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“Sometimes, no, there’s no going back,” I agreed, twisting my hand in hers so I could grip her fingers.
I had no idea what would make her feel dirty outside of what she’d endured during her abduction, but I didn’t think she was going to tell me. Da, on the other hand, she might. Father Doyle didn’t seem to have done the trick.
“Does Da know what’s on your mind?”
My cell buzzed once more, and her fingers clamped down on mine before she surged to her feet and darted over to the other side of the kitchen.
A kitchen she, with her pearls and chignon and designer dress, didn’t fit in at all. But I knew the homeliness of it comforted her. It reminded me of the one in our second cousin’s cottage back in the Motherland. We’d stayed there only briefly, but Ireland was in my blood as a result.
And not just because of the money we sent back to fund its freedom, either.
“It’s okay, Brennan. You’re busy. You need to deal with business.”
“No, don’t be—” I scowled when my phone started ringing, not just buzzing this time, and I picked it up, snapping, “Bagpipes, can’t you take the fucking hint?”
“She’s going to the stables, Bren. You told me to tell you if she went back there.”
My brows furrowed because I couldn’t fault the fucker for obeying orders.
Did Camille seriously have to go riding right this goddamn second?
“Shit,” I rumbled under my breath. “She got a death wish or something?”
“Or something,” he agreed. “Want me to bring Tinker over? Make sure things are copacetic?”
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I leaned into my elbow that I stacked on the table. My brain raced as I thought about the best move to make.
Somehow, she maneuvered around Italian territory without getting into too much shit, so if I sent a bunch of Pointers over there to protect her, it might cause raised eyebrows and draw attention to her—the last thing I wanted.
TheFamigliamight be fucked now we’d chopped off their Don’s head and had shoved their potential leaders off this mortal coil too, but that didn’t mean two more fucking heads weren’t about to pop up.
Goddamn Hydra.
Pushing a Bratva princess into Italian territory was a disaster waiting to happen. I had no idea why her father let her breach that uncharted border, but until she was mine, I had no rights over her.
A fact that was starting to piss me off.
My jaw worked as I asked, “What car you riding in?”
“The Beemer.”
“The one with the stolen plates?”
“Yeah.”
I dipped my chin. “Okay, follow her, but keep a low profile.”
“Can’t exactly do that when she’s on a fucking horse, Bren. What do you want me to do? Go riding with a bunch of five-year-olds?”
Despite the severity of the situation, my lips twitched at the thought of Bagpipes, so named for the size of his gut and an unfortunate incident on his wedding day with a musician, trying to blend in among a bunch of kids.
“She usually deals with tack, doesn’t she?”
“I don’t fucking know what that is.”
I grunted. “The saddles and shit. Not talking about the state of your apartment, Bagpipes.”
“Kerry-Louise has got great taste. Fuck you, Brennan.”
