Tate (Mountain Men 3)

I snort. “Likely fucking story. Why should I believe that?”

“Because it’s true,” Islan says. “I figured out early on that he wasn’t Welsh mob.”

“Did you?” he asks, as surprised as we are.

“Aye, of course,” Islan says.

“How?”

She flushes pink. “Your accent’s American when you talk in your sleep. It was the first clue.”

He blinks.

Fran eyes him again. “So you had some sort of hero’s goal to keep Islan safe, and that went to hell, but whatever. You’re an Interpol connection, and I have a deal I’d like to cut with you.”

He eyes her curiously. “I’ve been spying on every one of the mobs you’re onto for years,” she says in a low voice. “I have spies for the Welsh, for the Scottish Aitkens, and for several of the McCarthy’s Irish rivals.” She leans in closer. “And I’ll give you bloody everything I have.” She pauses. “And I do mean everything. For Cowen Clan immunity.”

He stares at her, unblinking, then to Islan. “It’s a deal,” he says. “I’ll make sure we grant immunity to the Cowen Clan. I owe it to Islan.” He looks to her. “There’s a reason I came to Ireland.” He looks to me next, then Fran. “But Fran’s already figured it out, haven’t you?”

She nods. “Aye. I suspected as much recently but confirmed my suspicions yesterday.” She stands and goes to the door, speaking to someone who stands in the hall. “Show me the footage on the screens in here, please.”

It’s then that I notice one of Keenan’s men, sitting on a chair that mans the cameras overhead.

She tells him the exact day and time. The monitors flick on. To my surprise, Fran comes to me and holds my hand. I look at her, but her eyes are on the screen.

“Just watch,” she whispers.

The camera pans to the Irish Sea, the very same view Fran and I have from our bedroom upstairs. I look in surprise when a few men walk along the edge. I recognize Kane and his comrades, but to my shock, I see… Leith?

I’m on my feet, Fran’s hand in mine forgotten. “Leith isn’t here,” Islan says, shaking her head. “Bloody hell, what is this trick?”

Fran smiles. “I didn’t want to say anything until I knew. Remember when I ran to the beach? Thought I saw someone? I didn’t understand why Leith would be here and we wouldn’t know. It didn’t make sense. But he wasn’t, was he?”

And then I know. I fucking know. The hair on the back of my neck prickles, and my eyes water. I can’t speak at first, until Fran squeezes my hand. She knows, too.

“It isn’t Leith,” I say, my voice thick with emotion. “Is it?”

Kane shakes his head. “No.” He looks with concern to Islan.

“Oh my God,” Islan says as the realization dawns on her as well. She rises beside me and takes my hand. Her eyes fill with tears, and when she speaks, her voice wobbles. “It’s Tavish. My God. It’s Tavish.” She blinks, and a tear rolls down her cheek. She looks to Kane. “Where is he?”

Chapter 20

Fran

My heart soars as I watch Tate and Islan hold each other. Islan openly cries, but Tate swipes a hand across his eyes, then looks at Kane with fierce determination.

“Where is he?”

“In holding with a colleague of mine,” Kane says. “Give me a phone and I’ll make a few calls. I’ll have him brought here.”

Tate blinks as if waking from a dream, and Islan reaches into her back pocket.

“Here,” she says, shaking her head at Kane. “This is why you wanted to come to Ireland, isn’t it? You wouldn’t tell me bloody anything except the Welsh were on the move.”

“Didn’t want to plant false hope,” he says, as Tate comes over and unfastens the bonds that hold him. He stands over him, meaty arms folded over his chest. He still doesn’t trust him, and hell, I don’t blame him.

I squeeze one of his arms. “You’re adorable, you know that?”

He rolls his eyes, as Kane makes a call. “Adorable wasn’t exactly the look I was going for just now.”

Kane mutters under his breath, “Not the first thing on my mind, either.” Then someone answers the call on the other end, and Kane speaks rapidly, but it isn’t English this time. I can’t place the language, but it’s rapid and guttural. Islan is the only one that doesn’t look surprised.

From my research, I know that Interpol represents just shy of two hundred different countries. Could be anything.

The morning moves so quickly, I can hardly keep up. I’m busy making notes and documenting everything I can for Kane. I reach out to my contacts, and Islan sits with Kane as he makes his moves. We’ve moved out of the blasted interrogation room—seriously, shudder—and upstairs to an office. Maeve comes in, bearing a tray of tea, sandwiches, fruit, and little slabs of cake. Islan and I eat heartily, but Tate paces back and forth, back and forth. I expect him to call Leith, but he doesn’t.