Tully (Dangerous Doms 7)

“Hello?”

“Who’s this again?”

It’s an odd response, and I feel myself tense.

“Tully, Father.” I’ve known him since I was a lad. He bloody knows who I am.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know who that is. Kindly call the office inside the parsonage tomorrow to see if they can help.” The phone goes dead.

What the bloody hell? Not know me? Of course he bloody knows me.

I stare for long moments at the phone, my nerves fraught, and dial again.

“Hello?”

“Father Finn,” I say, my anger rising. I try to keep myself calm. He’s either off his nut or something’s terribly wrong with him.

“Ah, yes,” he says in the same placid, calm tone. “So sorry, I don’t know you. Please go tomorrow to the office inside the parsonage to help you.” And he hangs up the phone.

Why would he pretend not to know me? It makes no fucking sense. He knows every one of us as if we were his very own children.

My phone rings again. Lachlan. “Hello?”

“Tully, we’ve got them. Caitlin and Fiona are fine, but it seems…” His voice shakes a little.

“What? What the bloody hell, Lach?”

“Mary was attacked.”

“Mary?”

Why Mary?

“They’re here, Tully. They’re coming for us. Alert the entire Clan and send everyone into lockdown.”

I stare at the iron gate as if someone will come in at any moment, but it stands tall and impenetrable.

“I’ll do that, Lachlan.”

I feel the weight of my gun in my hand, practically begging the universe to send me something, someone, anything to fucking shoot. Something to do.

“Lach, I called Father Finn just now.”

“Yes?”

“When I told him who I was, he said he didn’t know a Tully.”

Lachlan’s silent for a moment. “Did he?”

“Aye. What the hell’s up with that?”

“What else did he say?”

“Kept saying to go to the office inside the parsonage, and I’d get the help I needed.”

“No bloody idea.”

Christ.

“He said tomorrow… come tomorrow.”

The sky’s open, and torrents of rain fall, icy and cold. I shiver and bend, trying to block my mobile from getting wet.

Lachlan grunts. “No church office is open on Sunday, Tully.”

Realization dawns on me.

He isn’t alone.

“’Twas a code, then, wasn’t it?”

“Go find out, brother.”

Someone’s with Father Finn, and his clue was meant to warn me.

“Don’t leave until the mansion’s secured, mate.” I don’t tell him I already have.

“Aye.” I need to get to Father Finn, but the safety of all is paramount.

We hang up. I call the brotherhood to assemble and sound the warning. I tell one, then the other, and within moments, I can hear them approaching, the sounds of arrival drowned out with the torrent of rain and howling wind. Men come in on bikes, on foot, in cars, until nearly every brother I know’s arrived.

I need to find McKenna.

I grab Carson. “Stand guard. Watch the gate. There’s something afoul and we need to find out what it is.” I need to check on Father Finn. I finger his rosary beads in my pocket before I take off at a run.

I leave Cormac on the front lawn, surrounded by the brotherhood, as I walk the path to the Church. I shouldn’t go alone, I should have back up with me, but damned if there’s anyone who can come right now.

I look about me and swear I can feel her nearby, but she’s nowhere to be seen. Where the bloody hell is she?

I want to scream for her, yell her name until I’m hoarse, until she hears me and comes back to me. I hate that she’s apart from me. I hate that she could be in danger.

When I arrive at Holy Family, I realize my suspicion that something’s wrong at the church was right. The gate to the graveyard hangs askew, as if something or someone wrenched it open. I draw my gun and look to the left and right, when my phone buzzes with a text.

Lachlan. Heading to the bunker with the girls. Is everyone safe at home?

Aye. I left Carson and Cormac holding down the fort. I’m checking on Father Finn.

So many questions. So few answers.

I look to the parsonage and see one light on ahead of me, in a small sitting room to the right, overlooking the graveyard. Father Finn said go to the office beside the parsonage. Then it dawns on me.

There is no office beside the parsonage. There hasn’t been for a full decade, not since Seamus McCarthy was Clan leader and chief or even longer still than that. There’s a small anteroom where Father Finn keeps a date book, but little else.

I text Carson. Everything alright?

Aye, brother. Nothing yet.

Have you seen McKenna?

No.

Jesus.

Clouds overhead shift, sending a shaft of moonlight to the garden outside the parsonage, and there, under the beam, I see the glint of chrome. My blood runs cold.

Motorcycles, the very same I saw riding into Ballyhock that first night I took McKenna home. Why are they here?