Murphy’s Love: Murphy’s Law Book Three

by Michelle St. James

  He was only vaguely aware of Nick, exchanging fire behind him, as he scanned the nearly dark space in front of him, looking for the second man on his side of the warehouse. He’d caught a flash of movement near the man he’d killed before he was forced to drop back behind the equipment, bullets pinging off the metal.

  He felt for Gordon’s pulse and shoved his dead weight aside when he didn’t find one.

  He looked over at Nick, who had taken cover as well. His brother gave him the signal that he’d taken out one of Gordon’s men.

  Two down, two to go.

  Ronan quieted his breathing as he listened. At first, there was nothing, Gordon’s men likely doing the same thing, hoping to lure Ronan and Nick out of hiding. But a few seconds later there was a soft shuffle at Ronan’s three o’ clock.

  He imagined the battlefield of the warehouse, the man on his side inching closer to his position while the one on Nick’s side did the same thing. He waited until the man was close enough to give Nick the countdown.

  They rose at the same time, advancing from behind their cover, blanketing the space on either side of the warehouse with semiautomatic gunfire as they claimed the ground between them and what was left of Gordon’s men.

  They stopped firing, the echoes of their gunfire reverberating through the building as Ronan moved to examine the figure lying face down on his side of the warehouse. The man was wearing a flak jacket, but the parts of his body not covered by Kevlar were riddled with bullets, one leaking a stream of blood in his neck.

  His eyes were wide and unseeing.

  Ronan straightened and made his way to Nick, standing over the prone body of the man he’d killed.

  “That wasn’t so bad,” Ronan said.

  Nick shook his head, and Ronan saw that his complexion was pale, sweat shining on his forehead even in the shadowed confines of the warehouse.

  Ronan hurriedly looked him over, running his hands over Nick’s arms and legs. His right thigh was slick with blood.

  Ronan straightened and Nick tried to smile before his features crumpled, his eyes fluttering closed. “I think I’m hit.”

  Ronan caught him on the way down.

  18

  Julia closed the bedroom door and descended the stairs, Ronan stood from the sofa in the living room, his expression strained but composed.

  “How is he?”

  “Resting,” Julia said. “He seems comfortable. Whatever that doctor gave him knocked him out cold.”

  Ronan nodded and walked to the bar at one end of the room.

  “I’ll take one of those.” Julia walked toward him.

  “Me, too,” Elise said from the sofa.

  Clay, sitting on one of the chairs, raised his hand. “Me three.”

  “I’ll take a refill,” Declan said, lifting his glass as Julia passed.

  He’d been drinking steadily since Ronan carried Nick, bloody and unconscious, into the house, but Julia didn’t blame him. She took the glass and set it on the bar for Ronan to fill.

  He finished pouring and she put a hand on his shoulder, wanting to offer him some kind of comfort. He wouldn’t cop to it, but she’d seen the worry on his face while they’d waited for the doctor to arrive, Nick lying on the couch with a tourniquet tied around his thigh, his complexion growing more pale by the second.

  “Doctor said the bullet came within a millimeter of an artery,” Ronan said, handing Julia the drinks to give to Elise, Clay, and Declan.

  “But it didn’t,” Julia said gently.

  Ronan hesitated like he might argue the point, then nodded.

  Julia delivered the drinks and took her own from Ronan’s hands as they settled onto the couch.

  “How’d they know where we were keeping Gordon?” Declan asked.

  “I have no idea,” Ronan said. “We were careful.”

  “Viribus isn’t a small-time security outfit,” Clay reminded them. “They probably called in some hefty favors.”

  “It doesn’t matter now,” Ronan said. “We need to get out of Monaco.”

  Declan’s eyes flashed. “And let those fuckers get away with what they did to Nick? No way.”

  “I’m as pissed off as you are,” Ronan said. “But we don’t even know if anyone from Gordon’s team is still in the area. What we do know is that they know we’re here, and once they discover all those bodies in the warehouse, it won’t be safe, even here at the house.”

  “Safe is overrated,” Declan said.

  “Sometimes, but this is not one of those times,” Ronan said.

  He didn’t have to look at Julia for her to know he was thinking about them. He wanted them out of Monaco, and not because he was worried about himself or Declan.

  “So we go back to Boston?” Declan asked. “Then what?”

  Ronan downed his drink in one swallow and slammed the glass down on the coffee table. He stood and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, Dec, okay? I’m working on it.”

  Julia watched him pace to the open patio doors. She didn’t go to him. He wouldn’t want that. Not here. Not now.

  “For what it’s worth, I agree with Ronan,” Clay said. “I know I’m not part of your tactical team or whatever, but there’s no point in our staying here if we don’t know where to find Gordon’s men, and even then, aside from the satisfaction of vindicating Nick, I don’t know that it would do us any good.”

  “Exactly,” Ronan said. “None of Gordon’s other men were captured onboard the Elysium — ”

  “That we know of,” Declan interrupted.

  Ronan sighed. “That we know of. But that’s what we have to go on right now. Gordon’s men may have been the ones to shoot Nick, but it only happened because of Gordon’s ties to Manifest. We need to stay focused, not get distracted by our emotions.”

  Declan barked out a bitter laugh, standing and shaking his head. “That’s rich coming from you.”

  Ronan took two steps toward him, the couple of inches he had on Declan somehow more noticeable when paired with the menacing expression on his face as he stared down at his younger brother. “I would think very carefully about what you say next, Dec.”

  Declan held his gaze before shaking his head and turning away. “It’s not worth it.” He spun around to face Ronan and pointed at him. “I’m not afraid of you.”

  He stalked out of the room, leaving the rest of them in a silence louder than any noise.

  Ronan headed for the patio. “We leave in an hour.”

  Julia watched him go, Declan’s words echoing in her mind.

  I’m not afraid of you.

  She didn’t think it was true, and she didn’t blame Declan for the fear he didn’t want to admit. The more Manifest eluded them, the more damage they did to the people Ronan loved, the more dangerous he became.

  The more dangerous she found herself wanting him to be.

  Declan was either lying or he was a fool.

  Everyone should be afraid of Ronan now.

  19

  Ronan walked into the bar downtown and scanned the dim interior. He spotted the man he was meeting at the end of the bar even though they’d never met. Men like him — like Braden Kane — had a certain look about them, a wariness Ronan recognized in his bones, like an animal recognizing one of its own even when camouflaged.

  The bar was a good meeting place: small and nondescript with enough patrons to keep Ronan from standing out if anyone should ask questions later. He made his way to the bar, avoiding the eyes of a group of men clustered around a pool table and two others sitting at the bar.

  He slid into the seat next to the man wearing a black jacket and jeans, his elbows bracing the table around his beer like a man in prison protecting his food.

  “Damian.”

  The man looked up. “Murphy.”

  His gaze was dispassionate, but Ronan had the sense that it was practiced, that behind the dark eyes and placid demeanor was a man every bit as dangerous as the men Ronan was hunting from Manifest.

  Ronan gestu
red to the bartender, a young woman with dark hair and two nose piercings, and ordered a beer. He waited for her to set down the beer and walk away.

  “Thanks for meeting me,” he said. “We could have done it on the phone. Our comms are encrypted.”

  “Ours too,” Damian Cavallo said. “But I was in the area on business anyway.”

  “Wanted to get a read on me, huh?” Ronan grinned and held out his beer. “I’d have done the same thing.”

  Damian touched his beer to Ronan’s. “Some things you can only tell in person.”

  Ronan nodded and took a swig of beer. “Don’t I know it.”

  “We’ve been doing a lot of work for you lately,” Damian said.

  “I appreciate it,” Ronan said. “Send me a bill.”

  Damian shook his head. “Any friend of Kane’s is a friend of ours.”

  Ronan wasn’t surprised by Damian’s use of the pronoun. As head of the New York territory for the international criminal organization known as the Syndicate, Damian’s resources — including the cyberlab Kane had been using to get Ronan information on Manifest — weren’t his alone.

  “I appreciate that,” Ronan said.

  “You have a guy, right?” Damian asked.

  Ronan nodded, thinking about Clay. “He’s gotten us into some dark places, but his operation is lean. I figure it can’t hurt to have help.”

  Since they’d gotten back from Monaco Ronan’s desperation for a break had become all-consuming. Clay was stuck, unable to advance inside Manifest’s website, all the players around and above Mark Gordon as mysterious to them as ever.

  Clay was almost as frustrated as Ronan, not to mention Nick, who had made a full recovery but was mad as hell.

  Damian took a drink of his beer, his eyes on the mirror behind the bar. “Heard you were the ones behind the Gordon drop.”

  “I can neither confirm or deny.”

  Damian nodded. “Lots of chatter about it.”

  “Anything actionable?” So far there had been no sign of retribution from Gordon’s men, but it had only been two weeks. Ronan wasn’t dumb enough to think it wasn’t coming.

  Damian shook his head. “Just talk. You know how those Viribus assholes are. They act like they're legitimate when they want a seat at the trough but they’re really just mercenaries.”

  “Some would say that about us,” Ronan said.

  He didn’t know everything there was to know about the Syndicate’s operation, but he knew they were multinational, knew that after the assassination of their former leader, Raneiro Donati, they’d been remade into a modern army increasingly working in digital spaces like corporate espionage, counterintelligence for hire, and financial crimes.

  He also knew they’d once been called the Mafia.

  “We’re not the same as those guys,” Damian said. “They’ll do anything for money.”

  Ronan couldn’t be sure about the scope of the Syndicate’s on-the-ground operation, but they still had soldiers on the street in every big city in the world. Now the soldiers wore suits instead of leather jackets, and some things had been made off-limits since the Syndicate’s takeover by Nico Vitale — selling drugs to kids and trafficking chief among them.

  “You’re not wrong there,” Ronan said.

  Damian turned his beer bottle in his hand. “These people are deep underground.”

  “You don’t have to tell me. I’ve been hunting them for the past six months. Other than the Elysium and the break we got with Gordon, it’s been quiet as a graveyard.”

  “It’s not often our labs come up empty,” Damian said. “But they have. Not just mine — our Paris lab hasn’t had any luck either. Between us, we’ve got a hundred digital forensics specialists, most of whom were pilfered from intelligence agencies around the world. They’ve got next to nothing.”

  “Next to nothing?”

  Damian shrugged. “Rumors, chatter… nothing worth deploying resources. Whoever is behind the operation is so well hidden they might as well be Waldo.”

  Ronan lifted his eyebrows. “Waldo?”

  Damian shook his head. “You don’t have kids, do you?”

  “No. You?”

  “Two. Twins,” Damian said. “It’s a book. Where’s Waldo? Waldo’s hidden on these pages cluttered with shit. The kids have to find him.”

  Ronan’s perception of Damian shifted as he tried to think of him as a father. Ten minutes earlier, he wouldn’t have bought it. Cavallo had appeared too emotionless, too cold.

  Now he could see it. Could see that Damian probably was emotionless and cold when he had to be. Could see that those qualities served him when it came time to protect what he loved.

  That makes two of us, Ronan thought, taking a drink from his beer.

  He thought about the ring in his dresser drawer and imagined reading bedtime stories to a couple of sleepy kids who looked just like Julia. He felt a powerful wave of longing. Julia was at John’s house with Elise for their weekly dinner, and he suddenly wished he was there instead of Nick, that he’d sent Nick to meet with Damian instead.

  He hated to be apart from her.

  “Anyway,” Cavallo continued, “sorry I don’t have more for you. Want us to keep looking?”

  “If you’re willing.”

  “We’re willing,” Damian said. “We don’t sanction the abuse of women and children under any circumstances. Orders from the top are to give you what you need to bring these guys to their knees.”

  “Tell them I appreciate that,” Ronan said.

  MIS worked alone. It was the only way to ensure their security and confidentiality, the only way to keep themselves out of jail.

  But he wasn’t stupid: having the Syndicate on his side was no small thing.

  “You got it.”

  Ronan threw a twenty-dollar bill on the table. “Those rumors? That chatter?”

  Damian nodded.

  “Send me what you have,” Ronan said.

  It probably wouldn’t amount to anything, but he couldn’t afford to leave any stone unturned.

  20

  Julia walked away from the river next to Nick, Elise in front of them. They’d taken a walk after dinner, their first inside her gramps’ house after a long summer of eating on the deck. Night fell faster than it had even a couple of weeks ago, and deep shadows were already creeping in as the sun sank beneath the tree line.

  “You okay?” Julia asked, aware that Nick was favoring his good leg.

  “Fine.”

  He insisted he was fully recovered, but he still moved a little slower than usual, favoring his good leg when he was tired. Julia had gotten in the habit of hanging back with him, walking slow under the guise of conversation to preserve his pride.

  “She seems better,” Julia said, her eyes on Elise up ahead.

  “She’s been angry since Monaco,” he said.

  She glanced over at him. “Anger’s better than being broken.”

  “Personal experience?” he asked, a lock of dark hair falling over his forehead. He resembled Ronan — big and muscular and with dark hair, although he had green eyes rather than blue — but he was still something of an enigma to her.

  From the beginning, she’d had no doubt who Ronan had been. He’d been in her face and angry in the alley where they’d run into each other, a whirlpool of violence swirling beneath the surface.

  She’d known he was dangerous. Had even been turned on by the knowledge.

  Nick was a mystery.

  “Let’s just say I’ve found anger to be mobilizing,” she said.

  “And being broken?”

  “Paralyzing,” she said.

  They walked in silence for a couple of minutes, working their way back to her gramps’ house. He’d insisted they go ahead and take their walk so he could focus on the dishes, promising apple pie when they returned.

  The visit was a pleasant respite from the nonstop stress of the past few weeks, but she couldn’t help thinking about Ronan, who was meeting someone who’d been
helping them with intel on Manifest.

  He’d been quiet and brooding since their return from Monaco, and while she understood his frustration, she couldn’t help feeling that there was more to his mood than their lack of progress.

  “Do you think we’ll ever have another shot at getting them?” she asked Nick. “The people behind Manifest?”

  “I don’t think my brother will have it any other way,” Nick said.

  “What about you?” Julia asked.

  “I had my doubts in the beginning.”

  “And now?”

  He hesitated. “When we started MIS, it was about revenge. We talked big about justice, but the truth is, we were out for blood.”

  “Because of Erin,” Julia said, thinking about the youngest Murphy sibling who’d overdosed when she was twenty.

  “Because of Erin,” he said. “Over time we saw a lot of heavy shit, a lot of bad shit, and I think we all started to believe, at least on some level, that we could do some good, even if we had to break some rules along the way.”

  “The end justifies the means?”

  He nodded. “I think I believe it more than ever, and if ever there was a time to break rules in the name of justice, this would be it. I can’t see a way we let the people who took Elise, who’ve taken other women and done god knows what else, walk away from this.”

  After months of worrying that she and Elise might be wearing out their welcome, if not at the Murphy house than at least at MIS, she felt like she could finally exhale. “I agree.”

  They stepped into the clearing in front of her gramps’ house and Elise stopped to let them catch up.

  “I can almost smell the pie from here,” Nick said.

  “Same,” Julia said. “I’ll pack some for Ronan before we leave.”

  Nick grinned, and for a split second, he looked like his older brother. “Only if I don’t finish it first.”

  They crossed the grassy area leading to the house and entered the kitchen just as her gramps was putting the last of the dinner dishes in the cupboard.

  “How was the walk?” he asked them, hanging the dish towel to dry on the oven handle.