Текст книги "Blow"

Автор книги: Kim Karr

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

LOGAN

Emily.

Dead Emily.

Elle might bear an eerie resemblance to Emily but she was nothing like her. Unlike Emily, I could tell Elle hadn’t been sheltered, coddled, or treated like a princess. She didn’t think she owned the world or that it revolved around her. No. Rather, she wore a protective shell and had a fierceness about her that I knew grew out of need. A need to not only protect her physical well-being but her emotional one as well. She was strong and independent and didn’t seem to rely on anyone except herself. I hoped that continued to hold true, because relying on O’Shea would be a mistake. It wasn’t something I could prove. It was something I felt.

After I left my father’s, I had an overwhelming need to check on her. To make sure she was okay. I just doubted the slashing of her tires was a coincidence. There was something going on, but what, I had no fucking clue.

That was going to change.

The street was void of people as I pulled down it. I was easing by her place and noticed a light was on upstairs. Slowing, I looked around. The glow of that light illuminated a dark figure in the bushes.

I jerked my SUV to the curb and flew out the door. It was darker than fuck. The streetlights didn’t do shit to overpower the gloom of the weather. Whoever it was had already moved around the building before I reached the sidewalk. I was almost certain the perp was unaware of my approach. Quietly, I skimmed along the sidewall, the rain steadily falling and blurring my vision with every passing second. As I blinked the water away, I saw movement. The figure had just rounded the building. I ran and then stopped at the corner to peer around to the back. The perp stood on a small porch, two steps high. He had something in his hand. I pulled out my SIG Sauer and hugged the wall as I quietly crept along the brick. I’d jump him and find out who the hell he was and what he was doing here.

Suddenly, the back porch light flicked on and the door opened.

Elle appeared in the entry.

“Stay inside,” I snapped.

The figure, covered in black from head to toe, jumped down the two steps and took off at a dead run into the small park that butted up to the back of the building.

I tore after him.

“Logan!” Elle screamed.

I turned back, my heart in my throat. “Close and lock the fucking door.”

“No, Logan, don’t. Leave her alone.”

Her?

By the time I turned back, there was no trace of anyone having been there. Bay Village was dense with row houses, iron gates, and so many alleys. I had no idea where the perp had gone once he’d—she’d?—slipped into the park.

I tucked my SIG back inside the waistband of my jeans. “Fuck.”

Elle stepped outside with a small gun in her hand pointed at me.

“Put that away,” I ordered.

She stared at me. “What are you doing here?”

I stopped at the base of the stairs and surveyed the area one last time. There was nothing but the darkness. “Let’s get inside.”

She steadied her arms and kept her finger on the trigger. “Why did you do that?”

I wanted to get out of the fucking vast space. “Elle, let’s go inside and I’ll explain.”

She was still pointing her .22-caliber at me.

Impatience took over and I mounted the porch stairs.

Her hands started to tremble.

I knew she wasn’t going to shoot me. “Give me the gun, Elle.”

She didn’t move. “No. Tell me what you’re doing here.”

To pacify her, I raised my hands surrender style. “I went to see my pop after I left you and on my way back to my hotel, I found myself needing to make sure you were all right.”

She shook her head. “Why?”

“I don’t know. I can’t explain it. It was a feeling. But it’s the truth. I was driving by when I saw a light on upstairs and then saw someone near the front door. That’s when I got out of my SUV, but they were already around the building.”

“Why were you after her?”

I looked around again. “Who?”

She moved her shoulders as if the position was uncomfortable. “My sister.”

I gave her a puzzled look. “You think that was your sister?”

“I’m . . . I’m not sure.” Her hands were shaking even more now.

Maybe she was nervous, or maybe it was because she was barely dressed and had to be freezing. Maybe it was because I was supposed to believe her sister was in rehab. I didn’t. Still, I played along . . . for now. “I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.” I reached and gently took the small pistol from her hand. “Come on, let’s get inside. We’ll talk there.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“You don’t have to be,” I whispered back.

She was still. I couldn’t tell if she was in shock or if something else was going on in her head.

I opened the screen door and placed my hand on the small of her back. I liked the feeling of it there. I shoved the wayward thought away and focused instead on ushering her inside, on keeping my movements impersonal.

The door opened into the kitchen, which was open to the family room. Once I flicked the light on, I looked at her. She was barely dressed. Impersonal. Keep it impersonal. Don’t worry about how she’s dressed, or not dressed as is the case. I spotted a blanket and made my legs move toward it. Water seeped onto the hardwood floors from my sneakers, and once I’d grabbed the blanket I wrapped it around her. Then I found a towel and cleaned up the water on the floor.

Keep busy.

A to B to C.

I couldn’t let my mind wander.

I had to think with my head, and not the one that was roaring at the close proximity to the unbearably sexy woman beside me.

She seemed to be zoning out as she stared at me.

“How about I make us that coffee?”

She nodded.

Okay.

Pot. On counter. Check.

Water. Sink. Check.

Coffee.

She was watching me. Knew what I needed next. “It’s in the cupboard,” she said, pointing above the pot.

My eyes lingered on her bare legs. They were long and lean.

Coffee. Check. Check. Check.

She sat at the table that divided the kitchen from the living area. She was facing me, but her head was turned toward the door.

The kitchen was somehow new but old-looking at the same time. Obviously it had been recently remodeled with new appliances, but everything else looked old, even the chandelier over the island. The white cabinets and deep-veined marble counters were a stark contrast to the dark floors and redbrick walls. Paintings and photographs of flowers blowing in the wind decorated most of the wall space. They were a mixture of modern and traditional.

I scanned the rest of the area. It was sparsely furnished but looked more than adequate. A single dark gray sofa, white carpet, red pillows, and large wooden tables filled the living room. The open staircase with its Plexiglas guard made it easy to spot the second floor.

I marked the points of entry to the single large room. A door to the south leading to the backyard from the kitchen, a few windows down the east side, a window to the north, and the front door. No other points of entry. Nothing to the west, as another townhome was conveniently located there. If only she didn’t have an end unit. The points of entry would be fewer. I wanted to check upstairs but decided I’d wait a bit.

As I pivoted to see if the coffee was ready, I noticed a door just under the staircase that most likely led to the basement. It had a lock on it but it wasn’t engaged, and as I moved toward the refrigerator, I casually crossed over to the lock and turned it. I eased back and opened the fridge, where I spotted a bottle of creamer. I poured two cups of coffee and brought them, along with the creamer, to the table.

“Sugar?” I asked, like it was my house. Like I knew where it was. Like I was Martha fucking Stewart. I rolled my eyes at what this girl was doing to me.

She shook her head and then covered her face with her hands.

Distress emanated from her. Without a second thought, I sat beside her and pulled her hands away. I couldn’t help but notice how soft her skin was and how much I liked the feel of it. “What’s going on?”

She straightened her shoulders. “I honestly don’t know. I’ve been sitting here trying to figure out if that was my sister or just my imagination.”

Looking for answers, I asked, “What makes you think it was your sister?”

My father told me Elizabeth O’Shea was MIA. Was the intel wrong?

“Nothing. It’s just . . .” She stopped and rubbed her hands together in a nervous gesture.

“Go ahead. Tell me.”

She shook a little. “I’d been having dreams about her all night when I finally gave up on sleep and decided to get up, I looked out the window, and I swear I saw her. But now that I’ve thought about it, I’m not so sure if it was my sister or my imagination putting her face on whoever it was.”

I pushed her coffee closer to her. Her face was bare of makeup and her hair wild. She looked utterly beautiful and vulnerable at the same time. The vulnerability scared the shit out of me.

Focus.

I had to focus on finding out what I could, in order to keep her safe. “How about we back up. Why would your sister be lurking around your house in the middle of the night?”

With both hands around her cup, she glared at me. “How about you tell me what you and your father have to do with Michael?”

Well, that was an abrupt about-face. I put both elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Elle, I want to help you, but I can’t do that if you won’t talk to me.”

Lifting the cream, she poured some in her cup and handed the bottle to me. “Why should I trust you?”

I tipped the creamer and added a small amount to the jet-black liquid. “Because I’m sitting here. Because I care about what’s going on. Because I want to help.”

“Tell me what you and your father were doing at Michael’s office.”

She was suddenly all business.

Assessing the situation, I leaned back in my chair and stretched my legs as I tried to decide the best way to go about this. I looked at her. At my cup of coffee. And back at her. “My father is legal counsel to a man involved with Michael and he came to brief Michael on a . . . situation.”

Her eyes bore into mine. “You mean the drug issue?”

My nod was hesitant, but enough that she knew the score.

Elle drew in a deep breath. “How does a boy from New York get involved in a Boston drug ring?”

“If you’re talking about me, I’m not involved.”

She raised a doubtful brow. “Who is this man who sent your father?”

Hesitation furrowed my brows.

“Tell me.”

“Patrick Flannigan,” I said, not really sure why.

Nothing registered. She didn’t know him.

I sipped my coffee. She really knew very little and that was how it should stay. I felt the need to clarify something. “Elle, there are some things you are better off not knowing.”

She held her hand up. “I’m tired of hearing that. My sister was into something illegal and if dangerous people are involved, I have a right to know.”

Ruffled, I ran a hand through my hair. “You’re right. I don’t disagree. At the same time, I’m here because I want to help you, not hurt you. But you need to let me do that.”

She gave me a slight nod. “Fair enough.”

The blanket had fallen off her shoulders and tiny nipples were protruding through the thin fabric of her top. My cock hardened, and I had to shift in my seat and reset my focus. “So tell me about your sister.”

She pulled the blanket up. “First tell me who you think that was. Were they trying to hurt me?”

With a jerk forward, I had a strange urge to grab her hand. “I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to figure out. And I’m finished with you firing questions at me. I want to be honest with you, but I need you to talk to me first.”

Annoyed, she wouldn’t let up. “I will. After you tell me who you think that was.”

My temper was flaring and I took a moment to calm down. “Straight up?”

She gave me the barest hint of a nod.

Ready or not, it was time to lay it on the line. “Your tire wasn’t just flat, it was slashed. I hate to say this, but I’m almost certain it was deliberate.”

Elle gave me another nod, this one no more certain than the last, and she shivered at the same time. Tough shit—there was no time to sugarcoat the truth, not that I would have done so anyway.

“It just seems way too coincidental that with everything going it was some random perpetrator. Whoever it was must have been here to leave a message.” As soon as I said the words, the knot I felt in my stomach prevented me from forging on. Clint Eastwood sounded great, but in reality the Dirty Harry thing was wearing thin. I didn’t like to see her in this state. She looked way too vulnerable for my liking.

Frowning, she circled her finger in the air. “Go on.”

Did she just give me an order?

And had I just said vulnerable?

Composing myself, I told her what I knew. “He came here to scare you in some way. That’s about the only thing I’m one hundred percent certain about.”

“Buy why?”

“More than likely to send Michael a warning through you.”

Her inscrutable countenance gave little away.

Frustrated, I cast her a wary look. “Now it’s your turn. Tell me why you think it might have been your sister.”

Elle’s bravado seemed to deflate as soon as I put the conversation in her court. With a hand on the table, she stood up and went over to the couch, still wrapped in the blanket and carrying her cup with her. Once she settled herself, she looked over at me and I could see the gloom on her face. “My sister’s missing. We don’t know where she is. I lied to you earlier. She’s not in rehab.”

I nodded. I already knew that, but I was glad she’d come clean. “Why the lie?”

She drew in a breath. “Michael is worried that if he reports her missing and the police find her, they’ll figure out she’s been involved with illegal activities and arrest her.”

“So, he claims to be protecting her, but what if she’s in trouble? What if that was her?”

“I don’t know. I have to trust Michael on this. I haven’t seen my sister in fifteen years. There’s a chance I might not even know her if I saw her. But talking to you earlier tonight opened up some old wounds, and she has been on my mind more than usual. Like I said, now that I’ve had time to think about it, I really don’t believe it was her.”

Feeling like an asshole for pushing, I stood and walked over to the sofa, sitting on the opposite end. “Do you have any idea where your sister is now?”

She pulled the blanket from her shoulders. “No. My only guess is that things got too tough for her to handle and she ran off.”

I tried not to look at her sexier-than-fuck body, but my own body had a mind of its own and I could feel my blood coursing hot through my veins. “Tell me what you know.”

Elle turned sideways to face me and pulled her legs up, covering herself with the blanket again. “Not much. Almost four months ago I got a call out of the blue from my sister. I have no idea how she got my number, though we do have a mutual acquaintance in California. Like I said, we hadn’t seen each other or spoken in fifteen years. When she called, she told me that she thought she was in trouble.” Elle took a deep breath.

“Go on,” I prompted.

With a slightly hesitant nod, she did. “She asked me to look after her baby if anything happened to her.”

A tear rolled down her cheek. I wanted to wipe it away but I didn’t. “Did she say what she thought might happen to her?” I asked.

Elle folded her hands together. “No. I was in shock that she was even calling me and even more shocked by what she was telling me. I would never have guessed she’d be married, let alone that she’d have a child. Before I knew it, she was telling me she’d be in touch and then hung up before I could get any further information out of her. When I tried to reverse the number, I couldn’t. I had no idea what part of the world she was in. Our friend in California couldn’t give me any info. So I did nothing.”

“What else could you do?” I asked.

“Something. Anything. Look for her. I don’t know,” she said tightly.

My mouth opened, then shut. I wasn’t sure what else I could say.

“You probably think I’m heartless.”

Again, I resisted the urge to reach for her hand. “I don’t think that at all.”

Her face went a little blank, like it had in the car. Silence filled the space between us and I let her have a moment. If she was anything like me, memories had surfaced that she didn’t want to remember. Finally, she took a breath and spoke. “It’s just . . .” She waved her hand in the air. “Lizzy disappeared from my life and never looked back. When things got tough, she left.”

“Were you close?”

She looked a little lost. “Yes and no. For so long she’d been the big sister, the protector I needed, but then as we grew older, she rebelled against my father and just kept getting into so much trouble. She was three years older than me, but sometimes I felt like the older one. Still, we’d shared so much in our childhood that I thought we were connected forever. I was wrong, though. She knew I needed her, yet she left, and after that she never called or told me where she was. I never heard from her until that day.” She paused for a moment to gather herself.

My muscles went stiff as I watched the pain she felt flash across her face.

A few seconds later, she put a finger to her lips as if trying to quiet herself down.

The gesture made my heart pound like that of a wounded animal. It killed me, but there wasn’t anything I could do to ease the pain of the past. This I knew all too well. All I could offer her was my ear. “It’s okay, Elle. Go on.”

As if determined to brush off the feelings, she lifted her chin. “One day I got a phone call from Michael. He told me who he was and asked me if my sister had been in contact with me. I guess he’d found my number among her things. I told him she had, but nothing else. He asked if she was with me and I told him no. That’s when he told me she had left the morning before and never came home. She was missing and he was worried about her. I’m not sure why, but I felt compelled to come to Boston. And once I did, once I met Clementine, I couldn’t leave. It wasn’t until after I decided to stay that Michael told me what she had been involved in and explained why he hadn’t involved the police. It made sense, then, anyway. Now I’m not so sure.”

Elle’s bare toes were sticking out of the blanket and her fingers were clutched around her knees. Her nails were glossy but she wore no color. They were short but shaped. I could tell she didn’t care about the shit that didn’t matter. In New York, I’d spent so much time around artificial beauty—boob jobs, plumped lips, fake nails, haute couture. In Boston, I never even looked at women. She was like a breath of fresh air.

Focus, asshole.

Focus.

“What does O’Shea think happened to her?” I asked.

“We’re being honest with each other, right?”

I nodded.

“According to Michael, she was running some kind of white-collar drug op. He said as far as he knew she had been clean since Clementine was born, but then started up with the coke again. Something happened and her last deal went bad. He thinks she’ll come out of hiding sooner or later. Or he’s hoping.”

“Where was she getting the coke from?”

If I had to guess, I’d guess Tommy was involved or that there was some connection to him. My guess is that although Patrick didn’t condone it, Tommy was much more involved in the drug market than his father had a fucking clue about.

“I don’t know. All I know is that according to Michael, she was selling to Michael’s colleagues and connections before she disappeared.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Are you sure it was her and not O’Shea?”

I didn’t have a fucking clue who it was. Up until the point that my gramps went into a home last year, Patrick kept my father on the easy shit—his role, as counsel, was to make sure Patrick’s businesses used for money laundering looked legit, liquor licenses were granted, real estate issues were taken care of, prostitution charges were avoided, and payoffs were made. Nothing to do with the drug side. The side that Patrick liked to think didn’t exist. The side that Tommy ran.

It was still no surprise Pop had been ordered to make contact with Michael, though. My father had also always been sent to deal with the more influential people of Boston. He had the finesse, my gramps used to say. So at first, when he was told to pay O’Shea a visit, I thought it was no big deal.

Hell, I even volunteered to drive him there.

My false assumption had been that either Michael had reneged on a gambling debt and needed to pay up or did some damage to one of Patrick’s girls and had retribution to pay. Or who knew—it could be any other kind of bullshit that Patrick wanted to flex his ego over.

It was a common thing.

It wasn’t until we were on our way to see O’Shea that my old man told me it had to do with 250 kilos of missing cocaine. Five million dollars was no small chunk of change for anyone. But a total outstanding debt of ten million—the drugs and the money used to purchase them—was obscene.

Yeah, I choked on that.

“It was her,” she said, refocusing me. She was angry now. “Michael didn’t know anything about it until she told him the day before she disappeared. She put their child in jeopardy.”

Scrubbing my jaw, I asked, “Do you know O’Shea is out there trying to make deals?”

“Look, Logan, Michael is a really good guy. All he wants is to keep Clementine safe and make everything right, but he has kept me pretty much in the dark. All I know is Lizzy pissed the wrong person off and Michael is trying to fix it.”

Doubtful, I tried not to let my suspicions bleed through my words. “How does he plan to do that, Elle?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. He won’t say anything other than that he has it under control.”

Wary, I stood up, wondering how far I should go. I paced over to the window and glanced out of it. O’Shea was a fucker. If he was going to tell her something, he could at least make sure she understood the severity of the situation. “You know the clock is ticking?”

She swallowed. “I figured that by your father’s visit earlier tonight.”

I looked at her but said nothing at first. My mind was spinning with which was the worse of two evils. Then I decided that if Patrick had someone on O’Shea, they already knew about Elle. Making myself cut the shit, I walked over to her and crouched down. “Can you stay with O’Shea for a few days?”

“Yes, I’m sure he won’t mind. I stay there a lot to be with Clementine. But why? What’s going on, Logan?”

The idea of her with him made me mental, but it was the better option over her being alone, or worse, her with me. “I’m not certain, but I don’t think you should be alone. I’m going to stay with you tonight just in case anyone comes back.”

“Why? Who do you think is going to come back?”

“I honestly just don’t know, but something isn’t right.”

“I can take care of myself.”

Tough as nails. “I’m sure you can, but for my own peace of mind, I’ll stay, just in case.”

She stared at me with narrowed eyes but said nothing. If she was frightened, she wasn’t going to let me see it.

“Now that we’ve got that settled, I’ll go upstairs and check things out. Then you can head up there for the night.”

Her features softened. “Then what?”

“I’ll need a few days to look into what’s going on. Once I know for certain, I’ll tell you everything. In the meantime,” I picked up her baby gun and palmed it, “we need to get you something a little bigger than this.”

She shrugged. “It works fine.”

With a shake of my head, I put the gun down. “You know how to use it?”

“Yes.”

“Okay then, it will do until we can get you something better.”

She took my hand. “Why are you doing all of this for me?”

I leaned forward and brushed a piece of hair from her eyes. “This thing you’re involved in is more dangerous than you know, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

In that moment, I had an overwhelming urge to kiss her. To push her back and bury myself in her. To fuck her worry away. The thought struck without warning. I wanted to take care of her.

That was a dangerous thought.

I jumped to my feet. “I’ll be right back.”

She nodded and looked at me with those watchful eyes.

My thoughts scattered, I turned away and strode to the stairs.

On the second floor, the light was on in one of the two rooms. I peered into the first one. Nothing. It was completely empty, as in no furniture, and the closet door was open. Then I looked into the hall bathroom. Other than the frosted glass shower, there was nowhere for anyone to hide. Finally, I went to the front room. It was her room. There was a brick wall painted off-white, two large glass lamps, an oval braided throw rug that looked worn, a plain comforter, and various paintings and pieces of art with splashes of red in each of them.

It felt like her.

What I knew of her, anyway.

And I knew then that she liked the color red.

I checked the windows. They were all locked.

Opened the closet.

Went into the bathroom attached to her bedroom. It was small, with just an old-fashioned tub, a sink, and a toilet. No shower. No linen closet.

There was no one up here.

The staircase wasn’t wide, nor was it narrow. I occupied my mind with facts about her place as I descended the stairs. If I didn’t, I know what I’d do when I got near her again. My body hummed a tune all its own when she was close. To be more accurate, my cock had its own heartbeat.

As I took the last stair, I kept my eyes down. I’d send her up to her bed without really looking at her. That had to help. But fuck me if I’d be able to sleep. My soles hit the hardwood and I couldn’t control my urge to sneak just a peek of her. When I did, I saw that she was snuggled up in a ball on the couch, fast asleep.

Okay.

With a slight change of plans, I checked all the doors. Closed the blinds. Turned the lights off.

It was three thirty. As soon as daylight hit, I’d leave.

I sat on the other end of the couch—it was that or the kitchen chair—and slid my SIG Sauer on the end table next to me. My head fell back and I decided to close my eyes for a few minutes.

In what seemed like moments later, the couch shifted and some kind of cry filled the room. I snapped my eyes open and switched the lamp on.

It was Elle.

A tortured moan ripped from her throat and her knuckles were white as they gripped the blanket that was wrapped around her.

I reached for her. “Elle, you’re having a nightmare. Wake up.”

She didn’t wake.

I crawled over her and shook her gently. “Elle, wake up.”

She was squeezing her eyes shut. “Stop it. Stop right now.”

I ran a hand down her face and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Elle.”

She opened her eyes and shot up.

“You’re trembling. Are you okay?” I asked in a hushed, whispered tone.

In this single moment, I wished I were better at this. Wished I knew what to say to make her feel better. But the truth was, I had no fucking clue.

She didn’t say a word. She just looked at me with that vulnerability she was usually good at covering up and the only thing I could think to do was hold her.

I don’t know why.

Falling to the couch, I pulled her to me. At first I felt awkward, but she was shaking so much, I just wanted to help her calm down. I stroked her back with one hand and her hair with the other.

She clung to me like I was her lifeline. I held my breath, afraid to move. When I felt her steady breathing, I finally relaxed a bit. I don’t even think she ever really woke up.

I covered us both and found myself still holding her. Wanting to make all her hurt go away. Needing to keep her safe. I didn’t let go.

Her body formed to mine in the most perfect way. One of her arms wrapped around my waist and one of her legs was tucked between mine. With her against me, my body felt strange. Alive. Like it had been brought back to life.

I knew then that I’d do whatever I had to do in order to keep her safe.

I also knew that staying away from her was the best way I could do that.

I just hoped to fuck I could.