He clenched his teeth, jogging back downstairs and into his office, slamming the door. She was probably fine. The woman knew how to take care of herself. Besides, he wasn’t her keeper. If she wanted to go out, she could. He’d have to impress upon her the…practicality of telling him where next time.
Peering out the window at his brother’s house across the street, Declan crossed his arms over his chest. Cait would probably know where Evie was, but that didn’t mean she’d tell him. His sister-in-law was fearless.
When his phone beeped, he leapt at it, snatching it from the edge of the desk. It was Helen, not Evie, with a link to his afternoon agenda and a note that she’d drop some paperwork by the house later. He could see her severe, disappointed face in his head, and he resisted the urge to throw his phone across the room. The hell with them both.
Pushing Evie out of his thoughts, he dropped into his desk chair and did what he did best. Lost himself in work.
ChapterSeventeen
Free from the house, Evie simply drove aimlessly, soaking up the familiar sights and sounds of home. Were you really in Philly if you didn’t drive past a cheesesteak stand or get stuck behind two people fighting over a parking spot?
She’d lived all over the world and still nothing compared to Philadelphia and its unique blend of history and humanity. She parked in a cute neighborhood in Center City and wandered up and down the block, dropping money in an empty coffee can for a man playing Beethoven on a beat-up violin and buying a vintage necklace from a small boutique.
Which is how she found this restaurant. Something about it had tugged at her until she finally stepped inside and asked for a table by the window. This one gave her a great vantage point to watch the people that wandered past—families with small children and busy executives and college-aged girls laden with shopping bags.
The food was good, the wine selection even better. It reminded her of a restaurant she’d been to in Dublin a few years back with its dark wood and wrought iron fixtures. Breá. Irish for delicious. Well, it certainly fit.
Her phone announced yet another incoming message from Declan. She deeply regretted giving him her phone number at this point. This would all be so much neater, easier, faster if she could figure out what happened to her parents without his help.
Except she was at a bit of a loss with where to start. She knew from Cait that Declan had asked Maura’s sister, Reagan, to sweep the house for clues that the cleaners might have left behind, but she didn’t imagine it would yield many results.
The cleaners were supposed to make sure they didn’t leave evidence that a PPD forensics tech could find. And they were very good at their jobs. Still, Reagan would probably have something for Declan in a few days. Even if it was nothing but apologies.
There was William’s lead about Peter, but that was more a warning to watch her back than a smoking gun. Besides, the timing seemed off. Her parents had been dead for two days by the time William even reached out.
Even if Peter was out for revenge over whatever imagined slight from Morocco, what reason would he have for going after her parents instead of finding her directly? If he’d been able to find her parents in Philadelphia when she hadn’t lived here in ten years, then her identity had already been burned, and she wouldn’t have been much harder to find.
It didn’t make any sense. But she couldn’t shake that chilling message written in lipstick on her hotel mirror. YOU’RE NEXT. It hadn’t escaped her how much the letters looked like blood.
It had been a long time since she’d had cause to kill a man—she’d only narrowly avoided it in Morocco—but she would not rest while her parents’ murderer drew breath. Whatever she had to do, whatever lead she had to follow, however much blood she had to get on her hands, she would do it just for the satisfaction of revenge.
She paid the bill in cash and, after yet another text message from Declan demanding to know where she was and threatening her with a search party, she decided to head back. While imagining the muscle ticking in his jaw was entertaining, she’d have to get herself on speaking terms with him again eventually.
She waited for a small group to enter before reaching for the door, turning when she heard someone call her name. Helen Maguire. Still as thin and blonde as she ever was, with her severe features made even sharper by her forced smile.
“Evie, I heard you were back in town. Are you looking for Declan?”
Evie frowned. “No, I know where Declan is.” Oh, Helen didn’t seem to like that one bit.
Helen’s overly polite smile vanished, and her eyes narrowed. “I’m sure we can both agree that after what happened ten years ago, you’re better off staying as far away from Declan as possible. For however long you might be…gracing us with your presence.”
“Oh, Hells, you’ll never learn, will you?” Evie wondered, swallowing a grin at the way Helen bristled at the nickname.
“Learn what?” Helen said through gritted teeth.
“Just like in high school, my relationship with Declan is none of your business. Whether we’re platonic friends or fucking like bunnies is no one’s concern but ours and certainly not yours. Have a great day.” Evie pushed out into the sunshine, leaving a sputtering Helen behind.
Beaming, Evie floated the two blocks back to her car and set off for the Main Line with the windows down and the radio up. As Beyoncé and her Single Ladies faded into a commercial, the car shimmied and pulled to the right. Annoyed since she’d just bought the damn thing after moving back to New York, she pulled off onto the shoulder and got out.
She hoped it wasn’t anything serious, otherwise she really would be trapped at Glenmore House, and that possibility was less than pleasant. Circling the car before popping the hood, she noticed the left rear tire was flat. Oh, well, that was an easy fix.
Turning her hazards on, she tied her hair back into a ponytail and opened the trunk, moving her refilled go bag and the bottle of wine she’d brought back from the restaurant into the backseat before lifting out the spare tire and the jack. It had been a while since she’d changed a tire on the side of the road, but it had to be like riding a bike, right?
She went over the steps in her head as she laid the donut on the ground next to the trunk and positioned the jack in the right spot. Loosen the nuts, jack the car, remove the tire. She could hear her father’s voice in her head as she did it.
Despite her protestations, her father had insisted she learn how to change a tire and check her fluid levels. She’d groaned and complained through all the lessons and his little tests, but it was knowledge that had come in handy when she couldn’t afford a mechanic in the early years after leavingPhiladelphia, and then one rainy night in Edinburgh when she’d been stranded without cell service.
The sun beat down on her back, and she swiped at the sweat that beaded on her forehead. Either she had gotten weaker, or these nuts were exceptionally tight. Finally loosening them all, she jacked the car so the tire was suspended just off the ground and removed it.
