Page 84 of Inflict

What was more likely—more realistic—was that Sean had done this.

But even for that, Connor didn’t know why.

Sean never needed a good reason to kill.

Connor voiced those inner thoughts before ending it with, “It could have been Sean.”

“Could be?” Killian asked with a scowl.

The cell in his pocket buzzed, taking Connor out of the conversation. Figuring it was probably Evelyn calling him from the brownstone, he answered the call with a quick, “Hello?”

“I have a job for you, son. Be in Jersey as soon as you can or I’ll make a trip to Brooklyn.”

“Sean—”

The call hung up before Connor could even get in a proper reply. He shoved the phone back into his pocket, frustrated and hating himself for even picking up Killian’s call earlier.

“Can you clean this mess up?” Connor asked Killian.

The other Irishman shrugged. “I can call somebody—it’ll be gone before the hour.”

Connor nodded. “All right. Make sure it’s left somewhere that it’ll be found. For his father, and all.”

“Got it.”

Perhaps Connor should have been more … affected over the death of one of his friends, but this wasn’t the first time that foulness had come into his life without his permission. He had learned over the years that remaining untouched by the emotion of grief was far better than succumbing to it, even if it made him one cold feckin’ bastard.

Besides, if this was Sean’s work, Connor needed to be on his game when he faced his father, and being torn up over finding Danny wouldn’t help.

There was a method to the madness.

Sean meant for something to happen, or he intended to get there, eventually.

Connor had learned that, too.

The hard way.

“Why Danny?” Killian asked, bringing Connor from his thoughts.

“Maybe he’s questioning people he knows I associate with, beyond his level. Danny wouldn’t have a thing to tell, and you know how Sean gets in a right state when he doesn’t get what he wants from a man.”

“But why leave him here, mate?”

Connor scrubbed a hand down his face. “To let me know something—he’s looking, he knows, or something.”

“Grand.”

Yeah, that’s how Connor felt about it all, too.

Grand.

Connor snatched the ringing cell phone up from the truck’s cup holder, checked the caller ID, and cursed a blue streak before answering. “I’m on my way, Sean.”

“No need, something came up.”

The highway became narrower in Connor’s vision. “I’m half way there, now.”

“That’s grand. You don’t need to go far then.” Sean rattled off an address that Connor recognized was part of the shipping district between New York and New Jersey. “They needed an extra pair of hands today, and you’ll do well to get off your arse.”