As I approached, I saw a woman standing close by. She was hovering, seeming to watch my father until she stepped out onto the scene.
I assumed it was Elizabeth Davidson, but how the hell she’d escaped her guards, I had no idea. It wasn’t like the Secret Service were some two-bit security firm. To have given them the slip would trigger a bunch of protocols that made me wonder if her disappearance had hit the news.
Of course, Aidan was much the same. He had his own security detail as well, and I didn’t think they were in the vicinity.
At least, I couldn’t see them.
Whatever was going on here, Senior and Elizabeth wanted to keep it under the radar.
But why?
Surging forward with a burst of energy, I finally made it to Paddy’s plot, and that was when I saw the woman jolt like she’d been stunned.
She screamed, collapsing like a paper doll into the grass.
I dropped to my knees the second I saw her go down, flinging myself onto the grass to make myself a smaller target.
Then there was a deep cry of pain.
Aidan.
Straining to see what was going on, I happened to see a flash far ahead in the distance.
What was that?
Light flickering against a scope?
Jesus.
Over a thousand yards away, it was only visible because I was scanning the scene.
That was when I truly registered what had happened.
Elizabeth slumped over the grave.
Aidan faced me, but on his front.
I didn’t take a chance on the emergency services. Instead, I called in the medics who treated us for a price as I arranged for a car to come and collect us.
It was a Wednesday afternoon, and the place was quiet. But I didn’t know if the sounds of sirens would be deafening me soon or not. It depended on whether someone had heard the shots and correctly interpreted what they were.
With that arranged, I crawled over to my father.
Uncertain if the shooter was still there, I rushed as fast as I could, but something I’d heard Eoghan say to him once felt very appropriate at that moment.
‘You’ll die an old decrepit bastard because only the good die young, Da.’
I knew Eoghan was right.
Aidan Sr. was too young to die.
Yet when I reached his side, and I saw the mess of his back, an uneasy sensation lodged in my gut. It didn’t look good, if anything…
Jesus Christ, it was horrific.
I pressed my hand to his shoulder and rasped, “Aidan?”
He groaned. Long and low. Pained. Hurting.