Keenan (Dangerous Doms 1)

I could call off the meeting I have today, but I want to see how she handles my absence. I also want to be sure I’ve taken care of everything I need to, so I’m free to deal with Caitlin.

As Captain of the Clan, I oversee the finishing school we host at Saint Albert’s. Every one of us was trained there; every one of our fresh recruits attends St. Albert’s before they’re initiated. The vast majority of the boys who train there are blood-relations, with few exceptions. Carson was one such exception.

Carson’s mother, an English woman by birth, worked for my family all her life. She’d barely graduated University when she became a widow, left with Carson, then just a baby. She told my father she trusted him to help raise her son to be successful. My father, as Clan Chief, suggested he board at St. Albert’s, the finest educational institution near us. At the time, it was merely a temporary, pragmatic decision. He had no intention of initiating Carson into The Clan. But the rest of us felt he’d become like a brother.

He lived in our home. Knew our ways. He was as much a member of our family as Nolan or Cormac. And his mother gave her blessing for full initiation before she died.

My father broke law and tradition with his induction, but Carson’s brilliance and unparalleled logical mind are decided assets to our brotherhood. We had enough who could break bones and fulfill hired hits. We had muscle and brawn and leadership. We were in need of someone to keep our books and organize the business side of things.

Carson upholds the code of Clan brotherhood with the best of them, and my father’s never regretted his decision.

Though there are many clans through Ireland, some rivals and some neutral, ours stands as one of the strongest. I’ve no doubt it’s due in no small part to the finishing school we fund. Unlike our rivals and peers, the men of our brotherhood are trained at a young age in obedience, fortitude, and logic. By the time they’re ready to graduate, they’ve been taught loyalty and our code of conduct as well. Men don’t bite the hand that feeds them.

I look over today’s agenda: review Clan finances, review the summaries given us from Malachy, the overseer of St. Albert’s. Introduce the imprisonment and capture of Caitlin.

When I arrive in my office, my secretary sits at her desk, piles of paperwork stacked in neat piles. Though I’ve got an office at the house, there are times I need to conduct business elsewhere, to keep up appearances. I like to come here a few times a week.

“Catrina, I have a job for you,” I tell her. She’s young and put together, a petite blonde well-dressed in a skirt and jacket, eager to please, and though I’ve always found her pretty, it occurs to me she doesn’t hold a candle to Caitlin’s radiance.

What is wrong with me?

“Yessir?”

“Find out anything and everything you can about Jack Anderson, the lighthouse keeper. History, parentage, if he was married to anyone. Get in touch with Brady and tell him I want a full report as soon as possible.”

“Yessir. Of course, sir. Several of your men are awaiting your arrival in your office.”

Brady, one of several private detectives we have on staff, is prompt and efficient. I’ll have what I need.

We’ve assumed Anderson was an eccentric old man, when he may have been a spy right under our very noses. Madness is a well-fitting disguise.

“Thank you.”

I enter my office to find Carson and Malachy sitting amiably beside each other. They’ve known each other for years, as Carson and I were under Malachy’s tutelage when we were in school together.

“Gentlemen,” I say in greeting. Both men get to their feet to greet me, but I gesture for them to sit. All of the men in our Clan function as brothers, but the chain of command holds weight, and all know to show respect to those higher in rank. I’ve been Malachy’s and Carson’s superior for several years now.

“What’s the story, Keenan?” Carson says amiably. He takes his laptop out of his bag and balances it on his knee. Though Carson’s trained with all of us, rising to peak physical shape, he’s the more studious of the lot. With his wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, we’ve always called him The Clan professor.

“Got a lass in my keeping,” I tell him. “You’ve heard this?”

“I have,” he says with a knowing smile. “A gorgeous lass, no less.”

Something in me tightens.

That she is and hell if any of them come near her…

“Do tell,” Malachy says, leaning back in his chair and crossing one ankle on his knee. Several years younger than my father, Malachy’s my father’s best mate and cousin. Malachy never married but has dedicated his life to the raising of the boys of The Clan into men. He’s tall and muscled like all of us, and he’s an expert in the study of ealaíona comhraic, Irish martial arts, encompassing everything from boxing to wrestling and stick fighting. We’ve all been properly trained.