I looked at Andi, who nodded. We crept across the landing to the open doorway. I peered inside and saw a large bedroom. One of the masked men was standing by a seating area, holding a gun on an indignant middle-aged man in jeans and T-shirt.
The last home invader was by the bed, where a woman and two children, a boy who couldn’t have been more than ten and a girl who looked about twelve, had been bound with cord at ankles and wrists and were lying face-down on the mattress. Their masked tormentor was holding a telescopic baton and used it to strike the woman hard on the back.
I gave Andi a furious glance and she signaled to the man by the couch and pointed at herself. I nodded. Together we rushed into the room, startling the home invaders, who had been confidently in command.
“Joe!” the man by the couch said as he turned his gun on Andi.
So the guy beating the woman was our target, the member of the Dark Fates Conor Roche had identified.
My fury rose as he turned to face me. I ducked as he swung at me with his baton. I glanced back to see Andi dodge the gunman’s aim. His bullet went harmlessly by her, but the sound was deafening and my ears rang in the aftermath of the gunshot.
I struck Joe McGee on the shins with my baton, two sharp blows with the weighted bulb, one on each leg. He jumped back and yelped.
Andi aimed her pistol at the gunman, but before she could shoot, the male captive jumped up and grabbed his assailant, making it impossible for her to find a safe target.
Joe recovered and came at me, but I parried his flailing blow with my baton and drove my shoulder into his chest, pushing him away from the bed and slamming him against the wall beside a grand fireplace. There was the clatter and smash of ceramic as his hand floundered around the mantel, searching for purchase, knocking figurines of horses onto the slate hearth.
Behind me, I heard another ear-splitting gunshot and looked round to see the masked assailant knock down the homeowner, dazing him. He spun quickly and caught Andi on the side of her head with the butt of his gun, sending her flying.
Her pistol tumbled from her hand and spun across the rug toward the bed. I dived for it and shots rang out as I wrapped my fingers around it. There was more gunfire while I scrabbled for cover behind the bed.
I heard a rush of movement and risked breaking cover to see both masked invaders fleeing through the doorway.
I ran after them but was forced to a halt by more gunfire. Bullets splintered the door frame where I had been standing a split second before.
Downstairs, there was further movement and someone shouted orders.
“Jack,” Andi said, and I turned to see her struggling to stand.
I ran over and helped her up.
“You okay?” I asked.
“I will be,” she said. “Go.”
I hesitated, but she nodded and pushed me toward the door.
I ran through it, across the landing and down the stairs. The first floor was deserted, the men we’d knocked out were both gone, and now the front door was hanging open.
I should have been grateful to be alive. Instead I was frustrated to have lost a potential lead to the man who’d shot Justine.
Chapter 28
I returned to the bedroom and found Andi untying the woman. The man was working on the boy’s bonds. Both children were crying.
I went to the girl and started loosening the cord that bound her ankles.
“It’s okay,” I said soothingly. “They’ve gone.”
“Dad,” the boy said, as his father freed him. He threw his arms around the man’s neck and sobbed into his shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” the man told his son. “I’m so sorry.”
“They could have killed us, Noah,” the woman said tearfully.
“Are you okay?” he asked anxiously.
She nodded. “Sore. But I’ll live.” She turned to her children. “Mummy is alright, kids.”
Andi untied her wrists and she hurried over to the man and their son. A moment later, when I’d freed her, the girl joined them.
“I’m sorry,” the man said, embracing them all. “I should never have...” His voice trailed off when he registered Andi and me. “Thank you so much,” he told us. “Thanks, both of you.”
“If you hadn’t come,” the woman added, “I don’t even want to think about what might have happened.”
She drew her children closer.
“Mr. and Mrs. Kearney?” Andi asked.
It was reasonable to guess the stud farm was named after the family.
The man nodded. “Noah and Mary. This is our girl, Molly, and our boy, Ben. Are you okay, Ben?” He returned his attention to the boy.
“It hurts,” Ben cried, rubbing his back.
“We need to take him to the hospital,” Mary told her husband.
He nodded. “It’s not safe here. Take the children to the car and I’ll get some things.”
Mary looked at us uncertainly, as though we might interfere with the family’s plans.
I stood to one side. “I’m not here to force you to do anything,” I assured her. “You can leave anytime.”
She ushered the children to their feet and steered them from the room. I heard them sobbing all the way down the stairs.
Noah went to a walk-in wardrobe and got busy throwing belongings into a large holdall.
“Why isn’t it safe for you here?” I asked. “What did those men want, Mr. Kearney?”
He paused and moved to the doorway.
“You a cop?” he asked. “You’re a Yank, that’s for sure.”
“I’m not a cop,” I replied. “But I am an American.”
“Fed?” he suggested, sizing me up.
I shook my head. “I’m a private investigator. My name is Jack Morgan, and this is my associate, Andrea Harris.”
He frowned. “I might be many things, but I’m no grass,” he said, before he resumed packing.
“Those men hurt your family,” Andi responded with more than a hint of exasperation. “If we hadn’t been here...”
Noah glanced anxiously at the doorway. “Which is exactly why I’m no grass. What do you think they’ll do to me next if they find out I’ve been talking to the likes of you?”
“We would never betray your confidence,” Andi assured him.
Noah sneered. “And exactly what have I done to deserve such undying loyalty? Who are you again? You don’t know these people. What they’re capable of.”
I stepped forward and produced my phone. “I know exactly what they’re capable of. They’ve already tried to kill me more than once. My girlfriend was shot by this man.” I held up a photo of the man we knew as Colm Finlay. “I think he’s connected to the gang who were here tonight.”
Noah frowned at the picture and, in the quiet that followed, I heard Mary yell from outside.
“Come on, Noah!”
“I know those were dangerous men, Mr. Kearney,” I said. “Please tell us what they wanted with a horse breeder.”
“It’s because they’re dangerous that I can’t tell you,” he replied, sounding exasperated and clearly itching to be gone.
“They tortured your wife and terrorized your kids,” I countered. “Why?”
Still he hesitated to speak.
“And your best solution is to run away, is it? Believe me, that never solves a problem like this,” I told him. “I want to stop them doing the same thing to innocent people. Help me.”
He wavered, and I could see he was wrestling with his conscience.
“Please, Mr. Kearney, if you can tell us anything at all,” I said.
“I’m no grass, but you’ll find what you’re after at the Ballycorus at Leopardstown tomorrow,” he said in a low voice.
With that he slung the holdall over his shoulder and headed for the door. He stopped on the threshold and glanced back.
“Check the winners’ enclosure after the second race. You’ll find your answers there,” he said. He hesitated then added, “And thank you again for what you did tonight. I mean that.”