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“What’s the motivation? Dustin was laundering for them, and he was too much of a pussy to cross them. There’s no incentive.” Brock reached for another beer. “I think I didn’t give that little fuck, Declan, enough credit.”
“Declan Thompson?” Killian clarified.
“Yeah, he’d said he had something going on, wanted to know if I wanted in. Declan only ever got high and fucked, him coming up with something and following through wasn’t likely. But Cedar saw him with my dad, said they looked comfortable.” Brock shook his head, took a long drink. “I got to give him credit, the fucker.” He turned hard eyes on Killian. “He had a new piece, that new piece was my mom.”
Killian knew where this was going. Fucking hell.
“He came to me that night, provoked me, right before my mom called. I think he ingratiated himself with Kenneth, to not lend suspicion on him, just in case. He riled me up for my mom’s call and then they both sat back and let me handle killing the bastard. That takes both of us out.”
“And they take the twenty million,” Killian concluded.
“Yeah, and I think Declan killed my mom, because who the hell is going to look at him for her death when I was already wanted for killing my dad? He gets the twenty million, but he loses it. Continues his relationship with the mob, but he’s playing both sides by dropping evidence against them to his friend, the Attorney General.”
“You think Declan is the leak.”
“He always did play both sides.”
“Takes out his father and he’s essentially the last man standing,” Killian said, then added, “You stole the twenty million from him.”
“Poetic.”
“How did you know about the twenty million?”
Brock glanced over. “I have my ways.” He changed the subject when he asked, “But what’s Declan’s endgame? He’s still laundering money for the mob, but they’ll eventually find out he’s snitching, so there’s got to be something in it for him to take the risk.”
Killian was incredulous. “You’re going to meet with the mob.”
“Yeah. Force Declan’s hand. And if we time it right, we can hit Declan too, maybe even get the fucker himself.”
“You’re heading home,” Killian said.
“Yeah.”
Killian paced away from Brock and resisted the urge to pull a hand through his hair. He could almost see Cedar in Brock, mannerisms they shared, her friend, best friend, once upon a time. Talk about the cards stacked against you. Under the circumstances, he’d done what he had to do. He’d survived. Going toe to toe with the mob, splitting his crew to hit Declan as well, he wasn’t going to survive that. Not without help.
“How many you got?” Killian asked.
“Enough,” he said, but added, “You want to add to it…”
Killian had been out of the life for a long time, but Cedar had lost enough. “Yeah. I can add to it.”
“You gonna fill me in on who you are?” Brock asked.
“If we survive this, maybe.”
Brock nodded, reached for another beer, tossed it to Killian. “You have to, for her.”
Killian nodded, taking a long drink. Silence settled before Brock said, “Got to appreciate the poetry. A modern twist on the O.K. Corral.” He glanced over at Killian and grinned. “You’re Wyatt Earp…” He took a long drink. “And I’m your Huckleberry.”
Cedar was outsidewhen Killian returned. He didn’t join her on the deck, but walked to his office. Hitting the button under his desk, the wall shifted. Stepping into the space, he hit the lights on the small arsenal of firearms. Yanking open the one drawer, he pulled out the badge he hadn’t worn in a long time. He had to be fucking out of his mind, but sometimes, the enemy of your enemy was your friend. Reaching for the burner, he called the only number programmed into it. It was answered on the first ring.
“I’m calling in that marker.”
The call disconnected.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Cedar
