This picture had followed us around every house we’d moved into. I’d seen it so often I didn’t even look at it anymore, but as I peered into the smoky image, the lack of focus typical of a photo from this era, there was no denying that he and Finn were alike.
Remarkably so.
A fact I could check as, right beside the photo of Frank, there was a new one of Aoife, Finn, and Jacob.
Twins… the similarities were remarkable.
Was he our cousin?
But wouldn’t Da have told us?
Scraping my hand over my chin, I backed away from the pictures. We had enough intrigue going on in our lives without me adding to it. But it definitely had a question mark popping into existence in my head.
I’d push it aside, for the moment, but one day, I’d ask. One day, I wanted to know the truth.
That following morning, we left early. I never slept well at my parents’ place, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to fuck Camille there, so we didn’t hang around for breakfast, I didn’t even wait for Da to wake up. Just kissed Ma the second she was awake and bustling in the kitchen, her favorite place, and shepherded a still yawning Camille out into the cold light of day.
As we drove back to the city, Camille dozed off, which I was glad about. I’d been awake since four, but I was still trying to formulate my plan of attack.
Visiting Coullson was at the top of today’s to-do list. But what I wanted from him was another problem. He’d given me that name under duress. He believed it mattered.
Had someone fed that to him?
Who?
I wanted nothing more when we got back to the apartment to climb into bed with Camille, but I hustled her between the sheets, pleased she was still slightly hungover—apparently, she and Inessa had vodka flowing through their veins because Ma, with sixty years of drinking behind her, got drunker a lot faster than they had.
A part of me wondered if I should wake her, seeing as she’d volunteered at the soup kitchen and it was a cause that mattered to her, but I needed to rush. This was a situation that was putting me on edge, had been ever since Conor had stormed out last night.
After I grabbed some clothes, I set an alarm for a half-hour’s time with the house computer so she had the choice of waking up or snoozing it, then got showered and changed in the bedroom I’d given her to use that first night.
When I was ready, I sent Forrest a text:Me:Where’s Coullson most likely to be at this time?
Forrest:City Hall. Why?
Me:Conor says McKenna is dead.
Forrest:Fuck.
Me:Yeah.Re. Coullson, it’s damn early. Are you sure he’s there?
Forrest:I’m fucking sure. Why ask if you don’t think I know my shit? We’ve been trailing him ever since Dunbar fed him to us.
Me:I’m just checking. Calm the hell down.
Forrest:Need me to come with?
I had a feeling something was going on today, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember. A quick glance at my calendar reminded me. He and his wife had been trying to get IVF through a certain clinic, and they’d been on the wait list for eight months.
Me:Ain’t that important. Go on, I know you two have been waiting for this appointment for a while.
Forrest:Are you sure?
Me:Yes, I’m fucking sure. Now who’s the nag?
Forrest:Lol. Sorry. I’m nervous. You know I hate this shit.
Me:Who could blame you? But don’t worry. At least today, you’ll get some answers. Let me know how you get on.