Wolfe sipped his drink. “That cat is such a chick magnet.”

Raider blinked. The ex-soldier had rescued the kitten by the side of the road and quickly adopted it. “You know, at some point, he’s going to be too big for your pocket.”

Wolfe scratched his whiskered jaw. “I’ll just get bigger pockets.” He finished his drink with one long pull on the straw. “Or maybe he won’t want to stay in pockets any longer. It’s his life.” The wind picked up and scattered wet leaves across their boots. Wolfe shifted, and the SIG Sauer at his waist caught the dim light for a moment. “But I do feed him tuna fish, goldfish crackers, and steak. So he’ll probably stay with me. Unless he finds the right kitty to settle down with.”

“Do you try to sound nutty?” Raider asked, keeping Brigid within sight.

Wolfe grinned. “Rumor has it we have to turn you into the ideal man for Brigid. You’re gonna have to lose the suit.” He lifted his head toward the park. “You should smile at her more. Shotgun.” He strode around the truck and jumped into the passenger seat, rocking the entire vehicle as he did so.

Brigid snagged the kitten as he began to climb a tree and turned back for Raider, her expression unguarded as she snuggled the cat. In that moment, she looked young and vulnerable. Even fragile.

And he planned to ruin her father. Sometimes, he wished he’d become a dentist instead of an operative, like his favorite foster mom had suggested. But even then, he’d known something lived inside him that needed to seek and destroy those who caused pain, and out of deference to Miss A and her rules, he’d gone the legal route. It was unfortunate that Brigid’s father had not.

* * *

Brigid played with the kitten on the silent drive to the reporter’s apartment outside of DC, her mind spinning. No way was her father involved in the mob. Not the grumbly old farmer who’d gone through the motions of raising her. He’d been all about rules and guidelines with a strong dislike for modern technology. Her dad had thought television was for the news only, and that social media would lead to the destruction of civilization. He might’ve been right.

But he had not broken the law. Just because he was from Ireland, decades and decades ago, didn’t make him an Irish mobster.

Although she rarely spoke to him since going off on her own, she’d clear his name. It was the least she could do—especially for her mother.

“Damn it.” Wolfe leaned slightly forward to read the face of his phone, the light washing over his blunt face. “Go here.” He gave an address in a suburb outside of DC.

Brigid leaned to the side to study his profile better.