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Before Ronan could respond, Sarge piped up. “Well, I think I just figured out what language this bastard speaks. I think I've got an idea.”
****
He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. Christ. He hadn't been this nervous since he'd asked Marsha Merino to prom in eleventh grade. The stakes were so much higher this time. It had been almost forty-eight hours since Moira had been locked up. Technically, by law they could only keep her locked up for seventy-two hours without filing an additional injunction to keep her in state custody.
While he knew it would be a tougher sell for her father to get her permanently locked up, there was no way in hell he would take the chance. With her final paycheck in hand, he made his way into City Hall. He fidgeted with the button hole camera he wore once more and prayed that Sarge knew what the hell he was doing.
His phone buzzed in his pocket as he was scanning the directory of offices. Absently, he pulled it out and read, “Stop fidgeting and do it!” Rolling his eyes, he slid the phone back into his pocket and made his way to the fifth floor. It was now or never.
He tried to project an aura of calm that he didn't feel when he approached the secretary. She eyed his casual attire with distaste and asked, “May I help you?”
“Yes'm,” he answered, turning on every bit of southern charm that he possessed. “My name is Ronan Kelly. I'd like to have a moment with the mayor, if I could. I needed to drop something off to him.”
The tiny smirk on her face had his heart sinking. “You can leave it with me, and I'll be sure to give it to him.”
No longer playing nice, he said, “All due respect, ma'am, I won't. It's his daughter's final paycheck. I'm not leaving it with you. I'd like to give it directly to him. I'll wait until he becomes available.”
“Sir,” she began. “You need to make an appointment. I assure you I'm not going to steal a check. You—”
“Jeanie. Jeanie,” a voice said from down the hallway. “I'll handle this.”
When the mayor moved into the lobby, he asked, “So you said you have my daughter's final check?”
John Devereaux was a politician if he'd ever seen one. Dress slacks and a dress shirt with a tie, sleeves rolled up in an attempt to appear more casual. His dark hair was styled to within an inch of its life. Clean-shaven. Wide smile with abnormally white teeth. Ronan wanted nothing more than to plow his fist into that smug face. He couldn't do that, though.
“I do. But I wondered if I might have a minute of your time. I have something I'd like to discuss with you,” Ronan answered. The entire plan hinged on this moment. If he couldn't get this asshole talking, Moira was probably going to remain locked away for the duration. There was no way he could allow that to happen.
“Sure. Hold my calls, Jeanie. Come into my office,” John Devereaux invited, gesturing him forward.
Ronan followed him down the hallway and into the small office. He sat down in one of the chairs, startled to hear the door close. Was the mayor concerned about what might be overheard?
“So, Mr. Kelly. What can I do for you?”
Doing his dead level best to seem contrite, Ronan cleared his throat and said, “I wanted to make an apology. I feel as though I inadvertently ended up in your family troubles, Mr. Mayor, and that wasn't my intention.”
“I'm not sure what you mean, son,” the mayor answered carefully.
“Look. I may not be a fancy politician, but I'm not stupid. When your daughter showed up at my bar the other night claiming she couldn't go home, I felt sorry for her. I gave her a job and a place to stay. Less than two weeks later, I've got Code Enforcement crawling up my ass, and cops show up in my bar to take my cocktail waitress into custody for psy
chological testing because she's a danger to society. Later, I find out that this girl, who both you and I know ain't the least bit crazy, is the daughter of the mayor. We'll just say that I don't believe in those types of coincidences.”
The mayor rubbed a hand over his face and said, “I don't know what you're suggesting—”
Ronan held his hands up in surrender and said, “Not suggesting a thing, sir. I'm just callin' it how I see it. It doesn't make a bit of difference to me how you handle your family disputes. She was a shitty waitress anyway. Rude to the customers.”
The mayor smirked and said, “Not surprising. In any case, she's going to a top-notch facility. I'm certain they'll be able to...fix that particular bad habit of hers.”
“Hope so,” Ronan said, his stomach turning. “She's gonna have a hard time in this world. Didn't listen worth a damn either. I'm sure you knew that already, though.”
His eyes more shrewd, more focused, Moira's father steepled his fingers in disappointment. “She always was a willful child. In any case, if you want to leave her check here, once she's well again, I'll be sure to get it to her.”
“Sure thing. Again,” Ronan said, standing. “I didn't realize what I was involved in. My apologies for any inconvenience I might have created.”
Ronan watched as the mayor relaxed back in his chair, a smug grin on his face. “Now, don't you worry about it, son. I've got no ill will toward you. She can be mighty persuasive when she wants, I’m sure.”
The acid churned in his belly. How could a man so hate his own flesh and blood? It was practically tangible the feeling was so strong. Ronan nodded and, as graciously as he could muster, pressed one last time. “I appreciate your understanding. There's one thing I don't get, though. The cops were so brutal. They hurt her. Bad. Slammed her head against the ground. They tased her for resisting. That's a bit extreme for your own blood, wouldn't you say?”
The thin veneer gone, her father seethed with rage. “The little bitch embarrassed me in front of a very important colleague. She went slumming in your goddamned bar for weeks and wouldn't take my phone calls. They got rough because I told them to get rough. I bet next time she'll do what I tell her to. Won't she? One way or another, she had to learn. I'm not someone you want to fuck with.”
