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CHAPTER 1

ANNA

Istep off the elevator with the day’s fifth cup of coffee clenched in my hand. I should cut back, but it’s easy to lose track when you spend your days solving murders like I do.

And it’s not every day a case like this gets dropped in our laps. They don’t call us unless blood spills on the streets of Boston and they really don’t call the 18th precinct unless someone up top wants it taken care of quickly and quietly.

I’d hoped I was done cleaning up after the Irish mafia in my city. Guess I was wrong.

I nod at my team as I round my desk. They stare at me with some excitement and I can’t really blame them. It is an exciting case, one with a lot of potential to advance their careers.

I set my coffee down and reach up to tighten the ponytail on my head. “Okay,” I say, gathering my thoughts. Six pairs of eyes continue staring at me, waiting for all their questions to finally be answered.

“The victim’s name is Canon McGregor⁠—”

Half of them burst into whistles and applause while the others groan in disappointment while they reach for their wallets.

I stare them down. “Really, guys? You placed bets?”

My partner, Trevor, pockets his winnings from Dougie, another detective in our precinct, while Kendall, Dougie’s partner, counts her own stack of cash.

“It was only a matter of time before the Quinns and the McGregors went there, Silva,” Trevor says to me.

Dougie shakes his head. “I thought for sure the Quinns would draw first blood.”

“You’re also terrible at your job,” Trevor jokes. “This is no coincidence.”

“Murder is murder, folks,” I say, talking over them. “We don’t celebrate it. Doesn’t matter how much you think he might deserve it.”

They all go quiet.

I turn back to my notes. “A trash man in an alley behind Hammond Street found his body at five-fifteen this morning,” I say. “Uniforms are still canvassing the area for potential witnesses and a murder weapon, but so far have found neither.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Trevor jokes, picking his teeth. “Mobster drops dead in my neighborhood, I sure as hell didn’t see anything, either…”

I ignore it. “Once the medical examiner does her thing, we can dig a little deeper. Until then, keep your eyes and ears open. Talk to your informants and find out what Canon was up to last night and what’s going on in the streets. If the Irish mob families really are turning violent, this might not be the last body we find. Kendall, have we heard from Detective Wells yet?”

She shakes her head. “He hasn’t reached out, no.”

“Reach out to him,” I say. “I want to know what he knows. Let’s get to work.”

They all disperse back to their desks, except for Trevor. He sits at his desk next to mine, waiting patiently with his thumbnail still digging into his incisor.

“What?” I ask him, recognizing the face.

He shrugs. “Awful lot of resources for some two-bit thug.”

“The badge says protect and serve, Trev,” I remind him as I gather my notes. “No one’s exempt from that. Besides, everyone wins when mob-on-mob crime is solved.”

“Hey…” He stands up from his chair and throws up his hands. “I don’t disagree, I’m just saying…”

I pick up a crime scene photo and hold it closer to study it better. Canon McGregor, hunched over in a puddle of his own blood and rain with six gunshot wounds riddled up and down his back.

“Anna, do you have dinner plans tonight?”

I breathe in to speak, but my desk phone rings, cutting me off. I spin away from Trevor to answer it.

“This is Silva,” I say.