It was riddled with bullet holes, and half his furniture was in shreds. More importantly, one of Loralei’s wounds had partially reopened in their tumble from the bed. The paramedics were seeing to it. “Who the hell have you been talking to?” Matt demanded. Ciaran raised his eyebrows at that. “I’ve not talked to a fucking soul, you bastard! Who the hell have you told that she was here?” Matt shook his head. “Grant knows, so does Kaitlyn, but neither of them will say anything. Hell, our own mother doesn’t even know where she is, though to be fair, that’s more because she’s with you than because of the situation.” “And the cops?” Ciaran asked sharply. “How many of them knew where she was hiding?” Matt bristled at that. “My people aren’t dirty!” “Clearly someone is! Think about it, would you? Within four hours of her leaving the hospital and getting settled in here, and the fucking shooter is out front, guns blazing?
