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Or he had child pornography.
Maybe it was pictures of me sleeping.
In Ronan’s guest room there was a desktop computer and a laptop on the edge of the bed. The laptop was brand new and didn’t have a USB port, but the desktop was older and I slipped the USB in the port. I wiggled the mouse and the screen came to life.
Password protected, of course.
He had a password on his laptop and I’d watched him type it in and I made a guess that Ronan wasn’t the type to have more than one.
I typed in StBrigid and the computer opened up. How like Ronan to keep his pain as sharp as he could. I clicked open files.
It took a second to realize what it was. Dollar amounts paid to other senators and representatives. Bribes, I thought. I recognized some of the names. Men and women on committees and Bryant was influencing their political votes. Which made sense and to some extent I’d expected. Not laid out like this. Lord, the senator was a stupid man.
But there were also hundreds of photographs. Audio recordings of phone calls. Video surveillance. Private jet log book entries. Bank account balances.
All of Caroline Constantine.
* * *
The bedroom was still dark, Ronan still sleeping. He had his head buried in the pillows, the blanket down around his waist revealing the slope of his back. The tender skin under his arms. The room smelled like him, his skin and a little bit like sex.
Before Bryant put his hands on me, there’d been a chance for us. A door opening to a different kind of life. But then Bryant shut that door. And the ferry boat captain was a killer again.
Could I use this to open the window back up?
He’d saved my life. Could I save his? He would not appreciate this. At least not at first. But I knew if there was going to be a life for us. It started with this.
I wanted to be pregnant. I wanted Ronan’s baby.
I wanted Ronan to know something good and sweet about his mother. I wanted what I saw in Ronan’s eyes last night.
A chance.
There’d been a whole lot of doing things Ronan’s way in the short period of time we’d been together. And his way was bloody and confrontational and constantly walking a tightrope of kill or be killed. It was destroying him. Which was fine if you were a killer who didn’t care about living or dying. It was another thing entirely for a man who was loved. Who would be missed. Who, if given a chance, might have a life.
A family.
I was going to do this my way. Operating on faith that it might be better. That for once I could take care of him. He wouldn’t like it. At all. But I could do it.
For us, though he wouldn’t see it that way. Or maybe he would after last night. I had to believe something I said made a difference to him. That in giving him every part of myself to him, he saw his own value.
If he didn’t, I would do it again tonight. And the next night. I would take his pain and his doubt and I would give him back my faith. My love. My surrender would make him clean.
I went back into the other room and grabbed a piece of paper and black marker. I wrote a note for Ronan and left it quietly on my pillow. My whole life people had been calling the shots and I was always one step behind. Being led and cleaning up as I went. This was going to be different.
For Ronan, it had to be different.
I sent a message I hoped would be received in the manner it had been sent.
Outside the apartment door was Raj, who after getting knocked unconscious last night was back at his post. I wondered if Ronan saw that loyalty. If he even knew how to see it. Raj practically jumped at attention when I stepped out.
“Raj,” I said. “Are you all right?”
“Nothing some aspirin couldn’t fix.” He rubbed at the back of his head and gave me a cheeky grin. “Did you need something?”
“A favor.”
“Oh no,” he said, shaking his head. “We’re not doing this again. Last time I let you leave without him, I thought Ronan was going to kill me, like.”
“Different kind of favor.” The phone in my hand buzzed.
An incoming message from Caroline.
I’ll be there in a half hour.
“Someone’s coming to the apartment, but don’t bring them here. Take them up to the roof. Ronan can not know.”
“I don’t like this, Poppy,” he said.
“I know.” But that didn’t change anything. I took the thumb drive and everything I’d printed off of it. Ronan’s laptop and I went upstairs to wait.
To fight.
* * *
Caroline was nothing if not punctual and thirty-five minutes later the door to the rooftop garden was thrown open and Caroline stepped out into the sunlight. She wore a cream dress and nude stilettos. She came dressed for battle and I was wearing yoga pants and one of Ronan’s shirts.
