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The next morning, I showed up at my parents’ place for Sunday brunch. Conor wanted to come, knowing this would be hard for me. But we decided that with him on PSNI’s Most Wanted List, he should stay put.
Jake and Rodeo were already there when I arrived, looking like two teenage lovebirds who couldn’t keep their eyes off each other. My mother doted on Rodeo because of his injured arm. My dad was busy cooking strawberry crepes, which were being eaten as fast as he could make them. When they asked about Conor, I told them he was on a stakeout that ran long.
Christmas music was playing on a radio on the kitchen counter, and the whole place was decked out for the holidays. The twelve-year-old artificial Christmas tree gleamed in the corner, covered in lights and decorations that dated bac
