by Karr, Kim
Logan was glaring at everyone. He was all coiled power as he stood over the table in the break room at Molly’s. With his tie removed, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and the first couple of buttons of his white shirt undone, his muscles seemed to flex with his every movement. “No, it’s not,” he barked.
Declan cocked his head and looked toward Miles.
In response, Miles slid a piece of paper across the table and Declan picked it up and read it out loud. “Compound agent found on outside packaging is a perfect match to compound agent found in vehicle registered to Logan McPherson.”
“I know what the fucking report states,” Logan muttered, flopping down in a chair beside me and grabbing my hand. He laced our fingers together and I rubbed his skin, hoping it might calm him down. Agent Blanchet had given him a copy of the report with the information she had on him before she released him. He could be in a lot of trouble. This was my fault and there was nothing I could do to help him. I felt guilty. I felt helpless. I hated it. I had to do something.
“Then you know we don’t have much of a choice because I don’t care what that bitch told you, this is some persuasive evidence that you committed a felony, and you know as well as I do, she’ll use it if she has to.”
I shivered at the thought of what Logan had done for me. How he’d risked his entire future for the choice I’d made. And even though I’d do it again as long as it meant keeping Clementine safe and out of harm’s way, it didn’t temper my guilt.
Logan’s eyes burned into me and I knew he could see my despair. With a squeeze of my hand, he gave me a small smile. I gave him one in return to reassure him I was fine. Even so, he still flung Miles a filthy look.
Just then, my phone rang. I let go of Logan’s hand and quickly reached for my purse to silence it. I’d received three blocked calls at dinner. Including the one from yesterday, that made four in two days. Logan insisted on answering them himself, but whoever was on the other end hung up at the sound of his voice every time.
“Give it to me,” Logan said through gritted teeth.
I shook my head. “Let’s just ignore it.”
Miles and Declan were having their own conversation and weren’t aware of what was going on. “Maybe Elle can help,” Declan said, drawing my attention back to the table.
Miles cocked his head as if he understood what the glances and glares were about and then slid a pad of paper my way. “Can you show me what the keypad looks like?”
I knew it was my decision whether or not I tried to get into Michael’s panic room, but I still found myself glancing back to Logan. When I saw his face was twisted up in anguish, my heart banged in my chest. I hated what this was doing to him, but I knew it had to be done. We had to find out the truth. Both Logan’s and Clementine’s futures depended on it. With that in mind, I averted my gaze to the empty paper in front of me and proceeded to draw the rectangular box as I remembered it.
When I was done, my heartbeat had not yet slowed. If just the very idea of what I had agreed to do was making me nervous, how was I going to react when I was actually doing it? With a deep breath, I slid the paper back over to Miles. “The outside was stainless steel, the inside was black with blue number pads. Above the numbers were a red, a yellow, and a green light.”
He looked at my drawing. “It appears to be a standard digital two-relay keypad with a magnetic lock.”
“Which means?” Logan asked with a harshness in his tone that made me wince.
Miles ignored Logan’s hostility. “It means once you enter the assigned code, the number sequence will deactivate the magnetic lock, and the door will open. If the keypad is programmed to toggle mode, then when you enter the same code it will either release the lock again or reactivate it.”
“I don’t understand. Why would Elle have to release the lock again?”
“These types of locks are complicated. Once the lock is deactivated, there are two possible outcomes. The door could automatically close itself after thirty seconds or it might remain in the open position.”
“How will I know which one to expect?”
The sigh Miles gave told me the news wasn’t good. “You won’t. It’s programmed during the initial installation and I have no way of knowing.”
Logan cursed and scrubbed his jaw.
Stiffening my spine, I tried not to worry. Logan was doing enough of that for the two of us. “Okay, so worst outcome, it closes on its own. All I have to do is reenter the same code to get out. I got it,” I said, my throat thick, my tone sounding choked.
I hated the weakness I was showing.
“There’s one minor caveat.”
Logan cursed again.
“If the alarm was not installed in toggle mode, and the door has closed, then there will very likely be a different release code. If you can’t figure it out and you continually try, you could trigger the second relay. Most of the time, the relay is wired to the existing home burglar alarm and will set if off.”
Then Michael would know what I was up to.
“Can’t she just lodge the door open?” Declan asked.
“No, an alarm will sound if the door is programmed to close itself.”
The fluorescent lights in the ceiling bounced off Logan’s handsome face and I could see the torment in his expression. “So you’re telling me if the release code isn’t the same as the entry code, she’ll be stuck in the panic room.”
“Yes.”
“And there’s no way for you to determine this before she goes in there?”
“No. It all depends on how the door was initially set up, which unfortunately we don’t have any way of knowing.”
“Fuck that then. She’s not going in there. We can’t take that risk,” Logan said. Then he added, “I’ll do it.”
“No,” I gasped. “Michael would know.”
“She’s right, Logan,” Miles said, then he looked toward me. “Do you think you know the code? It would be a series of four numbers.”
My brain was thinking it through and I talked out loud. “His computer password was Clementine’s birthday, which was six numbers. It would make sense that the code for the panic room would be similar. Maybe just the month and date or the month and year?”
The corners of Miles’s mouth tipped up. “Sounds logical.”
Miles was all muscle. Large, broad, and ripped, he was intimidating looking. He also had way more girth than Logan’s lean body bore. But Logan didn’t seem intimidated by this. He didn’t seem to notice or care. My guess was that they were equally powerful.
“And if she’s wrong?” Logan asked tersely.
Miles, on the other hand, seemed oddly nervous in the presence of Logan, especially tonight. Perhaps it was due to Logan’s natural brooding demeanor or his obvious dislike for Miles’s plan. I wasn’t really sure, but as usual, he answered quickly. “If the house and panic room alarms are linked, a breach will trigger, and the entire house will be activated. If it is connected to the BPD, they’ll be alerted to an intruder. If they aren’t linked, then the lock will blink in a series of red flashes repeatedly until—”
“That’s it!” I yelled, clasping my hands together and grabbing the attention of all three men in the room.
Logan’s hand gripped my knee. “What’s it, Elle?”
“That night I saw someone in Michael’s study. I saw a red blinking glow. It had to be the keypad. And what if the person was my sister? She could have been trying to break into the panic room.”
Logan nodded in agreement.
“But she must not have gotten in. That’s why I saw the red blinking light. If Lizzy couldn’t guess what the code was, then it can’t be Clementine’s birthday or her name or anything of significance to do with her daughter.”
Everyone around the room looked grim.
Logan leaned forward and put his elbows on the table and his head down.
As it started to register, I realized that wasn’t good news at all. “How many attempts can I make until the ligh
t is activated?” I asked Miles.
“Three; after that it will lock you out from even attempting a new code and continue to blink until a bypass code is entered.”
“Shit!” Logan said, slamming his hands on the table. “She has to stop after two attempts. O’Shea isn’t stupid. If he sees the red light blinking, he’ll know someone was trying to break in and it won’t be too hard to guess who.”
Miles hunched over his laptop and hit a few keys. “You’re right. I say we put that idea aside for now, but at least we know that the panic room isn’t connected to the home alarm, which is good news because then O’Shea won’t get an alert.”
My phone beeped, this time with a text. I would have turned it off, but I was worried Michael might be trying to reach me, and I needed to be accessible for Clementine. I pulled it out of my purse again. The text read, Blessed are those who do not walk in step with the wicked or stand in the way that sinners take or sit in the company of mockers.
Shivers went through me.
“Let me see.”
I handed it to Logan.
He stared at it for the longest time. Perplexed, angered, and worried, he shoved my phone in his own pocket. “We’ll talk about this later.”
“Another message?” Declan asked.
Logan nodded. “A Bible verse. Doesn’t make much sense.”
“The Priest?”
“Would seem that way.”
“Can I see?” Miles asked.
Logan handed him the phone and Miles stared at the screen for a bit, as if in contemplation.
With Logan’s trust fund now accessible to him, he could afford to pay Miles and had asked him to work full time on this. Miles had agreed and taken a leave from his security job at the hotel. Sliding the phone back to Logan, he seemed to blink away his thoughts and went on. “Let’s focus on something different, like trying to gain access to O’Shea’s computer. Maybe we can learn something from what he has in his files that will help Elle come up with what the code could be.”
Logan nodded in agreement.
“Okay, what do I need to do?” I asked.
“That’s easy. Hang on,” Miles said, and then started tapping his keyboard.
The muscle in Logan’s jaw was tight with tension and his shoulders were rigid. I leaned over and placed my hand on his thigh and whispered, “Hey, it’s going to be okay. I’ll be careful.”
He sucked in a deep breath and took my hand. “I don’t like this at all. If there was any other choice, you’d stay clear of O’Shea altogether.”
I squeezed his hand. “You know I have to do this,” I whispered.
He gave me a nod and stood up. I watched as he paced the room and then came back to his empty chair and gripped it with his hands. “What are you looking for, Miles?”
“O’Shea’s IP address.”
“You can find that?” I asked.
He gave me a grin. “I can do just about anything.”
“How?”
Miles turned the computer toward me. “It’s something I learned a long time ago working a short stint in white-collar crimes. Do you have an old email from him?”
I nodded and took control of the keyboard, logging into my Gmail account. “Here’s one,” I said.
Miles faced the computer again and started tapping some keys. “And . . . I got it.”
“Won’t he know?”
“Not at all,” Miles reassured me as he turned the laptop around. “Here you go. Just enter his user ID and password and we’re in.”
My fingers were shaking and I think Logan knew how nervous I was, because he moved behind me and placed his warm hands on my shoulders. This helped calm my nerves, and I typed Michael’s email address in the user name box. I had used that the other day and it worked. Then I typed Clementine’s birthday in the password field. Incorrect password flashed across the screen.
“Try again.” Miles pointed to the screen.
Slowly, I typed it for the second time, careful to hit every right key. Incorrect password flashed again. I glanced up, feeling defeated. “He must have changed it.”
“Are you sure you have the right password?” Miles asked.
I nodded and swallowed, more nervous than ever. Maybe Michael was more suspicious than I thought he was. Or maybe he had traced the site I had been on and knew I was lying to him. I hadn’t divulged any of the lies I’d told to Michael yesterday to either Logan or Miles.
“Do you think he writes his passwords down anywhere?”
“I’m not sure, but I know he jots a number of things down. I’m going over there tomorrow to have breakfast with Clementine. I’ll go in his office then and look around.”
The noise that escaped Logan’s throat sounded like a growl. “If he’s on to you, he’s not going to leave his password anywhere.”
I tried to calm him by grasping his hands, which were still resting on my shoulders. “You’re probably right.”
Miles said, “Chances would be slim anyway, but the other thing you could do is install a program on his computer that will allow me to monitor his keystrokes so I can gain access that way.” He started to tap the keyboard again and then pulled a small thumb drive from the side. “Insert this in one of his computer ports and when it loads, then hit install. It’s untraceable and the next time he logs on, I’ll be able to see every stroke.”
“Elle, I don’t want you doing this,” Logan hissed as he took his seat beside me.
I needed to come clean. To tell him I doubted that Michael would ever hurt me. That he wanted me to be with him. But the fact that I had entertained those plans when I thought Logan had left me made me feel so guilty that I had a hard time getting the words out. Before I could push them up my throat, the door to the employee lounge flung open.
“Sorry about that, boys,” Frank said, dragging his arm across his forehead. “Molly’s going to burn the fucking place down with all these new electronics she’s installing. Her latest gimmick is some fancy margarita machine that—” His eyes fell on me and for a moment they seemed haunted. I’d seen that look before on Sean McPherson the first time he saw me. The ghost of Emily Flannigan, I thought this time. It should have bothered me, but it didn’t. Logan assured me I was nothing like her beyond a superficial similarity and that what he felt for me had nothing to do with her.
There was a chorus of hey, how are you from around the table.
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t know we were in mixed company,” Frank said, and he wiped his hands on his jeans before walking toward me and extending one. “Frank Reilly.”
I smiled at him. “Elle Sterling.”
I’d seen him once before, but he wasn’t paying attention to me that night. He’d just wanted his daughter away from Logan. I wondered if with Patrick in jail and Tommy dead, he still felt that way.
“So what did you need?” He directed his question toward Logan, extending his hand and then pulling Logan toward him for a slight hug.
Frank was a big, billowy man. He’d been an informant for the BPD for years and had been the link between Agent Blanchet and Logan while Logan was being coerced to assist the DEA. As I watched the interaction between the two men, I couldn’t help but observe the fondness Frank felt toward Logan. Odd; up until now I thought he didn’t care for him.
But then again, he had allowed the break room at his pub to serve as the meeting place for this renegade task force, which, depending on what was really going on, could put him in harm’s way.
“Got a minute to sit down?” Logan asked him.
“Yeah, sure,” he said, and took a seat in one of the flimsy folding chairs that surrounded the small rectangular table.
The room was a hodgepodge of items that looked to be worn-out pieces from days better seen in the pub. Broken beer signs hung on the wall. The table was warped and the wood laminate was peeling off. Of the six chairs surrounding it, only two were sturdy enough to hold any real weight. I was worried the ones Miles and Frank were sitting in might just collapse.
&nb
sp; “I want to pick your brain,” Logan started.
Frank eyed him warily but gave him a slight nod.
“My grandfather told me a story once about Mickey O’Shea.” He paused for a moment, and I knew the thought of Killian McPherson still made his heart heavy. I could see it on his face. With the slightest shake of his head he pushed the sorrow away. “He told me that when Mickey was a young man he went to prison, and that when he got out of prison he started up his own gang,”
“Yeah. They were small-time, though, a skeleton crew of twenty men at most. At the time, Paddy Flannigan was his number two. I don’t know how much income they generated. I know they were extorting protection payments from the strip clubs, which is how Paddy got the idea to run his businesses through them, lots of cash I guess. But back then, they ran the cash through Mickey’s mother’s flower shop.”
Logan nodded as if he already knew that.
Declan sat up straight.
And Miles eased his chair closer to the table.
“What do you know about Mickey?”
Frank looked uneasy.
“What?”
He shook his head. “I can’t say.”
“Is it about his gang?”
“His wife,” Frank said flatly.
Everyone perked up. “What about her?” Logan asked.
Frank closed his eyes for a moment before speaking. “Have you seen a picture of his wife?”
I had, but everyone else around the room shook their head.
"Rose O’Shea was a knockout. Picture Maureen O’Hara mixed with Lana Turner and eyes the color of the clearest blue sky.” He seemed to shake his head at the very thought of her but then cleared his throat, probably when he remembered I was in the room. “She was one of those women who turned every man’s head no matter if he was in love, straight or gay, and she knew it. She loved the attention and often sought the company of other men. Word on the street was that she was a tease, which was ironic because she claimed to be such a good Catholic girl. Went to church twice a week.”
Something like anticipation crested under my skin. The way he was talking drew all of us in, even the man I loved sitting beside me.
Logan crossed his arms over his chest and stretched those long legs. “Do you know how she died? I mean people say it was gang related, but that’s all. Never any details.”