Darcy kept walking to the car, opening the door.
“Can you walk us through what happened, Mr. Callahan? Why were you in Elgin?”
He sighed deeply and turned back before looking to the camera, his face sunken and sullen. “As many know, I left the Bulls to work on other projects for the community. Today I went looking for a location with my bodyguard, Keogh Greyson, when I remembered an old diner. It was the diner where my parents met, so we went to see it. Everything was normal. We called to get a look inside and were told it was abandoned, so we could just go in through the back—it wasn’t locked. I took some notes and measurements, and then as we were getting ready to leave, we saw him, a bomb strapped to his chest.”
“He was wearing the bomb?” The young reporter asked before they all started to yell questions. “Was that similar to the one at St. Peter’s Cathedral? Was it an apparent suicide bomber?”
“I…” Darcy, tapped his chest before speaking again. “I wasn’t sure. I just remember Greyson pushing me behind him and toward the back doors. When I came to, I was in the ambulance and he was gone.”
“Your bodyguard? Mr. Greyson?”
“Yes.”
“Have the police told you anything? Why were you targeted?”
“I haven’t been told anything so far. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t believe it had anything to do with my family name. However, other than that, I know nothing and have been advised to say nothing more. Thank you,” he said before getting into the back of the awaiting car.
“There you have it, Grace.” The female reporter spun back to the camera. “Another dark, bloody day in Chicago.”
“Yes, one happening all too frequently now. Our prayers are with the Greysons and Mr. Callahan’s family. For those of you just tuning in, we were just speaking to Darcy Callahan who—
“Did we get a new chef?” Darcy a
sked, stuffing his face as O’Phelan turned off the television.
“Was blowing up the diner truly needed?” I questioned.
“It’s not like I was given much time. Besides, we were going to have to scrap it anyway to rebuild,” he shot back before taking another bite.
“Either of you want to clue the rest of us in here?” Wyatt questioned, looking between us. “How the fuck did you go through all of that and none of us heard shit? I work at that damn hospital.”
“You weren’t working today, though,” Darcy replied.
“No shit, but notifying family is protocol. Unless…” Wyatt trailed off before looking to me. “Someone made sure we couldn’t be reached or better, yet some woman made sure the house was so busy and full of construction that we would have a terrible time getting service all day.” He stared at me, and I could see the wheels in his head chugging along as best as they could.
“Think any harder and you’ll give yourself a brain aneurysm, brother,” I muttered, leaning back into my chair.
“Not everything is fucking Ethan’s doing, Wyatt,” Darcy said, licking his fingers. “I told the hospital not to call and didn’t release my name to the press until I was about to leave. You wouldn’t have known anyway.”
“That’s where you are wrong, Darcy. Everything is Ethan’s doing. When you are sure it’s not Ethan’s doing, that’s when you know it’s exactly Ethan’s doing. The strings are always there,” Wyatt muttered.
I raised my glass to him. “I’m pleased you hold me in such high regard.”
However, it was actually Calliope’s idea to keep the family out of range and stuck in the house today with her construction.
“Nevertheless, Greyson’s dead…at your command,” Uncle Declan stated, skipping to the heart of the matter, “and you used Darcy to see if he could cover it up? Why? Just to test him?”
“Of course not.” I frowned at that. “I’m not insane.”
“Debatable,” Wyatt and Darcy said at the same time.
“Greyson,” I went on as if I didn’t hear them, “was no longer useful.”
And he was the only one who could link Calliope to me over the years. All the other guards, who had ever met her by chance, were either dead or far too removed from the family now to ever be of any use to anyone. But Greyson? If he was pressed by Wyatt or anyone else in this family about the past, they could uncover something. It was better to clean up loose ends this way than risk the narrative Calliope and I had dedicated so much of our lives to creating. That was the first and most important reason. The second was closer to what I told Monk. Greyson ran his mouth too much. However, I couldn’t just off the man; he’d been loyal to a degree, and people were watching. If I had just tossed him to the side, it would be harder to keep getting people to replace him.
“Admit it, you were expecting me to fuck it up,” Darcy snickered.
“What would be the point of wanting you to fuck it up, Darcy? Your fuck ups are a reflection of me,” I replied.