I collect my wallet and keys from the end table. I’m assuming my phone didn’t make it out of the pub last night. “Tell them I discharged myself.”

She frowns. “Where you goin’?”

“To talk to Aengus.”

Aengus has always been a force to be reckoned with. Even now, bandaged like a mummy, cords dangling from his limbs, his eyes mere slivers as he watches me approach, I sense the fury radiating from him.

“Beznick’s not goin’ to get away with this,” he mutters, his words slightly slurred from the heavy dose of pain medication. “I need you to go see Jimmy, tell him it was Jackie Hanegan.”

“That’s the guy’s name? You sure?”

“Positive. I had words with the muppet a few weeks back. Tell Jimmy.”

I sigh. “And then what?”

He pauses, and I can see him processing the question, not sure if he heard it right. “What the fuck do you mean, ‘and then what’? Jimmy will take care of it.”

“Yeah. He will. He’ll put a few bullets in Jackie’s back. Maybe blow up his house with his family in it, as a warning. And then Beznick will send someone after Jimmy, and maybe after you again. Open your eyes and look at what just happened! They’re still trying to fix your baby brother in there. Don’t you care?”

“Of course I care!” he spits back. I know he does, because Aengus is loyal to the Delaney name, to the beliefs that made us who we are today. The problem is he can’t see how Jimmy’s beliefs—and the actions of today’s IRA—have diverged from what our family stands for.

The rhythmic beeping of his heart rate monitor increases and I pause for a moment, waiting for him to calm himself while I study the tiny, private room they’ve stuck him in. He won’t be in critical care for much longer, I gather. Some poor fella will get stuck sharing a room with him soon enough. “Duffy was here to see you?”

“Tried, but Ma chased him away. I pretended I was asleep.” He pauses. “You?”

“He came in.”

“You told him to fuck off, right? We’ll handle this ourselves. Garda’s never done anything good for us.”

“Neither have you.”

He glares at me. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? Did you forget all the times I helped you out? I would’ve been out of prison years ago had I not been protecting you. Have you forgotten that so quickly?”

“I wouldn’t have needed protection if it wasn’t for you,” I throw back. Though I don’t truly blame Aengus. I made my own choices. “Everything that our family represents is now lying in a heap of rubble, my brother is lying on a surgeon’s table, fighting to keep his leg, and that is all because of you.” A glance over my shoulder finds a nurse peering in. I take a deep breath before I say what I resolved myself to on the way here. It’s the only way out of this mess, and what I know Amber would tell me to do, if she were here. “I’m going down to the station now, to identify Jackie Hanegan’s ugly mug, like a normal Irish citizen looking for justice. And then I’m going to try and help Ma and Da pick up the pieces of a life you’ve destroyed. And when Duffy shows up here and questions you, you are going to give him every last piece of information that he wants. Everything. Names and locations. He’s going to connect this to the Green, and you’re going to admit to it.”

He chokes on his laughter, coughing and then grimacing against the pain. “Are you mad? Why the hell would I do that?”

“Because if you don’t, I’ll give Duffy what he wants myself.”

Honest shock fills Aengus’s face. “You’re serious? You’d really do that? You’d turn on your own flesh and blood?”

“No. I’m protecting my flesh and blood. Ma and Da. And Rowen. I’m protecting them.” And I’m protecting Amber.

He stares long and hard at me. “Do you even know what you’re asking?” he finally whispers, realization dawning on him.

“That you pay for your sins.”

“And put a nail in my own coffin?”

“Are you really too stupid to see that you’ve already done that? It’s only a matter of time before someone tries to pick you off again. I won’t let you take the rest of us down with you.”

The door flies open then, and our da storms in as quickly as his limp allows him to. The tears in his eyes are a swift punch to my chest. I’ve never seen Da cry, not even on his worst days of pain. “They couldn’t save his leg. Your brother lost his leg because of you!” Da makes it all the way to the edge of the bed, his face the color of ripe tomatoes, too red for a man with his blood pressure issues. “And if that’s not bad enough, there’s also nerve damage to his other leg. He could be in pain for the rest of his life!”

If anyone understands what that’s like, it’s Da.

Ma sweeps in after him, her face wet from crying. “He’s goin’ to be just fine. Stop worrying, Seamus. You’ll get yourself sick!”

Da’s not even listening to her, though. “What did you do, Aengus!”

“Nothing,” he grumbles like a sullen child who knows he’s guilty but would rather take punishment than admit to it.

I guess the yelling caught the attention of the hospital staff because a nurse and doctor step in behind Ma. “You’ll need to leave while we examine him,” the doctor says, slipping a stethoscope around his neck. “You can come back a little later.”

“I won’t be comin’ back,” Da says, and his tone leaves no room for guesswork. It’s a declaration. Aengus is dead to him. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of such a thing happening in Delaney history.

My brother flinches, as if the words slapped him across the face.

With the doctor hovering, there’s nothing left to do but leave.

“When Duffy comes, you tell him everything, Aengus,” I warn him. “Because if I have to do it . . .” I let my words drift, the meaning clear. Going on the stand as a witness against the IRA sometimes doesn’t end well for the witness. “And then that blood’ll be on your hands, too.”

THIRTY

Amber

I’m guessing all interrogation rooms have a universal quality to them. The one in the Deschutes County station was like this—small, rectangular, with a simple table in the center and two hard chairs flanking either side, and a camera in the corner to record and monitor the interviews. My dad and I ate lunch in it one day, on a “Take Your Kids to Work” day.

I wish my dad were here right now.

I thought about calling him, but decided against it. For now, at least.

Garda Duffy shuts the door quietly behind him as he enters, a tan folder tucked under his arm, much like the one he brought to show me that day when I lied to him about knowing River. “Do you need anything? Water? Toilet break?”

“No.” I clear the nervousness from my voice. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

“Alright, then. Let’s begin. Your rights have been read to you and you’re aware that what you tell me today may be used against you in future.”

“I am.”

“And you’re aware that you are entitled to legal representation.”