Tracing the soft brow and scrunched nose, he whispered, “I’m your Uncle Pat.”
“Okay, damn it,” Jo’s exasperated voice cut through the quiet. “You O’Faolains have taken up more than your share of Baby O. Honey Bunny’s going to lose his S. H. I. T. if he doesn’t get to hold that sweet bundle immediately.”
MacGregor looked at Patrick in terror. “No.”
Too late, Patrick gently transferred the bundle into the Scotsman’s giant arms. Baby O looked the size of a potato. Now Jo was crying. Served her right. Patrick took over photography duties as Thomas, oh so gently; touched the blanket, a look of wonder crossed his tough features. “Congratulations, Bran and Raven. Ye’ve a name for the bairn, aye?”
It was Raven who answered. Smiling at Bran first, then Hugh, she said,” His name is Daniel Hugh O’Faolain.”
Bran clasped their dad on the shoulder before adding, “After his grandfathers.”
In a raspy voice, full of emotion, Dad responded with, “I’m honored, Son, as I know Raven’s father would have been.”
Okay... Christ, have mercy already. Are babies supposed to cause this much emotion?
Rowan thankfully suggested they all go home and leave Bran and Raven to settle in. Everyone agreed, though Jo, who was still snuggling little Daniel, looked reluctant to relinquish the bundle.
River and Rowan hugged Bran again before kissing their sister and hugging her tight. “I’m so proud of you, Rave,” River murmured against Raven’s cheek. Rowan added, “Mom and Dad are so proud of you. I’m so proud of you.”
Patrick watched as River pulled away from her sister’s bed. She was fighting tears but managed to add, “You’ll call Row and me tomorrow when you need us?”
Raven took their hands. “I don’t have to need you. I’ll always just want you. Okay?”
River and Rowan nodded, clearly biting the inside of their cheeks to keep from bawling. Patrick said his goodbyes and wrapped his arm around River.
His dad followed, but as he closed the distance, Rowan quickly turned her back and preceded her sister out the door. He watched his dad inhale deeply. How could he not see how miserable he was making himself and Rowan by denying his feelings?
He hoped his father didn’t learn his lesson in the soul-destroying way Patrick had.
39
As Sam finished making a cortado for the obnoxious, cat hair infested prima donna currently holding out her greased up oil slick of a hand toward him to grab her cup— and really, the brown nails looked like she’d been playing in the litter box with her plethora of cats, and don’t get him started on what her wrinkled, scrunched up lips resembled— he smiled, said ‘Of course’and ‘Have a great day’even after the waste of air gave her parting shot.You better have steamed the milk long enough.
He despised this job, but he had to keep it for his plan to work. The O’Faolain guards were always milling about, especially since they owned the building next to the Byrne sisters’ business. He found out that little nugget of information from two gossiping women waiting for their coffees three months ago.
Bran’s wife had her baby weeks and weeks ago. The parade of people toting blue balloons, gift boxes with giant bows, couture, of course... nauseating. He’d witnessed it all during his deliveries. May was only a few days away. He couldnotbelieve he’d been here for almost four months! However, he wasn’t a quitter. Sam had to remind himself of that fact daily.
He was not a quitter.
He made sure, no matter the shitty weather, to jump at every opportunity to make coffee deliveries. His face was becoming more and more familiar. People hailed him on the street. Sam always smiled and waved back. He would make meaningless conversation, or his favorite... reciting a customer’s coffee order from memory. It made people feel so special. ‘Oh my, he remembered me and my order.’
People were so easily manipulated.
There was another benefit to hoofing around Triskelion’s neighborhood— he had a reason to go in and out of the surrounding businesses, a few that had promising rooftops. A simple query here and there got Sam all sorts of intel.
One building in particular had potential. It was a clothing boutique with what looked like apartments or storage above the shop, situated across the street and slightly east of Triskelion and that O’Faolain monstrosity. He’d been watching hundreds of videos on how to use his rifle and scope. The distance wouldn’t be a problem. There was enough distance that he knew getting away undetected wouldn’t be an issue either.
Hide the rifle, then go right back to making and delivering coffee. Just ole Robbie Smith, everyone’s favorite local barista.
Two days ago, Sam scouted behind the boutique and confirmed it had a fire escape reaching the upper levels. Whether it was sturdy enough to use was to be determined. He planned on doing a trial run, rifle included, to see if the rooftop was sniper-worthy. That made Sam chuckle.
He finished adding whipped cream to a customer’s Caramel Frappuccino, imagining his revenge would taste as sweet as the decadent caramel swirling in this young woman’s drink.
Excitement zinged through his body. A week, maybe two, and he could be back in the States. His enemies— devastated, destroyed, or dead.
Sam would be back on the road in his beloved motor home— @SammySoGood would be coming back with a vengeance. Sam was an artist. He needed the creativity his films inspired in him and his followers.
Unfortunately, that time wasn’t now. He knew he’d been more frazzled of late. The ability to sleep had abandoned Sam at least two weeks ago. He could only pace and plan, pace and plan, pace and plan. His body felt connected to a livewire. His father’s voice constantly reminded him of his duty.Make them pay.
