"I’m going to put you in a safe house," he told Marty brusquely. "Michael Riley is dangerous, and you’re the only contact he knows right now."
Marty paled. "I have a wife…"
"Then she’ll go with you." He gave the man a wry smile. "This will all be over soon, and then you’ll be free." He stopped, wondering how much he should divulge. Marty had been a loyal and extremely competent employee all these years. "You have your retirement plan in place?" he asked. Every man who worked in organized crime knew that retirement was a euphemism for escaping the law and hiding out someplace warm without extradition agreements.
"Yes," Marty answered, standing from his seat. "I do."
"Good," Cian answered. "Be ready with that. And until then, the men will help you and your wife go someplace safe."
Marty looked him in the eye one last time, then put out his hand. "Thank you, Mr. MacFarlane. It’s been a pleasure working for you."
Cian nodded, shook his hand, then watched as he walked out of the room.
He held the cheap cell phone in his hand and stared at the number that would reach Michael Riley.
"I’ve got you," he murmured before he began to tap on the keyboard.
Chapter 4
"Well, if it isn't CPD's best and brightest," Agent Don Wagner said with a raised eyebrow as Keira walked into the bullpen of the FBI offices in Chicago.
"Agent Wagner," she said with an insincere smile. She didn't like Feds to begin with, they were all cocky and dismissive, but she disliked Don and Bruce even more. They'd locked her out of the overall investigation into the MacFarlanes from day one, leaving her nothing but the murder of Danny O’Reilly.
"To what do we owe this..." Bruce's voice faded as he looked her up and down once, then leered. "Pleasure?" He drew the word out like a tongue sliding across skin and Keira choked down the nausea that rolled through her. What a fucking prick, she thought while gritting her teeth. She could not afford to get called into O'Connor's office today or else she might take pudgy man-child Bruce down with a well-placed roundhouse kick.
"I want to talk about Cian MacFarlane."
She almost felt, rather than saw, the way Don’s frame stiffened, but it definitely happened. While it was no surprise the Feds would have plenty of information on the MacFarlanes, what had been unusual was the way they clammed up whenever she mentioned Cian in particular.
"What exactly did you want to talk about?" Don said, leading her to a nearby conference room and shutting the door behind them. He reached into a dorm-sized fridge and grabbed a plastic water bottle, holding it up to offer her one. She shook her head, lip curling at his wastefulness. Fucking Gen Xer.
She sat at the opposite side of the table from the two men. "The coroner has confirmed that Danny's death was violent in a way that indicates emotion, not an ordered hit."
Don leaned back and smiled benignly. He was the smarter of the two men, and the better agent, but also the one she trusted the least.
"Someone was very upset with Mr. O’Reilly and took that emotion out on his face before finishing him off. It was done with fists and feet, not a weapon. Cian MacFarlane is a boxer, isn't he?"
Don took a slow sip from his planet-burning bottle of water. "Yeah, so we've heard, but so are three fourths of the gangsters in town. Not really that exceptional."
"But three fourths of the gangsters in town aren't Danny's boss." She simply narrowed her gaze and waited for one of the two to respond.
Bruce knew he was in over his head and kept his oily mouth shut.
"You think Cian killed his man?" Don asked neutrally.
"I think it's a pretty damn strong possibility," she answered.
"And you're bringing this to us because...?"
"Because I think you know a lot more about Cian than you're letting on." She leaned forward, elbows on the table top. "If I were to guess, Cian's been an informant at some point or another. Maybe he's gone rogue now--" She watched Bruce's eyes widen, pupils flaring. Bingo. She'd hit the nail on the head. "Yeah, I think he's gone rogue," she continued. "But even so, you know a hell of a lot about him—his habits, his hidey holes." She narrowed her gaze and addressed Don specifically. "I want the info, and if you give it to me then I'll do the leg work for you."
Don snorted. "You think we can't get out on the street and find a missing mobster?"
"I think you're stretched thin and Cian hasn't re-appeared since the dustup with the Russians. You don't want to think he's taken off for good, but you're getting nervous." She paused. "I also think if I can dig him up and charge him with murder, you'll have more leverage to get what you need out of him."
Don burst out in a bitter chuckle then. "You don't know shit about Cian MacFarlane, Detective. Your piddly-ass murder charge won't budge him. We already have all the leverage we need." He paused, one eyebrow raised. "We have his brother."
Keira kept her expression neutral. So, Don’s pride was how to pry him open. He was finally divulging a bit, but only because he couldn’t stand the idea that Keira might best him. She filed that information away to use when needed.
"You’re saying the kind of guy who would have killed Danny O’Reilly with his bare hands like that gives a shit if you put his brother in prison? Everything I've ever heard about Cian is that he's a stone-cold mob boss. I find it hard to believe he gives a damn about his brother getting locked up—especially this particular brother. Liam maybe, but Finn?” She shrugged.
"Let me tell you something about Cian," Don said, tossing his now empty plastic water bottle into the trashcan by the door. "He only loves three things in the world, and their names are Liam, Finn, and Connor. He'll do whatever it takes to protect them, and his ultimate goal is to get them out of the life and stashed someplace safe."
Keira blinked in surprise. "Out of the life?"
Bruce nodded. "Been working it for years. He has a long game, and it includes his brothers safely out of Chicago."
"So he is an informant." She gave them a small smile, because she knew she was right.
Don shrugged. "I can't reveal that kind of information, you know that."
She nodded, but he'd just confirmed it all the same.
"But if your assessment is right and he were an informant, that means he was exchanging info to keep his brothers out of prison."
Both men simply gave her dead stares.
"So as long as you have Finn in custody, you know Cian will turn back up."
"What else did you need, Detective?" Don prompted.
"I want to know where Cian might be."
Don stood. "I genuinely have no idea," he said, making it clear the conversation was over.
"But you won't mind if I lean on Finn a little more?"
"Do whatever you want with Finn. He's serving our purposes just by sitting in his apartment with an electronic tracker on."
She nodded. Okay then.
"Thanks, boys," Keira said with a smile. "As usual, it's been a joy." Then she walked to the corner of the room and pulled Don's used water bottle from the trash. "Never waste an opportunity," she advised, before tossing the bottle into the adjacent recycling bin.
* * *
Keira left the high rise that housed Finn’s condo, her boot heels tapping the sidewalk like the tiny paper pouches of gunpowder kids tossed on Fourth of July.
She’d leaned on him again and, once again, he’d refused to play ball. Damn him. Damn Finn MacFarlane and his split personality. One half charming, sweet genius, the other seasoned, hard-shelled mobster. She never knew which she'd get. And if she were being honest, she didn't know how to handle either one of them anyway.
Keira’s father had been the best detective CPD had ever had. Joe Watson had broken cases that were legendary, capturing bank robbers, serial killers, and more than one mobster. He’d been courted by the FBI, the ATF, and once, the CIA had even come calling. But Joe had turned them all down. He was a Chicago boy, born and bred, having lived in the same Norwood Park neighborhood his whole life.
And after he was gunned down in a gang-ordered hit, Keira had committed to taking care of his own, as well. She’d finished high school and enrolled in the police academy, never looking back as she worked to become worthy of her dad’s legacy.
And at first, Keira had been hailed as a hero, of sorts. The CPD had loved the story of Joe "The Ace" Watson’s feisty daughter joining the force to fill his legendary shoes. But the adulation had faded as Keira worked her way, rather ordinarily, through the police academy, then the ranks of beat cop. She wasn’t sure what they’d all expected, but she knew she hadn’t provided it. And maybe it was simply that the CPD was still a man’s world. If she’d been Joe’s son, she could have related to the guys who’d been his admirers and sycophants. But as a twenty-something woman? Not a chance.
Even now that she’d made detective just shy of her thirtieth birthday, no one seemed overly impressed. Nor overly interested. They had no problem trotting out her dad’s legacy when it came to handing down assignments, though. "This is a tough first assignment, but you’re The Ace’s daughter. I’m giving you the opportunity of a lifetime, make your dad proud." The problem came afterwards when all she heard were things like—right on cue, her phone buzzed and she saw her boss’s name scroll across the screen.
"Shit," she muttered, looking around for a place to step out of the pedestrian traffic and take the call. She found a small niche with an awning on an abandoned newsstand a few yards away and swiped the phone screen as she beelined for it.
"This is Watson," she said, tucking herself into the niche, back to the building so she could keep her eyes on everything around her.
"Keira. Where the fuck are you?" Commander Magnus O’Connor, snapped.
"I just left Finn MacFarlane’s condo. Trying to see what I could get out of him about Cian’s location."
She heard a snort of derision and she could just imagine O’Connor shaking his head in disgust. "For the tenth time, Finn MacFarlane ain’t going to give up his brother, Watson. You just wasted an entire morning on this bullshit. I told you that you’ll only find Cian by finding his boys. There are normally MacFarlane men crawling all over this city, and now, suddenly, the only ones we can find are standing outside Robbie’s hospital room door?"
Keira sighed and pulled a quarter from her pants pocket as a homeless man held out his hand in request. She dropped it into his palm and his lips tightened as he looked at her. Really? His expression communicated. She shrugged apologetically. "It’s all I have," she mouthed. The guy nodded and turned to walk away.
"What the fuck was that?" Commander O’Connor shouted. "You need to speak up, Watson." The man shouted all the time about everything.
Before Keira could answer him, her gaze was drawn back to Finn’s building down the block. Amidst the stream of people walking by, cell phones held to ears, headphones jammed on heads, she saw someone in a worker’s uniform turn down the tiny gap between Finn’s building and the one next to it. It was one of those gaps that existed between high rises and served no purpose except to attract trash, rats, and the occasional junkie.
Something in Keira’s gut tightened the way it always did when she caught the scent. That was the only way she knew to describe it. As if she were a bloodhound and she’d sniffed the air and found that one odor to chase, out of all the millions of others.
"Sorry, Sir, gotta’ go, might have a lead." Then she hung up on O’Connor and stepped back onto the sidewalk, striding rapidly toward Finn’s building, weaving around people and dogs, her pace increasing with each step until she was nearly jogging. But when she reached the gap where the man had disappeared, she slowed, briefly placing a hand on the butt of her Glock 22 beneath her trench coat out of habit.
Leaning against the corner of the building so she could peer into the gap, she held her phone in the palm of her hand and pretended to look at it. Just a harried city dweller, taking a moment to return a text while she rested out of the foot traffic.
Her gaze shot down the gap, finding it just as she’d expected, filthy and abandoned. But at the end was the backside of another building on the parallel block, creating a dead end. And yet, the man she’d seen enter wasn’t there. Keira glanced around the street behind her, satisfied no one was particularly interested in what a small nondescript brunette was doing, and entered the gap herself.
The space was much cooler than the surrounding area, the buildings that lined it making it nearly impossible for sunlight to penetrate. A rat was munching on an old apple nearby, and Keira tried not to grimace as the nasty thing sat up and stared at her, taking a moment to hiss before it scampered into a hole in the foundation of one of the buildings.
She drew her gun, keeping the muzzle pointed down as she slid along the narrow space, nothing but brick and concrete walls on either side of her. There was nothing and no one to see by the time she’d made it halfway to the back of the chute. But there had to be something else here or the man she’d seen was an escape artist.
Her gaze travelled upwards, as she wondered if he’d somehow climbed out, but again, there was no sign of climbing gear and no windows on either building.
Then she took a step forward, and there it was. A metal door recessed into the side of Finn’s building. It was painted gunmetal gray and didn’t have a handle on the outside. There was no way anyone would ever see it until they were literally on top of it, as Keira now was.
What exactly was it for? she wondered. There were no trash containers in this space. She looked around again with a fresh eye. No utility meters, no gas or water lines that she could see. She stood outside the door and listened, carefully. All quiet. Reaching under the metal plate that covered the latch, she tugged gently. There was movement, so she tugged harder. The door opened, just a few inches. She paused, heart racing a touch as she listened again, gun fully up and ready now.
She peered around the edge of the door and was greeted by a set of concrete stairs that led only one direction—down.
"Mechanical room?" she murmured to herself.
She stepped inside the small landing, pulling the door closed behind her, but making sure to leave it unlatched so it didn’t make a sound. The humming of a pump or a motor was all she heard as she silently began to descend the stairs, back to the wall, gun at the ready.
As she was about to step onto the final stair, she heard a small sound from the hallway beyond the stairwell. It was a man’s voice. He swore softly, then everything went quiet again. Keira moved around the corner, finding herself at one end of a long corridor, metal doors and grates along each side. She froze when she saw him materialize from the darkness at the far end of the hall. He was big—blocky and tall—wearing dark pants, a dark shirt that had the general shape of a work shirt, and a dark baseball cap pulled down low to hide his face.
"Great," she muttered to herself. "Perfect criminal clothes."
He was looking inside a panel in the wall, his head dipped inside the space. Keira stuck to the far side of the hallway where the lighting was dimmer, and quietly made her way toward him. Her progress was painfully slow, but he seemed so engrossed with what he was doing he gave no indication he noticed her.
She was working entirely on that gut instinct she hoped was inherited from The Ace. It told her that if this man were a legit worker he would have never entered the building from the forgotten door on the side of the building. He would have come down the freight elevator that also opened into the basement. Her gut also told her that simply announcing she was a cop and asking him what he was doing wouldn’t go well, so she operated with as much stealth as possible.
She was only a few yards away when he suddenly moved so fast it was like a blur. He lunged, one hand grabbing her gun arm and slamming it against the concrete wall, sending the gun flying from her grip. It clatter
ed to the hard floor, sliding down the hall. Meanwhile, his other arm pressed her into the wall at her back, forearm landing on her windpipe. She tried to get a knee to his balls, but he was faster, and strong as an ox, moving his leg between hers in an instant.
"Shh, shh," he warned as she opened her mouth to scream bloody murder. He increased the pressure on her throat and her adrenaline shot up as she realized he could kill her in a few seconds flat.
"You sure are pretty for a cop. I guess that’s why we heard he likes you," the deep voice said. She saw a flash of blue eyes then, and white teeth. She struggled to take a full breath, his big arm flexing as he watched her for a moment more. "I know you’re just doing your job," he told her with a small smile. "But I’m just doing mine."
He shifted so his hand was wrapped around her throat. Then he squeezed. The last thing she saw before she lost consciousness was a small tattoo on her attacker’s neck. A shamrock with devil horns.
Chapter 5
Cian stood outside the small airplane hangar at the abandoned airfield and looked around warily. There were no other cars, no other buildings, nothing. He reached up and twisted the dark baseball cap on his head so the bill was facing backwards. His dark-wash jeans and black Henley blended in with the night, as did his dark hair, leaving his blue eyes to glitter eerily in the moonlight that penetrated the velvet around him.
"You know if I were doing my job right I’d never let you go in there alone," his guard murmured.
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