Ronan had been nothing like Brendan. He’d hardly been perfect, but he wasn’t a monster by any definition. How could Papa think she really felt that way? Her heart beat so quickly, she half feared it’d beat itself right out of her chest. It was tempting to back down and slink away to her room to take her fourth shower of the day, but there was more at stake than her pride. She took a deep breath and tried to keep her voice temperate. “I’m not saying that at all. I’m just saying our resources would be better spent doing anything except going to war.”
He waved that away as if it weren’t a completely legitimate argument. “You’re too soft, my girl. Oh, you can be ruthless when you’re backed into a corner, but you always hesitate to take preemptive attacks. Halloran struck at us during a moment of celebration. If I allow it to pass without retribution, all the little weasels and cockroaches will come calling, and no one will be safe. You value your safety, don’t you? Our people’s safety?”
Of course she did. That’s why she’d worked with Micah to get safeguards in place in case the Hallorans attempted a strike closer to home. But she hated the fact that they were potentially escalating the violence in the name of safety. It seemed so backward no matter which way she looked at it. “There has to be another way.”
“There’s not. Now, go get some sleep.” His gaze coasted over her, settling on her neck. “You look like you need it.”
Her hand flew to her throat. She’d been so distracted with thoughts of Teague that she’d completely forgotten to put her scarf back on. “I—”
“Did I ask for an explanation?”
She froze, searching his face. There was a heavy knowledge in his eyes. “Papa…” She forced herself to stop talking and think. He’d been in this line of work far too long not to recognize what the bruises on her throat meant. He might not know who put them there, but he must suspect something or he would be grilling her for more information the same way Teague had.
Does he know?
Papa moved around his desk and set his hands on her shoulders. “I failed you once, Callie. Let me make it right.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and then he walked away, leaving her staring at the empty chair behind his desk.
He knows.
She reached blindly for a chair and stumbled over to sink into it. Her father knew she was the one who killed Brendan—had probably known from the second the news got out. She’d done her best to slip her tail, but someone had seen something. Callie touched her still-tender neck, guilt making her want to curl into a ball and sob.
Papa was doing this for her.
There was no other explanation that made sense. He wasn’t the type to let a skirmish escalate into a war, not if there was any other option. The fact that he was doing it now made her think he was waving the red flag in front of the bull that was Victor Halloran to keep their people distracted from their investigation.
Her father was taking the Sheridans to war in order to protect her.
Teague carefully shut the door to his suite, even though all he wanted to do was slam it. He should have known better than to try to reason with his father, but he’d been flying high after things going so well with Callie that he’d decided to try. Idiot. If he’d stopped to think about it, he would have known that there was a better way to approach his father, rather than directly head-on. He should’ve gone through Aiden. His oldest brother was excellent at the tightrope act of getting their father to agree to anything required. Teague had never had the patience for that shit, and it showed in the fact that his father barely took him seriously on the best of days.
Today sure as hell wasn’t that.
His phone rang, distracting him from his anger. He saw the familiar number, and tried to get his shit under control. There was only the slightest thread of discontent in his voice when he answered, “Hey, James.”
“Long time.”
“Yeah. Too long.” The years stretched out between them, too many to ever make shit right. That was assuming James even missed the weekly poker games and bullshitting. He shook his head. He was acting like a little bitch about this. Their friendship was over and done with, but he hoped that old affection would be enough to accomplish what he needed to accomplish. “You got my message?”
“Yeah.” James sighed. “Look, man, I’d love to stop this shit as much as you would, but there’s not much I can do.”
The last bit of hope he’d been holding out that they could circumvent the upcoming war disappeared in a puff of smoke. He didn’t give the man grief—he knew how little control an heir really had, especially when someone like Victor had the reins tightly in his grip. That man wouldn’t be handing over any more power than he had to until he was on his deathbed. He scrubbed his hand over his face. “I had to try.”