Текст книги "Crush "

Автор книги: Kim Karr

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

“Yeah, sure,” he said, and took a seat in one of the flimsy folding chairs that surrounded the small rectangular table.

The room was a hodgepodge of items that looked to be worn-out pieces from days better seen in the pub. Broken beer signs hung on the wall. The table was warped and the wood laminate was peeling off. Of the six chairs surrounding it, only two were sturdy enough to hold any real weight. I was worried the ones Miles and Frank were sitting in might just collapse.

“I want to pick your brain,” Logan started.

Frank eyed him warily but gave him a slight nod.

“My grandfather told me a story once about Mickey O’Shea.” He paused for a moment, and I knew the thought of Killian McPherson still made his heart heavy. I could see it on his face. With the slightest shake of his head he pushed the sorrow away. “He told me that when Mickey was a young man he went to prison, and that when he got out of prison he started up his own gang,”

“Yeah. They were small-time, though, a skeleton crew of twenty men at most. At the time, Paddy Flannigan was his number two. I don’t know how much income they generated. I know they were extorting protection payments from the strip clubs, which is how Paddy got the idea to run his businesses through them, lots of cash I guess. But back then, they ran the cash through Mickey’s mother’s flower shop.”

Logan nodded as if he already knew that.

Declan sat up straight.

And Miles eased his chair closer to the table.

“What do you know about Mickey?”

Frank looked uneasy.

“What?”

He shook his head. “I can’t say.”

“Is it about his gang?”

“His wife,” Frank said flatly.

Everyone perked up. “What about her?” Logan asked.

Frank closed his eyes for a moment before speaking. “Have you seen a picture of his wife?”

I had, but everyone else around the room shook their head.

"Rose O’Shea was a knockout. Picture Maureen O’Hara mixed with Lana Turner and eyes the color of the clearest blue sky.” He seemed to shake his head at the very thought of her but then cleared his throat, probably when he remembered I was in the room. “She was one of those women who turned every man’s head no matter if he was in love, straight or gay, and she knew it. She loved the attention and often sought the company of other men. Word on the street was that she was a tease, which was ironic because she claimed to be such a good Catholic girl. Went to church twice a week.”

Something like anticipation crested under my skin. The way he was talking drew all of us in, even the man I loved sitting beside me.

Logan crossed his arms over his chest and stretched those long legs. “Do you know how she died? I mean people say it was gang related, but that’s all. Never any details.”

Frank exhaled and looked away. “I do, but I swore on my life to keep it to myself.”

Uneasiness moved through me. Whatever it was didn’t sound good at all, and I wasn’t sure any of us should know.

Logan eased forward. “Anything you can tell us about Mickey would be helpful.”

Frank looked contemplative.

“Listen, Frank, this is going to sound crazy but I have reason to believe Patrick’s former gang, the Dorchester Heights Gang, is reassembling. And that maybe Mickey is running it, going by the name ‘the Priest’ to keep his identity secret.”

Doubt passed over Frank’s face like a shadow.

“It sounds crazy, but it’s not completely out of the question,” Logan said.

Frank was shaking his head.

“Think about it—over the past few years the drug trafficking on the streets of Boston has been pegged to one supplier, but no one knows who he is. Cocaine use has more than doubled across all income levels, which means someone with a substantial network is supplying it. What if it’s been Mickey this whole time using former Dorchester Heights members? The ones Patrick didn’t welcome into Blue Hill?”

My stomach twisted into a thousand knots. Clementine’s grandfather running one of the biggest drug rings in the history of Boston meant that if word got out, she would be in constant danger. Kidnapping threats. Death threats. Mob danger. And to make things worse, I had no idea what Mickey felt for Clementine, if anything. At least I knew that Mickey wasn’t involved in his granddaughter’s care as far as I had observed. In fact, aside from my sister’s funeral, I’d only seen him one other time, over at Erin’s for her son Conner’s birthday. I’m not even sure we ever spoke another word after we were introduced there. Still, the thought that he might be leading a secret life didn’t make me feel good about Clementine’s environment.

Frank stood up and walked over to the sink in the corner of the room. He opened the pine cabinet beneath it and rummaged around for a bit before he pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. He raised the bottle. “Anyone else need a drink?”

Logan gave a shake of his head and leaned back on the wooden chair. I worried it might not withstand the pressure and tried not to wince.

“I’ll take one,” Declan said.

“Me too,” I chimed in. I wasn’t a drinker, but thinking about Clementine in possible perpetual danger drove me to want one.

With a quiet thump, Logan brought his chair upright and leaned forward. “You okay?” he whispered so only I could hear. It was as if he was thinking the exact same thing I was and also didn’t like what that meant.

I nodded and put my hand on his knee. Just touching him made me feel so much better.

Frank continued to rummage around.

The room waited in quiet anticipation.

Logan placed his hand over mine, as if in reassurance that he’d make everything okay. The sentiment touched me. What we had together was so real, at times I had a hard time believing it. With Logan in my life, I knew what Charlie and I once shared wasn’t real love at all because real love doesn’t fall apart when someone is broken. Real love toughs it out . . . no matter what. Besides, according to Logan I wasn’t the least bit broken, and I chose to believe him.

The liquid poured easily into the glasses Frank found above the sink and went down even easier. Logan’s touch had already started to settle my nerves and this finished the deal.

Frank, on the other hand, downed one, then another glass. When he finished, he looked toward Logan, who seemed to have switched gears and suddenly gained patience. A slight trickle of perspiration broke on Frank’s forehead. “It’s not Mickey. I’m almost certain of that.”

Logan looked perplexed. “What do you know, Frank? What makes you say that?”

He gulped another sip. “This is dangerous information. What I’m about to tell you has to remain in this room. Promise me it won’t get out.”

Logan raised his right hand. “I promise. I swear on my own life.” He glanced around and Miles and Declan did the same, and then his eyes landed on mine. I didn’t raise my hand. I didn’t have to; he knew I’d never do anything that would hurt him.

Frank’s words sputtered out. “He’d never run a gang once run by Paddy Flannigan. Never. Besides, he wouldn’t have any trusted members. No one would work for him.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Everyone knows his wife died because of him. He broke code and didn’t protect his family. No one would work for a man like that.”

“What really happened, Frank?”

“His wife took a bullet meant for Paddy.”

Everyone’s eyes widened to the size of saucers.

Logan twisted in his seat and his right foot was tapping furiously on the floor. “Are you certain about that?”

Frank nodded. “It happened right here, in my pub, in front of me.”

“Who pulled the trigger?”

His response was an empty, “Mickey.”

What?

I felt like the room was spinning. All the air was sucked from my lungs. I think I gasped. A chill went down my spine and I suddenly felt very cold. Mickey and Rose were Clementine’s grandparents, and learning details of their tainted past made those knots in my stomach tighten even more.

Logan moved closer to me and the gesture warmed me instantly. I couldn’t believe how much I needed him.

“What happened, Frank?” he asked, with a softness in his voice that surprised me.

Frank squeezed his eyes closed. “It was 1989, just after the New Year. The weather was miserable and the pub was empty, so I sent the bartender home. I’d thought about closing early, but my wife had just left me and the thought of going home to an empty bed wasn’t appealing. In walked Paddy and he ordered his usual. He came in a lot back then. I used to joke with him that I was his therapist and was going to start charging. He and his wife were having trouble and I was no stranger to that.”

Logan narrowed his eyes in concentration. “So you and Patrick Flannigan were friends?”

The hollow laugh that escaped Frank’s throat sent chills through me. “Friends. That would be a stretch of the word. I did what I had to in order to stay on his good side. Molly’s was between Blue Hill and Dorchester Heights turf but hadn’t been claimed by either. That was enough to make me his best friend if he wanted me to be.”

“You were afraid he was going to make you pay for protection?” Declan asked.

He nodded. “Fuck yeah, I was. Listen, things had changed by then. The Irish Mob was no longer about the cause; the IRA had long been forgotten. Like now, it was about profit, but it was also about pride. I was lucky I hadn’t been forced to pay for protection like everyone else around me. I didn’t care whose friend I had to be; I just wanted to keep it that way.”

Declan raised a hand. “I’m not judging. My old man paid right up until the day Patrick Flannigan turned his back on everything Dorchester Heights for his shiny new Blue Hill Gang. That’s the only reason we were able to save enough to expand our business.”

Sympathetic looks passed between the men.

Logan squirmed a little, knowing he was the catalyst behind the merge, but in this case, it turned out to have had a positive impact on at least one family. “Go on, Frank. What happened next?”

“An hour or so had passed and he was pretty wasted. The door opened and Rose O’Shea came in, dressed to the nines. She was wearing a tight black dress, high heels, and a brand-new fur coat. I noticed it because I found it hard to believe Mickey could afford something like that. She strode right over to Paddy and sat down. Like it had been arranged. He ordered her a drink and they started talking. I didn’t know if the two of them knew each other, but Rose had come in enough that I was aware nothing but trouble could come out of her flirting with him. Sure enough, it didn’t take long for her to down a few martinis and for them to disappear into the bathroom.”

My heart was in my throat. What if Michael was like his mother?

“What happened next happened so fast, it’s all a blur. Mickey came in looking for Rose. The place was dark, but when she came out of the bathroom it was easy to see what she had been up to by how disheveled she was. Her hair was a mess and her red lipstick was smeared all around her mouth. Mickey lit up like I’d never seen him. The two were always physical, don’t get me wrong—her slapping him, him pulling her out of the bar by her hair—but that night, the anger on his face seemed to transform to hatred.”

My pulse started to race.

“‘Your kid got arrested tonight,’ he’d barked at her. She acted dumbfounded and he turned red as he eyed her.

“Rose started to throw a tantrum. She called him a liar. Blamed him for not loving the kid. Mickey’s laugh was bitter when he told her that her kid was just as vile as her. She called him weak, pathetic, said he wasn’t a real man. Out of nowhere, he charged at her, calling her a whore, a bitch, screaming at her, yelling. When he reached her he slapped her so hard she fell back, but before she hit the ground he grabbed her by the arm and the hair and started to drag her toward the door.”

I dared a glance around the room, but everyone was focused on Frank.

Frank was in his own world. “That’s when Paddy came out of the john and drew his gun. Told Mickey to let her go. Mickey shoved Rose away and went for his own gun, but Rose stumbled forward just as Mickey fired at Patrick and she took the bullet, right in the back of the head. Died instantly.”

Everyone was in a state of shock.

My hand flew to my mouth and I gasped.

Mickey killed his own wife.

Michael and Erin must not have even been teenagers at the time. Michael never spoke of his mother, but her picture was everywhere in his house; he obviously loved her. Erin never spoke of her either, and as far as I knew she had only that one photo of a family of five in her house and none of only her mother. The older boy in the photo must have been the son Mickey was referring to who had been arrested.

The words sins of the father echoed through my head. And for the first time, Logan’s theory that Michael had killed my sister didn’t sound so insane. I couldn’t dismiss the thought.

Logan pushed to his feet. “Kill a man’s dog, he’ll kill your best friend; kill a man’s brother, he’ll kill your mother; take a man’s girl, and he’ll kill you,” he muttered.

“What?” I asked.

“Something my gramps told me once.”

Frank nodded. “Old unwritten code of conduct, but in Mickey’s case he killed his own girl.”

“He must have blamed Patrick,” Declan commented.

“I’m sure he did, but he was so much weaker than Paddy, there was nothing he could do about it. He didn’t have any power. His own gang had already collapsed years before when he went after another gang’s leader for flirting with Rose, and both gangs tore each other apart. He was just a florist by then. He really was powerless.”

“I heard about that. Do you think Killian knew how Rose died?” Logan asked in a tone that was steely and sharp.

Frank slowly shook his head. “No one knew but the three of us. They both disappeared right after and I called the BPD. I claimed a guy wearing a ski mask came in, shot her, and then ran. They never questioned me. Gang violence was everywhere.”

“You never told anyone else?” Miles asked.

“No! My life and my daughter’s were on line. I knew to keep my mouth shut.”

“You don’t think Mickey could be pulling Patrick’s strings somehow?”

“I don’t see it,” Frank said.

“So why would Patrick kill his own son?”

“I don’t have a fucking clue,” Frank answered.

“Like you said, a life for a life,” Miles said to Logan.

Miles had grown up in Southie and still lived there. He was a beat cop before he went to work for the Gang Unit; he knew the way the streets worked here in Boston in a way I never would. But then again, so did Logan.

“That has to go much deeper than any of us could even have imagined,” Logan said.

His words were spoken in an eerie context. One that made my pulse thunder through me and my heartbeat become so erratic, I thought my heart might pop out of my chest. I was clenching my palms so tightly that the indentations from my short nails were sure to draw blood.

My mind was spinning.

Would this information impact Clementine?

I started to feel like there was a black cloud over me that was never going to clear.

Uncertainty made me wary.

Worry controlled me.

Fear owned me.

If knowledge was dangerous, this was deadly information.

LOGAN

The back door to Molly’s had served well as my escape route over the past four months, but today I needed it more than ever.

My lungs felt like they were filled with rocks and I couldn’t breathe. I pushed the door open with a force that made it bang against the brick wall.

Out in the cool night, air seeped into my lungs and I took two controlled breaths.

In.

Out.

I arranged my thoughts in my mind. A distant memory was nagging at me. One I’d been trying to place since Frank first mentioned Mickey O’Shea’s wife.

Darkness was everywhere.

The night was so still, the water looked like a sheet of glass, the sky like a blank slate, and the wind was dialed down to a mere warm breeze.

The perfect summer night for chillin’.

I kicked my feet up and stretched my arms behind my head, letting my body rest comfortably on the canvas cushion beneath me. Relaxed in this way, I was in prime position for the swaying motion of the boat to lull me to sleep.

I was wiped out. My grandfather and I had spent the day moving fast through the open water and finding the best spot to fish. Now, we were cruising on the sea of glass, doing nothing, and I could tell my grandfather wasn’t ready to head back in yet. I didn’t care; I had nothing better to do, and the truth was, I liked being out on the open water. It made me feel like my world wasn’t crashing in all around me. Whether it was hormones kicking in or the simple fact that my parents didn’t get along, and their constant arguing was making all of our lives miserable, I didn’t know, and really, I didn’t care. Life just sucked.

Sure, I loved hanging out with James, but being able to get away from the sailing lessons and polo matches of the Hamptons was like a breath of fresh air. I could breathe out here. I wasn’t suffocating in fine linen or choking down a glass of Perrier.

My paternal grandfather, Killian McPherson, had come to my mother’s family estate in Southampton to bring me back to Boston. Good thing, too, because even though I didn’t have my license yet, I knew how to drive, and I was contemplating taking my grandfather Ryan’s Bugatti out for a spin.

Killian McPherson and I had a tradition. September second marked the anniversary of his and my grandmother’s wedding. Ever since my grandmother’s death, my grandfather disconnected from the world on Labor Day weekend, and he just so happened to take me along with him every time.

The bitter argument my parents had over where I was going to start high school sent my mother fleeing from Boston in early July and she had taken me with her. But another one of my parents’ longstanding disagreements wasn’t going to keep my grandfather and me apart, even if Grandpa Ryan was around. The two older men hated each other. Then again, they were so completely different; there was no way they couldn’t.

Whatever.

Exuding a confidence that always left me in awe, he scouted the area. Fully satisfied that we were nowhere, which was where he wanted to be, he twisted around. “Have your parents agreed where you’ll start high school yet?”

I sat up straight, digging my sneakers into the floorboards for traction. “I told my mother I wanted to stay in Boston even if she chose to remain in New York, and like some sort of miracle she agreed to let me attend Boston’s Blackstone Academy. For now, anyway. My father told me later she only agreed because I’d been wait-listed at NYC Prep and Collegiate, so we’ll see what happens.”

“NYC Prep, isn’t that where James goes?”

I nodded. “If I have to leave Boston, I’ll hold out until I get in there.”

“Just stay on the straight and narrow, Logan. That boy seems to sniff out trouble.”

I laughed and said nothing. James and I were way more alike than my grandfather wanted to know.

He maneuvered the boat around one last time and then shut the engine off. The way he drove this boat with such ease left me in awe every time I watched him. He was just a powerhouse. A very tall, well-built man with a strength that was greater than that of anyone I knew. It wasn’t his size, though, that mattered. It was the power that oozed from him that allowed him to command the attention of anyone he came into contact with.

I’d never seen anything like it.

Turning all the way around, he ran a callused hand over the stubble of his white beard. “Well, since you’re staying in town for a while anyway, I want you to come work at the News Parlor a couple of days a week. It will keep you out of trouble and I could use the help.”

My brows popped. The News Parlor was my grandfather’s store. He sold mainly lottery tickets, newspapers, and magazines, but there was a roped-off section that I was dying to get into. I’d been asking to work for him for the past year and he shot me down every time. “Really? You mean it?”

“Do I ever say anything I don’t mean?”

I couldn’t hold back my smile. “Will I be working on Dorchester Avenue or at the track?” I asked. Suffolk Downs was an awesome place and I loved when he took me there.

“Where do you think?”

“Dorchester,” I responded with a sigh. It was worth a try.

He grinned. “I knew you were smart.”

“Did you ever hire that girl who lives next door to you?”

Those dark eyes narrowed on me. “She’s older than you and she’s seeing that boy Tommy Flannigan. I don’t want you getting involved with that shit. He’s nothing but trouble.”

“She says she’s not seeing him, but I don’t care either way.”

It was his turn to raise a brow. “Then why do you want to know if I hired her?”

In my most I don’t really care tone, I answered, “Just curious. She seems pretty smart. I might learn something from her.” That was a lie. She had big tits and I wanted to feel them, along with the rest of her body.

“Well, as a matter of fact, I did. And everything else aside, inter-office romances, for lack of a better word, are never good business.”

I kicked my feet up again against the chair in front of me and crossed my arms. “Who said anything about romance?”

He rose from the captain’s chair he fit so well in and swatted me across the head. “Don’t bullshit a bullshitter.”

My grandfather might not have finished high school, but he was the smartest man I knew. With a shrug, I looked at him and answered truthfully. “I’m not. I’m dead serious.” I didn’t elaborate. I wasn’t looking for a girlfriend, but I knew if I told him that I was just hoping to score, that wouldn’t help me get the job.

The huff of laughter he gave me as he sat down beside me warned me another one of his stories was coming. “Well, there’s something going on in that head of yours and I think its fair time I warned you . . . beware of the power of the dame.”

With a glance in his direction, I rolled my eyes. “Gramps, please, anything but the birds and the bees.”

I’d been jerking off for enough time now that I understood how everything worked. I didn’t need him explaining it to me—again.

He shook his head and kicked his own feet up. “It happens before you know it. A woman can pull you in and get under your skin just like that. We all like to think we’re immune, but before we know it we’re under their spell. And then they own you in a way you never would have thought possible.”

“That won’t happen to me. I’m not interested in dealing with chicks that way. Relationships are way too much work.”

The sky was the perfect shade of black and twinkling with stars as he stared up at it and closed his eyes. “Yes, they are a lot of work, but learning to appreciate the beauty and the beast within women will take you far. It’s something I can’t drum into you enough.”

The laughter bubbled out of me. “Did you just say beast?”

Slowly, he opened his eyes and he looked my way. “Let me tell you a little story.”

I settled in. This could take a while.

“All women are beasts. You just have to know how to tame them or when to let them go.”

“Come on, Gramps, that sounds ridiculous.”

“No, it’s not. Let me tell you a little story about a woman who tore dozens of men apart. If that’s not a beast, I don’t know what is.”

I nodded. “Go on.”

“Many years ago there were these two gangs. Both were up-and-coming, both fighting for the biggest piece of the pie. Punch Leary was the head of the Charlestown Mob and he thought he could annihilate the Savin Hill Gang by distracting Mickey O’Shea.”

“Distract him how?”

Gramps was shaking his head. “By going after his wife.”

“What happened?”

“What happened, my boy, was a full-blown war. That wife of Mickey’s was a dame, a tramp, but it didn’t matter. Mickey O’Shea didn’t react the way Punchy thought. He wasn’t distracted; he was determined. And he went berserk. Kidnapped Leary and held him captive in some greenhouse miles from the city and slowly beat him to death. Kept him alive long enough to kill his entire crew. And he didn’t just annihilate them; he stalked them. Made them aware of what was coming. One by one, he taunted them, black roses showing up everywhere, letting them know they should dread the upcoming day. It went on until every last one of that gang was killed and then finally Punchy.”

Curiosity got me. “How’d those guys let things get so far out of hand?”

His dark eyes blazed with memory. “It was the beast. That woman. Savin Hill wasn’t going to stand for another man trying to take one of their women. After that the Charlestown Mob vanished, but the war incapacitated Savin Hill so much they didn’t survive too much longer, and it was all over some broad. Now, I’m not saying she wasn’t gorgeous, because she was. Regardless, what I’m trying to tell you is that there have been wars waged over taking, or even attempting to take, another man’s dame. Never get involved with a claimed woman, even if she’s Helen of Troy. Come to think of it, especially if she’s Helen of Troy.”

Greek mythology had been the curriculum for my entire last half of eighth grade. For once, here was a topic I knew all too well and I couldn’t keep my smart ass from rearing. “Moral of the story, then: beware of the Trojan, and not the one that comes in the small square foil.”

My grandfather took my arms and pulled me closer to him. “No, Logan, this is no joke. Listen to me, and listen to me well—kill a man’s dog, he’ll kill your best friend; kill a man’s brother, he’ll kill your mother; take a man’s girl, and he’ll kill you.”

He looked so serious I couldn’t help but flinch. “Gramps, I’m not interested in Molly that way. It is really too much bullshit to deal with. Chicks just aren’t worth it. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Silence filled the space between us as he let go of my arms. And then his hearty laughter echoed through the night sky. “Mark my words . . . someday you’ll change your mind.”

My phone buzzed and I carefully pulled it out of my pocket to sneak a peek. It was James and the text read, I finally scored.

“See, you know I’m right,” my grandfather gloated.

The smile on my face wasn’t meant for Gramps, but he didn’t know that and I wasn’t about to tell him what it was for.

The lecture that would ensue would be endless.

And I’d had enough of those for one night.

The wind picked up and snapped me back. My mind still a whirl, I tried to think this through. If Mickey had sought retribution for someone messing around with his wife, what would he have done if he killed his wife because of another guy—because of Patrick Flannigan?

Even if Frank didn’t think so, Mickey O’Shea could very well be the kingpin to this entire operation. He had motive and reason to go after Flannigan. But why wait so long? It didn’t make sense.

The Priest was someone, and if not Mickey, who? Michael? Payback for his mother’s death? Or someone else entirely?

I didn’t know the answers but was going to find them out. Frank gave Miles some names of former Dorchester Heights Gang members and he was going to ask around. We had to be close. There were too many coincidences. Too many connections. Too many deaths. And way too many threatening phone calls.

Shuddering, I moved faster through the alley. Elle’s hand was safely in mine. I needed to get us away from here, from the chaos. I had to escape this madness if only for the night. Still, even as I thought it, I knew it wouldn’t happen. Elle had to stay out of this. She shouldn’t be taking risks. I had to convince her. Before we turned the corner onto Tremont Street, I stopped. “We need to talk.”

Elle was shaking her head. “Logan, I know what you’re going to say and you know I can’t stay out of it. I have to protect that little girl, now more than ever. What if Lizzy married Michael because he was like our father? I don’t remember what my father was like with us when we were little. Maybe he was just as loving as Michael is with Clementine now. And where will that leave her?”

Elle was practically hysterical and although I didn’t want to understand her driving need, I did. In fact, I felt protective over Clementine myself.

“I have to be there for her, to make sure nothing bad happens to her.”

I pinned Elle against the brick wall. I needed to calm her down. Standing in front of her, I looked down into her terrified stare. “I promise you I will help you to ensure she grows up happy, healthy, and normal.”

Her eyes burned into mine. “You can’t make me that promise, Logan. There is no way you can do that. This is all me. I have to do this myself.”

The scent of her skin, the warmth in her tone, the pull of her body—they were all I needed to reassure myself that I could do this, that I could help her. I had to. I pressed my hands to the wall above her head. “Elle, I don’t want you to do anything tomorrow when you go visit Clementine. It’s too dangerous. Let Miles and me figure out a way to get the information we need and deliver it to Blanchet.”

She shook her head violently, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I know I’m the reason you’re in this situation with the DEA, why you’re still involved, but you can’t do anything with what you find out about Michael until I secure Clementine’s future. I mean it, Logan. You can’t.”

I lifted her chin. “Hey, don’t cry.”

Her head dropped to my shoulder and she started babbling. “If something happens to Michael, I don’t know what will happen to Clementine. I won’t be able to live with myself knowing I might have been the one to wreck her entire life.”

I pulled back. “Hey, that’s not going to happen.”

“It might. I don’t think Michael has named anyone as her guardian yet. If he goes to prison, she could become a ward of the state until custody is determined.”

“He hadn’t filed—”

She cut me off. “Promise me, Logan. Promise me.”

I clasped my hands to her face. I couldn’t stand to see her so upset. “I promise, Elle. I promise.”

Her eyes were wild now. “Even if Michael catches me, he won’t hurt me. He has no idea about the two of us and besides . . .” Her voice dropped off.

“Besides what?” I asked.

She stared at me for the longest time and then dropped her gaze. “He wants me to move in with him. He thinks I can help him become DA and then judge. He said if I do that, I can be a bigger part of Clementine’s life. That I could help raise her.”

The words were unexpected. They were like a hard punch to the gut, and once again I couldn’t breathe. “What the hell are you talking about?” I bit out.