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There’d been no call from the concierge. I check my phone for messages. Nothing.
Looking out the peephole, I gasp. God, I’m so wired.
Eoghan.
In a double-breasted light gray suit and dark blue shirt. The man could be a freaking model.
Not seeing him for a few days lowered my immunity to his handsome face. I open the door to a waft of his spicy cologne that surrounds me and makes my center quiver.
“What are you doing here?” I look down my hallway. “How did you get up here?”
He only tilts his head.
Shrugging, I step aside to let him in.
“How’s your mother?” he asks.
Spinning around, I gape at him. “How did you know?”
“I went to your office to confront Vance.”
I fold my arms. “And?”
“He told me your ma is in the hospital. What happened to her?”
“I mean about the case.”
“I don’t care about this case.” He steps closer. “I’m going with you to visit your mother.”
I tense up. “What?”
The intercom in the apartment buzzes from the guard’s desk. A call I should have gotten five minutes ago. “Hello?” I say into the apartment’s intercom.
“There’s a delivery from Director Vance’s office,” the lobby attendant says.
“Okay, send him up.”
“That’s Vance’s courier with the evidence files.” He folds his arms. “You didn’t answer me. What happened to your ma?”
“Broke her hip,” I say with a crack in my voice. “I need to be there before she goes into surgery. It’s a seven-hour drive.”
“You’re not driving seven hours,” Eoghan says. “I have a plane waiting for us. Are you packed?”
“A plane? I can’t afford…” The rest of that dies in my throat when one of his bushy eyebrows raises. “Your brother sent his plane?”
“I hired a private jet. Just for us.”
“I can’t.”
“You will.”
“What did I say the other night about controlling me,” I push out, but I’m falling over the edge, worried about my mother.
“Did I tie you up and put you on my plane this weekend?” He crosses his arms.
In any other situation that would be a ridiculous argument. For Eoghan O’Rourke, a mob boss, it’s valid.
“No, but…”
