Page 103 of Bound Lies

“I’m serious, Kieran. I need a fucking shower. Can you send someone to cover or what?”

“Where the hell is Cormac?” I glance up at Ronan, but he’s back to poring over the documents in front of him, pretending not to listen.

“That’s the thing. He got a call about an hour ago and just took off.”

“He took off? Where did he go?”

“He didn’t say.”

My jaw clenches. “Of course he didn’t… Fine, I’ll send Doyle over to relieve you.”

“Thanks. I just need a few hours, and then I can head right back to the post.”

I hang up the call and stuff my phone back into my jacket pocket, my hands already shaking.

Fucking Cormac.

Of all the people who should understand what’s at stake right now, it should be him.

Sean O’Keefe is circling us like a damn shark, and Cormac just walks out without warning? Again?

It’s not the first time he’s chosen something, or more likely someone, over the family, and if he doesn’t start getting his priorities straight, maybe it’s time he learns what it costs to be unreliable.

“Thanks for backing the Riley thing.” I stand, not bothering to question Ronan about Cormac. “She’s been…difficult.”

“She’s lost autonomy over her life; give her some grace.”

“I’m trying to keep her alive.”

“Well, hopefully this arrangement will make things more bearable for all of us.”

“I’ll bring her over in the morning.”

As I pass through the hallway, I glance back toward the living room where Ciara is still buried under a fortress of pillows, absently scrolling through her phone again.

It hits me then how much weight Ronan carries on his shoulders and how much Ciara trusts him to carry it.

I can’t help but wonder how different things must feel when you know someone is really in your corner, and I can’t help but wonder whether Riley will ever be in mine.

I don’t arrive home until the evening, and when I do, I decide to lock myself away in my study to get some more work done. I need the distraction, if only to stop myself from seeking out Riley.

I’m poring over some surveillance footage from the docks when my inbox dings. I load up my inbox and frown when I see the notification.

The email is from Aiden Clark, and the subject line is Riley’s background check.

I had completely forgotten I even requested this. It was back when she asked for a formal contract to be drawn up, and I suspected there was more to her than was meeting the eye.

Part of me wants to just delete it. We’re past the point of no return now anyway, but curiosity gets the better of me.

I open up the attachment and scroll through the first few pages. It’s nothing out of the ordinary—just her birth certificate and school transcripts.

As expected, she has a clean academic history, a stellar GPA, and a handful of awards and scholarships. There’s no history of criminal charges either, except a single speeding ticket when she was nineteen.

I continue scrolling, briefly skimming her college admissions essay until I land on transcripts from therapy sessions Riley attended back when she was a young teenager.

I pause, frowning when I read that her attendance was mandatory following a car accident that killed her mom as well as her sister.

Riley had a sister?