“Halloran doesn’t feel that way. He’ll strike back, and he’ll strike back to hurt.” He suddenly looked tired, the lines around his mouth and eyes deepening. “Stay close, Callie. I couldn’t bear it if you…”
One more reason she couldn’t turn herself over to the Hallorans. If something happened to her, the last of her father’s children, it might actually kill Papa. She covered his hand with her own. “I’ll be careful, but you know as well as I do that I can’t hide away in the house like a princess in a tower. This won’t be the last conflict, and the men need to see that I can lead.”
“I know. Good lord, Callie, I know that.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re more than capable of leading, but I’m human. I want to protect my daughter.”
“I understand.” But there were no guarantees. Papa knew that. It had been decades since the Sheridans warred with another family. All she remembered of it was her mother taking her and Ronan out of town and a wonderful summer spent in the country. She hadn’t understood then the new lines around her father’s face when they’d returned.
She did now.
She squeezed his hand. “It won’t be like before.” It wasn’t a promise she could make, but that didn’t stop her. Last time, he’d systematically killed the head of the MacNamara clan, and all three of his grown sons. She couldn’t allow him to make that decision again. He had enough deaths on his soul.
Hell, she had enough deaths on her soul, and they totaled out at one.
But she would add as many as it took to save her father from more—and to save Teague from adding any at all. She glanced at the clock on Papa’s desk. It was approaching noon and she still hadn’t heard from him. Worry flickered through her, but she firmly ignored it. When they’d spoken last night, it was clear he was drinking with his brothers. It was entirely possible that he was sleeping off an epic hangover. There was no reason for the hairs to be rising on the back of her neck. She pulled her hair over one shoulder, combing her fingers through in it in an effort to distract herself.
“You’re strong, Callie. You’ll get through this.”
“We both will,” she said firmly. She was nowhere near ready to take over the family. The sheer amount of responsibility her father shouldered on a daily basis was staggering. She could do it. She knew she could. But it meant her father was no longer strong enough to do it himself. She wasn’t ready to acknowledge that, even if he was.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket. “Excuse me.” She slipped it out, finding a text from Teague. Three little words, but every cell in her body cried out in warning that something was terribly wrong.
I need you.
It was tempting—too tempting—to act like he was talking in a physical way, but instinct said that wasn’t the case. Something had gone terribly wrong. She typed out a quick reply. Where and when?
His answer confirmed her worry was founded. My parents’ home. Now. Callie pushed to her feet. “I’ve got to go.”
“Is something wrong?”
Yes! She made an effort to keep her voice calm and her body relaxed, even though all she wanted to do was tear out of the room and rush to Teague’s side. “I don’t know.”
Papa nodded. “Take Micah and one of the other men with you.”
“I will.” It wouldn’t slow her down much, and the added safety was necessary, even if only to get her to Teague’s side without interruption. She pressed a kiss to the top of her father’s head and strode from the room. It took seconds to grab her purse and text Micah to meet her in the garage. He was there before she was, dangling the keys from the SUV from his fingers.
“Do you want to drive, or should I?”
She was so rattled, it was entirely possible she’d end up wrecking the damn car. “It’d be best of you do. But, Micah, drive fast.”
He nodded and opened the door for her. Another man, one of the new recruits whose name she couldn’t quite place, slipped silently into the backseat. No one said a word as Micah pulled out of the garage and onto the street.
Callie took a deep breath. “To the O’Malleys’.” She kept checking her phone, but there was nothing new from Teague. She resisted the urge to text him again and ask what was going on. Barely. She’d find out soon enough.
That wasn’t nearly as much of a comfort as she’d have liked it to be.
She shouldn’t be remotely surprised that the O’Malleys’ home was on Beacon Hill. They might not be able have a legitimate claim as Boston’s elite, but they certainly reeked of new money parading as old money. Still…