Текст книги "Blow"

Автор книги: Kim Karr

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

I could see the confusion in his face, like he just didn’t get women and their changing their minds.

“After that, I started to get nervous. She said she’d keep us quiet, but I wasn’t so sure. Then she started to get more and more serious about us and she was throwing around words like love, marriage, and forever. The day she told me she loved me and she wanted to run away together, I broke it off.”

The words were spoken with such absolute distaste, the sound made me cringe.

He shook his head. “I mean for fuck’s sake, we weren’t even sixteen.”

“I take it she didn’t take the breakup well?”

He shook his head again. “No, she couldn’t accept that we were over. For almost two months, she kept coming over, calling me, crying to me that she wanted me back. She was like a stalker. I did my best to ignore her, but then she threatened to tell her father about us.”

“Did she?”

“Fuck no, I knew she wouldn’t. She was smarter than that.”

I was almost afraid to ask. “Logan, who was her father?”

In a mumbled voice he answered, “Patrick Flannigan.”

Two words that put everything in perspective.

I drew in a sharp breath, not liking where this was going at all. The car was stop and go but I felt like we were flying down the road, ready to crash into anything that got into our way. “Patrick Flannigan,” I gulped.

A slow nod.

“Was that when he was part of the Dorchester Heights Gang?” I asked, starting to wonder if Emily had anything to do with the merging of two gangs.

Another slow nod.

His knuckles were white around the steering wheel. “To say he was an overprotective father would be downplaying it. When he found out, I knew he’d cut my balls off. But I had to call her bluff, so I told her I didn’t really care who she told. As callous as it sounds, I was done with her. By then I’d learned just how selfish and self-centered she was and I couldn’t stand to be near her. Anything I had felt for her was gone. I just wanted her out of my life.”

Trembling, I knew something bad must have taken place. I turned my body toward him and with my voice nothing more than a squeak, I asked, “What happened?”

Logan wouldn’t look at me. “It was a Saturday and the Red Sox were on. I was at my grandfather’s house watching the game. I was the only one home when she came over. I didn’t want to let her in, but she left me no choice when she wouldn’t stop ringing the fucking doorbell. I remember it like it was yesterday. I flung the door open and left her there while I walked into the family room and flopped on the couch with my arms behind my head. She came in and handed me a piece of paper with all these different numbers on it. When I asked what I was supposed to do with it, she told me it was confirmation of her pregnancy.”

The flashing lights in front of us seemed to be getting closer and my eyes darted to the sneakers on his feet and the slamming of his right foot on the brake. His arm jerked in front of me as if he could hold me in place. We were inches from the car, but there was no impact.

He finally looked at me. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

We were close to the hotel and I wanted to know what happened. “Logan, please just tell me what all of this is about? And why you’re telling me this story.”

He scrubbed his jaw and resumed driving. “I crumpled up the paper and threw it to the ground. I told her it couldn’t have been mine. We hadn’t fucked in months and I’d always used a condom. She told me she was three months along. That I should know condoms aren’t always effective. When I didn’t blink an eye, she insisted it was mine. I still didn’t believe her. Not that she was pregnant, and not that it was mine. I lost it then. I told her I’d had enough of her lies and to stop harassing me. I didn’t hold back. I told her what I thought of her and that I couldn’t believe she’d stoop to the oldest trick in the book to try to be with me. I couldn’t stand her—why would she even want to be with me? She cried that her father was going to kill her. Send her away to live with the nuns. I didn’t listen; instead I told her to leave and never come back. She ran into the bathroom and I didn’t bother with her. I wasn’t about to play her game. An hour later, I didn’t know if she was still there, but I got up to check anyway. That’s when I saw the blood pooling from under the door. I busted it open and she was lying there. Blood had arced up in splashes on the wall, the ceiling, and the side of the toilet. It was everywhere. It took me a moment to figure out where it was coming from. Then I saw it. She’d cut her wrists open—she’d killed herself, and it was too late to save her. I was too late to save her.”

There was no color. No light. No words. Nothing I could say.

The inflection in his voice told me of the pain he felt. Who was I to judge? And I still didn’t understand how he knew Peyton’s attack was because he’d been seen with her.

I reached over to him as he pulled up to the hotel valet. “Logan, you were a kid. How were you to know what she’d do?”

Ignoring me, he grabbed my bag from the back and got out without a word. My door opened and he stood there waiting for me. We stayed silent until we got to his room. I sat on the couch. He paced the room.

Finally, I spoke. “I don’t understand what this has to do with Peyton.”

He ran his hands through his hair. “I didn’t know what to do when I found her, so I called my old man. When he got to my grandfather’s, he called someone to come get me and told me he didn’t want me anywhere near there. I had no idea what he was doing, but found out later that he took the blame for her death.”

“What do you mean, took the blame? She killed herself.”

“In our house,” he muttered.

“But it wasn’t anyone’s fault.” I insisted.

“You don’t understand. A powerful man’s child doesn’t just die. They don’t just get shot, and certainly don’t just kill themselves. There has to be a reason. Always a reason. My father took that blame.”

My heart leapt. “How could he?”

“After he called 911, he called Patrick and told him what had happened. His version anyway. He told him Emily stopped by to see me but he didn’t know why. He knew it was going to get out that Emily and I had been together anyway, and he wanted to be the one to put it out there. He went on and told Patrick that when he told her I didn’t want to see her anymore, she started to cry, and then asked to use the restroom. He finished the story by telling him she’d been in there a while, so he’d gone to check on her, and that’s when he found her with her wrists slit, but it was too late. She was already dead.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“In Patrick’s eyes my father caused her distress. He was the reason she killed herself. And code mandates a life for a life. He thought Patrick would kill him but instead Patrick took his life in a different way. That day my father sold his soul to Patrick to save me.”

I was shaking my head. “But you didn’t do anything. It wasn’t your fault.”

“But it was—and my father knew Patrick would see it that way. I had gotten her pregnant. I was the one who didn’t believe her. I was the one who left her bleeding out in that bathroom.”

“Logan, she took her own life.”

He sat in a chair. Clasped and unclasped his hands before rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t you get it? It was because of me.”

“Logan.” I said his name only. I could see the pain he was feeling, but I didn’t think worse of him because of this. He was a young teen. It wasn’t his fault. No one makes another person do something like that—people do it to themselves.

It was enough to make him glance up. “I’m getting off track. After everything happened, my parents divorced and I moved to New York with my mother. Patrick never spoke about the pregnancy and to this day, I‘m not certain he ever found out, but Tommy and his sister were close, and he knew.”

“Tommy never told his father?” I asked.

“No. I don’t why. Probably because he knew Patrick would beat the living shit out of him for letting something like that happen to his sister, or maybe because he knew Patrick would kill me and he wanted to punish me in his own fucked-up way. Who knows why? Anyway, a few years passed and I began to distance myself from that painful day, from what I’d done, and get on with my life. One summer, I came back here with a girl, and Tommy saw me with her. He followed me back to my grandfather’s with four other guys and they attacked us.”

“Oh my God, Logan.”

Logan ignored my compassion. He was in a trance, talking with no feeling whatsoever, just citing the facts. “Tommy had a knife and he carved the letter E in the girl’s . . . in Kayla’s stomach. He told me if I was ever seen around town again with any other girl, he’d do the same, or worse.”

Shuddering, I sat here absorbing what he’d told me. “Are you certain he attacked Peyton?”

He ran his hand over his stubble. “I’m sure, Elle. He called me a dog that night. I’m sure. Peyton had me go with her to Mulligan’s Cup yesterday and the guy who works there was with Tommy that night so long ago. He must have told him.”

“Declan?”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “You know him?”

“Yes, he’s a really nice guy. And he likes Peyton. I can’t believe he’d do anything to hurt her.”

Logan stood. “Stay away from him.”

I nodded. I finally understood what he was worried about. Why he wore the hat, the sunglasses, whenever he went out. Why he looked around everywhere we went as if scouting the area. It was because he was. But I also knew I could take care of myself. “Logan,” I said before he walked into the bedroom.

He stopped.

“I can take care of myself.”

At that he turned around and reached into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet. He thumbed through the card slots and removed what looked like a tattered newspaper clipping. It was in color; maybe it was a magazine clipping. He handed it to me. On it was a picture of a girl who bore an eerie resemblance to me when I was younger. The headline read, “Young teen kills herself.”

My hand flew to my mouth. The similarity I bore to her initially seemed uncanny, but a closer look showed that while we shared the same ginger-colored hair and a smidgen of freckles across the nose, that’s where the likeness ended.

Logan gave me an intense look. “Tommy’s a sick fuck. I’m not as worried about what he’ll do to you because you’re with me. I’m worried about what he’ll do to you if he sees the resemblance.”

“Logan, we don’t look that much alike.”

“I know that. But from a distance there are similarities.”

My eyes closed in a subconscious effort to block out the fear in his voice. Out of nowhere, a thought struck. My eyes popped open. “Do you think he did something to my sister?”

An audible intake of breath was his response.

Like it was on fire, and burning me, I shoved the newspaper clipping as far away from me as I possibly could. “This isn’t your fault. I’m involved in this because of my sister, not you. This started before we ever met.”

He dropped his gaze.

“Logan,” I said softly.

His eyes surprised me. “I’ll find out where your sister is, Elle. I have a plan.”

Surprised, my brows raised in question. “What’s the plan?”

Not wasting any time, he stood and started back toward the bedroom. “I can’t tell you right now, but you have to trust me. I will keep you and that little girl safe.”

“And Michael?” I asked.

He just stared at me.

“Logan?”

Without another word, without an answer, he closed the door.

LOGAN

Reality slapped me in the face.

Even after a shower, my skin still felt like it was bathed in a cold sweat. My fingers continued to tremble with the disgust I felt for what I’d done all those years ago.

I hated that I’d had to tell Elle about it, but she had to know.

As I walked into my father’s law office, my legs were rods holding me up with each step, but I couldn’t feel them. I was on autopilot. I was gunning first for Declan, and then finally Tommy.

Tommy was close, but I had to believe he didn’t know about Elle because if he did . . . I couldn’t even think what that would mean.

Sure, I had a plan.

One that would protect her.

But my plan was shaky at best.

I had to put the pieces in motion.

Stacks of newspapers were piled on my father’s desk. The lights were dim and the gray clouds outside didn’t make the room any brighter. We’d had one wonderful day before March storms kicked up again. He was at his computer, reading glasses on, studying some documents on the screen.

“Anything?” I asked, not certain he was working on anything to do with Patrick or Tommy.

He slid his glasses down his nose to peer at me. “Actually, yes, I think so.”

Like a bat out of hell, I dashed around his desk and looked over his shoulder at the computer screen. “What?”

He twisted in his chair. “I met with Patrick’s accountant this morning and told him I needed bank statements for All My Women for the past two years.”

Exasperated, I said, “Why would you do that? He’s going to want to know why.”

“Relax, Logan. This isn’t my first rodeo. I fed him a bullshit story that the Financial Action Task Force is cracking down on certain types of wire transfers, looking for terrorist cells. I explained to him that I needed to see for myself exactly where Patrick was moving the money so I could advise him on what he should and shouldn’t be doing to avoid being targeted, or worse, being pinned as a terrorist.”

Chuckling, I shook my head. “You must have had Hal shaking in his shoes.”

His eyebrows popped in amusement. “More like shitting his pants. He emailed me the statements as soon as he got back to his office.”

“Sounds like you found something interesting.”

“I did. And not just the fact that the five million used to make the drug buy that went bad wiped out Patrick’s operating fund.”

“Completely?”

“Just about. That’s why he’s freaking out.”

“What else?”

My father turned back around and used his mouse to highlight something on the screen. “Look at this.”

I leaned closer and twisted my lips. “It’s a withdrawal.”

He highlighted a deposit. Then a withdrawal. Then another one of each. And then another.

“Okay, Pop, so someone is withdrawing a lot of money.”

He zoomed in on the withdrawal slip. “Not just someone. Tommy. The dumb shit has been depositing money and withdrawing more than the deposit on the next day for some time now.”

“Would explain the lack of money in the operating.”

“Yes, it does.”

I shook my head. “What? Is it Tommy’s idea of laundering?”

His brows rose. “Who knows, but he knows it’s forbidden in the organization. These are unsanctioned cash withdrawals and although they occur often during most of the statements I have, they started ramping up even more about six months ago.”

“How do you know Patrick is unaware of this?”

“Trust me, he is. Tommy is going to the bank and making the small deposits and larger withdrawals himself. Patrick would never allow that. Too risky. The dirty money has to be cleaned first—always. That’s Patrick’s rule. Patrick also doesn’t allow cash withdrawals. Funny thing is, Tommy stopped this activity three months ago.”

With a slow shake of my head, I said, “When O’Shea’s wife disappeared?”

My father turned back around. “Yes. But I’m not sure the two are connected.”

“But possibly?”

He shrugged. “The only thing I’m sure of is that something was going on behind Patrick’s back.”

“More drug buys?”

“Could be. Tommy knows Patrick doesn’t want Blue Hill relying on the drug trade to earn.”

“Do you think he’d be that stupid to defy his father?”

“I don’t know, Logan, but I’ve been thinking about this whole situation. Tommy first brought Patrick’s attention to the drug ring for a reason.”

“Because he needed the funds?”

“Yes, but why wait so long after the deal went bad to tell Patrick?”

“He tried to handle it himself?”

“There’s something else.”

“What?”

“I wish I knew. At this point Patrick wants his money back, but I’m almost certain he’s looking to eliminate whoever is running the renegade op. It’s like that person is some kind of threat to him or something.”

I leaned back on his desk and crossed my arms. “Okay, so how does this help us move forward with a solution?”

“It doesn’t. But if we can find out who O’Shea’s wife was working for and/or who she was getting the drugs from, we should be able to follow the trail up to the source, which will more than likely be the person in charge of the renegade operation. And if we deliver that person or persons by Friday, that girl you’re so concerned about should be safe.”

That girl.

She wasn’t just that girl anymore.

She was my girl.

Admitting it would be futile, though. What mattered was that I keep her safe. And that I would do, no matter what. “I know where to start,” I said.

My father looked at me skeptically.

I shoved off the desk. “Something happened last night.”

It took me fifteen minutes to tell him what happened to Peyton. He had so many questions—why was I there, what was I thinking, I shouldn’t even be near Elle. When the lecture started, I started for the door.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“To see Declan Mulligan. I’ll call you later.”

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

I indicated my appearance. “I’m in a suit—what am I going to do?”

My father said, “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“I’ll be smart.”

“Dinner?”

“Can’t tonight, but tomorrow night I’ll be there,” I responded as I left his office. I had no idea what today might bring. Plans weren’t anything I needed to have.

His heavy sigh could be heard down the hall.

My heavy sigh, though—that was what Declan should be worried about.

Tie pulled loose, suit jacket off, and sleeves rolled up, I found a place to park on ever busy Charles Street.

Mulligan’s Cup was open for business and full of patrons when I walked through the door. And Declan himself was working the espresso machine like he was born to brew lattes.

“I need to talk to you,” I said, bending over the counter.

“Yeah, give me a minute,” he responded without glancing up.

“In less than a minute, this fancy machine of yours is going to be on the floor.”

That got him to look up and when he saw my unhappy face, he paled, and then cranked a knob or two on the Italian masterpiece in front of him that had to cost at least thirty thousand. “Logan, look, I don’t want any trouble.”

“I said, I need to talk to you.” I was seething. My fingers gripped the back of the machine so tightly it shook. I would shove it to the ground if I had to—if it was the only way to get his attention.

He swallowed nothing in his throat and gave me a nod. “Charlene, can you finish this order?” he asked the girl behind the register.

“No problem,” she answered, eyeing me with distaste.

Declan took off his apron and bobbed his head toward the door leading to the backroom.

As soon as we were through it, I slammed him into the wall. “Why would you do that?” I said with disgust.

Sputtering, gasping for breath, he choked out, “I didn’t do anything.”

“Wrong answer.” I punched him in the gut.

Declan curled around my fist as all the air went out of his body. “Logan, I didn’t do anything. I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

I pulled him up by the shirt collar. “You’re trying to tell me you didn’t put Peyton in the hospital?”

“No! What do you mean? What happened to her?” He coughed the words out, his concern clear in his tone.

Shoving him back against the wall, I looked him in the eye. “Someone saw me with her yesterday and last night she was attacked—by Tommy.”

He blinked rapidly as if trying to process what I’d just said. “Is she okay?”

I stepped back so I could better assess if he was lying to me. He looked genuinely upset. With narrowed eyes I hissed, “You’d better not be fucking with me.”

He raised his palms surrender style. “I swear, man, I haven’t seen Tommy in years. I’m staying clean and trying to run an honest business.”

I clenched my fists, trying to beat back the urge to knock him around a bit and see if he really was telling me the truth.

“What happened to Peyton?”

Calming myself, I leaned back against the counter. “She was attacked and left with an E on her stomach as a warning . . . to me.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Fuck, no.”

Declan reached behind him, but I was on him too fast. My face was right up in his. “Don’t even think about it.”

“I’m not carrying. I was reaching for my phone. I want to call Peyton.”

Unsure, I patted him down.

“Logan, I told you, I’m not in that life anymore. And besides, I like Peyton—I’d never do anything that might hurt her.”

Images flickered in my mind of the long walk up the hill yesterday, of the dozens and dozens of people we must have passed. Was Tommy one of them? Was he combing the streets looking for the same thing his father demanded be delivered by Friday?

Drugs.

Money.

The connection.

What the fuck was it?

I found myself staring at Declan. “What do you know about Tommy and dealing drugs?”

He shook his head. “I told you, I’m out of that life.”

Air pushed from my mouth. “Come on man, I’m not stupid.”

“I am.”

“Tommy let you out?”

“Patrick did. He knew my old man needed help with his business and for some reason, he let me go. Said it was for the good of the neighborhood.”

Possible, but not probable. “Come on, Declan, don’t lie.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Then what’s the real reason you’re out and still alive?”

He sighed. “Tommy got shot a few years back and the guys he was with left him on the ground bleeding. I saved him and in return, Patrick let me out. But it really was to work my old man’s business.”

For some reason, I believed him. “Even out, I know you have to hear things. Peyton is an innocent girl who got caught up in Tommy’s shit. If you care about her, you’ll help me out.”

An unlikely ally, I was surprised when he said, “I heard he was dealing and had been seen over at the waterfront with a redhead a lot, but that was months ago.”

“Can you find out where exactly?”

“I can ask around, but I’ll need some time. I can’t just bring it up. I have to run into the right people.”

My mouth twisted. “Something is going down soon and we don’t have much time.”

His eyes told me he understood. “I’ll hit the neighborhood tonight.”

The room was organized and I reached behind him for a clipboard hung on wall. Tearing a corner from a sheet of paper, I wrote down my number. “Call me as soon as you hear anything. I don’t care what time it is.”

I was out the door when I turned back. “Hey—”

He was already on his phone.

For a minute, I wondered again if he’d played me and was calling Tommy.

As if knowing my thoughts, he held his phone. Calling Peyton flashed on the screen.

“Sorry about the misunderstanding.”

He gave me a nod and then turned his attention to his call. “Peyton, it’s Declan . . .”

The door closed and I reached in my wallet and stuffed a twenty in the tip jar. Charlene was still eyeing me, but at least she added a smile.

Once I was back in my car, I sent Elle a text.

Me: What color hair does your sister have?

Elle: Red, why? Do you think you found her?

Red.

Could Tommy have been in business with Lizzy? Was O’Shea on the up-and-up when he said he had nothing to do with what went down?

I texted Elle back.

Me: No, I haven’t. Do you have a picture of her you could send me?

Elle: I don’t have any recent photos, but I know there are some on Michael’s FB account. Hang on.

Elle sent me a link.

Me: Thanks. I’ll be back soon.

Elle: I’m at the boutique. I took a cab. I’m waiting for the deliveries and then I’ll meet you back at the hotel.

Me: I told you to stay put.

Elle: I’ve been here for months. It’s safe.

She had a point. As long as I didn’t go there and she wasn’t seen with me, she was safe—for now. My fingers hovered over my screen. I wanted to say something to her to let her know I was thinking about her. My feelings confused even me. I’d known her what, four days, and I wanted to know more of her. I’d told her about the darkest part of me, and she didn’t think I was a monster. Something was happening between us, but I wasn’t sure either of us knew what it was.

Me: Looking forward to seeing you.

Elle: J

A smiley face? What the hell did that mean? I shoved my phone into my pocket before I sent her back a matching one or worse yet, a wink, or who the hell knew, maybe an xoxo. If I didn’t get my thoughts under control, I might just be texting her a heart before I even realized it. My groan was loud enough for everyone in the vicinity to hear. I wanted to plug my own ears.

Pulling out, I focused on the traffic, the cloudy day, the people on the street. Anything to take my mind off the girl I was becoming way too attached to.

I spent the afternoon at the waterfront. What I thought I’d find there, I had no idea. I roamed Seaport Boulevard. I saw nothing out of the ordinary. I ventured into the hotel lobbies. I found shit. Wandered the waterfront. The only things there were boats and seafood.

By five o’clock, I’d had enough.

It was time to get back to the hotel.

And I wanted to see Elle.