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Connor closes his eyes slowly. “Can you take this seriously?”
“I am being serious!”
“Get your feet off my desk.”
“Ourdesk,” I correct pedantically.
Connor gives my feet a rough shove. “It would be if you were ever here.”
It’s his comment more than the physical force that makes me plant my feet firmly on the ground. He’s never mentioned my “attendance” before.
“Yeah, well, I have groundwork to do,” I say a little defensively.
“Well now your priority is finding Roisin.”
“I’ve got a whole lot of priorities right now,partner. You want somebody to jump when you say ‘frog’, there’s a couple dozen men out front who’ll do just fine.” It’s not often that Connor’s and my priorities differ. But I’m not as loudmouthed about mine.
“When you find her,” Connor continues, “you let me know immediately. Are we clear?”
Okay, I’ll admit, that was pushing it a bit.
I give him a mock salute. “Yessir!”
“Until then…” Connor says, narrowing his eyes and handing me a file. “I have a lead I want you to follow.”
I flick through it absently, already knowing what I will find. Last known address, aliases, associates, and a recently updated photograph. Whatever “lead” this is, Connor wants them dead. Which I suppose is why he asked me.
Right at the bottom, in bold red letters, is the preemptive cause of death: suicide. It should be easy enough; I’ve had worse CODs.
As I skim through, Connor brings out his own file. This one is much thicker and has Roisin’s name scrawled across it. He pulls it open and starts skimming through.
“Roisin is twenty-three, coming up on twenty-four,” Connor says, reeling off information from the page. “It’s likely she’s still in school. Her interests include singing, dancing, and acting…”
I notice the location of my target and let out a low whistle. “You think she’s at Juilliard?”
“It’s just a hunch,” Connor says, a little defensively. “Julliard is competitive, so there’s a possibility she tried other schools.”
Just as I’m about to close the file completely, a name catches my eye.
“He’sfriends with Jack Duffy?” I say offhand.
“Two birds,” Connor replies as he cracks his neck. “Cutting Jack Duffy from his allies is our secondary objective. The bastard can only stay in hiding for so long.”
I nod at this; it’s fairly sound logic. Troubling rumors were beginning to emerge that Jack might be the puppeteer of a new gang that’s been causing trouble for the Maguires. If that’s the case, it would be better to encounter him on our own terms.
Besides, if there was ever a way to draw him out, targeting his friends would surely do it. From what I know and what I’ve seen of the guy—outside of Connor’s biases—he’s foolishly loyal to those who are loyal to him.
“So, do I question this guy about Roisin?” I say, holding up the file and tapping the picture.
Connor grimaces. “Probably best you make it quick. He’s somewhat high profile.”
“Copy that,” I say and grab a lighter out of my pocket. The file is on fire a moment later, and I throw it into the trash.
“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Connor says with a groan. “Do you have any idea how long that took to put together?”
I tap my brain. “Photographic memory. Safer than paper.”
“I’m serious, Arnold,” Connor calls after me, his tone suddenly intense. “Don’t fuck this up.”
