“Shut it, Carson.”
“No,” he says, his eyes flashing at me with a kind of warning. “What I will do is walk you back home, whether you like it or not. And if you give me any more grief about this, I’ll call Nolan.”
I open my mouth to tell him off when it strikes me that we’re literally arguing over Eve’s grave.
Oh, God. I’m immediately remorseful.
I shake my head. “I… I can’t believe I’m arguing with you over her grave. I’m… I’m so sorry.” The tears I felt earlier resurface. I turn to go, and my toe catches on a tree root. I go flying forward, but before I fall, his hand comes to my elbow and steadies me.
We’re close, so close I can feel the heat of his breath on my skin. He smells strong, clean, and masculine, just like I’d imagined. My racing heartbeat skips.
He blinks, then looks at the grave, before he looks back at me and releases me.
“You alright?” he says, gentler this time.
“Fine,” I lie. I’m a fucking mess.
“Let’s get you home.” I look in surprise when he bends to get a black bag beside him which I didn’t notice before in the dark.
A laptop bag? It’s odd, I think. Why did he have that here?
We walk together back to the mansion, making small talk about the wedding, both of us pretending there’s nothing to see here, folks.
But my mind is back in the graveyard.
His hand on my elbow.
And the way his eyes widened ever so slightly when we touched.Chapter 3CarsonMy mind is occupied with all things Megan as we walk back to the mansion, and I’m kicking myself for it.
It isn’t just that she’s the cousin of my Clan brothers. Or that I’m riddled with guilt for even thinking of a woman after burying Eve. I can still feel Eve with me, still hear her voice and the sound of her laugh. What would she think?
Why have I never really seen Megan until this night?
I steal a casual glance as we walk back to her home.
How have I never noticed that dimple in her cheek, just there?
How thick those gorgeous black eyelashes are?
The way her body’s all curves and dimples like a goddamn fucking temptress come to life, every man’s fantasy dream drawn into life with vivid, sensual perfection?
The way she smells like dew-kissed roses?
No wonder the men of the brotherhood protect her so. Jesus.
What was she doing out this late? It’s odd.
And what would she do if she knew what she was interrupting right then? What I’d been doing on my laptop right before she came? Sure, I paid my respects to my Eve, as I do every single Friday evening, my little ritual.
But here, between the church and the mansion, I’ve set up a connection. On the off chance anyone’s ever going to find out the work I do, they’ll never be able to trace the actual location, sandwiched between two signals I’ve blocked. The mansion’s likely safe as far as tracing, but I don’t want any of them to know the work I do. None but Keenan.
I suppose some would argue it morbid, doing my work in the graveyard. But I like it. I feel as if I’m getting closer and closer to her vindication with every day that passes. Closer to the truth.
It’s dangerous, and I fucking know it. But bloody hell, I can’t help myself.
I’ve been targeting the O’Gregors now for months, ever since Father Finn clued me in on why I needed to watch them.
Another man would’ve infiltrated their ranks or gone to Stone City and observed the O’Gregors. But not me.
My skill set lies in a different realm.
I’m the hacker, the one who knows the ins and outs of mafia security like no one else. Officially, I’m Clan bookkeeper, but my role encompasses so many other things. When the Clan needs someone willing and able to hack into an account, transfer money, infiltrate communication or the like, I’m the man for the job.
And now I’m using my skills in a way I never have before.
The O’Gregors are sloppy. So fucking sloppy, they make my job easy.
It started with entry-level hacking. Really, the kinds of things I learned to do in primary school. Infrared receiver, click of a button, hide my tracks, and I had the ins and outs of damn near everything the bastards did.
I need an in.
So far what I know about them are only bits and pieces strung around like lights on a Christmas tree. Brilliant and promising, but they don’t shed enough light until I gather them together. And once I do, they’ll shine with the power of a spotlight.
And every day I’m getting just a little bit closer.
We exit the cemetery and walk up the ancient stone pathway past the rectory, then down the path that leads to her home.