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Well, mostly, but not about all.
Chapter Eighteen
Illyria
“Damn it, Sypher. I am standing right where you told me to. There is nothing here.” I shouted into my phone as I looked around the vast green Irish hills around me.
I was standing in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of Ireland, looking at nothing but green hills as the wind whipped around me. Nothing for miles except lush green fucking hills. I liked nature, but this was too much nature for me. Plus, it was fucking cold here.
“It has to be. According to the current maps of the area, there is a small cottage no more than five kilometers from the road. Did you stop when I told you to?”
Growling, I sneered, “Yes, I did, you idiot. I’ve followed all of your instructions to the letter. Now, where is the damn cottage?”
“I’m telling you, Ms. Illyria. It should be right there!”
“Well, it’s not!”
“Maybe you didn’t walk far enough?” he muttered.
“I walked until you told me to stop!”
“Begging your pardon lass, but who are you talking to?
Turning quickly, I stared at a behemoth of a man. Standing well over six foot six, with flaming red hair, wearing jeans, a flannel shirt and a wool overcoat, the man cocked his head as he stared at me like a fool.
“I’m sorry can you repeat that?” I said quickly, hanging up on Sypher. I would deal with him later. Right now, I needed someone who knew the area and this man would do just fine.
“An American,” the big man sighed, walking away.
“Wait a minute. Maybe you can help me!” I shouted, chasing after him. “I’m looking for a cottage that belonged to Colin Buchannon.”
The big man stopped, and turned to face me, glaring he asked, “What are ye wanting with my brother?”
“Brother?” I asked, only deciphering the last word he said.
Well, at least I hoped it was what he said. My Irish brogue wasn’t much better than my Russian.
“That’s right, brother.”
“Colin was my uncle. I’m the cousin to his sons, Dwayne and Reginald Buchannon.”
“You’re the Italian. The Galway girl.”
“That’s right,” I smiled up at the man. “That’s what Dwayne called me. My dad’s sister, my aunt Daniella, married Colin.”
“You best leave, lass. Ain’t safe here,” the big man said, walking away again.
Jesus Christ. Didn’t anyone have any information for me?
Sighing, I raced after him. “Why? Why is it not safe for me?”
“IRA.”
“Who?”
The man stopped again, looked around, then leaned forward and whispered. “The IRA lass. Irish Republican Army. They’re everywhere.”
“I don’t understand. What would they want with me?”
