Touch of Dark: Dublin Devils 3

by Laurence, Selena

  "I think we both lost something today, Detective."

  An image of Finn’s face above hers as he slid inside her body flew through her mind, and she knew he was right.

  Chapter 19

  "Sorry, Watson, I know it’s tedious, but this has to be spotless. We’re looking at the death penalty now.”

  Fuck. Life in prison was one thing, the death penalty was an entirely different animal.

  “Okay, when we got there he told me I could go, and he went off up the trail to meet Riley. Obviously, I didn’t know he was going to meet Riley yet, at that point.”

  Don sighed, and Keira tried not to smile. She was going to make this a real chore for him—and enjoy every moment.

  “But you didn’t leave.”

  “Of course not!” She looked at him like he was insane. “He was an escaped fugitive. I wasn’t going to just drive away, leaving him at large.”

  “What happened next?”

  She spoke slowly and carefully. They were recording her statement and she wanted to make sure everyone heard each word clearly.

  “I followed him where he’d gone up the dirt track. A minute or two later, I heard voices, his and another man—with an Irish accent.”

  “Riley,” Bruce prompted.

  “I didn’t know that yet,” she corrected.

  Bruce rolled his eyes and waved his hand to prompt her to move along.

  “They were arguing. Something about the Dublin Devils. I didn’t hear all of it, but the gist I got was that Riley wanted Cian to hand over the reins to the organization.”

  Don grunted in disgust.

  “Cian had taken my phone and disarmed me, so I didn’t have a weapon, then things escalated, and the next thing I know I hear a scuffle.”

  “Define scuffle,” Bruce instructed. “What kinds of sounds are those?”

  “Grunts. Literal scuffling noises from shoes on dirt, and a fist hitting flesh. I stepped to the edge of the clearing to get a better view, and that’s when Riley saw me. He leveled his gun at me, but before he could do or say anything else, Cian jumped on him, knocking his gun arm to one side. They wrestled for the gun and it went off.”

  “And then you managed to retake custody of MacFarlane how?” Don asked, skepticism dripping from him like icicles from a Swiss Chalet.

  Keira gave him a tight smile. “While Cian was distracted by the wrestling match with Riley, I saw my weapon on the ground where he’d dropped it, and picked it up. By the time the gun they’d wrangled over went off, I had mine trained on him. He didn’t have any options left.”

  Bruce sighed as he reached over and turned off the recorder. He shook his head. “I’m not sure what’s so special about you, but those MacFarlane boys sure seem to like you. That’s twice they’ve saved you from some other criminal.”

  Keira shrugged. “Maybe they don’t kill women. Some sort of weird Irish gang thing.”

  Don snorted. “Please. Trust me when I say, Cian MacFarlane wouldn’t know honor if it bit him in his Irish ass.”

  Keira smiled on the inside. Cian MacFarlane knew full well what honor was. The honorable love he had for Lila. The honorable respect he had for his brothers. The honorable sacrifices he was willing to make over and over again to protect people he cared about. Keira was willing to bet Cian MacFarlane had more honor in his pinky finger than Don the FBI agent had ever known.

  "But whatever it is, Watson,” Don continued, “you’re the hero of the day. I thought for sure you were done for this world when he took you out of here. But you managed to keep him from killing that guard, and then got him back under control, even as he killed another psychopath."

  Keira gave him a bland smile. "I’m frequently underestimated, Agent Wagner."

  "Let’s get a print-out of this statement you can sign, then you can go. Your boss has been phoning here every ten minutes for the last hour, wanting to know when you’ll be done."

  “Yes, my boss likes to keep me on a tight leash. He has to know what I’m doing at all times,” Keira said with a small smile.

  Chapter 20

  Two Years Later

  Keira flashed her badge to the guard at the entrance to the cell block.

  "Happy Tuesday, Detective," Martin said. He’d been the guard that worked this shift for the last nine months or so. He’d lasted longer than most, and Keira liked seeing him each week.

  "Happy Tuesday to you, Martin. Is he ready for me?"

  "Yes, ma’am. Set up in your usual room."

  "You double-checked those cuffs?"

  "Personally."

  "Thanks."

  As the large metal door clicked and buzzed, she pushed and it swung open. She nodded to the two guards in the corridor before making her way to the third door on the left. Opening it, her heart jumped for just a split second when she saw the dark head bowed over the metal table.

  Finn.

  Then he looked up, giving her that half smile that had become his signature, and her heart started beating again. That smile could never be Finn’s—it was as if he knew he was supposed to do it but couldn’t quite summon the wherewithal to complete the task. Finn’s smile was full, and genuine, and never cold.

  "Hi," she said softly before taking the seat on the opposite side of the table.

  "Hey," Cian answered.

  Her gaze roamed over his face, searching for hints, trying to peel away a layer of deception. These days, Cian didn’t deceive anyone regarding his crimes, only about his mental state.

  She saw the bruise along one side of his jaw.

  "What happened?" She pointed to the bluish mark, her voice carrying an edge that served as a warning.

  "Someone caught me unaware in the kitchen while I was on duty. He only got in one sucker punch. Trust me, I came out the better of the two of us."

  Her gut ached, and she swallowed the anger that threatened to overtake her. He’d told her it wasn’t productive. That every time she interceded on his behalf, it only made things harder for him—the other inmates thought he was informing, the guards wanted retribution for the shit they got from the administration. But it made her sick to be so powerless. She was, unfortunately, all he had in the world, and she took the responsibility very seriously.

  For two years, Cian MacFarlane had sat in a cell in Statesville while his lawyers, the DEA, the FBI, the CPD, and the US Attorney for the Northern District of Illinois wrangled over the details of his charges, the evidence, the remnants of his organization, the very air he breathed, it seemed some days.

  Contrary to what everyone had expected, he hadn’t strode into the maximum security facility and challenged the resident gang lords for control. He’d promptly picked up a college text book and begun to pursue a degree in business. And while he’d been savvy enough to form certain alliances to insure his survival, he’d never joined a faction, nor tried to form his own.

  There were three former MacFarlane employees incarcerated with him, men who’d been locked up long before he’d taken over the organization from his father. They were always willing to help him out, and when he needed it, he asked. But most of the time, he didn’t need it. The occasional assault happened—sometimes because he’d invited it—but for the most part, Cian had garnered enough respect on the inside to be granted his solitude.

  And in the end, Keira knew that’s all he really wanted. To be left alone with his grief.

  But no matter how much he might protest, every Tuesday she showed up like clockwork. She’d be damned if she’d leave him all alone in the world. And because he’d forbidden his mother from visiting, she served as the conduit to Angela, eating Sunday dinners with the lonely widow to tell her how Cian was doing.

  "How’s your new cellmate?" she asked. "Or was it him who sucker punched you?"

  "No. Not him. And he’s fine. In for armed robbery. Not interested in causing trouble. Mostly wants to do his time and get out as fast as possible. Has a couple of kids and a girlfriend on the outside."

  She nodded.

 
"Did you get the Econ midterm back?" She smiled. A mobster in college was something she might never get used to, but it entertained her to no end. Cian was as serious about his online classes as he was about everything else.

  "An A," he told her with that half smile. She raised her hand and he high-fived her across the table, his shackles jingling as he did.

  "Did Martin do a good job with those cuffs?" she asked, winking.

  Cian’s mouth drew into a tight line. "He’s always very conscientious about them. If he could measure the distance between my skin and the metal to adhere to some guideline, he would."

  She laughed. "He’s a good guy, Martin. If you ever need help, he’s the guy to ask. He’s squeaky clean. Has a wife and kids, so this job is stability and the benefits they need."

  "Tell me about your week," Cian said, changing the subject.

  He never wanted to talk about how he survived inside, nor how he would survive should something go wrong. Keira knew that as many enemies as the Dublin Devils had made over the years, Cian’s life was at risk all the time. The fact he’d only been attacked a handful of times since he arrived was mostly because no one knew where Liam, Connor, and Finn were, and whether they might show up to exact revenge on those who’d harmed their older brother. Keira kept that legend alive by leaking stories of seeing one or more of the MacFarlane brothers in and around Chicago.

  But eventually, it was going to become clear that his brothers weren’t coming back, and Cian was going to become much more vulnerable. In his early thirties, Cian had many, many years of incarceration ahead of him, whether the Federal death penalty was enacted or not. The most dangerous years weren’t here yet.

  "I have a new case," she told him. "An Eastern European girl was found dumped in the river downtown. We think she was a sex slave, probably the Russians again."

  His gaze narrowed. "Tell me the case," he demanded.

  Keira smiled, got comfortable, and began to tell him the details.

  Because for two years, Cian MacFarlane had repaid Keira for her help rescuing Lila by consulting on her cases. And she now had the highest arrest and conviction record of any detective in the CPD. She was one hundred percent Ace Watson’s daughter in the eyes of the CPD. But no one knew she had a secret weapon. Instead, they thought she held a grudge like no one’s business.

  The CPD assumed that she visited Cian MacFarlane each week to harass him because the only case she’d never solved was the murder of Danny O’Reilly. It only enhanced her reputation as a badass. There wasn’t a cop or criminal in Chicago who wanted to take on Keira Watson.

  Thirty minutes later, her hands held a notepad full of information that was going to help her catch the Russians who had begun to infiltrate Chicago again eight months ago. But her heart held an ache she couldn’t seem to assuage no matter how many times she visited.

  "He’d be proud of you," Cian said quietly as she began to gather her things to leave.

  She swallowed hard once. Most of the time, she did a good job of not thinking about him. She worked eighteen hours a day, saw Cian, ate with Angela, and occasionally stopped by to visit her own mother. She didn’t have time for a social life, being a cop was her entire world.

  But on Tuesdays, when she came to see Cian, it was like visiting a ghost of the only man she’d ever even come close to handing her heart to. And sometimes late at night, in the same studio apartment she’d had since she began on the police force, she would lie in bed and close her eyes and dream that Finn was there, touching her, whispering to her, talking to her about a future they’d never have—trips together, a beautiful house, maybe even a baby.

  Sometimes, Keira wasn’t sure if the ache inside her when she looked at Cian was because she felt his pain or because she missed Finn so much nothing was ever going to be okay again.

  She gave Cian a smile that was her own version of his—weak and perfunctory.

  "I hope he’s happy, wherever he is."

  "He is," Cian said confidently. "I made sure of it."

  "I’ll see you next week," she told him, reaching across the table and touching his hand for just a moment.

  He nodded, then she stood and walked to the door. Before she pounded on it to have the guard open up, she turned and looked at him over her shoulder.

  "Don’t ask me how I know, because I can’t explain it, but this isn’t the end for you, Cian."

  He didn’t answer, just gazed at her affectionately. "Thanks for the hope."

  She nodded and knocked sharply on the door. The guard opened it and she made her way down the corridor, past institutional gray walls, hard concrete floors, electronic locks, thick metal doors, and armed personnel. When she emerged into the sunshine of the early afternoon, she inhaled a deep breath and took a moment to turn back and look at the squat building surrounded by razor wire, block walls, and guard towers.

  No, she thought to herself, this wasn’t where Cian MacFarlane’s story ended. And for some reason, her gut told her something was going to shift very soon. Something was coming, and it was coming for him.

  * * *

  "You want in on this, MacFarlane?" the leader of the Latin Kings asked as he tipped his chin at Cian across the table.

  Cian looked up from his book. The Kings had a running poker game at lunchtime, the bets made with peas or corn or whatever food item no one wanted to eat. But of course, the veggies equated to grams of smack—win twenty peas, you’d get twenty grams of heroin—a stake. You sold it, repaid the Kings, then kept the rest as profit. It was the way the Kings got inmates dealing for them. Their prison business was active and very profitable.

  "No, thanks," Cian answered.

  Mateo Calabrazos, the leader of the Kings in Statesville, smiled sadly at Cian. "Damn, MacFarlane, you ain’t ever going to get paroled, might as well have some fun while you’re spending the next sixty years here."

  Cian chuckled. "I’ll keep it in mind."

  The Kings went back to their game and Cian went back to his book. Or pretended to, anyway. It was for an English class. He’d been worried when he’d seen the college was going to make him take a little bit of every subject—some English, some math, some science. He’d been an adequate student only, getting mostly B’s in high school to keep his mother appeased. He’d always known his path was already chosen and doing well in school had absolutely nothing to do with it. But then he’d enrolled in prison school, and when he’d opened the first book, Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath, he’d understood why it was necessary.

  Now he was poring over the Irish novel Amongst Women. It was as if his father and the Dublin Devils had been brought back to life on the pages about an IRA soldier and his family. It was painful, and these days, Cian reveled in anything painful, even sought it out. He couldn’t ever let Keira know, but most of the time when he took a few punches from another inmate, it was because he’d courted it, craving the physical pain, the punishment.

  It was the only way he felt anything. It was the reminder that no matter what, he was still alive. He wasn’t positive being alive was something worthwhile, but he was willing to suspend disbelief for a bit longer.

  After lunch, when he’d been returned to his cell, Cian laid down on his bottom bunk and closed his eyes. His cellmate had ended up in Statesville because armed robbery got serious time, but the younger man wasn’t much of a criminal, and Cian knew the kid was afraid of him. Cian didn’t do much to disabuse him of that fear. It worked for Cian’s purposes. The kid stayed quiet and left him alone. That’s all Cian wanted from anyone these days.

  Keira’s visits and school were the only things he was willing to rouse himself for. School because he had to have some solace in the world or he would have asked someone to finish him off instead of just giving him the occasional beating. Keira because he couldn’t stand to disappoint her. She was a piece of Finn, and he somehow felt that connection every time he sat across the fucking table from her.

  He laid his book on his stomach, arms folded over it, and let his min
d simply go where it wanted. It was a different kind of pain, but one he craved just as much as any other. It was the special pain only Lila could bring. Because whenever he stopped, closed his eyes, and waited, she would come. He heard her voice first this time. The husky, cool tone of it.

  I told you not to do this, she chided.

  It was the only way, he replied in his mind.

  But I miss you.

  He saw her now, standing before him, a mirage that made his heart hurt so badly he was genuinely afraid it might break in two. But if he died with the image of Lila before him, he wouldn’t regret it for a moment.

  Her hair was long and loose, like it used to be when she’d wake in the morning. And she was standing in front of the wall of windows in his penthouse, the morning sun glowing behind her, the city skyline a backdrop to her perfection. He stepped forward, his hand reaching out to touch her.

  Her deep brown eyes widened. Cian, she whispered.

  Please, his mind’s voice was raspy, as if it hadn’t been used in years. I need you so badly.

  I’m sorry. Her expression mirrored the sympathy in her voice. You sent me away.

  He reached for her. Lila, no. Please don’t go, he begged. But she was already fading into mist, disappearing out the glass. Dissolving, leaving nothing but her sweet scent, and the whispers that haunted him every moment of every day.

  I love you, Cian. I’ll always love you.

  He gritted his teeth as the fantasy faded and the sounds of the prison came back into focus. Men swearing, coughing, banging on bars, shouting to friends, threatening enemies. In his own cell, he heard the new kid muttering to himself as he read a letter from his wife. And in his own head he heard his father say, I always knew you’d fuck it up.

  No, Pop, he thought with a surge of rage. I did exactly what I set out to. I ruined your life’s work and saved my brothers. You lost, old man. You lost.