flashing, he was currently
very
provoked.
He was lucky I was still calling him âDadâ at all, I thought bitterly. We both knew he wasnât.
He stalked toward me, eyes narrowed. âMacKayla Evelina Lane, what on earth did you do to your hair? And your face! Are those bruises? When was the last time you showered? Did you lose your luggage? You donât wearâChrist, Mac, you look awful! What happenedââ He broke off, shaking his head, then aimed a finger at me. âIâll have you know, young lady, I left your mother with her parents four days ago! I dropped every case I was working on to fly over here and bring you home. Do you have any idea the heart attack it gave me to find out you hadnât been staying at the Clarin House for
over a week
? And nobody knew where youâd gone! Could you check your e-mail, Mac? Could you pick up a phone? I have been walking up and down these dreary, rainy, reeking-with-stumbling-drunks streets, staring into every face, searching trash-filled alleys for you, hoping and praying to God that I wasnât going to find you lying facedown in one of them like your sister and have to kill myself rather than take the news back home to your mother and kill
her
with it!â
The tears Iâd been holding back came out in a waterfall. I might not have this manâs DNA inside my body, but he couldnât be any more my father.
He swallowed up the room with long-legged strides and crushed me into that great, big, barrel-chested hug that always smelled like peppermint and aftershave, and it felt just like it always didâlike the safest place on earth.
Unfortunately, I knew better. There was no safe place. Not for me. Not now. And certainly not for him. Not here.
Heâd been walking around Dublin looking for me! I blessed the Fates that had spared him, steering him away from the Dark Zone, protecting him in those alleys from Unseelie. If anything had happened to him it would have been doubly on my head. What had I been thinkingâavoiding my e-mail, refusing to call home? Of course he would come looking for me! Dad never took no for an answer.
I had to get him out of Dublin, fast, before something awful happened to him, and I lost another piece of my heart to that satin-lined box in the earth.
I had to make him fly home ASAP, and without what heâd come forâme.
Â
âWhat happened to your face, Mac?â was the first question Dad asked me after Inspector Jayne left. Though there were still two hours to closing, I flipped the sign and stuck a Post-it next to it that said, Sorry, closed early, please come back tomorrow.
I led him to the rear conversation area where passersby couldnât see behind the shelves that someone was still inside, fingering my hair nervously. It was one thing to lie to the police, another to lie to the man whoâd raised me, who knew I hated spiders and loved hot fudge sundaes topped with peanut butter and whipped cream.
âInspector Jayne tells me you fell on the stairs.â
âWhat else did the inspector tell you?â I fished. How much did I have to try to explain?
âThat the police officer handling Alinaâs case was murdered. Had his throat cut. And that heâd been to see you the day it happened. Mac, whatâs going on? What are you doing here? What is this place?â He craned his head around. âDo you
work
here?â
I filled him in without filling him in at all. Iâd realized I liked it in Dublin, I told him. Iâd been offered a job that came with lodgings, so Iâd moved into the bookstore. Staying in Ireland and working gave me the perfect chance to keep the pressure on the new officer handling Alinaâs case. Yes, I fell on the stairs. Iâd had a few beers and forgotten how much stronger their Guinness was than ours. No, I had no idea why Inspector Jayne didnât seem to think very highly of me. I gave Dad the same excuse Iâd