Nolan wasn’t under any illusions: the Syndicate weren’t the good guys. But they were the better guys. Better than what the neighborhood had now. Better than worrying about Will getting popped or Bridget ending up at the Playpen to work off her debt to Seamus, a debt Nolan would happily pay if he thought he could get away with it, if he thought Bridget wouldn’t return the money the minute she found out it had been paid.
“You won’t leave?” Nolan asked Will.
“Not yet. I need a couple more years to set myself up.”
“And you won’t take my help? Even as a loan?”
“Jaysus Christ. Stop asking.”
Nolan stood. “All right.”
Will looked up at him. “All right?”
“I had to ask.” Nolan held out his hand. “Still mates?”
“What are you on your period? For feck’s sake.” Will took his hand. “Always. Now stop acting like a dolt before I belt you just to see you bleed.”
Nolan laughed and threw his arm around Will, rubbing his fist into Will’s hair until he shoved Nolan away.
They were both laughing as they headed away from the playground, but Nolan’s mind was in turmoil. Unless he wanted to pinch Seamus himself—and he didn’t—there was only one way out for Will and Bridget.
And one person who could give it to them.
Chapter Nine
Bridget looked at her phone, slid her laptop into her bag, and stood to leave. She’d spent all day doing research for a client who had been working his way to legal residence when he’d been stopped for speeding. The subsequent search of his car had led to the discovery of a minute amount of marijuana in the glove compartment. Her client insisted the joint had been left there by a friend, but it hadn’t mattered. ICE had gotten involved and was now threatening to deport him, a gainfully employed kid who was studying to be a software engineer and who had lived in the U.S. since he was three years old.
She sighed as she moved around her desk. His story was one of many like it in the files on her desk, good people who’d made a misstep—one that wouldn’t have mattered if they were white citizens—that threatened to cost them hard fought futures in America.
They were the people who kept her coming to BRIC every day, who made her tiny salary seem like enough. She was fighting for them, and for her country too, which was better off for all the immigrants who had reached her shores over the years, Bridget’s family included.
“Leaving so soon?” her boss Sheridan asked as Bridget made her way past Sheridan’s cubicle.
The lights were off in the rest of the office, everyone else gone home.
“You know me, I’m a slacker,” Bridget said. It was an ongoing joke among BRIC’s employees. Everyone who worked there was passionate about its cause, a fact that meant someone was usually in the office until midnight, sometimes later, working their way through the cases that had only seemed to increase in the past few years.
Sheridan sighed dramatically and tucked a piece of hot pink hair behind her ear. “Have fun painting your nails or eating bonbons or whatever else you’re going to do while I’m slaving away here.”
Bridget laughed and continued to the elevator. Sheridan was a single mother who’d graduated from Boston Law with honors. The fact that she was struggling to make it on the tiny salary from BRIC instead of going to work for a big paycheck with a well-known firm spoke volumes about her commitment to their clients. Joking about their struggle was how they coped—that and the secret stash of vodka in the bottom drawer of Sheridan’s desk, something that got them through many a late night.
Bridget exited the office and walked to her car, four blocks thanks to the outrageous rates of the nearest parking garage. Her thoughts turned to Nolan as they had countless times since he’d appeared outside her house the week before.
Damn him.
She was honest enough to admit that he’d always been on her mind, drifting through her subconscious even when she’d convinced herself she was over him, but the past week had been hell. She hadn’t had a single decent night’s sleep, tossing and turning through a series of lucid dreams that caused her to wake with both an aching body and an aching heart.
The memories she’d had of him, powerful in their own right, were nothing compared to the reality of his eyes staring into her soul, his strong hand covering hers, his body promising passion and safety and belonging that she’d hadn’t known before him and hadn’t come close to with the few guys she’d dated since.
She came to her car and cursed when she saw a slip of paper under her windshield wiper. She’d forgotten to come out after dinner and feed the meter, a downside she usually didn’t mind when it gave her the excuse to get out of the office for ten minutes four times a day.
She removed the ticket and threw it into the passenger seat along with her bag. Then she started the car, pulled into traffic, and headed for the Cat.
She’d been thinking nonstop about what Nolan had said that night—almost as much as she’d thought about him—but it hadn’t changed anything. Nothing had made her inextricable ties to Seamus more clear than Nolan’s warning and the knowledge that she couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
She was in too deep now. If she tried to get out, Seamus would call in her debt. He might give her a few weeks to come up with a solution out of consideration for the situation with Owen, but the pressure would become stronger, the warnings more violent, not just against her but against her family.
Maybe even against Owen.
Eventually Bridget would have no choice but to work nights at the Playpen, another kind of servitude to Seamus, one she was unwilling to trade for the work she was already doing.
She didn’t know what Nolan had been referring to when he’d told her something was coming, but it didn’t matter. Her only choice now was to keep her head down, do the work Seamus assigned her, hope she came out the other side of whatever was on the horizon.
Traffic was light that time of night, most of the suburban commuters long since home. She arrived at the Cat twenty minutes after leaving BRIC and parked on the street.
It was significantly colder than it had been even the week before, and she made a mental note to pull her scarf out of the closet at home. Normally she would have looked forward to the holidays. Even with Owen’s illness, the comfort food, lights, and decorations always lifted her spirits, helped to keep her in the present instead of the longed-for past or the future she feared.
But this year she could hardly think about it around the knot in her stomach, the dread that had shadowed her even before Nolan showed up outside the house.
She opened the door at the Cat and walked into the bar. She’d appeared with Dougie in court two days earlier to issue his plea and had watched him be led off by the bailiff to serve his thirty days. He might have been leaving for a vacation for all the emotion he’d shown.
Bridget had left feeling sad and defeated. Dougie had been around the neighborhood since she was a kid. She could still see his lanky, awkward frame in middle school, the way his dark hair had curled when he’d grown it long in high school. Now he was acting like some kind of brainwashed cult member, proud to serve time for Seamus.
“Hey, Connor,” she said as she passed the bar.
“Hey!” His face lit up when he saw her and she realized he wasn’t bad looking, tall and muscular in a lean sort of way, with thick hair and warm brown eyes.
It was a dispassionate observation, lacking the heat she felt when she looked at Nolan, but she couldn’t compare other guys to him forever.
Mick stepped aside and opened the curtain when he saw Bridget coming. “How’s it going?”
“Fine.” She kept her voice even, forced herself to look him in the eye even thought the way he looked at her always gave her the creeps. “You?”
He nodded and she stepped through the doorway. She scanned the room, then almost felt her knees buckle.
Nolan was sitting with Will and Casey at one of the tables, cigarettes burning in the
ashtrays, smoke curling into the room.
Nolan hated the smell of cigarette smoke. Always had.
What the fuck?
His eyes were cold as he looked at her, but she thought she caught a warning in their chilly depths. She looked at Will, who avoided her gaze, then turned her attention to Seamus, sitting alone at his table with the ever-present stack of envelopes. It was hard to focus on him, hard not to wonder why Nolan was there.
Something’s going down, Bridge. Something big.
“Thought you weren’t going to make it, lass.”
“Sorry,” she said, approaching the table. “I lost track of time at work.”
He lifted a cigarette to his mouth, pulled, and released the smoke. “Not a problem. I know how lucky we are to have you.”
She didn’t like the implication—that Seamus owned her—even if it was true.
“What’s up?” she asked. His text had been cryptic, an order phrased like a request that she stop by the Cat that night.
“I need you to do some research.”
It wasn’t what she’d expected him to say. “What kind of research?”
“Legal research.” He took a drink from the glass in front of him. “Specifically, banks.”
“Banks?”
“I want to know the statutes associated with bank robberies, the thresholds, the kind of time served for thefts of varying amounts. From a strictly historical perspective.”
“A historical perspective?” She was repeating his words subconsciously, her mind trying to parse Seamus’s words, wanting to reject the obvious.
Seamus was good at what he did, good at intimidating and motivating, but he had never been proactive. Bridget was brought in to fix things, to minimize the damage after it had occurred—never to mitigate it on the front end.
“This city has a history with bank robberies,” Seamus said. “I’m sure you know that, being a lawyer.”
She nodded, her mind screaming at her to choose her words carefully.
“Got curious,” he said, his gaze piercing, a contradiction to the casual tone of his voice. “Curious about the city I live in. And then I thought, you know who would know all about bank robberies? That smart little lass on your payroll. And being a lawyer and all, she wouldn’t want to violate the whole client confidentiality thing, isn’t that right?”
She swallowed hard. “That’s right.”
He smiled. “I’m curious to see what you find.”
“When do you need this… research?” she asked.
“Yesterday, lass. Yesterday.”
“I’ll get right on it.”
“Good. I trust that you understand what I’m looking for,” he said.
She nodded. “Anything else?”
He reached for the stack of envelopes, pulled one off the bottom, and handed it to her. “There’s a little something extra in there for you this week. A gift.”
She wondered if the gift would accrue interest, then decided it didn’t matter. She was into Seamus for so much money that whatever was in the envelope wouldn’t make a difference, interest or no interest.
“Thank you.”
“I’m happy to help, lass.” He hesitated. “There is one more thing.”
“What is it?”
“I seem to remember you and Burke over there having a bit of a romp a few years back.” He paused like he expected her to say something, then continued when she didn’t. “Mr. Burke is now in our employ—on a probationary basis—isn’t that right, Burke?”
“That’s right, boss.” Bridget had to hand it to Nolan. He sounded grateful, like Seamus had given him some kind of golden opportunity when Bridget assumed Nolan had left his big job and fat paycheck to work for Seamus.
“I ever tell you I knew Burke’s dad before he was a big shot?” Seamus asked her.
“I don’t think so.”
“Ran wild in the same streets,” Seamus said.
She wondered if it was her imagination that there was a note of resentment in his voice. “It’s a small world.”
“Indeed it is.” Seamus held her gaze. “Anyway, that thing you had with Burke going to be a problem for you? A conflict of interest or something?”
“Not at all.” She had to brace herself to say what came next. “That was over a long time ago.”
Seamus nodded. “Good, because business and pleasure make for bad bedfellows, if you know what I mean.”
“I do.”
“You’re a good lass. I’m glad you’re on my side.”
She forced a smile and turned to go, avoiding Nolan’s eyes as she made her way out of the room, Seamus’s words playing through her mind.
This city has a long history with bank robberies…
He was going to rob a bank. He was going to rob a bank and she was going to be complicit.
She left the bar without saying goodbye to Connor, pushing through the door onto the street and breathing in the cold air like it might save her life. Her heart was racing, her chest constricting with panic, when someone put a hand on her arm and spun her around.
“You can’t do this,” Nolan said, looking down at her.
“Me? I’ve been doing this.” She shook off his hand. “You’re the one who shouldn’t be here.”
He took her arm again and shuffled her to the alley that ran alongside the Cat. He set her against the side of the building and put a hand on either side of her head. His face was only inches away, his body close enough to touch, close enough to embrace if she just lifted her arms and wrapped them around him.
She had the overwhelming desire to do it, to press her body against his, to let her hands roam his muscled arms, his sculpted chest, all too visible under his formfitting T-shirt. She would reach for his zipper. He could be inside of her in seconds.
“You’re going to get yourself thrown in jail—or worse,” he said.
She spoke around the lust sweeping her body. “That’s my business. And if it’s so dangerous what are you doing here?”
“Believe it or not, I’m trying to protect you,” he said through his teeth.
“I don’t need your protection,” she said. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been doing just fine without you.”
It was a lie, one she was practiced at telling herself.
His mouth drew into a straight line, his expression tightening into one she remembered—one that said he was treading the line between reason and rage, that he was on the verge of throwing it all to the wind and giving into the fury blowing through his body.
“I have noticed, Bridge. But thanks for reminding me.”
Shame heated her face. She’d ended it with him, not the other way around. It was mean to hold their breakup over his head because she was thrown by his presence.
She glared up at him. She wasn’t going to apologize. This was her territory now. He had no right to be here. No right to appoint himself her protector when she’d told the worst kind of lies to get him to stay away.
“I don’t want you here,” she said.
It was the truth, although not for the reasons he probably suspected. She had no idea why Seamus was pushing the envelope with his operation, taking risks he didn’t need to take, but she and Will were doing what they had to do. Nolan had a choice.
“I don’t fucking care,” Nolan said. “You’re doing what you have to do. So am I.”
“You don’t have to do anything!” she said. “You’re sticking your nose into my business.”
His eyes flashed. “Why do you have to be so fucking stubborn?”
“Why do you have to be so fucking controlling?” she shouted back at him.
His eyes bore into hers, both of them breathing hard. She could see it in the rise and fall of his chest, could feel it in the rise and fall of her own. The moment grew heavy with meaning in the moment before he crushed her mouth beneath his.
Her arms came up around his neck involuntarily, her mouth opening under his, their tongues sparring hungrily as the Cat’s brick wall bit into h
er back. He explored her mouth like a starving man finally given bread, his lips hard and unyielding on hers, the kiss so urgent it was almost punishing.
She swept his mouth frantically, some distant part of her mind knowing it wouldn’t last, knowing it couldn’t last. The heat spread from her mouth to her breasts, her nipples painful with arousal. Desire raced through her belly to her center, her core swelling, her sex immediately wet with need.
He broke the kiss all at once, leaving them both gasping. The pain in his eyes was a gut punch. She wanted to hold his face in her hands, look into his eyes, tell him how much she still loved him.
How much she’d always loved him.
She flinched when he brought his fist down against the brick wall. He bowed his head, hiding from her behind the hair that fell in his face.
She was frozen in place, her feet rooted to the ground. She could have left. He wouldn’t have stopped her. But she didn’t trust herself to move. Didn’t trust herself not to wrap her arms around him and tell him everything.
When he lifted his head to look at her, his eyes were lit with something fierce and determined.
“Protecting you is my business.” His voice was low and hoarse. “Send me away. Tell me again how you don’t love me. It won’t change a thing.”
He straightened and walked away.
She stood in the alley, trying to catch her breath, trying to calm the hunger that had roared to life in her body, trying to tell herself Nolan was right.
Some things never changed. And one kiss didn’t change a thing.
Chapter Ten
Nolan was still thinking about her when he walked into JJ Foley’s. He’d suggested the location in Cambridge out of paranoia. Now that he was officially on Seamus’s crew, he couldn’t afford to be spotted with members of the Syndicate.
It had taken him less than half an hour to get there, every minute of which had been spent replaying the kiss between him and Bridget outside the Cat.
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