“Lorcan got away,” he growls.
It takes me a second to register what he’s saying.
Lorcan got away? How is that even possible?
“W-what?How? Nobody knew about the plan but us.” My voice trembles with a mixture of disbelief and fear.
Cormac continues to pace. “Someone obviously said something.”
My brow furrows at his tone. “Are you suggesting that I said something?”
This stops him in his tracks. “No, I…” He lets out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fuck, that’s not what I’m saying.”
“Then what are you saying? Because to me it sounds like the blame has already been placed on someone.”
Some of the initial fear I felt at the realization of Lorcan escaping is giving way to something stronger.
“It’s not been placed on anyone.” Cormac braces his hands on the edge of the island and hangs his head. “We’re all just trying to piece everything together. Lorcan knew we were planning on intercepting him tonight, and he planned for it. The fucker played us the entire time. I should have put a bullet in his head when I had the chance.”
He slams his fist down onto the hard marble and immediately winces.
That’s when I notice the dark bruising already blossoming over his knuckles.
I swallow down my own frustration and walk over to the refrigerator to pull out an ice pack.
“Here,” I take his hand and hold the ice pack against it.
Cormac lets out a hiss, but he doesn’t fight me.
He huffs. “I’m not blaming you, but Lorcan got wind of our plan somehow, and he’s smart enough to exploit the tiniest mistake.”
I keep my eyes down as my mind starts to race.
If Lorcan knew our plan, then we have been compromised, but the only question is, by who?
I look up at Cormac then, trying to read his expression, to see if he believes I could have done something.
He’s tense and restless, and I can see the anger in his eyes, but I also catch that flicker of uncertainty when he finally looks me in the eye.
“What did he say to you?” I ask coolly.
I can see Cormac mentally calculating whether to tell me the truth or not, but he seems to think better of it.
He pulls out a stool and collapses down onto it, letting out a deep exhale that makes his shoulders drop.
“He told me you’re not really on my side,” Cormac admits, his jaw tightening. “That maybe I don’t know you as well as I think I do.”
“And you believe him.”
It’s not a question.
“Of course, I don’t believe him. Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m just frustrated, and I’m taking it out on you, that’s all. You know I trust you, Fiona.”
I let out a slow breath, but his reassurance does little to ease the growing doubt in my mind.
I’m not an idiot. Deep down, I know Cormac had to believe Lorcan’s insinuations at least a little to bring it up with me, and that thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
If he can even entertain that doubt for a second, what else might linger in the corners of his mind?
