I shove the blankets off and quickly dress, then head downstairs to the smell of coffee, tea, and freshly baked pastries. I walk into the dining room to find Keenan and Caitlin, Maeve, and a few of the grandkids.
“Good morning,” Maeve says brightly.
I skip past pleasantries. “Has anyone seen Fran?”
Keenan stands. “She isn’t with you?”
I shake my head. “Said she had to get some fresh air, not sure what she meant by that. Expected she’d sit on the balcony.”
“She’s likely by the cliffs, then,” Maeve says, spooning applesauce into a chubby little baby’s mouth. “That’s where we all like to take a morning walk.”
Jesus. The beach? Alone?
“You let her go without a guard?” Keenan says, surprised.
I shake my head. “Of course not. She didn’t ask. I thought when she said fresh air, she’d open a bloody window or something.”
“Alright, mate, relax,” he says. “Let’s go look for her. No need to sound the alarm yet.”
But every minute that ticks by seems like hours. I nearly drop my phone when another text comes in.
Fran: I’m sorry, Tate. The wedding was too much, it pushed me over the edge. I need space. I can’t do this.
I stare at the words as if I don’t speak the language, willing myself to understand.
What?
I hit “dial,” but it goes straight to voicemail. Frowning, I show the text to Keenan. Something isn’t right. He shakes his head.
“Is it consistent with her character to run?”
I don’t answer at first, as I think it over. Is he thinking what I am?
Has Fran been put up to this?
I shake my head. “Never. No. She’s brassy as fuck. She’s made some mistakes, aye, but I know something’s wrong here.”
Minutes later, he’s assembled his guard while I head to the beach. No sign of any breaking and entering. My texts to Fran go unanswered, my calls the same. My stomach churns, my nerves on edge as I look for her.
I expect to find nothing. I’m not surprised when the beach is bare, the cliffs as well.
I go straight to the guard at the gate. “Did you see a woman pass by here?”
“Aye, sir, ‘bout midnight,” he says, nodding.
Midnight. That’s bloody hours ago.
“Did you stop her?”
“No, sir, she said she was getting a bit of fresh air. I had no orders to detain our guests, sir.”
Keenan nods. He’s right. It wouldn’t have occurred to him to detain anyone at the gates, and it didn’t occur to me, either. Why would it?
“Did you see where she went?”
“Aye, sir, down to the beach, didn’t she.”
“Did you see her return?”
“No, sir.”
I turn to Keenan. I don’t know the lay of this land, if there is any way to get to the beach other than the stone stairs that Fran and I took earlier, or if the beach leads to a place other than the city centre, so I ask him.
Even when he confirms that only the steps lead to the beach, and the beach leads only to the city centre, my stomach still plummets.
“She could go anywhere, then.”
“Aye.”
I curse under my breath.
Did she run? Or was she coerced? Is it only my pride that tells me she didn’t do this of her own free will?
My mobile rings, and I answer immediately. Leith.
“Tate, is something wrong?”
“Aye,” I tell him, filling him in. “What makes you ask?”
“We got word this morning that all of the Clan Chronicles have been pulled from publication. Nan’s in a right temper, haven’t seen her this worked up in ages. I checked, all social media’s pulled down as well.”
I frown. “We wanted that to happen.” Still, something’s wrong and I know it.
“Can you ask Fran?”
“She’s missing, brother. Can you ask Paisley or Islan if they’ve been in touch with her?”
He blows out a breath. “They stayed at a friend’s last night.”
I stare out at the sea, as one puzzle piece clicks with another.
“Get in touch with them,” I tell him. “Now.”
There’s a brief pause on the other end of the phone.
“What’s going on?”
“Fran’s gone. The girls aren’t home. The books are pulled. Something’s not right, Leith.”
I call Fran again, and then each of my sisters. One after the other, my calls go unanswered.
“Her books were unpublished,” I mutter. “What does that have to do with this? We know Aitkens may have alerted Interpol. We know the Welsh must be involved as well, since we know they gave us a warning last night.”
Aisla and Blair, physically hurt. Anyone who hurt them wouldn’t hesitate to lift a hand to my sisters. Or my wife.
Motherfucker.
I do much better when I have a blatant enemy before me, a target I know I can follow. But this… not knowing where to go or what they want from us. I’d rather handle this with my fists, but have to resort to being level-headed and fucking pragmatic.
“We’ll start by going to Dublin.”