“Thank you.” Deirdre pulled her collar taut around her neck and cast her eyes to the floor. Her voice was soft. “For both helping to repair my phone and saving me from drowning.”

Brendan was far from a good, decent man and was no stranger to all kinds of unforgivable transgressions. But at the very least, Deirdre’s gratitude was sincere at this moment. He had saved her life.

“It’s nothing.” Brendan considered the young woman’s pale, half-traumatized mien and fought the urge to just pull her into a comforting cuddle. “Don’t worry about it. Anyone who dares to touch a single hair on your head will all get it. If everything goes exactly as I thought, Zinerva Cole’s life in Eastgene is finished.”

Deirdre couldn't care less. Neither did she try to talk Brendan out of it. She simply nodded and said, “Okay.”

“Get some rest,” he said as she started toward the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Deirdre was taken aback. Raising her head, she blurted out, “Wait, did you—”

“My room is next door.