Raw Redemption (Crossing the Line #4)(54)

Henrik removed his sunglasses. “I’m not popping shit out here on the street. After the trouble I went through to find what he wanted, he’ll be letting me in.”

Earpiece backed up a few feet and spoke quietly into the device. Henrik stared at the backseat through the rearview mirror, wishing he’d taken the time to introduce himself to the motherf*cker who’d robbed Ailish’s money, leaving her high and dry. Connor had called Henrik upon landing in Chicago, giving him the particulars on Eamon Lindt and assuring Henrik they’d been discreet, not giving the man a single reason to believe they had ties to law enforcement. Which was key, seeing as Henrik would be opening the trunk and presenting the man to O’Kelly in a matter of minutes.

Earpiece approached once more, coming close enough to the driver’s side window that Henrik itched to go for his gun. But after a final, scrutinizing once-over, the guard gave whoever was on the other end of his earpiece the all-clear, smirking as he issued it.

Henrik eased past off the street onto the pristine brick driveway, painfully aware that he was crossing into enemy territory. Three black luxury cars were parked in a row near the entrance, two guards having a conversation by the double-door entrance. Something about the grounds struck Henrik as looking like a movie set, a perfect replica of what a gangster’s home should look like. He stared out through the windshield, imagining it through Ailish’s eyes. Prison. It would look like prison to a young girl, especially one with so much life inside her.

I miss her. I need her. She hates me.

Henrik hit his brakes with a little too much force and hoped it jostled the man in the trunk. Why should he be the only one in pain this fine goddamn morning, right? After throwing the car into park, he climbed out and waited by the driver’s side, lifting his arms up automatically when the two guards—their conversation now finished—swaggered over to frisk him. They removed the piece from inside his jacket pocket and slid it across the hood, out of his reach. He’d anticipated being unarmed, at least in the beginning. He didn’t like it—not even a little bit—but it was par for the course with a paranoid criminal like O’Kelly. Having his fists to work with in a pinch gave him some comfort. There wasn’t a man on the grounds could take him in a fight. He had that going for him at the very least.

When the guard finished checking Henrik for ankle-holstered weapons, he whistled, and the front door swung open. The first thing Henrik noticed about O’Kelly was the sweat on his forehead. He descended the steps looking jumpy. A man who’d had a few lines of cocaine with breakfast. God. God, Henrik had never been more relieved to have Ailish somewhere safe. Never been happier to have destroyed that evidence and given her a chance outside this life. Unfortunately, he had to deal with this tenser version of O’Kelly and explain that while he hadn’t found Ailish, he’d brought him someone else appealing.

“Where is she?” O’Kelly asked, running a finger along his upper gum line. “Trunk? She give you any problems?”

Henrik reacted to the manic, rapid-fire questions with a casual demeanor. “Yeah. More than a few. As in, I couldn’t find her.”

Two men pulled weapons on Henrik, but he didn’t flinch. “Relax. I didn’t come empty-handed.” He held up his left hand and pointed at the interior of his car, with the right. “I’m going to reach in and pop the trunk. Sound good?”

Caine’s responding laugh was semi-maniacal. “Still talks like a cop, this f*cking guy. All right.” He clapped his hands together. “All right. Let’s go. Let’s see what you got.”

As Henrik ducked down, he watched two of Caine’s men exchange an odd glance before training speculative eyes on their boss. Dissension in the ranks? Good to know. He hooked his finger beneath the plastic lever and pulled. Before he could fully straighten, Caine was already rounding the car. When he looked into the trunk, he gave that disturbing laugh again, the sound ricocheting through the stiff brick courtyard. “He might be a cop, but he’s got a sense of humor.”

Caine dropped a hand into the trunk and pulled out—

Ailish.





Chapter Fifteen


That haunted house scream from Henrik’s youth tore across the landscape of his mind, eroding mountains, whipping through his self-control like a destructive tornado. A harsh sound escaped him and he just managed to disguise it with a cough into his shaking fist. No. This is part of the movie. It’s not real. She’s not here, being manhandled by her drugged-up father, yanked out of the truck like a piece of luggage. She’s not here in the middle of several loaded weapons, when I don’t even have one. No, baby, please don’t really be here.

“How did you find her?” Caine asked, but the older man’s voice sounded tinny, as if it flowed out through a spinning vortex of white noise. Henrik’s mouth was too full of wet sand to answer, so he pulled together a lethargic shrug. Something that hopefully said I have my ways. And then came very close to vomiting on his shoes.

Ailish was wearing a yellow sundress, and it seemed so out of place among the black suits and brick walls. The strain around her mouth told Henrik the grip Caine had on her elbow was way, way too f*cking tight, and there was nothing Henrik could do about it. The man beside him snickered, breathing the word “bitch” close to Henrik’s ear, as if they were buddies commiserating about last night’s baseball game. Fuckf*ckf*ck. He couldn’t do this. Not with Ailish on the line.