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The shadowy cat followed me around his home. I checked the panic room to see if Jack had returned for supplies, but everything was as it’d been the night before. I took the revolver from my waistband and placed it on the bedside table next to a bronze-framed picture of Jack and I from St. Patrick’s Day. He’d refused to wear anything but black, assenting to green eyeliner when I wouldn’t stop pinching him.
When I climbed into bed, Fia joined me, hunting for a comfortable spot. I grabbed one of Jack’s pillows and buried my face in it, smelling sweet smoke and earthy rain. It brought back memories that made my heart ache. He’d cheated on me, but I still missed him with every fiber of my being.
Please, God, I prayed, wondering if there really was a man floating in the clouds, listening to my laments. People call him the devil, but he’s not all bad. Please keep him safe.
I succumbed to the bone-deep pain, tears wetting the pillow. Fia lay in the hollow behind my knees, his warm body vibrating with a purr. As a means of comfort, I reached into my pocket and gripped the flash drive. I fell asleep with my hand wrapped around it. When I awoke hours later, it felt as though I’d hardly blinked.
“I found him.”
My speakerphone startled a sleepy Fia, who scampered into the closet. I glanced at the ornate clock on the wall. It was two in the morning.
I jumped out of bed. “Where?”
“An old police contact called me a couple minutes ago,” Mick explained. I listened to the sounds of traffic on his end of the line as I ran to the bathroom, splashing water on my face. “He was just arrested in Boston.”
I paused, turning off the water. “For what?”
“He got into a fight at a pub in Roxbury. We need to leave now.”
“I’m heading to the elevator.” I grabbed the revolver from the nightstand, sprinting down the hall. I jammed my finger on the call button over and over, willing the elevator to arrive. “Where should I meet you?”
“I’m in the garage.”
* * * *
Mick sped to Boston, the city fading to New Jersey suburbs, which turned into miles and miles of thick forest. We stayed quiet for most of the drive. I closed my eyes but was unable to sleep. My nerves were frayed. I didn’t know what condition Jack would be in. It would take a psychopath to kill twelve people in a matter of days and remain unaffected. Jack wasn’t a psychopath.
“Why do you think he went to Boston?” I asked Mick. Of all places, I wouldn’t expect Jack to show up there, given his horrific childhood.
“Probably to lie low.” Mick glanced in my direction, his hand resting on the base of the steering wheel. “Who knows? Maybe he was feeling sentimental.”
“Sentimental?”
Mick shrugged. “Henry O’Connell is the only family member not buried in Ireland. He chose to be laid to rest by his wife in Bunker Hill.”
“The Uncle Henry who gave the boys their fortune?”
It was because of Uncle Henry’s accumulated wealth that Jack and his brothers had been able to get out from under their father’s shadow, to form their own branch of the Mob in Manhattan. They’d used the money to purchase the Shannon and Emerald Gym. From there, they had joined high society—invested wisely, bought and sold real estate, made international contacts in the black market. As they had risen to power, more and more members had joined their ranks.
“Aye, that’s the one,” Mick confirmed, slowing to the speed limit when a red light on the police scanner flashed. Seconds later, we passed a cruiser hiding between a pair of thick pine trees, its hood glinting in the moonlight. Once the scanner turned green, Mick revved the engine of the SUV again.
“I didn’t know Henry and Jack were close. He never talked about him.”
“Jack doesn’t talk much as it is.” Mick grunted, smirking. “Anyway, Henry wasn’t very close with the boys, but he taught Jack a few things back in the day.”
“Like?” I pressed.
“You’ll have to ask Jack yourself,” Mick replied, effectively sealing his lips.
“Jack doesn’t want anything to do with me. He made that clear.”
“Yeah, I’ve been thinking on that.” He put his signal on to pass slower traffic. “Did it ever cross your mind that Jack wanted you to believe he cheated? He’ll have told himself that he has to lose you to protect you.”
“He’ll push you away.”
“It may’ve crossed my mind,” I replied, staring out of the window so that I didn’t have to meet Mick’s eye. “Either way, his goal was to hurt me. And he succeeded.”
“You’re a tough one, lass. You may have more pride than Jack, even.”
