by Karr, Kim
“Hey,” he called, the quiver in his voice giving him away.
Triumphant, I turned around.
He was sitting up straighter and that smile had slipped from his lips. “Come back here. You’re going to want to hear what I have to tell you.”
My lips twisted. “What exactly do you think you have to say that I want to hear?” My tone was light, breezy. Very I don’t give a shit because I really didn’t give a shit.
“I know things you’re going to want to hear.”
“I doubt it.”
“About Elle’s sister.”
“Like what?” I practically spit.
“Like who killed her.”
That got my attention, and in three strides I was back at the table. “What are you talking about?”
Those hard eyes narrowed on me and then toward the chair.
Not playing, truly curious, I lowered myself into the seat. “Explain to me what you’re talking about.”
“I know who killed her.” His voice broke.
The motherfucker had feelings for Elle’s sister—it was written all over his face. You had to be shitting me. “You know who killed Elizabeth O’Shea?”
He nodded his head.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because she deserves justice.”
I had to laugh. “And I’m supposed to believe you care . . . why?”
“Because I fucking loved her.”
Noises of disbelief escaped my throat. I couldn’t help it.
“You have to go after him.”
“I don’t have to do shit.”
“You’re the only one I’ve got, man.”
The hairs on my neck stood up. Desperate. He was desperate. I didn’t have to put on a show after all. He really was going to talk. “And who exactly is him? Who do you think killed Lizzy?”
“It’s not who I think killed her. It’s who I know killed her.”
“Who?” My voice rose.
He leaned forward. “Her fucking husband did it.” He practically spit the word husband.
I might have thought that too but with him telling me, now I wasn’t so sure. How could I believe him? “Are you sure it wasn’t you?”
His cuffed hands gripped the table and his face turned red. “I told you, I loved her.”
“Like that means shit to me.”
“Listen to me. He stole the drugs from us and later he killed her.”
Something in my mind scrambled. I knew Michael had to have been playing some kind of game with the drugs. I just didn’t know why he’d put everyone around him in jeopardy if he had them. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
That taunting smile was back. “Oh, did I get your attention now? Worried about your precious Elle being around him?”
“Don’t say her name,” I fucking growled.
He remained silent.
Pulling my shit together, I inched back in my chair. “Yeah, you got my attention, but not for long.”
“I’m not fucking around with you. I’ve told the guards at least a hundred times that I know who killed her and not a single fucking one of them will pay any attention to me.”
My heart was racing but I remained calm. We weren’t buddies and he wasn’t looking to help me out. “And you think I will?”
“Yeah, I do. You’re smart enough to know, once a killer, always a killer. Extrapolate from there, Silver Spoon.”
I didn’t let him rattle me. “What do you think I can do with this information?”
“Make the motherfucker pay!” he seethed.
My cough couldn’t disguise my laugh. “You want him to pay? Are you fucking kidding me? What about you? What about your sins? You’re the one who should pay.”
He was shaking his head. “This isn’t about you, McPherson.”
Now I laughed out loud. “No, it’s not. But for some fucked-up reason I’m the one who’s here. Why didn’t you just send one of your crew to take care of him, like you did me? Oh wait, that’s right—because you can’t be there to watch, you sick fuck.” My emotions were taking over. Reel it in, McPherson. Reel it in. The plan is going better than expected. Don’t fuck it up.
With his hands, he tried to shake the table. “This isn’t about you. Or me. I’m in here; what more do you want?”
Focus. I had to focus. He was right. “I know that,” I seethed. “But like I said, I’m the one who’s here. So tell me, why not use your crew?”
“You really don’t know what’s going on, do you?”
I stared at him flatly, giving nothing away.
“I don’t have a crew left.”
My brows popped. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Tommy eased forward. “My father put a hit out on me. As soon as I get out of solitary, I’m a dead man.”
Holy shit!
My worries about Elle’s safety, when it came to Tommy anyway, might just be over. Looked like my plan to remove Tommy from the equation was going to be taken care of courtesy of Patrick Flannigan, fuck him very much. I should have left right then and there, but I didn’t. “Why would your father put a hit out on you?” I asked, trying not to sound triumphant. I still wasn’t entirely buying what he was feeding me.
“He found out what I was doing. That I was trying to break free of him. And that I’d been using his money as capital to buy drugs. Found out I had a part in losing the two hundred and fifty kilos of coke. Found out I’d fucked everything up.”
My head was spinning and still back at the lost crew. “So you can’t hurt Elle?”
That sinister laugh was back. “Aren’t you fucking listening to me? I don’t give a shit about her. I want Lizzy’s death avenged.”
I narrowed my eyes on him. “Then why did you send me the note?”
He laughed. “That note I sent you was just to make sure you ended up finding me. When I sent it Lizzy had gone missing again. At the time, I thought you could help me find her. I didn’t know she was already at the bottom of the fucking river. You can rest assured your little girlfriend is safe, from me anyway. I promised Lizzy I’d leave her sister and her kid out of this.”
Relief crashed over me.
Could I really trust him, though?
Was he playing a game too?
My jaw twitched. “What about the girl you attacked outside the boutique?”
“She was collateral damage.”
I pushed against the table. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I thought she was Lizzy’s sister. She was wearing the same red hat I’d seen her sister wearing.”
Anger ripped through me. “You just told me you promised Lizzy you wouldn’t hurt her sister. Now you’re telling me you thought it was her when you carved up her skin. Make up your fucking mind and stop feeding me a line of bullshit.”
“It’s not like that. The night before, Lizzy had gone missing, and I needed to keep you away from her sister in case she was somewhere out there waiting to talk to her. And the only way I could think of to make sure you stayed clear of her sister was to leave my mark.”
I found myself in a haze of needing to know what the fuck he was talking about. “You have less than three minutes to make any sense out of all this bullshit. After that I’m walking.”
He sucked in a breath. “It all started when Lizzy and I had decided to take off. We were going to grab the kid and leave Boston. Disappear. But in the midst of making out plans, I got this call with an offer I couldn’t turn down.”
“What kind of offer?”
His smile was sly. “One that would make me more powerful than my old man.”
“What kind of offer?” I repeated. Like I cared about his power trip.
“To be a wholesaler for the biggest drug supplier in Boston. Me. To be one step under the top of the cocaine chain. It had the potential to be a fucking gold mine.”
“Who was the supplier?”
He shook his head.
I rolled my eyes. “Okay, so what happened nex
t?”
“I told Lizzy that we couldn’t leave. That I was going to make so much money it would be worth staying. She agreed and even offered to help me unload the product. We started pushing the coke and just like I thought, were making money hand over fist.”
He said the last part with a pride that nauseated me.
“It wasn’t long before I was able to increase my buys. The supplier was happy. I was happy. I was doing a fucking great job. But Lizzy wasn’t happy. She still wanted to leave town. She didn’t like her life and she was ready to start over somewhere else. The thing was, I wasn’t.”
“Who was the supplier?” I asked again.
He laughed, but this time he answered. “Come on, you have to know. The Priest.”
“What’s his fucking real name?” I demanded.
He shook his head. “I don’t fucking know.”
Doubtful, I narrowed my eyes at him. Was he feeding me a bunch of bullshit? Maybe. Still, I didn’t stop him. I wanted to hear what he had to say. ”Go on.”
“One morning when I was about to make my biggest buy yet she shows up. Said she couldn’t stay in that house one more minute. I was in a hurry. She had parked behind me. We took the Mercedes and the five mil and went to make the buy.”
Five mil. The missing money. It was beginning to make sense. “But,” I interjected.
“The shit storm that followed is still a blur. The exchange went off without a hitch. On the way back to my place, I was out of cigarettes and asked her to stop at a corner store. When I went inside, she fucking took off with the drugs and left me there.”
Doubt coated my brow. “Let me get this straight—she stole two hundred fifty kilos of cocaine from you?”
“She called me as soon as she took off. Told me she was going home to get that kid and then it was time for us to leave town.”
“So she blackmailed you?”
“No, she’d just had enough of that husband of hers.”
“Why not just leave the guy?”
“Come on, she had a record. She was a drug addict and a prostitute. She knew no court would award her custody of that kid and for some reason she wasn’t willing to leave her behind. Her only option was to run.”
I shook my head. “Okay, so then what happened?”
“Then she never showed up.”
“Why?”
“Because the fucker hijacked the drugs.”
“And what happened to Lizzy?”
“The Priest took her.”
“Took her?” She’d been taken? Hadn’t she disappeared on her own? That I wasn’t buying.
“Aren’t you listening to me? O’Shea sabotaged the whole fucking thing. He took the drugs and arranged for her to disappear.”
Surprisingly, the events were making more and more sense. Patrick was demanding both the money and drugs as retribution, which I always found odd. How could both disappear? Obviously, just the drugs had been stolen. Oddly, I got the feeling Tommy wasn’t feeding me a complete line of bullshit except for one thing—I’d seen Tommy with Lizzy, and recently. I kept that to myself. “So what happened next?”
“I went to the Priest, told him what had happened. Hoped he’d help me, and instead he laughed in my face.”
“Not a surprise I suppose.”
Tommy narrowed his eyes at me.
“What did you do next?”
“I sat on it for a while, waiting to see if Lizzy showed up.”
“So you weren’t sure she’d actually been taken then?”
He looked annoyed. “She had been taken. I just didn’t know it at the time. I found out later what had actually happened to her after she escaped.”
I still wasn’t buying it. “Okay, so you sat on it. Then what?”
“When I couldn’t take it anymore, I told my old man what I could without cutting my own dick off. I knew once he found that the money used was his, he’d make something happen. But he fucking sat on it forever.”
“Why did he wait?”
“How the hell would I know?”
“Maybe because he wanted to see you squirm?” I taunted.
“Fuck you. He told me it was because he wanted me to handle it, but more than likely it was because he was afraid of stepping on the wrong toes.”
Skeptical, I raised a brow. “Whose wrong toes?”
“Like I said, you don’t have a fucking clue.”
“Then enlighten me. You want my help. Tell me.”
Hatred seethed from his pores. I could practically smell it. “He took his time deciding because he was afraid of starting a war. Word on the street was that his old gang, the Dorchester Heights Gang, was reassembling, and that they were about to step up their game. He was afraid if he got involved in the drug side of things, they’d have reason to go after the Blue Hill Gang.”
Anger rising at his lies, I shouted, “The Dorchester Heights Gang has been out of play for years. Stop bullshitting me.”
“You, your old man, and even the DEA are in the fucking dark. They’ve been gearing up for years and they’re about ready to reemerge bigger and better than they ever were. Probably even stronger than the Blue Hill Gang ever was, even in your grandfather’s day. Rumor has it they have political ties.”
“How the fuck would you know that?”
“Have you not been listening to a goddamn word I’ve told you?”
My mind spun. “The Priest is the mob boss of the Dorchester Heights Gang?”
He gave a huff of laughter. “You’re a smart one.”
Made sense that Patrick would be fearful. Drugs were the most lucrative venue for mob business, and being in that business would put a huge bulls-eye on his back. “And you’re trying to tell me you were involved with them. Why would they want you?”
His expression became pure hostility. “Because I’m an asset.”
“A pawn,” I mumbled.
His lips pursed. “You have no fucking clue what’s happening out there, and neither did your grandfather when he made that worthless deal with Patrick.”
Something twisted in my gut and I jumped to my feet. “What worthless deal?”
That fucking smile was back. “To end his legacy. His shadow was too large for Patrick to live under, especially from inside here. So Patrick had to get rid of him. Killian gave his life for the return of your old man’s.”
Oh God, I thought I might be sick. My old man was indentured to Patrick’s service because of my fuck-up, because when I was fifteen, I may or may not have gotten his daughter pregnant, and then instead of telling her father, she killed herself at my grandfather’s house, in his bathroom. And instead of me giving my life, which is the way it should have gone down, my father took responsibility for her death and gave his unlimited legal service and whatever else the Blue Hill Gang, or Patrick himself, needed.
A life for a life.
Dead or alive.
Tommy glanced at the clock on the wall. “Your old man should be free right . . . about . . . now.” He clicked his tongue in the most chilling way. “Tick tock.”
Anger boiled in my blood and before I knew what I was doing, I soared across the table and slammed his head down on the metal, over and over. “What do you mean? What are you talking about?”
Words were sputtering out but I couldn’t understand what he was saying.
That’s when I stopped the pounding. Switching gears, I wrapped my hands around his neck and brought his face right up to mine. “What the fuck are you talking about?” I screamed in his face.
His eyes were like flames of hatred. “Now you’ll know how it feels to lose someone you love,” he laughed as blood gushed out his nose.
“No, no, no!” I kept squeezing.
He was sputtering, choking, gasping for air, but all of my control was gone.
The doors burst open and I found myself being peeled off Tommy. “I’m going to fucking kill you!” I screamed.
“Hey, you need to calm down,” the corrections officer said to me as he shoved me out of the r
oom.
Even in the hall, I lunged for the door. My plan had gone to shit. There would be no visit from the Attorney General’s office now. But really, that plan had gone to shit the minute he started talking. We weren’t buddies. I wasn’t going to help him. This was never going to end well.
The officer shoved me against the wall. “You need to leave, now.”
Leave.
Yeah, I needed to get the hell out of there.
Hyped up, I moved quickly. My shoes slapped the pavement until they reached the parking lot. Hopping in my truck, I gunned it. Slamming on the gas. Go. Go. Go. I opened the window so I could breathe. Go. Go. Go. A sharp breeze whipped around me and jolted me out of the crazed reality I was swimming in. My hands gripped the wheel and my foot slammed on the brake as I skidded to a stop at the traffic light. Change. Change. Change. That burning red circle felt like a hot poker searing my skin.
Change. Change. Change. My eyes were shifting. Looking for signs of the oncoming traffic slowing. That’s when I caught a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror. My shirt and face were splattered with blood. With one hand on the wheel, I yanked off my tie and wiped my face.
That’s when it hit me.
Killian can’t be dead.
Killian isn’t dead.
Killian will not be dead.
But even as I said it, I had a sickening feeling in my gut.
No. Tommy was fucking with me. This was a game to him. This whole thing was a fucking game. My frustration was escalating. My desperation to get to my grandfather felt so crippling that my hands were shaking.
The light changed and I didn’t hesitate to pound the gas. Back on the road, I pulled out my phone and hit speed dial.
“Brighton House. How can I help you?”
My voice was shaky. “Can you connect me to Killian McPherson’s room?”
“One moment please.”
It started to ring. One, two, three times.
Come on, answer the fucking phone.
Four, five, six.
Answer the fucking phone.
Seven, eight, nine.
No answer. I threw my phone at the windshield.
Weaving in and out of the lanes of traffic, speeding as fast as I could, I finally arrived at Brighton House.