Chasing River (Burying Water #3)(97)

“Yeah. What exactly did you tell him?”

“I’m not deaf,” he calls out, sizing up the bottle of Jameson that Rowen left here. “She didn’t tell me a damn thing. Kept pleading the Fifth, despite my best interrogation tactics.”

“And on that note . . .” Ivy slips out the door, leaving me to deal with Gabe Welles all on my own.

“So?” I wander toward the kitchen. “What do you want to eat? I have cold cuts and cheese, fruit . . .” I open the freezer. “. . .veggie burgers . . .” I don’t have to turn around to know that he’s rolling his eyes at that. “A lasagna?”

“Meat or vegetarian?”

Mom being a surgeon and a terrible cook, most of our meals growing up were frozen, pre-made grocery store finds. She’d buy a lot of vegetarian things, even though none of us were vegetarian. It drove Dad nuts, and he’d grumble about it, but in the end, he’d shut up and eat it. The first thing that changed when he retired was that he started doing all the grocery shopping. I haven’t seen a vegetarian casserole in our house in the better part of a year.

“Meat . . . if saying that will make you eat it.”

“You’re too much like your mother in some ways.”

“And too much like you in others,” I retort, punching buttons until the oven preheat lights come on. “It’s going to take an hour to bake. Can you make it that long, or should we go out to eat?”

“Nope.” Flipping through three cupboards before finding the glassware, he pulls two glasses out and pours each to a third full with the amber liquid. He never drinks hard liquor. “Neither of us are leaving this kitchen until you explain why you were arrested.”

My stomach drops. “How did you—”

“Told you, I’m not deaf. Besides, Ivy promised you weren’t hurt, but you were in trouble. It wasn’t hard to put two-and-two together.” He sets both tumblers on the kitchen table, drags the chairs out, and sits. “Let’s hear it, from the beginning. And I want to know exactly how this guy is involved, because I’m guessing he’s at the center of it.”

Crap. Dad’s never been one for delays, so I shouldn’t be at all surprised.

“So?”

I pour the whiskey back, grimacing at the unpleasant burn. It’s not nearly as unpleasant as this conversation is going to be. “Remember that bombing last week?”

“It’s not that bad, actually.” I scoop a mouthful in. “A bit too much salt, but the sauce is good.”

Dad twirls his fork in his hand absently. “The IRA, Amber. I ought to drag you to the airport right now.”

“See? This is why I lied in the first place.”

His answering glare is full of exasperation. “And now you’re actually carrying on with this . . . River. What kind of name is that anyway? Doesn’t sound Irish.”

“I like it, actually. It suits him.”

He snorts. “What’s his middle name? Twigs? Bog?”

I roll my eyes. Dad’s sarcastic side can be pretty predictable. “He saved my life, Dad. If it hadn’t been for River, you would have been flying here anyway, only it’d be to visit me in the hospital or collect my body.”

The cords in his neck tense. “Because of his brother.”

“Yes, his brother. Not River. He had nothing to do with it or with those people. Condemning him would be like condemning me for that mess with Jesse and Alex. You know . . . the one that cost you your job?”

“My choices are what cost me my job,” he mumbles. “I can’t blame Jesse for that.”

“Yeah, so Alex told me . . . finally,” I say softly. “I know what you did, Dad.”

His gaze flashes to me. “I’m not proud of what I did but, to be clear, it was the best way to protect everyone under the circumstances.”

“How do you know that?”

“I just do. And we’re not talking about me here. We’re talking about you, and what is going on here in Ireland. I know you’re twenty-five years old and I can’t dictate what you do anymore, but your mother and I raised you to be better than this. Just associating with this family is a bad idea, Amber. Look what’s happened since that bombing. You’ve been arrested for lying to a police officer!”

“You lied to an entire police organization,” I remind him. “And a judge. And Mom, for a while.”

He purses his lips. I’m guessing Alex is going to get an earful when Dad makes it home. “Well, you’re damn lucky that detective isn’t pressing charges. I should go down there and kiss his ass. And do you realize that you could just as easily have been in that pub when it got bombed?”

“I know,” I say quietly. Had I not decided to go to Cork, I likely would have. I would have met the infamous Aengus Delaney, looked the * right in the eye, perhaps shared a pint with him.

And then who knows? I could have ended up like Rowen. Or worse.

Dad pours himself another whiskey. “You know, since Jesse finally settled down and started using his head, I thought I could finally relax. I thought our family was past this sort of thing. I never thought you’d do something so stup—” He cuts himself off, and then, in a slightly softer voice that screams of disappointment, he finishes off with, “so dangerous.”