He grinned. “Yeah, but you love me for it.”
Chapter Nine
Tam
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LEO AND JODIE LIVEDin a four-bedroom flat with river views in Southwark. The place reminded me of our father’s, though Jodie had added more of a feminine touch with fresh flowers on almost every surface.
“All right, mate.” I shook my youngest brother’s hand, both our grips firm, as though we were trying to outdo one another. We pulled each other in for a hug that was mostly us clapping each other on the back. “How are you getting on?”
He shrugged. “Yeah, you know, not too bad. You?”
“Much the same.”
We weren’t a family who talked about our emotions, but Harvey’s loss sat like a great gaping hole between us. It was hard to think that he was never coming back, and us three brothers were now only two. I hadn’t allowed myself to shed a single tear for Harvey. I preferred to hang on to my rage rather than wallow in grief. Sitting around feeling sad never achieved anything, but getting seriously fucking mad did.
Just because we didn’t have proof that the Gilligans were responsible for Harvey’s murder didn’t mean I thought they were innocent. Who else would have had the motivation to stop the wedding in such a way?
If only they’d shot Hallie instead of Harvey, they’d have prevented my current predicament, and I’d still have my brother. It occurred to me that perhaps I should be the one who wanted Hallie dead. It would prevent the joining of our two families, and I’d be a free man.
But killing Hallie Wynter wouldn’t be a good idea. Her father and brother would wage war on us, and that would weaken both our families further and leave us both open to the Gilligans moving into our territory. Besides, it would be a waste to put that tight little body in the ground.
“Drink?”
My brother was already heading to the drinks cabinet and pouring me a whiskey before I’d even had the chance to accept. He handed it to me, and we took a seat on the leather sofas, sitting opposite each other, a glass coffee table between us.
“How’s it going with the Wynter girl?” Leo asked, as though reading my mind.
I grinned. “I’m making sure she knows what it means to be with a Cornell man.”
“She must think you’re fucking ancient.”
“Fuck off, I’m not that old.”
“You are to a twenty-one-year-old. Hell, I’m twenty-five and you seem middle-aged to me.”