Saoirse
Three Days Later—Clontarf Hospital—Dublin, Ireland
I walk into Pa’s hospital room and stop short when I see the tall, burly man standing by his bedside.
“Ah,” Pa mumbles to him, relief coloring his features, “that’s my daughter.”
The man turns to me. He’s wearing a crisp white shirt and dark pleated pants, but I’m mostly focused on the shining badge attached to his belt.
My gaze flits up to his face as fear starts to pound through me.
Is he one of the good ones?
Or is he like Tristan?
For now, I can’t see anything but apathy.
But I stay alert anyway.
“You must be Saoirse,” he says, turning to me.
“I am.”
“I’m Detective Mark Donahue.”
“Detective?” More nervous energy floods my system immediately. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“There is, actually,” he says evasively. “I have a few questions to ask you.”
I keep my expression neutral as the detective walks towards me. I spare a glance at Pa, who’s already closed his eyes.
But I know him well enough to know that he’s not really sleeping. He’s just feigning fatigue to avoid a conversation he doesn’t want to have.
Not the first time he’s pulled that trick.
“Can we step out?” I suggest. “My father needs rest.”
“Of course. Right this way.”
His tone borders on polite. But not quite.
The moment we step outside of Pa’s hospital room, Donahue turns to me, all business.
“I’m here to inquire about the incident that took place outside your home three days ago,” he starts.
I’m not expecting this at all. I thought the whole point of involving Tristan was that I wouldn’t have to answer a lot of complicated questions.
“I already gave a statement.”
“To Tristan Rearden,” the detective confirms. “Yes, I know. I work closely with him.”
Oh.
So I can’t trust this man after all.
I’m starting to think that should be a general rule when it comes to the male species.
Trust none of them.