“I WOULDN’T HAVE found you without him,” Lachlan said. When Strat put her down, she came up against her brother who’d come to join them. “We found her together.”
Her? Had they been looking for Ronald at all?
They must’ve known father and daughter were together. Strat saw them together in his parking lot.
“You have no idea how amazing it is to see you.”
Burying her face against Strat, the tears that warmed her eyes were far more vulnerable than before. Her brother gave her security, safety, but Strat gave her acceptance, support. She didn’t have to wonder if Strat would let her grieve, approval and latitude were absolute with him.
“Conn,” she whispered, probing the new source. Laying a hand on Strat’s chest, she pushed back. “Have you seen Conn?”
Strat shook his head. “Haven’t seen him since before you ran off. You think he’s dead.”
“Can I have your phone?” She didn’t want to confirm, or even acknowledge, her fears. “Did you call the boss?”
“Called and called, voicemail every time. No one’s picking up.”
What happened when the leader was snuffed out? Where did that put Niall, the lieutenant, and those loyal to him? More than not picking up, if the phones were going direct to voicemail, they were off, that meant tracing them wouldn’t be possible.
“Did you go to the club? To Stag?”
“It’s open. Business as usual. On certain floors.”
“Did you—”
“No business there, club only.”
And she couldn’t press for details with her father loitering over her shoulder.
“He shot him,” Lachlan said while she and Strat spoke silently with their gazes. “You did shoot him, didn’t you, Ron? Did you murder Ire McDade like you murdered Henry?”
That truth startled Strat. “What?”
“Yes,” she said. “Like we thought, Henry was asking questions. Ronald here told him to stop, they got in a fight, I guess and—”
“You murdered him,” Lachlan said, capturing her loose hand. “Jesus fuck, Dad. You murdered him!”
The shock was understandable, but she didn’t have time to sit around and wait for her brother to process.
“We need to go,” she said to Strat. “Can you hotwire your own car?”
“Why would I—”
“The keys are under the TV, and I don’t trust my father not to hurt you.”
“No one is hurting anyone,” Lachlan said, putting himself in front of them. “Where are the keys, Ron?”
“You have to understand what you’re doing. What going back there will mean—”
“I don’t have time for this.” Crazy and misguided as it might be, hope found light in her saviors. “I need to know.”
“Do not let her walk out—”
“We’re all going together. Get the keys, Dad.”
“No! We need time, look at this mess, we can’t leave it here.”
“What is it?” Strat asked, just like Lachlan, he inspected their littered confinement.
“He wants me to write it,” she said. “Write him out of a murder charge.”
“Print something in the paper that paints him as the victim?”
When put that way, the idea didn’t seem so great. Her friend never did pull his punches when it came to her father.
“Trash it or bring it,” Lachlan said. “Give me the gun, Dad.”
“No.”
“Are you going to shoot someone?”
Someone else, he meant.
“I have to maintain—Sersha is unreasonable.”
When Lachlan took a step, panic prompted her to go too. Except Strat apparently sensed that need and tightened his hold on her.
“You’re not going to shoot your own daughter. Whatever you’ve done, I’m sure you have your reasons. We’ll talk in the car, you can’t stay here.”
No because they were traceable. Of all the people on the look out for them, Lachlan and Strat knew them best. Not everyone had their strength or resources. Still, it wasn’t impossible other parties may be on their tail.
“You can’t let her—”
“Sersha’s not our enemy.”
Amazing how Lachlan could stay so calm. Creeping closer, hand outstretched, he couldn’t understand the threat of their father. If he went crazy, if he started shooting, he better take her too. Lachlan and Strat were all she had left in the world. Without them, she would have no reason to go on.
“She knows. She’ll talk.”
“Woman keeps secrets bigger than this every day,” Strat mumbled. “He’s a fucking maniac.”
Maybe it was in the blood.
If Lachlan hadn’t been the first, if Conn found her instead, Ronald McLeod would be dead already. She shouldn’t wish that fate on her own father, but what other possible resolution could there be?
“I need to find out,” she whispered to her friend. “I need to know if he’s alive.”
“What the fuck happened?”
Raising her eyes to his, she wanted to pour out her pain. Somehow, Strat always brought her clarity. Something she needed right then; she’d needed it all week.
“Dad,” Lachlan said, stopping in front of him. “Please. We need to figure this out as a family. Trust me, we will work it out.”
Did he mean that? Lachlan didn’t lie, he just didn’t. But how could he accept their father was a murderer with barely a hitch? All that cop training paid off. That had to be the answer. This was his job, what he was good at. Keep a cool head, use soothing force, gentle direction. And it worked too because Ronald slapped the gun onto Lachlan’s hand.
Good.
The only sane one among them should have responsibility for the weapon. And almost as expected, the first thing Lachlan did was rid the weapon of its ammunition. Separating one from the other gave them another line of security.
“Okay, if this paper is important, gather it up. Then we’re getting in the car and leaving here. Together.”