“I want to talk to you about what happened today.”
“Can’t tell you much more than what I told Brownie. And didn’t they yank the case from you?” Rafe cocked his head. “You’re too close to all of this, Kane. I’m not a cop, and I can see that. First Quinn and now your mom?”
“Yeah, Riley’s off it too, but Browniesaid he’s going to see if he can pull a few strings. Captain said for us to step back and let it go.”
“Like that’s going to happen.” There was more activity at the door but nothing remotely Morgan related, and Rafe tuned Kane back in. “Going to back door it, then? Get your two cents in when no one’s looking?”
“Stick around a bit. Brownie’s going to swing back over here so we can go over a few things. He wants you there. Not going to lie about that one, Andrade.” Kane raked his hands through his short black hair. “I talked to Quinn. Something he said made me think. He said you were standing next to the curb, right in front of Mum, before the shot hit.”
“Yeah, she um… there was a bag of shitty cat food she had on her.” Rafe ignored Kane’s disgusted snort. “Look, like Quinn told you. If you’re going to come over with an excuse, at least make sure it’s shit the cat would eat. She’s as picky as Quinn.”
“They were coming out of the front door and heading to Mum’s car. You met them at the curb. Mum was walking in front of Q and holding a bag of cat food. What happened then?”
“Um, the bag tore,” Rafe replied. “It was paper. ’Cause you know, we’re not to be trusted with plastic anymore. I bent down to pick up the cans, and that’s when the shot went off.”
“Mum was between you and Quinn, then?” Kane angled closer toward Rafe.
“Yeah, I guess. Why?” Rafe frowned. “You think the asshole was trying to shoot Quinn and Brigid got in the way?”
“No, Andrade,” Kane replied. “I think he was trying to kill you, and if that bag hadn’t broken, you’d have gotten it right in your heart. This asshole? He’s not trying to fuck with Quinn. I think he’s got a thing for Quinn, and he’s getting rid of anyone he thinks is in his way. And unfortunately, Rafe, you are at the top of that list.”
Chapter 17
At the hospital chapel
Donal: Never thought you’d be the one I’d catch praying.
Miki: I’m not praying. I’m threatening. Figured none of them out there has the balls to do it since they’ve been talking to Him since they were kids. Me, I’m new. Figured He’d hear me through all of their fucking noise.
“SHE CAN hear ye, son.” Donal eased a chair under Quinn before his knees gave out. “She’s coming in and out of things, but the doctors say she’s here with us. Probably going to be for a while yet.”
Brigid was so tiny. So very tiny. A wee sprite, his father once called her. Once in Quinn’s memory. Right after that, she lobbed a bedroom slipper at Donal’s head.
There was an oxygen feed under his mother’s nose and tiny burns from tape over Brigid’s cheeks, but from what Quinn could see, other than the monstrous gauze patch peeking out from under her hospital gown’s neck opening, Brigid appeared to be fine. An orchestra of machines sang a merry, discordant tune along the smoked glass partition behind the bed, their noise masking most of the ambient sound drifting through the care unit.
“Shouldn’t she have—” Quinn mimicked squid legs with his fingers in front of his nose and mouth. “—stuff coming out of her face? To help her breathe?”
“Yer mum was fighting the tube. Doc said she’s doing fine, but they’ll watch for fluids,” Donal explained.
The tired in his voice concerned Quinn, and he glanced up at his father, rising slightly to get out of the chair only to be stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder.
“Sit. I’m going to be finding her doctor and see when she’s going to her own room. Ye know how she is. She’ll be wanting the lot of ye around her while she’s cooed over. We’ll be needing room for that.”
The flecks of gray at his father’s temples were nearly white, stained by the florescent panels above them. Their stark light pooled shadows into the lines radiating from Donal’s bright blue eyes and deepened the bruised-looking circles beneath his lower lashes. Strain turned Donal’s skin waxy, and he rubbed at his face, Brigid’s tiny wedding set sparkling on his little finger. The gold bands were marred with scratches, worn in from decades of marriage. Donal’s ring matched hers, nearly scrape for scrape, and Quinn realized he’d never seen those rings off of his parents’ hands—not until Donal sat vigil over his injured wife.
“I’m sorry, Da. For bringing this to your door.” The words were out before Quinn could check himself. “God in heaven, I am so—”