“I’m just a girl who likes to draw.”
He smirks. “And what’s the difference?”
I close the sketchpad and angle my body towards him. “Nothing you’d understand.”
I meant it as a joke, but he doesn’t laugh. Instead, his eyes melt and he leans in a little closer to me.
“Saoirse,” he says tenderly, “I’m sorry about before.”
He’s probably the only man I’ve ever met who’s offered me apologies instead of accusation. He’s probably one of the few men out there who can do it with so much grace, as well.
For lesser men—Tristan comes to mind—an apology is like pulling teeth. If they manage to do it at all, it’s given grudgingly, filled with bitterness and condescension.
But Cillian’s apology comes easily, like it doesn’t cost him a thing.
“I overreacted,” he says. “I was acting like a—”
“Don?” I offer.
He sighs. “Yeah. Something like that.”
“That’s what you are,” I say. “And in any case, I owe you an apology, too. I shouldn’t have fought you so hard about talking to Pa. Of course you’d want to. Of course you’d want to do whatever you have to do to find your parents.”
He gives me a small, tight smile. “Except so far, I’m not doing the greatest job.”
“Give it time.”
“They might not have time,” he scowls, but this time, I know he’s not angry with me. “I’ve got half a dozen men doing recon on their whereabouts, but still nothing. Every feeler I put out there keeps coming up blank. It’s like there’s nothing to find.”
“Maybe you’re looking in the wrong places,” I suggest.
I can see the muscles of his arms tense. “I don’t know where else to look. Sometimes, it feels…”
He stops short. I can sense the uncertainty tunneling through him.
I reach out without thinking and put my hand on his knee. He glances down. I tense slightly but I don’t remove it.
“What?” I ask. “What were you gonna say?”
“I’m starting to suspect that maybe the Kinahans have someone on the inside,” he says in a low voice.
“You think one of your men is a rat?”
“I’ve just got this—fuck, I dunno what to call it—this nagging in the back of my head,” he tells me. “I’ve tried so many different avenues and each one leads to a dead end. If there’s one thing I know, men leave trails. Where’s the Kinahans’ trail? The only way it could disappear so completely is if—”
“There was someone here who was covering it up for them,” I finish.
“Exactly.”
“Have you spoken to Kian about it?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “There’s the rub,” he says. “I’ve been here all of three days. The first thing I do after coming back can’t be accusing my own men of disloyalty.”
“But what if you’re right?”
“Kian has been here the whole time,” Cillian points out, as though he’s trying to talk himself out of his own suspicions. “So have my parents. If there was a mole, don’t you think they would have sniffed him out by now?”
“People make mistakes, Cillian,” I point out. “And sometimes love and loyalty are the easiest ways to make mistakes.”