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And maybe Russ’s death hadn’t been an accident.
I’d been telling myself that I was just being paranoid. But Lorna inheriting the company changed everything. If I was right, if someone had targeted Russ twice, it had to be something to do with the company: any business worth billions had enemies. And now that she was CEO, Lorna would be the one in the firing line.
That deep, protective need filled my chest again. I couldn’t leave until I was sure she was safe.
“Change of plan,” I told the limo driver. “Thanks anyway.” And I closed the door.
As the limo pulled away, I pulled out my phone and scowled at it. No way was I involving the rest of the team in this, but I needed information.
Kian answered on the second ring. He’s the one who brought us all together to form Stormfinch: I lead the team in the field and he liaises with Washington and gets us our missions. “JD! What’s up?”
“I’m in New York…” I began.
“New York?! What are you doing in New York?”
It was a Saturday, so I’d been able to slip away without anyone knowing. “Do you know anyone here in the FBI?”
I could hear the Irish in Kian’s voice: he was worried. “You okay? You in trouble with the law?”
“Nothing like that.”
There was a pause while he waited for me to tell him what the hell was going on. But I didn’t want to drag him into my problems, and I’m the master of the stony silence. After a few seconds, Kian gave in and sighed. “I do know a guy. Hold on, I’ll give you his number.”
An hour later, I was squeezing my way into a store in Lower Manhattan. The place sold scented candles and it was so crowded, I could feel the water being wrung out of my soaking suit as I squeezed my way between the shoppers. I inhaled and coughed: the air was a thick fog of scents: apple, vanilla, violets, and about a million others.
There was one guy who looked as out of place as me. His overcoat was stretched across his broad back as he bent to examine the labels on two candles. “You Callahan?” I asked.
He turned around. He was in a suit, too, his tie loose and his hair tousled: I couldn’t tell if he’d been in a scuffle, or if he just always looked like that. His eyes met mine and he nodded grumpily at the store. “Don’t judge. My girlfriend’s crazy about these things and I need to get her something. I’ve got to meet you, get her a gift, grab a bite and be back in the office in thirty minutes. I’m multitasking.” He showed me the two candles. “Peaches and Cream or Unicorns Dancing?”
“You said you had to get her something…you in the doghouse?”
Callahan rubbed at his stubble. “I’m working a triple murder and I haven’t been home much. She’s cool about it but I’m not. I want to make sure she knows that I know it’s not okay.” His jaw set, determined, like even a tiny crack in the relationship would be unacceptable.
“Get both,” I told him.
He nodded gratefully and we moved towards the registers. “I got a theory,” I told him. “About Russ McBride’s death.”
Callahan winced. “I’m not meant to talk about an ongoing investigation.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But Kian vouched for you and that means a lot.”
“You and him go back?”
Callahan looked away. “He and his brothers helped me get closure on something. What’s your theory?”
“I think maybe someone killed him, made it look like an accident.”
Callahan went quiet.
“Tell me I’m wrong,” I said, my voice strained. That’s what I wanted, for him to tell me I was being an idiot, and then I could go home to Colorado and try to forget Lorna McBride.
“Officially? Our lab people went over the boat. Didn’t find explosives. Didn’t find a timer or a trigger. So it was a gas explosion. Leaky hose, spark sets it off.” He scowled. “Accident.”
“But unofficially?”
“I didn’t buy it. My boss told me to leave it alone.” He hesitated, debating. “She’d bust my ass if she found out I’d said anything…ah, fuck it, when did that ever stop me?” He took a deep breath. “Russ McBride loved that boat. Spent every spare minute on it. He was loaded, so money for maintenance wasn’t an issue. He was a smart guy, architect, understood engineering, he’d have understood a leaky gas line was dangerous.”
“Maybe it had just started leaking,” I said. I wanted to be wrong, wanted there to be an innocent explanation. “Maybe he kept it well maintained but there was a faulty part.”
“And he doesn’t smell the gas?” asked Callahan. “Or he smells it and he’s dumb enough to cause a spark?” He shook his head. “I think you’re right. Someone killed him. But I can’t prove it. If they used a trigger, there was no sign of it in the wreckage.”
