Tate (Mountain Men 3)

She pulls out a broken piece of equipment. “See?”

I shake my head. “No, I don’t bloody see.”

She hops straight down off the table and runs to me. “It’s recording equipment. Someone put that here. Now riddle me this. If the Welsh were merely planning to attack you, why would they record it?”

I shake my head.

“They wouldn’t,” she supplies. “And furthermore, someone would have disabled the water sprinklers perhaps so they could set the fire more efficiently, or perhaps for another reason altogether.”

“So they wouldn’t destroy their equipment,” I mutter.

“Precisely.”

“So who put this here?”

“The Welsh were here,” she says, mulling it all over. “We know they were here a few days before anything happened, at least according to Islan. She was here with her man.”

“Was she?” What the bloody hell is that all about? “I can’t believe she did that.”

“Tate,” Fran says, blowing out an impatient breath. “I can. And for a while, I thought she was just infatuated with the bloke, and even when he had her in here restrained, I thought that he merely deceived her. But your sister’s no fool, is she?”

“Of course not. She’s bloody brilliant, but love can make people blind.”

“Or,” she continues. “Love can make people see things that others are blind to. Hope when all seems lost. Promise, when someone’s given up. Redemption in an otherwise irredeemable character.”

I nod, still not quite putting it together.

“I’ve done some deep diving, and while I’ve found evidence of her man’s induction into his Clan, there’s a lot more to it than meets the eye… We need to get back to Keenan,” she says. “After we arm ourselves with this evidence. You need to make sure he doesn’t…” she winces. “Allow Islan’s lover boy to be injured.”

I nod, as she continues.

“It wasn’t the Welsh that were the ones who set these up. They have a spy among them, and I know exactly who it is. I reached out to two of my contacts in the investigation and asked at length about the typical induction into a Clan. It isn’t like it is with all of you, the vetting and the like. Sometimes, it’s to pay off a debt, and the history of this man leaves a vague trail of unanswered questions.”

It all comes crashing down with vivid clarity.

“He isn’t Welsh at all, is he?”

She shakes her head. “No. And I know how we’ll get him to confess to all. But there’s more than that, even. Why this warehouse? What a strange place to bring us, isn’t it? With such a high probability of a fire hazard, the rooms are stacked floor to ceiling with flammable print books… a few things don’t add up. Took me some time to figure that one out.”

I don’t bloody know how she does it, I truly don’t, and I wish to hell I could get into her mind sometimes.

We head back to the McCarthy family home. She’s on the phone again, asking difficult questions, probing and pushing for more answers. I’m on the phone with Leith, telling him what we found.

“Bloody hell,” he says. “You think he’s an Interpol rat?”

“I do, and Fran’s going to work her magic, see what she can find out.”

“Jesus, brother, I wish I was there with you.”

“Soon, Leith. Soon.”

I hang up the phone, as we make it back to the McCarthys. Children are running around on the front lawn, playing with balloons and bubbles with their nannies. It’s one of the most whimsical, carefree visions I’ve ever seen.

I take her hand. “You know, lassie. If you have my baby…”

“It’s the greatest insurance for my health and well-being you can give me,” she supplies, giving me a grin. “I have studied up a bit on the way Clan law works, you know. Seems marrying me was the first insurance, though that didn’t stop some dumbasses. But after that, we can take another precaution, eh? By knockin’ me up, as it were?”

“Aye,” I say with a chuckle. I pat her wee belly. “Looking forward to that.”

She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, as we walk the large stone steps to the house. “So the wedding wasn’t just a farce? Meant to throw people off, keep me temporarily safe?”

I shake my head. “Not if you’ll have me, Fran.”

She stops on the step just ahead of me and places her hands on my shoulders. “There,” she says vehemently. “Much better. Now we’re actually eyeball to eyeball.”

She bends and kisses my cheek. “I’ll have you, Tate Cowen. I’ll have you until the day I die. I love you and have since before it was proper.”

I grin at her, as the front door opens and Islan runs out. She’s got a bandage across one eye and her arm’s in a sling, but she’s otherwise fine.

“There you two are,” she says. “Keenan said you wanted me. What is it?”