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Loyalty has been a strength of mine, but to be loyal to the people I care about, I need to betray my whole family. A family who’d sell me out so fast—I’m more than aware of that.
“Ryan Donnelly, Patrick Donnelly—the ones with the restraining orders for trying to attack Beckett,” I say. “Those are Raff’s grandsons.”
Lo slowly trains his glare at the ceiling. “Jesus Christ, how’d we screw up this jigsaw puzzle?”
“I didn’t,” Connor says, his voice carrying little inflection. “My PI did.” He swivels the tablet to me, showing a photo of dark-haired and chin-dimpled Ryan and Patrick.
Same picture I saw when I came across their restraining orders. They’re in their early twenties and broad-chested. There wasn’t enough evidence to convict them of assault. Which is why a wire is now taped above my heart.
“These are your Uncle Finley’s grandsons?” Connor asks.
“Nah, none of Uncle Finn’s kids have dark hair like that. Most are scrawny too. Those are definitely Raff’s grandkids.” Before he asks, I say, “I don’t know how manyPatrick DonnellysandRyan Donnellysthere are. Probably a lot. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s another Paul.”
Lo pinches his eyes, then drops his hand. “What now, Connor?” he asks, his tone biting. “We start from scratch?”
“Akara, email Donnelly the family tree,” Connor says, but to me, he adds, “in your free time, look through this and correct all inaccuracies. Fill in any blanks.”
I nod a couple times.
Connor addresses the rest of security, “If any of you have questions, feel free.”
“What about your mom’s family?” Price asks me now.
“Um…” I go rigid and shake my head. “Never met them.”
“Why not?” he wonders.
“They sorta disowned my mom, from what my grandmom told me. My mom never liked talking about it.” I look to my right.
Why do I wish Luna was here?
“What’d your mom do wrong?” Tony asks.
I rub the back of my skull. “She had me.”
I drop my hand, then stand up. Needing air, needing…out? Standing was an instinct, a gut reaction, and now that I’m out of the chair, I don’t sit back down. I just walk over to Farrow and turn my back on the small audience.
“You have a smoke?” I whisper, digging in my pocket. Empty. They’re empty except for my lighter.
He’s digging in his. “Breathe.”
“I’m breathing.”
“You’re sweating.”
“I’m doing that too.”
Concern tightens his eyes on me. “How’s your pulse?” he whispers.
“Racing away from me,” I murmur. “You wanna catch it, Dr. Hale?”
He twists his head over his shoulder, but I can’t see who he’s looking at. I’m focusing on the pack of Lucky Strikes that he puts in my hand. I smack the package against my palm.
“Who do you want out of the room?” Lo suddenly asks me.
I flinch in surprise.
“And you can’t sayeveryone,” he snaps.
