Free Undercover by Gerard Brennan Page A

and fillings to make it look like she'd eaten more than she really had. When Rory was finished he eyed her leftovers, pinched a particularly inviting chunk of cheese off her plate and popped it in his mouth.
    "You're not eating enough," he said between chews.
    "No appetite. Think I might have a stomach bug or something."
    Rory wrinkled his nose. "Well don't give it to me."
    "Relax. If it was contagious my whole family would have it and they're... fine."
    "I was going to suggest we head out for dinner after we've been to those meetings, but if you've a dodgy tummy it might not be such a good idea."
    "That's a nice thought, Rory, but you're right. Why don't we pick up a bottle of bubbly, though? Have a few celebratory glasses here tonight? I'm sure I could handle that."
    "Now there's a plan. A wee champers or two would go down a treat."
    Lydia winked at him. "An early night wouldn't do us any harm either."
    Rory cleared his throat and regarded Lydia, his eyebrows drawn downwards as he tried to figure out if she'd just flirted with him. Lydia did nothing to clear up the confusion. It hadn't occurred to her until then, but she knew that if it came down to it she'd do anything to get her family back from the kidnappers. Anything.

Chapter 7
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    S ponsorship is great, like. Very lucrative. I just don't understand what football has to do with crisps, though. Surely as role models we should be promoting apples and bananas or something like that.
    Rory Cullen, CULLEN: The Autobiography
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    P addy's car handled like a half-charged mobility scooter. It was an old white Suzuki Jimmy, some sort of dwarfish SUV, and everything about it was inept and sluggish. Much like its former owner. Cormac looked forward to dumping it and getting into his own car. They were closing in on his house on the Lisburn Road. His plan was to get his Police Service of Northern Ireland ID out of his safe and his police issue Glock 17 along with a few boxes of ammo. The PSNI ID would cut through any bullshit hospital red tape and get John's gunshot wound seen to quicker. Cormac still had the pistol from the safe house but it didn't have a full clip and he wasn't sure how well cared for it had been. He wanted his own, reliable piece.
    Mattie was in the back seat. He propped up his injured father and winced along with every pain-ridden moan that slipped from between John's clenched teeth. Cormac watched Mattie's young face in the rear-view mirror. The kid looked utterly lost. Cormac trawled his mind for some words of encouragement, wisdom, comfort... anything. Nothing occurred. It wasn't a typical enough set of circumstances to warrant cliché.
    "We'll get your da sorted, Mattie. Don't worry."
    The kid didn't acknowledge him.
    Cormac lived in a mid-terrace house. Parking at his front door during office hours was never a guarantee. He slowed the Suzuki a little at the start of the terrace and sought out a gap wide enough to dump the piece of shit. He made momentary eye contact with a hard-faced man in a blue work van. His passenger played with a mobile phone, unaware of the driver's sudden interest in Cormac. They were parked just a few doors down from Cormac's house, the van's nose pointed out towards the road for a quick exit. All the better to get the drop on somebody.
    His house was being watched.
    Cormac neither sped up nor slowed down. He needed time to think. At the end of his terrace he took a right and entered the network of housing estates just off the Lisburn Road. He took a right and a left and another right, found a barley legal parking spot on the corner of the street and killed his engine.
    "Is this where you live?" Mattie asked.
    Cormac shook his head. "There's somebody at my place." He checked his mirrors. It didn't look like the blue van had pursued them. But they might not have been the only ones set to watch his house. How had the bastards closed in on him so quickly? They weren't cops, Cormac was sure