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  Looking into his dark eyes had me jumping up. “That’s only going to stir shit up and you know it.”

  “Now!” he demanded.

  “Talk to me first. Listen to what I have to say,” I pleaded.

  His disposition didn’t change and his scowl remained.

  Worried things would only get worse, I reasoned with him. “Please, this isn’t about your son. I’ll take care of him. He’ll be fine. I’m here because I need some advice. Some insight. Or innocent people are going to end up hurt or, worse, dead.”

  Gramps reluctantly sat on the edge of his bed. “Go on.”

  I told him everything that I knew that had taken place so far between Patrick, O’Shea, and Elle, which wasn’t much. Even about how much Elle looked like Emily. I kept my voice even, but it broke more than a few times. Finally, I shared my plan to bail out O’Shea out if I had to.

  He listened intently. When I finished, he scratched his chin and seemed to think hard for a few moments before he spoke. “Let me get this straight. Someone has been funneling cocaine through the high-society circuit and when Patrick got wind of it, he went ballistic because he doesn’t own a piece of it; and then true to form, he put Tommy on it, who in turn questioned everyone, beat doors down, made threats, but whoever was running the ring remains a ghost on the street.”

  I nodded. “Yeah. Makes me think he’s running more than just the small, wealthy circle.”

  “I have to agree. This source is bigger than even Patrick thinks.”

  I was certain he was right.

  “And you think it could be this chick you mentioned?”

  “Yeah, O’Shea’s wife. I’m not one hundred percent on that, but that’s what I’m told.”

  He harrumphed, since his old-school beliefs meant a chick could never pull something like that off. “I don’t think so.”

  “Gramps,” I started to say, but he cut me off.

  “And O’Shea, he’s that Black Irish Mickey, the florist’s boy?”

  I had to shake my head. No one used that term anymore but him. He had this thing about the Irish having dark hair. Some old wives’ tale that they had a little bit of the devil in them. “Yeah, that’s him. He’s an attorney.”

  “Is he anything like his old man?”

  “He has dark hair.” I smiled.

  “You know what I mean, smart-ass.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know either of them, but in what way do you mean?”

  “Devout Catholic. Never misses a Sunday Mass or a confession. Carries a rosary with him too. In fact, if I recall correctly, he had a delinquent son he shipped off to Ireland at a young age to prepare for seminary school years ago. That’s what a fanatic he was.”

  “To each his own I guess, but like I said, I don’t know the father or the son. I do, however, think this son is a douche, but a devout Catholic, that I doubt.”

  Gramps raised his brows. “You say,” he grinned, “this douche is claiming he isn’t involved with the drug ring at all?”

  “That’s what he told Pop, but I’m not so sure.”

  Gramps shook his head. “I’m with you. Not sure I’d believe him.”

  The tiredness in the back of my eyes faded at the realization I might be right. “Why do you say that?”

  Shifting on the bed, he brought his large frame to the head and settled back. “I can’t say, really. It’s a feeling based on what I know of his old man. When Mickey O’Shea was a teenager, he was a small-timer hoping to hit it big. Always doing stupid things. I warned your father to stay away from him in school. And it was a good thing I did. At nineteen, just after he got married, Mickey did a five-year stretch for hijacking a fleet of trucks. His first big job and he gets caught right out of the gate. Fucking idiot. When he got out, he started up his own gang with Patrick Flannigan as his number two. Some shit went down with his wife, and after that the gang folded. Lucky for him, his mother had passed and he took over her flower shop. I have to say, I was surprised that he gave up on making his fortune on the wrong side of the law and settled for domestic life.”

  “So he dropped out just like that?”

  He shrugged. “As far as I know. Then his wife was killed in some gang-related incident and honestly, I haven’t heard much about him since. But if the young O’Shea is anything like his old man was, he’s a dreamer hoping to hit it big the easy way.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so, Gramps. O’Shea seems to be doing well on his own. I asked around and he’s thinking of running for District Attorney next year.”

  “Doesn’t mean it isn’t him.”

  “He claims it was his wife who set up the drug ring with his friends.”

  “Well, talk to her.”

  “Can’t. She disappeared three months ago and from what I can piece together, no one knows where she is.”

  “And you’re in love with her?”

  “No, Gramps. I told you, I haven’t met his wife.”

  His eyes narrowed on me. “I’m old, not senile. I’m not talking about the wife and you know it. I’m talking about the one that looks like Emily.”

  Cringing, I paced around the room. “Gramps, I only told you that about Emily so you’d understand where my concern was coming from. I’m not in love at all. But last night someone slashed his sister-in-law’s tire and then later tried to break into Elle’s place.”

  “And how much longer are you going to pretend that look on your face isn’t what I thought it was when we first started this discussion?”

  I shook my head, getting a little aggravated with his misdirected focus. “Give it a rest, old man. I’ve already told you, there’s nothing there.”

  He stared at me, his mood contemplative. “I’ll let it go for now, but only because there are more important things to focus on. Was she hurt? Were there any messages left?”

  I leaned against the wall. “No, she wasn’t hurt. I’m not sure about any messages.”

  His wheels were spinning. “Then it wasn’t Patrick or his prick son, for that matter. The one thing you can count on is that they are lowlife scum. If it had been them, there would have been no doubt it was.”

  I sighed. “Yeah, that’s what I think. Which is why I think there’s time to get Elle and her family out of this.”

  The hardness was back in his features. “Come over here, sit down, and listen to me.”

  By the time I slid the chair over and sat, I was all worked up again.

  Gramps leaned forward with that scowl on his face. “I’m going to tell you right now, you give O’Shea that money and you’re opening up a can of worms you won’t be able to crawl out of. First, it means you’re getting involved in the drug ring, and you know as soon as the DEA sees you on that radar, they’ll be up your ass. And second, I know Patrick. He’s not going to let that debt be settled so easily. Even if it was O’Shea’s wife running things, O’Shea obviously knew about it. Patrick will use him until there’s nothing left and once he’s useless, Patrick will dispose of him.”

  Harsh words, and I didn’t want to process them. “But he has a little girl. What if she gets hurt?”

  My grandfather shrugged coolly. “Collateral damage never bothered Patrick.”

  Furious, I stood back up and began pacing. “And the wife’s sister?”

  Again with the cool demeanor. “More than likely, she’ll be dead by association, and anyone else who he’s close with.”

  I slammed my hand against the wall.

  “Admit it, boy. She’s the one?”

  Annoyed, I turned to face him. “The one what?” I barked.

  His face creased. “The one that has got your insides twisted all up. Whether you want to admit it to me or not, at least admit it to yourself.”

  Sighing, I couldn’t believe I was saying this. “So what if she is?”

  He drew in a deep worried breath. “Walk away, Logan,” he almost pleaded.

  I crossed the room and stood in front of him. “I’m not doing that.”

  Silence
filled the space and I could see the harshness in his facial expression fading. Finally he spoke. “That’s what I thought. Tell me, what’s your father’s involvement?”

  I brought my temper down a notch as well. “Minimal. He’s just the messenger. Even if Patrick wanted to involve him further, he doesn’t trust him enough.”

  Gramps nodded. “That’s good. He won’t get hurt that way.”

  He knew I was stronger than my father. After all, he made me that way. Not only in the physical sense, but in my fortitude as well. Gramps hadn’t taught my father the ways of the street. My grandmother wanted her boys to have a different life and he’d agreed. But as time passed, he learned that wasn’t always possible and he worried for me, which is why he took me under his wing. He taught me what he’d neglected to teach my father. That’s why my awareness and resolve was more like a soldier’s, whereas my father was like a new recruit, not entirely brought in.

  Unfortunately, my father also used booze as a crutch, and that was a dangerous thing. Then again, having your life turned upside down would do that to a guy. And working with Patrick had done just that to my old man. As soon as he started, my mother found out and demanded I stay in New York full-time and attend school there. It wasn’t like I had much of a choice. My father made me go. I wanted him to move there too. He couldn’t, though, and I knew it. So instead, he was forced to lead a life he’d never wanted.

  All because of what I’d done when I was fifteen.

  I looked at my grandfather and braced myself for the fallout. “I’m going to have to talk to Patrick myself.”

  The old man rose so fast, he had me by the shirt collar before I knew what was happening. In a beat, he pushed me back and slammed me against the wall. “You even think about going to see him and I’ll kill you myself.”

  I stayed where I was. Shocked that he had that much fight left in him. “What else can I do?”

  When he released me, he almost collapsed.

  I grabbed him and helped him back to the bed.

  Once he was sitting, he said, “Bring that chair over here.”

  I again moved the fucking chair.

  With my ass on the hard wood, he pulled my face close to his. “Here’s what you’re going to do.”

  I listened intently.

  Absorbing every word.

  The old man knew best.

  ELLE

  Something wasn’t right.

  I pulled into the side driveway of Michael’s corner lot and put my car in park. With a flick of the switch, the interior light turned on and I proceeded to search the floor. It wasn’t there.

  My garage door opener was missing, and for some reason the button programmed into the vehicle hadn’t worked in weeks.

  Feeling slightly panicky, I opened the glove compartment. It wasn’t there either. Maybe I’d stuffed it in my purse. After all, I did it all the time when I’d take Clementine for walks. I reached for my bag and realized it wasn’t the same purse I’d used this week. That one I’d left behind at the boutique.

  Clementine had fallen asleep in her car seat and I wanted to get her in her crib and avoid the cold while doing so.

  To be certain the repair shop hadn’t moved it, I lifted the center console lid and rummaged through it.

  Something sparkled.

  My eyes dipped down and I reached inside. When I picked the charm up, my fingers trembled. Sucking in a breath, I pinched the silver and turned it around. But I didn’t need to. The glistening of the small speck of a diamond was all I needed to see to know for certain. Still, I read the inscription anyway.

  It was the charm from the bracelet my sister had given me for my tenth birthday. The same one I threw at her the day she left.

  My heart stilled as the memory flooded me and I tried to hold back the tears.

  “Happy birthday,” my mother and sister sang as the candles flamed before me.

  Just as I was blowing them out, the door swung open and my father strode in. I froze in mid-blow, but the candles went out anyway.

  Traitors.

  His eyes darted to my mother. “You couldn’t wait?”

  “It’s almost ten, Henry, and the girls have school tomorrow.”

  He disarmed and left his gun on the counter where he always did. We were living in Germany at the time and since we’d just arrived, we didn’t really know anyone, so we had no one to invite to my party.

  Not that we ever would have invited anyone anyway.

  “Let’s eat the cake,” he said, more jovial than he’d been in a long time.

  My mother smiled at him and started cutting it.

  It was strange; I felt like we were a family. That didn’t happen often.

  My father moved closer to the table and gave her a kiss. “Did you give Gabby her present?” he asked my mother excitedly.

  She sniffed him and twisted her head. “No, not yet. Where have you been?”

  His demeanor changed instantly. “I told you, I had a meeting. Now let me give Gabby her present. Where did you hide it?”

  My mother looked upset. “It’s in my purse. I’ll get it in a moment.”

  As my mother was cutting the cake, my father disappeared into the mudroom, where my mother always hung her purse.

  Everything had a place in our house.

  My mother gave me the first piece and then turned around to hand my father a slice, but he hadn’t returned yet. I guess she never realized he’d left the room. “Henry?”

  “He went to get my present, Mommy,” I said excitedly.

  There was a growl-like sound from the mudroom. “Susan!”

  My mother paled right before us.

  A thud had us all jumping.

  “What’s the matter, Mommy?” Lizzy asked.

  She set the cake down. “Go to your room, girls.”

  “But Mommy, I haven’t finished my cake or opened my present.”

  Lizzy stood and tugged on my nightgown. “Come on, Gabby.”

  I shook my head.

  My father appeared in the doorway holding a round, pink compact in his hand. His eyes were dark and his demeanor was now terrifying.

  “Go, girls,” my mother said, beckoning us. “Now.”

  Lizzy pulled me along and I went, but my eyes never left his.

  “Susan,” he said again, even more sternly.

  “I can explain, Henry.”

  Before I was out of the kitchen doorway, I saw him take the handle of his gun and start pounding on the compact. Small pills were being crushed. I watched him, and then he glanced up and saw me. “You are supposed to be in your room,” he barked, and took a step toward me with his hands on his belt.

  “No, Henry. No!” my mother yelled.

  My sister pulled me harder and I followed her. With each step I could hear my father behind me.

  As soon as she closed our door, he locked it.

  He locked us in.

  “Susan!” he yelled.

  I heard her patter down the hallway. “Henry, we need to talk about this.”

  “How long?”

  There wasn’t an answer.

  “How long have you been taking birth control pills?”

  “Not as long as it took you to find another whore,” she spat.

  His laugh was wicked. “I wouldn’t have to seek pussy elsewhere if you’d let me inside you when I need you. But that’s about to change right now, Susan. No more options for you. Now tell me, how long?”

  My mother was whispering and I couldn’t hear her.

  “My house. My rules. Get to our room, now!”

  “Henry, we need to talk.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about. I’m going to have to punish you. I can’t let this go. You’re deliberately keeping something from me that I really want. What kind of wife does that to her husband?”

  Even my sister had sat on her bed and was listening. We were both scared. We’d been punished with his belt a few times. Would he do that to our mother?

  Their door shut.

/>   “Give me your wrist,” he said. “Give it to me, Susan.”

  “You don’t have to tie me up, Henry. You can have me.”

  “I can have you? I can have you! You’re mine. I don’t have to have your permission. I’ve let you get away with your ‘I have a headache, I don’t feel well, the girls are awake, I’m really sick today’ excuses long enough. From now on, when I want you, you’re mine. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes,” she said calmly. She wasn’t as upset as she usually was.

  “I thought we had an understanding, Susan.”

  “So did I.”

  He laughed. “What? You’re upset because I’m putting my dick in someone who wants me?”

  “Yes. You promised me you wouldn’t do that again.”

  “I have needs that you can’t meet. When you can, I won’t have to seek alternate outlets. But Susan, you’re distracting me from the issue. The problem isn’t me or who I have to fuck because you can’t satisfy my needs. It’s what you’ve been doing behind my back. I provide for this family and you grow it. That was our deal. I’m doing my part but you’re not doing yours. Do I have to stop providing for you to understand? Leave you and girls on your own? With nothing. Would you like that?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Do I?” He yelled louder.

  “No,” she cried.

  I knew she was scared to be on her own. I’d heard her talking to someone about it once.

  “I didn’t think so. Now give me your ankle.”

  I left my bed and went to sit next to my sister. “What’s he doing?”

  “I think he’s tying her up.”

  “Why?” I gasped.

  She shook her head. “Because she doesn’t want to have any more babies.”

  That thumping started again, but there were no cries from my mother and no yelling from my father.

  It was scarier than when there were.