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The smell hits me first.
Rot.
Poison.
And death, hanging in the air like a thick, toxic fog.
But I ignore that for now as I move on. I walk slowly, trying to keep myself focused—trying to keep myself from wondering if Una is still alive.
She has to be.
She fuckinghas to be.
I clear the entryway, then the light-filled, windowed hall beyond before it empties into a tasteful living room with a huge art collection on the walls, complete with what’s pretty clearly an original Warhol above the mantel.
My jaw grits.
Yeah, I think I know now whose money paid for all this.
Seamus’.
When he was in his prime as the Irish mob’s top hired gun, the man was making bank hand over fist. Dorsey even mentioned to me once that tens of millions were wired into offshore accounts and friendly foreign banks the minute O’Conor was picked up by the police. Hardly any of it’s been recovered.
Apparently, some—or a lot—of it has.
She loved him.
Gail, the brilliant young criminal psychiatrist who sat down with Seamus O’Conor in his court-appointed sessions, fell the fuck in love with him.
Gail, who years later petitioned the DOJ and the FBI to let her study him at Coal Creek.
Not to write a book.
To bewithhim. To do his bidding. To use her position to bring his fucking children to that place. So he could mold them, and train them, and abuse them.
That same Gail who channeled her fervor for the late monster Seamus O’Conor to become his avenging angel named Apostle.
Given that Seamus was aninsanereligious zealot who legitimately thought his methods of brutally killing the innocent somehow washed away the sins of the wicked—or who he decided was “the wicked”—Gail’s decision to pick the term for a disciple of Jesus as her nom-du-revenge makes perfect sense.
She must have used her vast library of audio recordings she made of Seamus during those Coal Creek days to painstakingly put together a voice emulator, which she used to scare the living hell out of Una over the phone.
She terrified Una into hunting down me and my family by threatening Finn, who I’m guessing she already knew was dead. She rigged that cake to blow, to send the message and sow fear. She sent that wrecking ball crashing down onto Neve’s car.
She did all of this because sheloved Seamus.
For the first time maybe ever, I’m fucking terrified. Because I know whatI’mprepared to do formylove.
And now I’m wondering just what Gail is prepared to do for hers.
I clear the kitchen next. Or, I think I clear it. I’m about to move on, when something catches my eye. I whirl, snarling, the gun coming up.
Bones meows as he steps out of the pantry.
Jesus fuck. I glare at him, pulling the gun back as I bring a finger up to my lips.
“We’re in here, Cillian!”
The voice is cheerful and peppy. Near laughter in its delightedness.
