Chasing River (Burying Water #3)(89)

“I’ll get you some. Just stay put.” I’ve done the same for countless patients before, but it’s different now. I’ll happily be at River’s beck and call.

“I could use some, too,” Ivy murmurs, trailing me. No matter how casual this thing is with Rowen, I can tell it’s shaken her up. Passing through the door, I reach back to give her hand a slight squeeze and offer a smile.

When I turn to look ahead, I find myself face-to-face with Garda Duffy.

Two . . . three . . . four painfully long seconds pass, where my lungs simply don’t work. Maybe he doesn’t remember me. Maybe he won’t recognize me.

Maybe he won’t put two-and-two together.

I pray.

“Amber Welles.” His gaze reads the number on the door, and then my face. There’s no mistaking the shift from surprise to shock to recognition . . . to understanding.

I’m sure it’s the same series of expressions that he sees passing over mine.

I’m in so much trouble.

TWENTY-NINE

River

I shift and groan, the twenty stitches keeping the wound in my thigh together tight and uncomfortable. That chunk of flying glass cut so deep into my muscle that I needed internal stitching as well. The doctors promised that this limp is only temporary, that it’ll fade within a few days, as the tissue repairs itself.

I don’t give a shit, truly. All I care about right now is knowing that Rowen will be okay.

Ma was with Aengus in his room this morning when he came to after surgery, groggy. Doctors said he should recover just fine, though with plenty more scars.

Until I get hold of him, that is. Because if Rowen doesn’t pull through, I’ll kill the bastard with my own bare hands.

My hospital room door suddenly swings open. Ivy rushes through, rare alarm in her eyes. “The gardai just arrested Amber. They’re taking her to the station.”

“What?” Any last bit of shock from the bombing vanishes instantly as panic sets in.

“I don’t know why.” She frowns. “But he knew her name.”

Fuck. I should have known. Of course Duffy himself would be coming here to question me about last night.

And Amber lied to him.

“Shit, shit, shit . . .” What the hell is going to happen to her now?

“You need to fix this, River,” Ivy insists through gritted teeth.

“I will,” I promise. But how?

A knock against the glass pulls our attention up in time to see Duffy poke his head in.

“Call the shop when you have news about Rowen,” she mutters, scurrying past him and out the door.

Duffy watches her with curiosity for a long moment, and then dismisses her, letting the door slip from his finger’s grip to shut. He adjusts his hat. “River. Glad to see you up.” He strolls forward, as if here to check on me, to see how I’m doing. As if he cares. I know that’s not the case at all. “Terrible thing that happened. I hear you got a nasty bump on the head.”

“Why did you just arrest Amber?” I blurt out.

He eyes me, flipping open his notepad. “She has some things to answer for. And I have a few questions for you, about last night.”

I know how this works. It’s a dance of information, back and forth, and he’s not going to make the first move. He’s still trying to pin the Green on me and he clearly has no evidence aside from some whispered rumors from his criminal informants. If I didn’t care about Amber, I’d tell him to f*ck off. The problem is, I do care about her. More than I’ve ever cared about any girl before.

And I think he’s figured that out.

“What do you remember, exactly?”

All morning, I’ve been quietly piecing bits of memories together. “The pub was closed. Aengus showed up, pounding on the door.”

“Was he running from someone? Afraid for his life?”

“No.” I snort, recalling Aengus’s arrogant attitude. “He was right pissed. Been drinking all day.”

“So, you let him in.”

“Of course.”

“And did you lock the door behind him?”

“No.” I’ve beaten myself up about that for a while this morning, but, really, there’s no point. Beznick’s fellas would have gotten in eventually. At least there weren’t any customers.

“And then? What happened after that?”

“I poured a round of pints, because we still needed to finish up and Aengus wasn’t going anywhere. Then suddenly a man showed up, tossed the bomb, and ran out the door.”

Duffy’s pen moves quickly, scratching down notes. “Did he say anything?”

“He did.” I hesitate. “ ‘Tit-for-tat, Delaneys.’ ”

His pen stops and his gaze levels with mine. “What do you suppose that meant?”

“He didn’t care to elaborate.”

“Right.” Duffy’s jaw shifts in thought. Deciding on whether to push me on it, I assume. “Did you see his face?”

“Half of it.”

“Enough to identify him?”

“Possibly.” If I don’t kill him first. I saw a tattoo on his forearm—a giant scythe, or something like that. Between his eyes and that marking and his short stature, I might be able to pick him out of a lineup. That information would be of help to the gardai. Maybe they could lay charges. But I know that I could also pass this information on to Jimmy and guarantee that the guy is tracked down and punished, swiftly. Not because Jimmy necessarily cares what happened to me or Rowen, but because his right-hand man was nearly blown up and that’s an affront to Jimmy’s image.