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“Will he?” Steeple asked. “Do you want him to? No offense, but I don’t feel worse knowing they’re watching your ass… Unless it was McDade’s people who jumped you.”
“It wasn’t.”
“She says with authority without telling anyone who was responsible.”
“Lachlan call?”
“A couple of times,” he said. “I don’t blame him for being worried.”
“I’ve been lying in the hospital for four days and chose not to crash your meeting this morning so my return wouldn’t be a big deal. But I’m here. I want to get back to work.”
“What does McDade think about that?”
“Who the hell cares what he thinks?” she asked. Rage didn’t help her injuries, but it was automatic. “Don’t dare tell me he called—”
“If Ire McDade called this building, I’d give him the damn keys,” he said, touching his collar. “You know he’s killed people, right?”
Cautious, she didn’t want to be paranoid. “Who told you that?”
“No one told me. It’s known. People know that. Guy gets mad in a snap. You must’ve seen it.”
“He doesn’t…” She took a second. “He cares. About the family. About his people. He’s protective of them.”
“Hence the guy on the other side of the door.”
“Daly is one of his people. Conn cares about him too.”
“And you? Does Ire care about you?”
Angling her head, her boss’s curiosity didn’t escape her notice. “I was attacked in McDade territory.”
“So it’s a personal insult? He doesn’t care who you are, just that someone stepped on his toes?”
So many people wanted her to talk about things she couldn’t make any sense of herself.
“Can I hang out here today or not?”
“Sure,” Steeple said, pushing back in his seat. “Just don’t do too much. Having your brother on my ass is one thing, put against Ire McDade…”
“Okay,” she said, standing up. “Thank you.”
Given she’d about passed out at reception, doing too much would be impossible, even with all the will in the world. Still, for as long as she was able, she wanted her mind busy and not obsessing about other things, other… people.
TWENTY-FOUR
DESPITE ARRIVING LATE at The Chronicler office, she was wiped by the middle of the afternoon. A little thing like tiredness wouldn’t get in her way. She took more meds and soldiered on. Daly was nearby, watching her. Watching. Watching. Any hint of weakness, or clue she needed help would be reported back to his boss. Connel was one person she didn’t want showing up anywhere near her life.
Her eyes were closing, her head drifting, her concentration had been gone for over an hour. What time was it? Catching her head on another drop, she blinked at the wall clock. Six thirty. Yeah, that was it, she was done.
She should call Strat and—
“Ser?”
Daly stood behind her shoulder. Had he noticed—he held out a phone. Her phone. Connected to… someone.
Taking it from him, sidelining questions about where he found it, she put it to her ear. “Hello?”
Daly was already walking away.
