I pushed past Caro, needing to get away from the stench of death which was littering a bedroom I’d made my own—the first in a decade, because I’d rarely settled down for as long as this in the past.
My mouth crumpled as I nudged them out of the way, and I was, I’d admit, surprised they let me go.
“Why’s she here?” Seamus whispered.
“You know why,” I murmured, and even though I was well aware Brennan could hear every word I said, I’d done nothing wrong.
I was no threat to the O’Donnellys.
I wasn’t an idiot.
The second you ratted them out, the second you did anything to jeopardize business, you were a threat. Something to be eliminated.
And there was nowhere that would keep you safe.
Not WITSEC, not jail or prison.
They were everywhere.
But, truly, I’d never felt the need to get them into trouble. Maybe I knew things I shouldn’t. Had overheard a few conversations, picked up on some information that would get them into hot water, but I’d never share it.
Ever.
Not only because I didn’t have a death wish, but because I wasn’t raised to be a rat.
As we trudged downstairs, Caro, or whoever the fuck she was, trudged with us. I heard her heavy footsteps, and each time she moved, I wanted to twist around and tell her to get the fuck out of my home. But for the moment, that home was a crime scene, and the only people who could help me were two hundred miles away.
They were listening though. Would they send a lawyer over?
Did I even need one?
I’d acted in self-defense, after all, so in regular circumstances, I wouldn’t need one, but things were different. Caro’s presence here told me that.
Were they going to twist this around? Use it as leverage to get me to spill family secrets?
My mouth tightened at the thought, and when we made it into the living room, I told Seamus, “Don’t say a word.”
He nodded, but his gaze was wary as he moved over to the other side of the room to sit in one of the armchairs there.
I’d made this place my own too. All light beiges and creams on the walls and in the overlarge sofa and chairs, just so they could showcase the things we’d picked up over the years. The Murano glass decoration that sat atop a simple console table and was the size of a toddler. A full-size print of Aboriginal artwork that was tilted over the fireplace.
The room was a blank, comfortable canvas that highlighted the memories of trips we’d had as a family.
It was a bold choice, considering Seamus was a boy and filth seemed to be magnetically attracted to him, but keeping things beige wasn’t too hard when you had a maid service come in twice a week.
Money changed a lot of things.
It was only when I’d had it that I realized as much. But my money was hard earned, and it was mine. Not tied to blood or death or drugs or anything illegal.
I worked hard. My clients paid a high price for my art. People were stupid enough to stalk my agent so they could have a piece of my craziness in their homes—who was I to argue?
Walking over to a copper singing bowl I’d picked up on a trip to Tibet, I started to run the baton around the outer edge. The D flat note started to ring around the room, soaring high as I tried to calm my heart, tried to tone it down. It was hard, because I could feel it fluttering in response to the current stress and the unknown of what was happening, but mostly I was concerned about Seamus.
He wanted to become a lawyer, for Christ’s sake. Even though I’d taught him never to trust the pigs, he’d formulated his own response to them, evidently, because he wanted to be integral to the process. I didn’t want to think I’d been short-sighted by informing him of the Five Points and their ties to everything illegal, but maybe I had.
Maybe I’d given him too much credit.
Just because I treated him like an adult didn’t mean he was one, and if he said anything to Caro about what I’d told him, she’d be on it like white on rice and Brennan would hear every goddamn word of it.