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“I don’t know what answer you want from me. Mayor Shaw had plenty of enemies,” I reply callously over my shoulder, sitting at the table to grab a plate and pile it high with lukewarm eggs and toast. Norman Long sits across from me, and I keep a wary eye on him. I'm glad Heather isn't here; I hadn't expected this little visit from him, and she'd freak the fuck out. “You sure you should be walking on that?”
“Cut the shit, Jack. I know you’re involved. Shaw was shot from your building, and I almost got him before he shot me and got away.” I smirk broadly as Norman grinds his teeth. He stiffens, perplexed as to why I'm smiling. That expression on his face is priceless. A government goon who is trying so hard but getting nowhere, and what's funnier... he knows this is a hail mary.
“You seriously showed up here at 9am because the mayor was shot from my building? That’s the only thread you’ve got?” I ask amusedly, chuckling when Long scowls at me. There is a reason after all that he’s never gotten close to me. Setting my plate down, I twirl my fork thoughtfully, holding eye contact. “I’d like to remind you that I may own the warehouse, but I rent it out to a clothing manufacturer. Are you going to interrogate them over a midnight snack? Or, what about the 120 employees that work there?”
“I know you’re involved. We found the bugs in her phones and office.” He reveals, and my brows furrow. So, it’s true, then. Fran Shaw was a rat if the FBI had bugged her house. As Norman Long's gaze glistens with triumph, I lean back in my chair and rub my chin with my free hand.
“That’s good for you, except... I’m not involved? I’m a businessman, Long. I’m a glorified real-estate agent. I do not bug people, and even if I did,” a gleeful smirk stretches my lips slowly, and that smug look on Long’s face begins to fade. “You could never pin anything on me. Look how well that worked out for you last time. How much longer are you on probation, again?”
On Long's side, the silence is dense and angry, and I'm relieved when Jimmy appears. He freezes in the doorway, his eyes wide with surprise, and I motion him in. “Jimmy will show you out. I don't like being treated this way in my own home. You can 'know' whatever you want, Long, but the fact is... your accusations are unfounded, and if you're not careful, they could land you in hot water."
CHAPTERTWENTY
Heather
“I’m so glad to be home,” I shout into the emptiness of my brownstone, throwing myself onto the sofa to groan comfortably. My mind stalls as I soak up the wonderful sensation of the cushions, the familiar smell of FaBreeze. Glancing over at the tv, I hoist myself onto my hands and knees to scan the coffee table and floor. “My phone.”
I slither off the sofa and slap around under the couch until I find my phone. It's dead, so I take my purse from the table to look for a charger. Memories from last night begin to spin in my head slowly, like a movie reel. I was able to ignore it during school by focusing on my kids and my job, but now there is no distraction.
I plug my phone charger into the wall block near the television and lean against it to sigh. A cold sweat breaks out under my clothes as I agitatedly rub my face. I stand up, leaving my phone on the floor, to grab the remote and turn on the TV. Instantly, the news is abuzz with Mayor Shaw’s murder, and I anxiously gnaw on my lower lip.
“What the Hell is happening to my life?” I ask myself, dread worming through my gut as I pull my legs up to hug my knees. The news reporters talk of what’ll happen until the next election, and I grimace deeply. “I’m not ever voting again. I liked her, and she was in bed with the Irish Mafia.”
I flop my head back with a groan before my phone trills excitedly, turning on for the first time in a few days. Days? Had it really been days since I was last here? I walk over to the device to watch the screen light up with notifications from Carrie. As I scroll through them, missed calls and texts growing increasingly desperate draw a scowl from me.
My thumbs hover over the screen, but my mouth dries with everything I can’t say. Carrie’s no fool; she already knows I’m acting weird.
“Ah!” I groan, leaving my phone on the tv stand to head for the kitchen. Walking down the stairs, I pause at the bottom platform and stare at the refrigerator. Realization slowly wafts over my mind; I don’t have to worry about it being empty. Closing the distance between me and it, I open the door to find it exactly the way I’d left it on Saturday. A big, fat, happy grin stretches my lips, and I lean down to grab a loaf of bread and the jar of peanut butter. “He didn’t eat it all.”
Ice lodges in my chest; Liam will never eat my food again. He’ll never leave a mess in the bathroom or be late on rent.Besides, you’re getting some good out of this.Jack’s words from the other day hang heavily in my mind’s eye as I set my armful on the counter.
“It’s true,” I whisper the forbidden words, reaching a numb hand to get a plate from the cabinet above. My admission floods every inch of the kitchen, but the pressure is light. “Liam’s death... It's the best option I could have found. He can't come back to haunt me, Jack's right. No one will come looking for him because no one cares. He was a crap human being, and just because he wasn't violent didn't make him any better."
Because people like Liamlinger. They linger like a bad cough that simply won’t go away.
I viciously shake my head while making myself a peanut butter sandwich. Liam's death was an accident, but I can't mourn it forever. I can't let him drag me down, especially now that he's gone. I folded my bread and returned my items to the fridge before heading upstairs.
"Like my dad, I won't let him drag me down from wherever he is," I say firmly to myself. How many ways can a body be disposed of in a city like Boston? "Most likely a lot."
My butt is almost on the sofa cushion before a sharp knock on the door makes me freeze. Ice engulfs my muscles, and I slowly set my plate on the coffee table before shuffling across the room. Unlocking the new deadbolt, I crack open the door, and my heart leaps into my throat.
“M— Mike?” I sputter in shock, my eyes straining. He stiffens, looking like a deer in the headlights for a brief moment. It’s only been a month, a little more, since we last saw each other, but no hurt sloshes through my chest. I’m not even mad at him beyond him standing there looking uncomfortable. “What’re you doing here?”
“Carrie said you haven’t answered your phone in days,” He replies simply, finally meeting my eyes. I grind my molars in irritation; after everything she said, she called him to check on me. What happened to all her preaching about what an asshole he is? Grimacing deeply, I lean against the door. Still, I don’t open it more than a few inches, and curiosity softens Mike’s features. “I just came to check on you because she asked me to.”
“You really shouldn’t have,” I answer blandly, unimpressed. At one point, Mike’s boyish smirk might’ve been attractive, but... not anymore. He’s a lying, cheating piece of crap, and it’s all I can see. His eyes glisten brighter the longer he just stares at me. “What? You can go now.”
“Heather, wait!” I tense when he shoves his foot into the doorway, and Mike shoulders his way into my home. My veins catch fire, and I look at him suspiciously as he closes the door behind him. He licks his lips while holding his hands up. I dare not look away from him; knowing I can't reach my phone or purse, where my gun is.
I blink in shock; am I seriously thinking about shooting Mike? He'd flee if he saw a gun, but the fact that pulling a piece on him is an option…
“Hear me out, please,” He begs, and my gaze is drawn to his face. The hairs on the back of my neck are bristling. Mike appears desperate as he struggles to smile without grimacing. “What’s been goin’ on the last couple of weeks?”
“I don’t owe you an explanation, you cheating, lying, son of a bitch,” I growl calmly, and Mike flushes bright pink in embarrassment. Irritation sears through my chest; how dare he beembarrassedby his own bad behavior! “Get out of my house, Mike.”
When he doesn't move, tingles spread up my fingers and palms, and I clench them into tight fists by my sides. There must be another reason for Mike's presence besides Carrie's concern. He must have called her, and she made a casual remark about not hearing from me. The way he looks at me, desperate, hopeful, and reprimanding. As if he could just suck up to me a little bit and I'd forgive him.
“Please, let me explain, Heather. I know I hurt you, but I made a mistake. Stella and I didn’t last—we broke up,” Mike pauses, and I suppress the urge to gag. Although it hasn't been long, I'm not the same person I was six weeks ago. “We’re getting a divorce. I know I hurt you, but the last couple of weeks have made me realize how much I still love you. You were right—we could have the perfect life if I just listened to you.”
