Love at First Fight - A Gallagher Girls Story

Chapter Twenty-Five

I had heard stories about my family's safe house in Italy. I knew that it was where Mom and Dad had gone after a particularly nasty incident with the Italian Mob when I was seven. It was where Grandpa Joe and Aunt Abby had run to one night when I was ten. It was where my mother had read the last words that Matthew Morgan had ever left behind.

So yeah. I knew of the safe house, but I had never seen it in person. Never once had I been invited, so as we drove up that long, overgrown drive, I felt like I was finally a part of some super secret club where all the cool kids spent their recess.

The door was heavier than expected, but I think that fact had more to do with my own exhaustion than it did with the actual weight of the door. I was right in the middle of that very thought when I was ambushed—not by foe, but rather by friend. Alice was the first one there, tackling me into something that was probably supposed to be a hug. "Thank god," she sighed.

Except that's the thing about Alice—her hugs aren't really hugs. They're some form of unintentional torture. "Alice," I said. "Alice, I can't breathe."

She tore herself off of me, finally realizing her own strength. "Sorry."

There was a single light above us, shining across her curls and drawing my eye to the scab on her forehead. Until that moment, it had felt like an eternity since we'd last seen each other, but that scab was most definitely only thee days old—a long dark gash just beneath her golden hairline. My insides flared. For some reason I thought of Duncan and his unsettling smile, daring to take on Alice Anderson.

Mom and Macey were next. "Any broken bones?" one of them asked. "Any attacks?" said the other.

"I'm fine," I said. "Everything's fine—did we get the journal?"

I honestly don't know what I would have done if she had said no. Cry, definitely. Break, maybe. Thankfully we didn't have an opportunity to find out because Mom smiled, ruffled my hair, and said, "Yes.  You did a good job."

And for the first time in three days, I was finally able to breathe.

"We're getting out of here as soon as it's safe to book a flight to Virginia," she went on. "Then we'll hand the journal over to Phineas and then he can relay any necessary information to Ellie."

Scout kicked the door in, stealing my attention. He was helping Matt inside, both of them bickering about whether or not help was even necessary. In the end, Matt lost the argument and ended up on the couch, a mountain of throw pillows beneath his leg—still arguing, even as Scout went to the kitchen for ice.

Luke trailed in behind them, shutting the door and taking special care with each lock. I told myself that he was probably always this cautious on missions. I told myself that I was probably just witnessing a new side to him, but there was something about the way he focused on those locks. He locked and unlocked each of them exactly three times, as if the first two twists had been inadequate. He went in a steady, certain order, starting at the top and working his way down the line. Click, click, click, next. Click, click, click, next—over and over for each of the five locks. Careful. Obsessive.

Scout and Matt were still bickering, tearing my concentration away from the compulsions of Luke Collins. "Well maybe," said Scout, "if you would quit throwing yourself into the face of danger, you wouldn't be stuck on that couch."

"It's not my fault the bank was compromised," Matt called across the room. "I didn't even want to go into that stupid building."

Scout wasn't buying it. "I would bet my right arm that you stepped in front of your sister once you found danger."