“Is that what we’re calling it?”
You were right and I was wrong. We’re not a good fit.
“And the Finn family circled the wagons, protecting every-damn-body. Tell her, Hugo.”
“Are you going to let me?” Hugo asked wryly. “And don’t be rude. Bring a plate over for your sister. She’s drooling.”
She probably was. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d thought about food. Yesterday? “William told Ken that he would handle it.”
“He did. Your friend, Monica, has some stories to tell about Mahoney and a big guy named Kevin trying to file a complaint in the ER before the cops took them away in handcuffs. You’d know this if you’d gone back to work recently.”
“William put them in the hospital?”
Good. Bronte winced at her bloodthirsty thoughts and Hugo narrowed his eyes, misreading her reaction.
“He defended himself. They got physical after he told them what he could share with the cops. Something about the funneling of funds between here and Ireland. A few bookkeeping secrets he’d learned over the years. That sort of thing.”
“Is he okay?”
“Some bruises and lumps, but less than the other guys.”
“What does his family have to do with it?”
Hugo’s smile was devilish. “They set Tanaka loose on William’s old boss.”
“The bookie in Ireland?”
He nodded. “He’s going away for a long time. And everyone approves of the steps our computer genius is taking to wipe out that entire operation out for good. Especially Younger.”
“Why is that surprising?”
Austen answered for him. “Because he’s had to bend a few international rules to do it. But Tasha told Stephen and Younger what William told you.”
“Are you following any of this?” Hugo joked.
“Of course she is. When they found out that slime ball had gone after William’s sister? I’m surprised they didn’t fly the entire family out to Ireland and let them take turns beating on the guy.”
She’d like a turn herself. “I’m glad.”
I’m still not sure what it has to do with me.
Austen rubbed her hands together. “Tell her where the money is now, Hugo.”
“Oh can I?” Hugo shook his head, but he was still smiling. “With some help from our younger sister, who might have decided Tanaka is her Yoda, FYI… That money is back in Ireland, donated to a child welfare and protection program that helps keep kids who are homeless or in abusive situations off the streets.”
“Shelley did that?”
“Well you know I didn’t think of it.” Austen said with a flip of her hair. “I won’t even admit to knowing who Yoda is.”
“Does William know all this?” How did he react? He’d been so angry at her for underestimating him, thinking she thought he wasn’t man enough to deal with his own problems. He’d been wrong, but he hadn’t given her the chance to tell him so before he’d admitted to lying to her, told her he’d stolen money from a crime boss and implied their time together was a mistake.
It was almost like he’d been trying to get rid of her, a fact that was confirmed in a conversation with Brady on the way home.
But being obvious didn’t make it hurt any less.
“William took it well enough. Even thanked Shelley when she stopped by the pub.”
“So he’s in town.” She looked down at the half eaten slice of pizza, her appetite gone again.
“And looking as miserable as you do. Not that anyone sees much of the guy. He’s been moping around his house for weeks.”
For weeks.
“Probably in his own ball of yarn,” Austen offered unhelpfully.
She’d never even given him the blanket he’d asked for. “I think we’re done. I don’t need to hear anymore.”
“I’m not finished.” Hugo started cleaning up the mess around her, handing back the plate she’d just set down. “Eat, Bronte.”
She took a bite, glaring at him as she chewed.
“I wasn’t that happy about William getting you drunk and flying you out of state before you could make a sober decision.”
Austen huffed out an irritated breath. “I wasn’t happy about no one telling me anything.”
“But,” Hugo continued after a look in their sister’s direction. “I think I missed the most important part of the story that morning at the station, didn’t I? You don’t do anything you don’t want to do. No margarita could have made you dare the man to marry you if there wasn’t some part of you wanting it to happen. You’re in love with him. And I think you were, even then.”
Bronte bit her lip and fiddled with the plate in her lap.
“It’s pointless to deny it,” Austen insisted. “You’re in love with a sexy, young, so-white-he’s-Irish bad boy. You and Hugo both managed to snag the sexiest apples off the same fine family tree and I still can’t get a decent date.”
“Admit it, Brontesaurus.”
“Admit it or we’ll shave your head while you’re sleeping.”
“Fine,” she blurted. “I’m in love with him. Happy now? I’m crazy about him. Literally certifiable, and it’s making me act like a woman in one of Mom’s damn romance novels, which is pissing me off.”