THIRTY-ONE

River

“Any news on your brother?” Duffy asks, setting a steaming cup of coffee down on the table.

I don’t have to ask which one. He wouldn’t be asking about Aengus, unless it was to gauge how long before he could throw cuffs on him. “They removed his spleen, and pulled some shrapnel from his lung and his liver.”

“His leg?”

I grit my teeth. “Gone from below the knee.”

Duffy shakes his head. “Such a tragedy for a young fella.”

I can’t tell if he actually cares or if he says it because it’s the proper thing to say. “It is. He never did anything to deserve it.”

“Did you?”

“No.”

“Did Aengus?”

We stare at each other from across the table. “Look at us . . . two hard-headed bastards.”

That earns a genuine smile from his end. The answer is right there for him. “If you can begin looking through this stack of photos . . .” He flips open the top of a thick binder, two more waiting next to it.

“A bit archaic, don’t ya think?”

“Sometimes we like to do things the old-fashioned way,” he murmurs.

I didn’t miss the fact that I’m sitting in an interrogation room, instead of at a desk where we can peruse the mug shot database from a computer screen.

“Where’s Amber?”

“A few rooms over. We just had a good, long chat.” He lets his words hang in silence for a moment. “I don’t take her for the criminal type.”

“She’s not. She’s a good bird.”

“I wouldn’t want to see this all turn out badly for her. I don’t think you would, either.”

“You’re right. Which is why I’d like you to get the information that you need.”

“Uh . . . what do you . . .” He falters over his words, surprise splashing across his face. “Go on.”

“I’ll give you the name of the asshole who blew up my family’s pub and I’ll tell you who attacked the Green. But only if you let Amber go with absolutely no repercussions. The only thing she ever did wrong was give the likes of me a fair chance.”

Duffy’s fingers strum across the table, what I’m dangling in front of him too enticing to ignore. The chance to make arrests in two separate Dublin bombings? It’s any officer’s wet dream come true.

If I were bold—and stupid—I’d also tell him where Jimmy’s hiding.

“I know Aengus is responsible for the Green, and that you were there to see it happen. Your girlfriend told me everything.”

Hearing that doesn’t make me angry in the least, I realize. Yes, Amber betrayed my confidence, but I know her well enough to know that she didn’t do it to protect herself; she did it to protect me.

She did it because it’s the right thing to do.

“Then I guess you know I’m useful.”

“Are you saying you’d be a witness on the stand against your own brother?” There’s doubt in Duffy’s voice.

I take a deep breath. Never in a million years did I think these words would ever leave my mouth. “If he doesn’t confess to it himself, then yes, I’m saying exactly that.”

“Aengus, confess to the bombing?” He raises his eyebrows. “How hard did you get knocked in the head?”

“You’re a persuasive bastard. Tell him he has no choice. Paint him a pretty picture about what could happen to me if he doesn’t.”

Duffy purses his lips together and then nods.

Honestly, I have no clue what Aengus is going to admit to. I know him well enough to know that he feels guilty and that he’ll do anything to protect his family, but whether that’s enough for him to do the right thing for once . . .?

Duffy’s fingers flip a page in the binder, then another. “You came in here to identify the man responsible for the bombing of your bar.”

“Jackie Hanegan.”

His fingers freeze. “You sure?” He quickly searches the pages.

“He’s short and has squinty eyes. Has a tattoo right here.” I draw on my forearm. “Heavy Cork accent.”

Duffy spins the book around, and the familiar eyes stare up at me.

“Yeah, that’s him.”

“You said half his face was covered though?”

“It’s him.”

“Is he in any danger?”

“You can bet Jimmy’ll be after him once he hears from Aengus.”

“We’ll pick him up, then. There’s bound to be more evidence tied to him.” Suddenly, Duffy is fumbling for his pen, his pad of paper, and his phone. “We’ll need formal statements from you, about last night and the Green bombing.”

“You’ll get them as soon as you let Amber off.”

“I’m not negotiating.”

“Neither am I.”

“Look . . .” He stops and sighs. “Even though she lied to me, and I’m well within my rights to charge Miss Welles, I’m not in the practice of punishing people who don’t truly deserve it.”

“You were already going to let her go?”

“I believe that the information she provided at the site, the day of the bombing, was truthful. Her only real mistake after that was falling in love with the likes of a Delaney.”

I sigh with relief, his words filling my chest with warmth.

“So? Do we have a deal?”

“We do. But go and talk to Aengus first. I’ll be more than happy to wait here and give my statement about the Green when you come back, if it’s still necessary.”

After a moment, he collects his notepad and stands. “I’m glad to say that I was wrong about you, River.”

“Likewise.” I guess maybe Duffy’s not so bad, after all. His hand is on the door handle to leave when I remember. “I have an extortion case for you to look into, too. One of Jimmy’s guys is involved.” Let’s see if Duffy can get them off of Francis O’Reilly’s back.

He frowns. “You’re just offering this information to me for nothing? Or is there something you want in return?”

“Let’s just say I don’t like seeing undeserving people punished either.”

THIRTY-TWO

Amber

Duffy holds the door open. And simply stands there.

I stare at him.

“You’re free to go.”

Is this a trick? I admitted to lying to him. I’ve been sitting in this room for hours, waiting for him to march in and tell me what’s going to happen next to me, to River.

When I don’t move right away, he adds, “Unless you prefer these accommodations to your other?”

My chair nearly topples, as quickly as I stand. “What about River?” Does he know that I told Duffy everything? Does he understand why?

Does he hate me now?

A secretive smile curls Duffy’s lips. He finds that amusing somehow. I’m suddenly overcome with the urge to slap him.

“Relax, Amber.” He points down the hallway and I peer past him, along the narrow corridor, to where River leans against the wall, his head tipped back as if resting. No handcuffs, no garda hovering.

What does that mean?

Duffy must see the confusion in my face. “I finally found something important enough to bend that stubborn Irish will of his.”