Page 179 of Carnal Wagers

Blinding white spots flared across my eyes, and a glow settled around reflective surfaces. I squinted to block them out. Nausea bubbled up my throat and into my mouth. I staggered against my desk, tripping on the feet of my chair, and fumbled around for a tissue to wipe the corners of my lips as I swallowed the vomit back. The floor loomed up at me while my desktop drifted in and out of focus.

“I recognized your wife,” Brody kept on, completely oblivious, “and I jumped on that when I should have been looking at the bigger picture.”

“Get to the point.”

Lightheaded, I collapsed in my chair with my fist to my mouth.

“The other woman. Liam said you both felt you’d seen her before. You were right. You had. I did too, and it took me a while to figure out where. Years ago, I tried cross-referencing her image in the police database and through everything Cranwell had. I got no hits. Not until—”

“Brody,” I groused through his palpable excitement.

What the hell was wrong with me? The ceiling shifted from hazy to a streaked blur. My skin turned unnaturally pale. I placed the call on speaker and set the phone down just as my arms slumped lifelessly to my sides.

“Eight years ago, you stabbed LK.”

I grunted my agreement. Even that sounded feeble.

“She got away, and we tried to find clues to her identity.”

Pain squeezed over my heart and knocked the air from my lungs.

“Brody…” I wheezed, clutching my chest. “Call…doctor.”

The word was barely a whisper as I panted for air, but he was too lost in his head to hear me. Was this what a heart attack felt like?

“We combed through hundreds of hours of camera footage in a square block around your penthouse.”

The room swam around me, and I laid my head on my desk, muttering for my brother. He heard none of it. I slipped my hand beneath my desk to the panic button, programmed to send a message to my four bodyguards and both of my brothers.

“We never got a visual on LK’s face because of that floppy hat she wore up your condo’s elevator and her sunglasses, and then later the balaclava. But there’d been another woman in her late teens, early twenties, with a plain beanie, remember?”

The soft tapping of the door hitting against my office wall pulled my sluggish gaze. A shadow pushed into my office, and I reached a hand out for my wife, breathing hard. She was here. Everything would be fine. She’d get me the help I needed.

“That woman walked into your complex carrying a duffel bag like she belonged and took the elevator to the thirty-eighth floor, one down from yours. She got out, stopped, then rushed to the fire escape, only to suddenly reenter the floor, take the elevator back down, and leave. We didn’t think too much of it at first, but we checked with your neighbors. No one knew her.”

The blurred shadow sharpened and took shape. It wasn’t mo síbhean.

Maeve Hackett stood over me, a cruel twist to her lips, eyes glinting with mirth.

What the fuck was going on? Where the fuck were Arthur and Big Charlie? What had she done to me? Just inching my head up drained me completely.

“You obsessed over that footage,” Brody continued. “You had me analyze it over and over to try and find something on the woman, but she didn’t fit the profile. Blonde hair compared to brown, much too young, and she hadn’t been the one in your apartment. Well, that woman is your wife’s friend. What are the chances? We need to bring her in.”

Maeve rolled her eyes at me with a huff of amusement as she mouthed, “Silly O’Learys.”

My chest heaved for every tiny breath of air, and heartburn seared me from the inside.

“Oi,” my brother broke off. “Why’s the alarm from your panic button going off? Killy? What’s going—”

Maeve pushed the End Call button, and that little toned click ramped up my blood pressure enough for me to finally feel my heart pump. It was slow, almost nonexistent, but still there.

“Oh, you’ve been a naughty boy,” she said.

“Why are—?” I muttered out between pants.

“Why what? Why am I doing this? I get that one a lot. So boring and predictable. Why am I here? Well, you invited me. Or Alizé did, but that counts, doesn’t it? Or were you asking why I was spying on your call? Simple. It amused me. Seeing you struggle has always been a fun distraction.”

She crouched down beside me. I tried taking a swing at her, but she caught my feeble punch and set my arm back down with a little pat.