it’s time to think. I need to get coverage for Zeke and his family. We need to get a picture of Richie and any of his known associates to the nurses and other staff.”

And she needed to formulate a plan on how she was going to investigate her own twenty-five-year-old cold case while a continent away.

Because it was past time justice was served for those who’d been killed, and she was ready to do the serving.

TUESDAY MORNING

Steven hung up his phone and pushed through the glass doors of the precinct. He made his way to his desk to find Quinn already there, seated at the one opposite him. The sounds of the department echoed in the large room. Phones rang, voices blended.

Some better than others.

“I said I’d take care of it!” Quinn bellowed into the phone crammed against his ear. “Call me again and I’m going to send an inspector over there and shut you down, understand me?” He slammed his cell phone on the desk and glowered at it.

“Do I want to know?”

Quinn transferred the glare to Steven. Steven simply grinned. Quinn’s laser-like stare faded into one of frustration. “Someone hacked my bank account. A check I wrote bounced and the guy wants his money. I’ve already straightened everything out at the bank and Maddy’s going to take the money by later today, but that’s the fourth time he’s called in so many hours.” He paused. “I only yelled that one time.”

“Wow, from what I understand you’ve shown admirable restraint.”

“Tell me about it. Restraint.” He clicked his tongue. “That’s my middle name today.”

“You still write checks? I thought only old people did that these days.”

Quinn narrowed his eyes. “Was that a crack about my age?”

Steven put on his best innocent face. “Not at all.”

“Liar. And yes, I occasionally still write checks.” He looked down and then back up. “You do realize we’re about the same age, right?”

Steven spread his hands, palms up. “Age is just a number. It’s all about how you feel—and act.”

“So you’re saying I act old?”

“You write checks.”

“Shut up and sit down.”

Steven smothered a grin, took his seat, and found three messages for return call requests.

“How’s the kid?” Quinn asked.

“Micah?”

“Right. Micah. And Zeke.”

“They’re hanging in there. Zeke and his mother are staying at the hospital right now with Micah, so they’re pretty safe. I’ve alerted security to be on the lookout for anyone suspicious hanging around Micah’s room.”

“Good.” Quinn’s phone rang and he grabbed it with a growl. Then the frown faded. “It’s the morgue.” He pressed the device to his ear. “Hello? Yeah, Francisco, what do you have?”

Quinn listened and Steven wished he could hear the conversation. Francisco, he’d learned his first day on the job, was one of the medical examiners. The one Quinn seemed to prefer to work with.

“Uh-huh. Okay, so who is he?” More listening. “All right. Well, when you figure it out, let me know, will you? Right. Thanks.” He hung up.

Steven booted up his laptop. “What was that all about?”

“Our guy in the trunk? Mr. James?”

“Yeah?”

“He’s not Mr. James.”

Steven paused, then realized he wasn’t surprised. “All right. Then who is it and where’s Mr. James?”

“Two questions that have the same answer—I don’t know.”

Steven rubbed a hand across his eyes. “That’s good news—and bad news. We need to find Carter James.”

“If he hasn’t turned up by now, it’s not looking good for him.”

“I know.” So they were looking at one murder, possibly two. “Any John Does in the hospital or the morgue?”

“I’ll find out.” Quinn picked his phone back up.

Steven looked up to see a rookie he’d met yesterday walk past him. “Hey, Garrison.”

“Yeah?”

The kid looked like he was about twelve years old. “Do you write checks?”

“Checks? What kind of checks?”

“You know. Checks. Those little rectangular pieces of paper you can use to pay for stuff?”

“I know what checks are.” He frowned. “No. Can’t think of the last time I wrote one. Why?”

Quinn looked up from his phone, his glare more ferocious than when he’d been on the phone with the irate merchant. Steven burst out laughing. Garrison looked confused, then rolled his eyes and walked off.

Steven had a hard time wiping the grin off his face. Score one for the new guy. Quinn would get him back and he didn’t even care. He turned back to his laptop while Quinn moved all the way across the room to make his calls.

Steven read the next email in the lineup and all sense of fun left him. Richie was still in his holding cell, but his lawyer would have him out before lunch.

Haley walked down the stairs and into her kitchen to find her grandfather seated at the table sipping a cup of coffee. His friend was nowhere to be seen. “Good morning.” She aimed herself at the Keurig. She set her weapon on the counter as she fixed her drink.

“Good morning, Haley.” He pressed a hand against the side of his head and winced.

She paused. “Are you all right?”

“Just a wee bit of a headache. Would you have something I could take for it?”

“Of course.” She reached into the cabinet where she kept a bottle of ibuprofen and handed him two. He took them with a coffee chaser.

“Did you sleep well?” she asked.

“Oh, to be sure. The time difference might take its toll on me in a few hours and I’ll need a nap, but for now, I’m content.”

She paused at the word. Content. Had she ever been truly content? Maybe in the last few years since she’d been with the agency. At least more so than she could ever remember. She’d found God in Greece at the bodyguard school and had discovered a new sense of peace and acceptance. Acceptance in the sense that she could use her past to help those in the present. She studied the man at her table. “I’m really your granddaughter, aren’t I?”

He sipped his coffee, then set his mug down and looked her in the eyes. “You are.”

The doorbell rang and she held up a finger. “Hold that thought.” She grabbed her gun from the counter and held it behind her back while she approached the door. She glanced out the window and saw a man standing on her porch with a clipboard. A large moving truck sat idling behind him.

Haley opened the door cautiously, yet curious.

“Hi, are you Haley Callaghan?”

“I am.”

“I have a delivery here for you.”

Tension swept through her. She relaxed her grip on the weapon. “I didn’t order anything.”

He consulted his clipboard. “Steven Rothwell did and said to deliver it to this address.”

“Hold on one second.” She shut the door, flipped the safety back on, and pulled her cell phone from the back pocket of her jeans. And saw she had one text waiting. It had come in just a few minutes ago. She opened the app and read,

Steven

Expect a delivery sometime this morning. Happy Birthday.

Haley shook her head and opened the door to find the delivery man had opened the back of his truck. He and his helper were carrying a mattress. “Want to show us where to put this?”

“Unbelievable,” she muttered, but gratitude filled her.

Another truck pulled up. Lefty’s Glass Company was emblazoned in red across the side of the vehicle. A woman climbed out. She, too, carried a clipboard. “You Haley?”

“Let me guess. Steven sent you.”

She looked down, then back up. “Yep.”

“Ma’am? This mattress isn’t getting any lighter.”

“Right. This way.” She looked at the glass worker. “You too.”

Haley led her workers past her grandfather, who stood in the doorway of the kitchen with an amused look on his wrinkled face. They followed her to her bedroom. Within twenty minutes, she had a bed complete with new mattress, sheets, comforter, and pillows. And new glass in her French door. The evidence techs had taken her old mattress and all the bedding for examination in preparation for a court date, should the perp be apprehended.

The man who’d knocked on her door picked up a bag he’d carried into her room, but hadn’t opened. He handed it to her. “He said to give this to you too.”

Haley opened it to find a giant bag of M&Ms. She grinned and opened the bag to share handfuls with the workers. “Thanks, you guys.”

She saw them to the door, then ran back upstairs to take one more look, trying to convince herself of what had just happened. She stood in the doorway. Her bedroom looked good as new. And while the bedding was different from the ones that had bullets in it, it suited her taste and she loved it. Simple cream with a splash of blue. For some reason, she thought she might cry. She texted Steven.

Thank you. It’s not my birthday. Why?

You’re welcome. Just because.

She drew in a deep breath and went back downstairs to find her grandfather still standing in the doorway. “That was thoughtful of the young man.”

“It was. Very.” She studied him and ate another handful of the chocolate. “I don’t need another DNA test, do I?”

He lifted a thin shoulder in a shrug. “It would be just for your peace of mind. I don’t need it. I paid to have it done and it came back a match off of Aileen’s hairbrush. I’d had all of her things sealed in airtight containers. The DNA on her brush was still usable.”

Haley shifted, thinking and trying to come to grips with the whole situation. She followed him back to the kitchen table and slid into the chair opposite him. She pushed the bag of M&Ms toward him and he helped himself. “Tell me about the relatives I have who are still living,” she said.

“First, there’s Bridgett. She’s a widow and lives a very active life doing charity work. Niall, me brother, is a good bit younger than I. He was born when I was eighteen years old, so I guess that makes him a mere baby at seventy-two now. Unfortunately, he’s been very sick and I understand that he might be moved to hospice soon.”

“What? Oh no! Don’t you need to be with him?”

“I’m where I need to be and he knows it. So no worrying from you. Anyway, he married Darcy and they had two boys, Kane and Peter. They’re both pushing late forties and are also married. Kane and Janet have one son, Lachlan, who is married to Maeve. They don’t have any children. Peter and his wife also don’t have any children.”

Haley blinked. “So they’re cousins of some sort.”

“Indeed. Your father grew up knowing he would take over the business one day. He was excited about it, loved the thrill of it. When he was killed, I couldn’t function for a long time, as you might imagine. Niall came to the rescue.”

“I’m so sorry,” she murmured.

“Niall saved the company. And when I was ready to come back, he moved over and let me do so without a word. He retired a year ago when he started having some health problems and requested I make Lachlan CEO of Burke’s Shipping. He’s worked hard for the position and I didn’t argue. It was a good move.” He paused. “But now that I know you’re alive, I want you to take your rightful place in the company. Have your inheritance.”

Haley caught her breath, her senses spinning. “What? No . . . I . . . I . . . no.”

“But sure.”

“I can’t do that.”

He let out a low laugh. “Of course you can.”

“I’m not interested in being a part of a company.”

“I’m not saying you have to work there. I’m saying you will get half the profits.” A smile curved his lips and she had a brief glimpse of the handsome man he would have been in his younger years. “And it’s a very profitable business.”

“I don’t want half the profits.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’ve already changed the will.”

She froze. “And who knows about this change in the will?”

“My lawyer, of course, and myself.”

“That’s it? You’re sure?”

He scratched his chin. “Well, I believe so. I haven’t gone about discussing the matter. Why?”

“Because if the last couple of days are any indication, it’s possible someone is very unhappy with your change.”