Crush(35)

“Shit,” he said as he threw his cards on the table.

One of the women, the only one with jet-black hair, grinned and raked in the pot of pennies.

“I was so close,” he whined.

Killian “the Killer” McPherson was many things. Predecessor to the current Blue Hill Gang’s Irish Mob boss. Outlaw. Fighter. Lover. Gambler. Card shark. And card shark had to be ranked pretty high on the list.

I slapped my gramps on the back. “Damn, you lost?” I taunted.

He turned in his chair and gave me a wink. “I certainly did. Can you believe it?”

I shook my head. “No, I can’t,” I said, and then I turned my attention to the table. “Hello, ladies,” I greeted.

In response, they all spoke at the same time. I had no idea who was saying what. It was a cacophony of, “Your grandson is so sweet. How handsome your grandson is, Killian. He’s such a nice young man.”

My grandfather twisted his head once again and grabbed my hand. “Where have you been?”

I leaned down. “There’s been a lot going on. Can we talk?”

Glancing back at the woman he had just let win, he said, “Gloria, meet me for dinner tonight at five. I’ll arrange for us to eat alone in my room.”

Gloria brought her hand to her rose-colored mouth. “Oh, that would be lovely.”

In his most charming way, my grandfather reached across the table and squeezed her other hand. All the ladies giggled. “Ladies,” he said, dipping his chin.

“’Bye, Killian.” They waved.

Unlocking his wheelchair, he rolled it back. “Come on, Logan, we’ll go back to my room and talk.”

My hands gripped the handles of his chair. “Are you sure? Sounds like a pretty popular spot.”

His head jerked around. “Take your hands off this damn contraption. I’m not a complete invalid. Not yet, anyway.”

Raising my palms in surrender, I let him take control of the wheels and strode up beside him. His mind was sharp as a tack. But sadly, it was his body that was giving out. After years of fighting, I don’t know how many gunshot wounds, and endless broken bones, he had a hard time getting around. Which is why he was here. After his last fall, he broke his hip and required extensive rehab. My uncle Hunter, who lives in New York City, thought it was best if he had assisted living care. My father agreed. I didn’t, but my vote didn’t count.

My grandfather stayed silent the entire way to his room. As soon as he unlocked the door, he impatiently motioned for me to move. I had planned to help him in, but obviously that wasn’t his plan. “What are you waiting for? Christmas?”

Not so charming, after all.

I moved my ass forward, and he followed. Once inside his suite, he transferred from the wheelchair to the chair he always sat in.

Having learned from experience, I took the chair over near the table and moved it closer to him.

Those dark eyes stared at me. “Well, what do you have to say?”

There were times when I was around him that I felt like that ten-year-old boy again, worried I’d upset him because I wanted so desperately for him to be proud of me. This was one of those times. In a very uncharacteristic manner, I rubbed my sweaty palms on my pants. I never let my nerves get the best of me.

“Don’t be nervous. Tell me what happened.”

Okay, it was time to do this, so I manned up and did it. I told him everything from the simple—like the security tapes I watched of Lizzy, who was at the time supposedly missing but was for some reason with Tommy at a hotel, to finding the drugs in Elle’s boutique, to what I’d done with them, to Lizzy’s death—to the more complex: my theory that O’Shea had been lying about his lack of involvement when it came to the missing drugs and money.

“So you’re telling me O’Shea somehow managed to magically get his hands on half of what was needed to satisfy Patrick’s demands?”

I shook my head. “Not really, because there’s still the issue of the missing five mil.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but I’m still on the drugs. How the hell did he get them? I mean, come on. What? Did he pull one hundred and twenty-five kilos of cocaine out of his ass? “

I had to laugh.

“Something isn’t right, kiddo.”

“Glad you see it my way.”

Finishing up the O’Shea conversation, and having agreed he knew more than he let on, I stopped there. I didn’t tell my gramps about the note I’d received threatening Elle. I didn’t want to upset him. He’d go crazy just knowing Tommy had broken the order given years ago for us to stay clear of each other, because I’d have to tell him that so had I. Yeah, for now, it was best to leave those violations unspoken. I knew I’d have to tell him soon enough; I just needed some more time—I needed to see Tommy first.

When there was nothing more left to say about the shit storm that had become my life, his big palm landed on my shoulder. “It’s okay, Logan, you don’t have to feel guilty about anything. You did the best you could in the shitty situation you were in and you kept her safe. That’s all you can ask for.”

“Did I do what was best?”

He nodded. “She’s your Achilles’ heel. Mine was my Millie, and I’d have done anything, and I mean anything, to keep her out of harm’s way.”