Wait! She nearly snapped her fingers.
Dropping her hand, she reached into her apron for her phone. Maybe it would pick up the conversation and she could listen to it later at a higher volume. If it worked, she’d have some nugget of information for her brother. If she caught the sting, or whatever happened, it would put a smile on Declan’s face. He needed something to lift his spirit. He’d been blue lately, and while he argued to the contrary, she saw it in his eyes, forced smiles, and voice.
She could already hear him accusing, “You were earwigging again. Aye?”
Finding the recording app, she stepped over the tray and moved the phone closer to the sliver of open doorway. While itching to open the door more, she wouldn’t dare and potentially be caught.
At the few words she’d made out clearly, she glanced nervously up and down the hall. She had to move because she didn’t want to be standing here if one of the three—or all—exited the room and saw her. They’d know she’d heard them. She couldn’t even imagine if they knew she recorded their conversation.
Bored and disappointed that she couldn’t understand more, she decided her departure was well overdue. She’d knock and get this done. If the recorder picked up any words, she wouldn’t have wasted her time.
“You said you knew who the fuck is sleeping with my daughter.” She couldn’t make out the raging voice. It had to be Boyle or Fitzgerald, as she’d heard Donnelly on television often enough, plus the voice had definitely been masculine.
Although it sounded like juicy gossip, a knot inside her belly told her to get the heck out of there. It had been the tone of the voice. Menacing. Angry. Accusing.
Listening to that warning, she dropped her phone back into her pocket and decided to leave the tray where she’d placed it near the door and depart. Screw professionalism. She’d left it in the kitchen when she’d decided to play snoop.
A name she recognized was growled inside the room. With a jump, fear lodged in her throat. It hadn’t been loud, but it’d been clear to her. Or had it? Maybe she’d misunderstood. Really, what were the chances these three would speak of her brother?
“I’ll kill Declan Gallagher and my pregnant whore of a daughter!”
Her limbs froze. Jeanie Mac! She didn’t care she’d jumped back to slang. Murder and her brother’s name spoken in one sentence was too much.
While her thoughts could be thick sometimes, she couldn’t help the fear that shot through the muscles she’d recently relaxed. She didn’t wait around to find out more. Something told her that her instinct had been right on board to leave. If these men found out who she was, would they kill her to keep her silent?
Spinning around with haste, she tripped over the tray, spilling the silver teapot with a clatter that sounded like a bomb exploding in her ears.
Legging it down the hallway, she didn’t look back. Declan had taught her that could lose valuable time if someone followed her. Where was her overprotective brother now when she needed him? A sob nearly lodged in her throat. Could she get to him in time? Please let them be speaking of another Declan Gallagher. While she didn’t wish death on anyone, she loved and needed her brother.
As she passed through the door near the kitchen, she ignored the chef’s call out to her.
Her pulse pounded so loudly in her ears, she wouldn’t have been able to hear if footsteps pounded the pavement behind her. She just had to make it to her car and escape.
If only she hadn’t knocked over the tray, no one would’ve known she’d been outside the door. Then again, maybe they hadn’t heard it like she hadn’t heard them.
Moira raced straight to the door leading to her car, past the gaping taskmaster, and exited, not caring about returning the damn apron she still wore. Let them charge her for it.
Her breath shortening and shaking like a leaf, she fumbled with her car door handle, thankful she’d felt safe enough to not only leave her door unlocked but keep the key fob in her glove box. She fumbled in her purse—spilling most of the contents—then finding what she’d sought, brought her inhaler to her mouth, and gave it two quick puffs. After a moment to resettle, she drove off with haste, ignoring the blasted beeping reminding her to latch her seat belt.
Tapping her fingers nervously on the steering wheel, she kept glancing out her rearview mirror to see if someone followed. After several minutes, she blew out a solid breath. No one followed.
What now? Her heart sank. What would happen to her if they found out she’d overheard? She could be called into court as a witness, or—she gulped past the hard lump lodged in her throat—she could be taken out as a witness.
Not knowing her next step—whether reporting it to the gardai or hiding out—she drove on autopilot to her brother’s home. Using a voice command through her car’s Bluetooth, she phoned him. When he answered, her wavering voice announced, “Someone wants to murder you.” Just saying that sent tears welling in her eyes and the aftershock rocked her system. The weight of what she’d heard terrified her.
Fighting back against the wash of emotion threatening to send her into a near breakdown, she swallowed back and wiped her eyes. It only helped a bit, but that bit would get her where she needed to go.
“What?” Declan’s alert voice settled her a bit more. He’d fix it.
