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Nolan nodded. “That’s right. What can I do for you?”
Marchand glanced around. “Is there somewhere else we can talk?”
“With all due respect, I’m not sure how I can help you. I haven’t been with the Syndicate for years. My time with them was…” Nolan searched for the right word, trying to separate Bridget from what he’d been doing with Will in the neighborhood.
“A rebellion?” Marchand suggested, the corners of his mouth suggesting a smile.
“That’s one way of putting it,” Nolan said.
“I understand,” Marchand said. “However I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say.”
“I doubt that.” Nolan turned toward the car, reasonably sure Christophe Marchand wasn’t going to gun him down in the parking garage for an alliance they’d shared four years earlier.
He threw his briefcase into the passenger seat.
“It concerns Miss Monaghan,” Marchand said. “And your friend Will as well.”
Nolan’s heart raced as he faced the other man. “Has something happened?”
“Not yet,” Marchand said. “But trouble is in the air, and there are things you don’t know.”
Nolan hesitated, his mind reeling at the mention of Bridget, at the insinuation that she might be in danger, that Will might be in trouble too. It had only been two days since his last sparring session with Will. He’d seemed fine, hadn’t mentioned a thing.
Nolan studied the man in front of him, had the feeling that he knew things — things Will didn’t know, things Bridget definitely didn’t know.
“Do you have a car?” Nolan asked.
Marchand nodded.
Nolan stepped into his car. “Follow me.”
5
Bridget walked into the Black Cat with a familiar knot in her stomach. It didn’t matter how many times she stepped through the door and made her way to the room at the back, it always felt like walking the plank.
She lifted a hand in greeting to Connor, a recent replacement for Kevin, the previous bartender who had suddenly stopped appearing behind the bar a month earlier. Bridget wondered what had happened to him but knew better than to ask. Seamus didn’t like explaining himself to anyone, especially not a “lass” from the neighborhood.
She waved at the regulars as she continued through the main room. The curtains were closed when she reached the back, a tall, thin redhead in jeans and a T-shirt nervously keeping guard, one of Seamus’s new recruits.
She smiled at him. “Hey, Brendan.”
He blushed. “Hey, Bridget.”
“How’s it going?” she asked.
“It’s going,” he said. “Is he expecting you?”
She nodded and he ducked behind the curtain. A murmured exchange ensued and Brendan reappeared, pulling back the curtain for her to enter the room.
She stepped inside and took stock: the air thick with smoke and the yeasty scent of beer, Seamus in his usual seat near the wall, Mick to his right. Casey and Doug, two high ranking men in Seamus’s growing army, were seated to his left. A pile of cash sat on the table, along with stacks of envelopes marked with names.
Two of the other tables in the room were occupied with mid-level soldiers playing cards and smoking, glasses of beer in front of them. She was relieved to see Will among them. He didn’t say much to her these days, but his presence made her feel safer around Seamus.
“There she is,” Seamus said, grinning. “My secret weapon.”
Bridget smiled, playing the role that had been assigned to her. “Hardly.”
Seamus nodded at the empty chair across from him. “Have a seat, lass.”
