“You’re starting your new job today?”
I glanced back at him. “Why is it you seem to know more about my life than I do?”
“You learn a lot when you have nothing to do but stand around and watch someone.”
“You could go home.”
He groaned, but he didn’t say anything.
Davis, my fiancé, was killed six months ago. Nothing had happened since then. Why did he stay? Why wouldn’t he just disappear? Having him here just reminded me of everything that happened that night, and the last thing I wanted was that constant reminder.
It took me a long time to learn to trust people after what’d happened in my childhood. My biological mother leaving, my father dying. Then Abigail—my mom—dying. I so wanted to trust people; I wanted to have a normal life like everyone else. But I couldn’t. People around me died like flies, and I didn’t understand.
Well, that wasn’t completely true. I’d learned a few things over the last few months that made me wonder if maybe Brian and Killian were somehow behind the death of my fiancé. The cops thought Davis’ death was the result of a random mugging and that they’d likely never find the guy responsible. But I’d known since I was a teenager that Brian’s business partner, Jack McGuire, was the head of the Irish mafia in Boston. And I knew that Brian wasn’t innocent to that world. I’d overheard him and Mom arguing over it a few times. She thought Brian was working with Jack in the mafia, but he insisted he was only running protection for Jack and his men. Mom thought that was just as bad, but Brian argued it wasn’t. That he wasn’t committing any crimes. But he was involved.
I talked with a friend of Davis’ a few months ago, and he told me that Davis had been worried that someone was following him in the weeks before his death. The weeks following the first and last time Brian met him.
I knew Brian didn’t like Davis after an ill-fated dinner we’d shared together. Was it possible Brian had Davis killed because he didn’t want me to marry him? It sounded extreme. It sounded insane. But with Brian…it was a possibility.
There’d been a rumor once that Brian killed a guy when he was a young man because the guy looked at him wrong. It was one of those rumors that he’d built his reputation on in the old neighborhood. I didn’t grow up there, but I knew kids who lived there, and whenever I mentioned Brian Callahan was my dad…I used to be so proud of the respect I saw on people’s faces! But now? It scared the shit out of me.
“We should get going,” Killian said, reaching around me to grab the milk.
“Stay out of my refrigerator!”
“Sorry,” he said as he poured milk into his coffee cup.
I dropped my cup into the sink and stormed out of the room.
If Killian could give up his plush job as the head of public relations at MCorp just to watch over me because Brian told him to, what else would he do for Brian?
I couldn’t shake the memory of looking out the living room window the night David died and finding Killian gone. I had no idea where he was that night. He’d been watching me for at least a week at that point, every night, like clockwork I could look out the window and spot his shadowy figure in a car parked on the curb across from my apartment. Every night except that one. He didn’t even show up at the hospital until I’d been there more than an hour, going through the paperwork with the social worker for the funeral home. Where had he been? Why did it take me calling Ian to get him there?
Had Killian killed Davis?
As crazy as it should have been, it all made too much sense. And if that was the case…I would do worse than castrate him if I could prove it.
Davis loved me. He didn’t deserve what he got.
***
Killian insisted on escorting me to work. We rode the subway together, but I sat at one end of the car and he stood at the other end, smiling at a cute little girl curled up on her mother’s lap. I watched him and watched the women on the train watching him. He wasn’t a bad-looking guy. He had intense green eyes that contrasted nicely with his dark hair. He kept his hair a little long these days since he didn’t have to don a suit every morning. It suited him and made his narrow nose and jaw look fuller somehow. And he filled out his jeans nicely…not that I noticed. What did I care if his chest was so clearly defined that you could see his heavy, rounded pecs through the thin material of his t-shirt? Or that it was obvious he would have a six-pack when he took off that shirt, or that the muscles in his arms were so well defined, so thick, that my fingers itched to slide up and down those hills and valleys?
So what if he was good looking? He was a minion. He was Brian’s lapdog.
I wanted nothing to do with that.
I stepped off the train ahead of everyone else when we reached our stop. I could feel Killian racing to keep up with me, imagining that he’d be angry, huffing and puffing, when he caught up to me. But he wasn’t. It was as if we were on a pleasant morning stroll as we pushed through the morning commute in downtown Manhattan.
I’d graduated from NYU in December, a semester early. I’d originally intended to go on to graduate school, but that would have required taking money from Brian, and I really didn’t want to do that even though he’d offered. Him and that charming smile…
“You’re my little girl,” he said. “I want to give you everything you need.”
“I don’t need your money.”
He’d looked so disappointed, like a little boy who’d gotten his stick of candy stolen away. But then his new wife—Cassidy…what kind of name was that for a grown woman?—came into the room and the light that came into his eyes made me sick to my stomach. He’d never lit up like that over Mom. What was it about this woman that made him seem so much happier than he’d been with Mom? What would Mom think if she could see him now?
It was disrespectful. She gave him twenty-five years of her life. She gave birth to his two sons and brought him four more. She worked a full-time job and took care of the home. She gave him everything, and how did he reward her? By indulging in criminal behavior and cheating on her with countless women. Then he marries one of those women, like it’s normal to just jump into marriage with someone like Cassidy, as though his life with Mom hadn’t meant anything at all.
I decided to go to work rather than pursue a master’s degree. I was starting as a copywriter for an ad agency on Madison Avenue. It wasn’t one of the really big firms, but it was prestigious enough that I was shocked when they called me back after my interview and offered me a job. If I had to work, this was the position I wanted. It was almost a dream come true.
I hoped Brian choked on it.
Killian walked just behind me all the way to the front door of the building. I turned and pressed my hand to the center of his chest, trying to ignore what touching him did to my equilibrium.
“This is where you stop.”
“You won’t let me check out your office?” he asked, an eyebrow cocked.
I could never tell when he was joking and when he was being serious.
“Go away, Killian. I want to make a good impression today and having you follow me around all day won’t do that.”
“Are you sure? If your boss is a woman…”
I gave him a little shove before I spun around and walked as confidently as I could into the building.
My heart was pounding, and my stomach felt like it was filled with acid. I wanted to throw up and crawl under my blankets back at my apartment, but I smiled politely as I approached the front desk and carefully enunciated my words as I told them who I was and why I was there.
The security process was intense. It took more than an hour, during which I could look out the front windows and see Killian sitting on a low bench in front of the building, staring at the screen of his smart phone. Each time I caught a glimpse at him, the tighter the tension between my shoulders grew.
“He’s cute.”
A tall brunette walked up to me, her hand extended. She had a great smile and a figure that I couldn’t help but envy. She co
uld have been a model, definitely the kind of woman Killian would probably fall head over heels for. If the man was capable of that sort of feeling.
“I’m Sara Cullen. I’m supposed to show you around and introduce you to all the right people.”
“It’s nice to meet you.”
She turned toward the windows, her smile changing, becoming something a little more seductive.
“Your boyfriend?”
“Hmm?”
“The hunk out there on the bench. I’ve seen you watching him.”
“My brother.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Really? You don’t look a lot alike.”
I glanced toward Killian, wondering if that was a compliment or a subtle put down. Killian was dark where I was sort of a washed out blond. Mom called my hair dishwater blond because it’s a little darker than true blond hair. My skin is as white as Brian’s redheaded paleness. I look sickly so often that I have strangers catch my arm on the street and ask me if I’m okay. And I’m not quite as thin nor do I look as fit as Killian. I’m not really overweight, but I have curves. Too many curves. I’ve never thought I was attractive, but that didn’t mean I was okay being compared to my clearly much better looking brother.
“I’m adopted.”
Sara nodded as though that explained everything.
“Is he single?”
I crossed my arms over my chest, trying not to show my annoyance. I really wanted to do well at this job. Sara seemed to get the message. She turned and gestured toward the elevator. The thing was, though, her question set off something in my head. Killian was single. In fact, I couldn’t remember him ever having a woman in his life for longer than a few weeks. One-night stands, that was all really. It was a joke in the family that Killian was commitment phobic.
I wondered if it would be possible to get him to commit. Wouldn’t it be perfect if I could get him to commit and then rip the rug out from under him? Take away his love on his wedding night the same way he and Brian did to me?
Talk about the perfect revenge! I just had to find the right person to steal his heart.
Was Sara it? Could she convince him to commit to her? Could she turn his head long enough to allow me the revenge I wanted—needed—to exact on Killian and Brian? She was beautiful, just the kind of girl Killian used to bring home during high school, the kind who would make him blush when her hand wandered and he caught Mom watching.
She was perfect. This was perfect.
Chapter 2
Killian
“She started her new job today?”
“Yeah,” I said, glancing up at the building that housed the advertising agency where Stacy now worked. “She was nervous. She didn’t bite my head off quite as successfully this morning.”
Ian laughed. “She is a firecracker, isn’t she?”
“You should come watch over her for a while, see how quickly she cuts you down to size.”
“She likes me.”
“Don’t remind me.”
Pops asked me to watch over Stacy after one of our siblings—one we didn’t even know about—went missing. Members of the organization we worked for, the Irish mafia based out of Boston that was run by Pops’ business partner, Jack McGuire, were disappearing and getting killed. We’d just found one guy hanging in a warehouse the mafia owned. And then we found this kid, Conor, in another warehouse…
“Another of my men is missing,” Jack had barked into Pops’ ear. “You’d better find this one before he’s hanging from a goddamned rope!”
Pops was standing outside the warehouse where we’d left the trucks filled with illegal guns weeks ago, watching as I worked the lock. Conor McCloud was last seen here, checking another shipment that’d been delivered last night. Jack called him twice to find out how it’d gone and was pissed when he didn’t answer. And then worried that someone was targeting his men.
Jack’s men weren’t the only ones running the streets of Boston at the moment. There was another group across town that was very particular about their territory. Jack’s men had had multiple run-ins with them over the last year. This thing, whatever it was that was going on, he didn’t like. He was concerned that the other group was beginning to hone in on his business.
Pops knew that wasn’t it. Jack probably did, too. But when you’re the head of the Irish mafia in Boston—a mafia you became the leader of because you led a rebellion against the last leader—you become a little paranoid.
“Fix it,” he’d demanded.
When the door opened, Pops slipped his gun from the holster in his armpit. It was a nine millimeter, a reliable pistol that’d saved his life on more than one occasion. I pulled a gun, too, a Beretta that wasn’t unlike Pops’ own. He led the way, moving cautiously, looking around corners before turning them. It was a big warehouse, but it was largely empty at the moment. There were very few places to hide.
“Nothing,” Pops said.
I moved up behind him, towering over him as I, too, looked around. Then Pops gestured at some footprints visible in some dirt on the floor.
Someone had been here recently.
We followed them to the stairs at the back of the massive room, climbing to the office that once overlooked a working warehouse. It was mostly empty now, just a low wooden desk left in one corner. Pops pushed open the door, and it appeared empty. But then there was a low scrapping sound that made me slip my finger onto the trigger of my gun.
“Who’s there? You’d better come out!”
The scraping sound came again and a low mumble, like someone trying to speak through a gag. Pops gestured to me. I carefully moved around the desk, my gun drawn. Then I dropped to his knees, coming up a second later with Conor McCloud, his hands tied behind his back with cable ties and his mouth covered with what looked like duct tape.
“What the hell?”
He shook his head in disapproval as he ripped the tape from the boy’s mouth.
“Shit!” Conor cried after he spit out a piece of cloth. “That fucking hurt!”
“Yeah, well, you’re going to hurt even worse if you don’t explain yourself quickly!”
Conor looked at Pops, respect suddenly washing over his expression as he recognized him. “Sorry, Mr. Callahan,” he said softly. “I didn’t realize.”
“Start talking.”
He stared down at the floor for a second, clearly embarrassed.
“I was checking the warehouse like Johnny told me to. I was about to leave and someone hit me from behind. The next thing I know, I’m waking up in here under that desk.”
“Did you see who hit you?”
“No, sir.”
I caught Pops’ eye and nodded. I’d seen dried blood on the back of the kid’s head.
Pops turned and looked down at the warehouse, trying to see something that would tell him who’d been in here.
“The place was locked when you arrived?”
“As always.”
“Did you lock it behind you when you came inside?”
The kid didn’t answer and that told Pops what he wanted to know. Someone was watching the place, saw him come inside, and followed. But who? And why?
“It was locked when we got here.”
“Whoever it was must have locked up behind himself.”
“Why?”
Again, silence. Pops turned and studied the boy. He was a typical kid, dressed in skin-tight jeans that made his legs look like sticks—really unattractive. And his t-shirt was an advertisement for a soda brand that was no longer sold. There was a tear on his shoulder and a touch of something that looked like dried blood. Pops went to him, touched the spot. Not blood. Bright red paint.
“Was this here when you came into the warehouse?”
The kid twisted his neck to look at what I was indicating.
“No, sir. This shirt is vintage. I take really good care of it. I can’t believe he tore it!”
“Get him out of here,” Pops told me.
“Thank you, sir. I’ve been here forever.
I don’t think I’ve eaten in days.”
“How long?” Pops asked as I was about to shove him out the door.
The kid turned to regard me. “I can’t be sure how long, but I know it was Tuesday night when I came here.”
“Tuesday?”
Pops shook his head. He’d been here almost forty-eight hours.
He walked around the office after they left, looking for more of the red paint. There wasn’t any, so he headed down the stairs, walking slowly around the perimeter of the warehouse, looking at the floor with something different in mind this time. He wasn’t looking for danger, but for some indication of why Conor’s attacker would have paint on his hands. Was he just some kid painting graffiti on the side of the building? Or was there something more nefarious about the whole thing?
It took a moment, but then he saw it. Little drips of red paint on the floor. It led to a small room at the back of the warehouse that was once bathrooms for the employees. Inside the women’s bathroom the toilets and sinks had been removed, but the mirrors were still there. Reflected in them was a message that was written in blood red paint across the back wall.
Say goodbye to what’s precious to you, Brian Callahan.
It didn’t get any more personal than that.
“Cassidy.”
He turned just in time to walk straight into my chest.
“Who is this, Pops?” I asked, anger dripping from my tone. “Who’s doing this?”
“I don’t know. But I’m guessing they’re going after the women in my life. Why else put this in the women’s bathroom?”
“Stacy?”
He nodded. “I’m going to ask you a huge favor. I need you to go to New York and watch over her. Don’t let her know you’re there or she’ll find ways to avoid you.”
“I know.”
“Make sure no one touches her, Killian.” He grabbed my arm as he turned to go. “Don’t let anything happen to her.”
THE CALLAHANS (A Mafia Romance): The Complete 5 Books Series Page 17