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He ends the call and lowers the phone away from his ear.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I’m sorry, Sera…”
“What for?”
His gaze passes over my face as he releases me and returns his phone to his coat pocket.
He turns to Saint. “Call Dane back. We need to talk.”
Saint’s brows snap together. “If you’re going to bark orders on my own land, Harrington, you’ll be fucking disappointed when no one listens.”
“The Gardaí are on their way,” Fionn says. “They’re here to arrest Dane for your mother’s murder.”
My spine straightens.
“What the hell?” I hiss. “We all know it was Lorcan.”
“Dane!” Saint yells. “Come here.”
Dane lifts the whiskey bottle into the air without turning and keeps walking away.
“Get the fuck back here. Now.”
He glances over his shoulder, flicks his cigarette, and does a one-eighty turn, walking back to us, his pace slow and a scowl on his face.
“Why the hell would they think Dane killed Ma?” I ask.
“They found the weapon that killed her.”
I stare at him. “Lorcan had the gun.”
“He must’ve tossed it before he left.” Fionn takes my hand in his. “My father has given a statement claiming Lorcan was with him the night your mother was killed.”
Keira sucks in a breath behind us. “Oh God…”
Saint steps closer. “That lying cunt.”
“The first ballistics report confirms the bullet was fired from the weapon they recovered.” Fionn watches Dane approach us. “It’s registered to him.”
The wind pulls the edges of my long coat open, but no cold reaches the sickness spreading through me.
Dane stops in front of us. “What the fuck’s going on?”
Fionn faces him. “Where’s your gun?”
His brow creases and his grip tightens around the bottle's neck. “What the fuck do ya want to know that for, Harrington?”
“Where is it?” Fionn asks again.
Dane looks at Saint. “Why’s he asking me that?”
“Answer him,” Saint says.
“I was with a girl the other night.” He shrugs. “Must’ve left it at her place.”
Jesus fuck.
