a Touch of Revenge (Romantic Mystery - book 6): The Everly Gray Adventures (20 page)

I waited.

She stared at me, a thread of steel in her gaze. “You’ve been hiding something from me. I want to know what it is.”

TWENTY-ONE

PIERCE, BLESS HIM, CHOSE THAT
moment to muscle through the back door, arms full of firewood. He caught sight of Cait, and came to an abrupt stop. Nodded to her. “Smells like
Máthair’s
chocolate.”

Cait grinned. “Want me to make you a cup?”

Laughter danced in his eyes. “We’re not at the Moon and Star, Cait. I can make my own.”

Pierce and I needed a few minutes in private, so I stood, and took some of the wood out of his arms. “Let’s get this in the other room while Cait makes your cocoa, or maybe some Jameson whiskey would be a better choice.”

We dropped the wood in the bin by the fireplace, and Pierce tipped his chin toward the kitchen, the question clear.

“She was waiting for me. Strolled in through the
unlocked
front door. Wants to know what we’re hiding from her.”

Pierce nodded, his lips tight. “Your call.”

“Yeah. It’s time to share my history with her, but darn it all, I wanted my shower.”

He tugged on my hair. “Go. I’ll explain about you shooting her ma.”

I slugged him, but pulled my punch. “Make me into a good guy, okay?”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, Hot Shot.”

“And don’t you dare mention that both her parents are on my hit list. Not until I get out of the shower and have a tumbler of Jameson in my hands. The heck with this hot chocolate stuff.” I made a face. “Although hot chocolate and Irish whiskey might not mix well. Chocolate. Whiskey. Actually, that’ll be just fine. And I think there’s some cheese and crackers. Maybe you could make up a plate for us?”

He nodded. “Cait needs to hear about your history from you. I’ll hold off on telling her about your parents, and I can manage cheese and crackers.”

“Do you cook?” It just popped out, my curiosity getting the better of me.

“One day you’ll have an opportunity to judge whether I can or not.” He left me standing in the living room with my mouth agape.

The promise of a shower got me moving, but the idea of Pierce cooking a meal for us lodged in my brain. It was an…intimate thing to do. Wasn’t it? I shook him out of my thoughts, and headed for the
en suite
shower. My suitcase was already in the bedroom, and I didn’t want to be traipsing through the cottage wearing nothing but a towel. Oh, and yeah, it would be a crime to let that double shower with the multiple sprays go to waste.

The water was hot, and the handmade soap smelled of lavender and vanilla. It was so wonderful, I wanted to stay forever, but since Pierce was blasting Cait with the news about me shooting her mother—twice—it would be rude of me to bask in hot water lust for an extended stay.

After toweling off, I started to unpack a few things, and found there were already clothes in the closet. Curious, I sorted through them, located a pair of soft, gray sweats that looked like they’d fit. Decision time. Go for the safety of my jeans and a clean t-shirt, or take a chance on wearing something that didn’t belong to me, and possibly pissing off the owner of the cozy sweats?

I went for the sweats and bare feet. The cotton fabric was deliciously cuddly and warm, and I was in a much better frame of mind when I finally made it out of the bedroom—sans underwear, but who would ever know?

Cait’s mouth was hanging open, and her normal rosy glow had a faint green tinge.

Pierce grinned. “You’re wearing my aunt’s sweats.”

I glanced down, fingered the fabric. “Is it okay? They were in the closet.”

“She made them for you.”

My stomach lurched. “What? She lives here? Knows my size? How much family do you have?” I wasn’t ready for family, especially when they apparently knew all about me. Nope. Not ready.

Cait cut me a glance and waved her arms. “People! Nobody cares about the sweats or Pierce’s family. You shot my mother, El.”

Her eyes were dilated, the shock rocketing through her was palpable in the quiet living room.

I dropped into the nearest chair. “Yes, I did shoot her. Did Pierce explain—?”

“That she was shooting at you first and tried to kill him? Yes. But I don’t get why. I know she hates you. I mean, it’s obvious from the way she decorated the secret room with your pictures.” She shrugged. “I guess some people, like a stalker, might do that out of obsessive love, but my mother isn’t capable of love. And why hasn’t anyone from Torquay let me know she was hurt? Sure, I ran away without leaving a trail, but everyone
knows
that Tuatha Dé Danann is where I hide ’cause my mother
never
comes here.”

Tension radiated from Pierce. “Fion knows you’re here?”

Cait reached for the bottle of Jameson. “Duh. It’s the one place I’m completely safe. Well, except from my father. Eamon Grady is totally nuts. It’s amazing that I’m perfectly normal.”

The bottle of whiskey wobbled in her grasp. I grabbed her hand. “Are you old enough to drink?”

Her glare could have severed a thick block of steel. “Considering what’s going down here, yes, I’m old enough.”

Pierce’s lips twitched.

I huffed, let go of her hand, but eagle-eyed the amount of whiskey in her glass. When it reached two inches I snagged the bottle, poured a couple inches in my own tumbler, and took a swallow. The bite hit my throat, and I shuddered. It was time to share my history. “You know your mother worked on a government project in the Amazon?”

Her face wrinkled. “We already talked about that, and I told you she’s never said anything specific about it. That stuff was over before I was born. No big deal, really.”

Pierce settled back in his chair, his attention centered on us, his glass of Jameson held in a loose grip. He’d backed away, making this a two-woman show with me in the hot seat.

I drew in a whiskey-scented breath, and stiffened my spine. “It’s not over, Cait. My mother worked on the Megiddo project with Fion Connor and Eamon Grady. They believe the formula my mother discovered has the ability to both kill and heal, depending on slight variations in the preparation, and on how it’s used.”

“Wait. What?” She slammed her glass on the table. “You knew who I was? That day in the pub, you—?”

“No, I had no idea you were related to Fion Connor until you mentioned her name. However, I was in Torquay to find her. Your parents intended to sell my mother’s formula to the highest bidder. It would have been treason, but my mother kept specific elements in the formula a secret, so, as far as we know, it’s still…safe. Not that anything capable of being used for biological warfare can be considered safe.”

“Both of my parents were involved in this, um, conspiracy? That’s just not possible. They hate each other, barely talk, and never, absolutely
never
see each other.”

“You’re…” I had no idea how to finish my sentence.

Pierce chugged a swallow of whiskey.

I shrugged. “They had to have communicated at least once or you wouldn’t be here.” Oh, damn, that sounded patronizing. “That came out wrong. Neither of them have ever talked to you about when they met?”

She shrugged it off. “The sex had to have been a mistake. When I was little, before my mother told me anything at all about my father, I asked a ton of questions. She always ignored me when I badgered her about it, then when I got old enough to understand more about sex, and she told me about Eamon Grady being the sperm donor, I stopped asking stuff and starting searching for him. I never said anything to her when I found him, just hopped on a bus and took off. He’s a loss as a human being, but I love visiting Tuatha Dé Danann, so I keep coming back when I need to get away from my mother. Like I said, it’s safe here. They hate each other, my father gets a really ugly smile on his face when he mentions her, and she goes stone silent when I mention him. Really, they hate each other, always have. I’m sure of it. And I know she’d never,
ev-ver
follow me here.”

I braced against the chair back. “I’m sorry, Cait, but the evidence points to them working as a team to murder my parents. I’m not sure of the details yet, but—”

Cait shot off the sofa, paced. “No. That can’t be.” She whirled on me. “You’re lying. Or your information is wrong. Has to be. They’re both nasty pieces of work, but murder? No. And Eamon Grady is confined to a wheelchair.”

Pierce picked up her glass, handed it to her. “Drink.”

Her hand shook, sloshing the liquid, but she tipped the glass to her lips and swallowed, her gaze steady on Pierce. “You know about this? Have proof?”

He nodded at me. “We do.”

I touched her hand. “Please sit. There’s more.”

She sunk onto the sofa. “About.” She shuddered. “About my family?”

“Not exactly,” I said. “I’m here to see they’re brought to justice. They murdered my parents, James and Loyria Gray, and are possibly connected to the death of my husband last year. Fion Connor was his handler.”

“How?” she whispered. “My mother hasn’t worked for the government for years. How could they, either of them, possibly…?” She gagged, ran to the bathroom.

I blew out a sigh, stood. “This is even worse than I expected. I’ll take care of her.”

My intentions were good, but Cait kept the bathroom door locked and wouldn’t respond to my offers of help. When I gave up and joined Pierce by the fireplace, he had a roaring, sweet-wood scented fire going, and I hovered close to it, soaking in the heat. The conversation with Cait had drained the warmth from my shower right out of me. “She’s going to want to be there when I confront Grady.”

“Can’t blame her for wanting to fill in some of those childhood gaps.” He tapped a stick of wood against his thigh.

“I know. If the situation were reversed, I’d be right there, front and center.” I shivered. “We can’t deny her that right, but Grady is a killer, and probably unhinged. It’ll be dangerous, Pierce.”

The bathroom door opened and Cait stepped out. “I need the truth, and I don’t know whether I can trust either of you. Thing is, I’m the only one he lets in his house, and that makes me the only one who has a chance of finding any kind of paper trail to back up your accusations.” She strolled toward the front door, opened it. “Gotta get back now or my father will suspect something is wrong. I’ll search for proof of everything you’ve told me, and if I find anything that affects you, I’ll share it.”

The door closed silently behind her, then opened, and Cait stuck her head inside. “My father has weapons. Don’t approach his house.”

TWENTY-TWO

I GULPED A SLUG OF
the Jameson whiskey. “We can’t just let her go off like that. Without backup.”

He tipped his glass, drained it. “She’s a lot like you.”

Frustration temporarily nudged my worry about Cait aside. “Like I
used
to be, you mean. I’m better, and I’m working on remembering to keep you informed about where I am and what I’m doing. I’ve been running everything by you before I do stuff. You know I have. Cait is out there by herself. At least I always had Annie, Adam, and you behind me, even if I didn’t let you know what I was doing.

Pierce arched an eyebrow. “Cait has us. How about you get Grady’s location from my mother while I shower?”

A rush of pride blossomed in my chest. He trusted me. Or maybe he just wanted to avoid a discussion with his parents. I could relate. Blowing out a sigh, I nodded agreement, then glanced at my sweats. “I should change first.”

“You’re fine. I’ll be out in five.” He tossed the words at me, like his mind had already moved on to something else.

“Got it. Be right back.” Yeah, it was a positive response on my part, but it scraped at my nerves to have to face Siofra alone. Especially after seeing how she’d honeymooned the cottage for Pierce and me. The woman was a huge force stuffed into a tiny body. Falling into that category myself, I knew all about it being the worst kind of formidable. We were ninja women. Especially when it came to the people we loved, and there was no doubt she loved her son.

My knock on Pierce’s parents’ back door was tentative, but a hearty “Come in” resounded from the kitchen. Definitely male, so not Siofra. Had to be Pierce’s father, didn’t it? I wasn’t remotely ready for this, but I turned the knob, opened the door a few inches, and peeked in.

A burly man, tall, gray-haired, and looking nothing like Pierce, gave me a ready smile. “You must be our Everly. Come in. I’m Lorcán, Tynan’s father.”

Our Everly? That was frightening. I shoved his choice of words into a deep, dark hole in my mind, and my insides calmed. Big men were easier to deal with than ninja women. I scooted inside, and, before I could close the door behind me, Lorcán wrapped me in a hug and spun me around. “We’ve been waiting for this, Siofra especially. Our boy has finally found a mate.”

Mate! Holy crappy flippydoodles. My insides went into spasm. Thank the goddess—what had Siofra called her?—Dana, I’d kept my fingertips to myself. “I. Um. We’re friends.” Nausea hit my stomach with a wallop. “Sick. Stop spinning me.”

He immediately planted me in a chair, then pushed the door shut. “Sorry. Siofra says I’m a mite too vigorous for most folks, but I tend to forget. Would some tea help, then?”