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She wasn’t even aware she was shaking until Wilt put a grounding hand on her arm. “You won’t get away with this.”
“Again, Bets, it’s not me who is investigating. However, a close friend in the government said they might withdraw the forthcoming charges against Veritas—your son—if you volunteer to close down the arts center. Permanently. You seemed like the right person to ask, being the one who started it.”
She fought for breath. “And here I thought you wanted us to move it to Watertown—under your direction, of course. Make up your mind, Malcolm.”
“I no longer have any interest in dealing with any of you,” he gritted out. “I want you and your arts center gone. So what will it be?”
Was he out of his mind? How was this even a choice? “You’re asking whether I will shut down the arts center or let my son be charged under this bogus act?”
A sudden wind surrounded her, and for a moment, all she could smell was oranges. She trusted in the sign. Tears filled her eyes. She let them fall. “That’s no decision at all. The Sorcha Fitzgerald Arts Center will stay open and continue to serve Caisleán and the greater community.”
Wilt gave her a thumbs-up.
“Ah, you disappoint me, Bets, but you do not surprise me. From our first meeting in my office, I knew you were a spirited woman. Now we will see how much spirit you have once your son is in custody. Which is about to happen right now…”
The phone went dead.
She sucked in her breath. “I need to call Liam.”
Her hands were shaking so badly Wilt took her phone from her. “I’ll call him.”
He put it on speaker, and she listened to the rings—one, two, three, four. She heard Liam’s cheery recorded greeting before Wilt clicked it off.
“Call Carrick,” she told Wilt as she grabbed her phone back. “I’ll call Donal. Someone will pick up.”
But no one did. She called everyone she could think of who would be with Liam, but their phones only rang and rang and rang. She shot off a frantic text to Linc before sinking onto the ground under Sorcha’s tree, the powerful orange scent making more tears pour down her face as she kept dialing and dialing and dialing.
When Linc called her, she gripped the phone. “Do you know where Liam is? No one is answering—”
“Bets, sugar, I don’t know how to tell you this.”
She lowered her head to her knees, her spirit finally broken. “They came for him,” she whispered, starting to cry again.
“Yes! Bets, they’re saying he’s Veritas. Some special Garda unit came as he was out with the others spraying sheep. Eight men, Bets. You’d think he was a fugitive. There was press with them too, taking pictures and videoing it all. The men tried to stop them, but Liam told them to save our energy for the bigger fight. I’m so sorry, sugar. Bets, we are going to get him back. I’m working with the lawyers right now.”
Usually Linc’s voice was a comfort, but all her mind could focus on was Liam talking about the bigger fight. She didn’t even know what that was anymore.
Her precious son was in jail.
CHAPTERNINETEEN
Veritas Finally Unmasked.
Sitting in Bets’ living room, Taylor stared at the special evening news report on an Irish TV station. Images of Liam being led in handcuffs out of the pasture and into a Garda vehicle like he was a criminal made her sick.
It was a nightmare.
She shoved off Bets’ couch, needing to move, needing space, and Liam’s family and friends did their best to move out of her way. His Summercrest roommates were clustered against the wall holding hands while the other artists from the center and their spouses sat on chairs brought in from other parts of the house. Linc and Donal were both on their phones, sitting with Ghislaine, also on her device, in front of Bets’ fireplace as they tried to figure out a solution. Meanwhile, Bets prowled like a tiger in front of them.
If Bets found out her precious son was in jail because of her… She put a hand to her mouth, trying to hold it together.
Weaving through the maze of chairs took some doing, but Taylor was determined, even when Eoghan reached out to graze her arm in comfort. When she got to the window, she stared into the black as pitch night. Muted conversations buzzed behind her. There were too many people around, too many emotions pinging around the room. She needed to fight through the distractions to focus on a solution. Because if she let herself think about what Liam must be going through—because of her—she would crumble like a sandcastle from a giant wave.
“Malcolm and friends certainly had a media plan for this travesty,” Ghislaine commented in a raised voice, her French accent stronger than usual. “They’d hoped to eclipse the story about the Kindness Sheep being shorn and a couple of them killed, and guess what? The Irish government supposedly catching Veritasisbigger news. Even if it’s fake.”
When she’d first heard the news and realized why Liam had been arrested, Taylor had thought it would be easy to get him released. It had almost been arelief. She’d posted on Veritas’ social media that Liam O’Hanlonwasn’tVeritas the moment she’d heard the news. Other people had claimed it in the past and been refuted. Slam dunk.
Only… Malcolm’s people had been ready for that. The special beady-eyed Garda investigator who’d “caught” Liam said someone with access to Veritas’ social media accounts was attempting to cover up the truth. Linc had worked with the lawyers to show Liam couldn’t be Veritas with his passport stamps, but they didn’t seem interested in the evidence. This was a setup, plain and simple.
