Aah, maybe there would eventually be light at the end of this dreary tunnel, Raven thought.
“The best surprise isn’t the trip, you know.”
They all gasped in surprise.
“My girls will be living in Ireland! Holy shite, your father would be over the moon.”
All three girls laughed and, in unison, said, “Nan, language!”
21
Sam decided to enjoy the sunny morning and have coffee outside on the covered patio. What a gorgeous morning to look over surveillance footage. His work on the Byrne girl must have topped even Sam’s high standards.
The night he sent the doctored photos to Bran O’Faolain from his burner phone, Sam’s camera caught images of the girls entering their three-story walk-up not two hours later.
When Sam had gone to Eufaula, he’d been disappointed that they had such a reputable security system and that it was armed. Oh well, he couldn’t always be so lucky. However, the small wireless camera he’d placed on the parking sign in front of Triskelion Territory Designs perfectly captured anyone walking by or entering the building.
That night, there were several photos of one of the Byrnes unlocking the front door— really, there was no telling those three women apart in black and white images at night— while another sister had her arms wrapped around, presumably, Raven.
Who needed TV drama? Fake bullshit. This, he thought, clicking through stills of James and Patrick, was real-lifedrama. Sam sat up, staring more intently at his screen. These were photos from the hallway outside Bran’s Tulsa hotel.
My, my, my. The spurned lover finally shows. Oh, yes. There he was again, leaving his rooms with a bag of sorts. Hard to tell in the dim light. Time-lapse showed he was inside for only twenty minutes. Probably headed to Muskogee.
How irritating. His cameras probably wouldn’t pick Bran up again in town. Now he was doubly annoyed he couldn’t get near that property. Sam had been trying to devise a plan to cut power to their Muskogee property so that he could infiltrate the compound to set up surveillance. Oneof the main issues was the generators they had, what they powered, and how long before they would kick on. Not enough time to do what he needed, he was sure. There had to be some way to see inside the private O’Faolain domain.
Sam took a sip of coffee, the steam caressing his upper lip. He would just have to enjoy settling for the knowledge that Bran’s ex-girlfriend no longer resided in Oklahoma. Bran O’Faolain was too arrogant to assume she wouldn’t be right where he dumped her.
He was done with Raven Byrne, but finding out where she was would be fun. Sam wanted to stay one step ahead of that cocksucking Bran. Not for the first time, Sam believed he was missing opportunities to hurt his enemies. Granted, destroying their relationships chipped away at their self-esteem and self-worth. That type of mind-fuck stayed with a man. It was satisfying... but...
Maybe he was thinking too small.
22
Bran had only just arrived at the Muskogee compound. After he left the airport, he’d had to stop at his hotel condo to grab some extra clothes. He wasn’t sure where any of his shit was, honestly. His temper, his whole damn body, was raw. He was volatile, furious at himself, and knew, given the slightest provocation, he could slip into violence.
Almost two months had passed since that— night.
He missed her. God, how much he missed her. He had always believed that women as coldhearted as his mother had to be a one-off, but as soon as those photos had downloaded, he realized his naivety. He loved her still.
Entering his own house, he was relieved it was dark. The silence. He loved his family, but he’d eschewed the main house to avoid their well-meaning banter.
Bran parked in the garage, grabbed his clothes from the back seat, and walked to the main door to enter the code. Just inside the entry, a tall, wooden table carved with vines and leaves held some fancy architectural glass piece. It was clear with slate blue veins. He’d picked it up on one of his trips to Santa Fe at Holsten Galleries. The glass sculpture had spoken to him.
He tossed his key fob and wallet into the hollow middle. It probably wasn’t meant to hold shit from his pockets. What did it matter? If he looked at the art any longer, he’d likely throw it across the entryway, so he kept moving.
Steadily making his way toward the study because he fucking needed a drink or three. He suddenly froze— mid-step. His study door was open and weakly illuminated by what would have to be the gas fireplace. The flickering shadows were snaking up the opposite wall from the entry.
He had personally turned off the house alarm but didn’t remember if it had only been set on the perimeter. The entire property was monitored— which meant— he had to know the intruder.
Sure enough, as he stepped over the threshold, his father leaned one of his shoulders against the fireplace mantle. The big sonofabitch held one of his new Waterford Lismore Connoisseur Diamond Straight tumblers in his bear-sized paw. A gift from his grandmother— the whiskey glasses, not his father— he certainly wasnota gift this night.
“Dad. This is unexpected.” Not surprised, his father just stared at him with a grimness that meant Bran wouldn’t enjoy the visit any more than he’d assumed. Only the flames moved over Hugh O’Faolain’s still features. Bran turned to get himself a drink. He wouldn’t get rid of his unwanted guest until the reason was given.
Whiskey in hand, Bran made his way to one of the chairs in front of the fireplace and eased his sore body onto the mahogany leather chair. He felt like he’d been in a fight, then a wrestling match, followed by a four-hour gym grind, and a car wreck to round things off. Never let anyone tell you stress and tension aren’t bad for the body.
Not interested in continuing the stare-down, Bran broke the silence. Again. “I had planned on coming to the main house inthe morning. Can whatever this is,” Bran waved in his dad’s direction, “wait until then. I’m exhausted and want to go to bed.”
“Forgive me, Bran, if I don’t believe you.”
