Blow(102)

“Of course I’ll make provisions to make certain you have visitation, should something happen to me.”

My patience wearing thin, I fired, “Why are you telling me this? Shouldn’t you be discussing it with your sister?”

His voice as calm as an unruffled breeze, he answered, “I thought you might disagree.”

Blinking at him, I couldn’t help but wonder if he was somehow looking to blackmail me in some way. I hoped it was the liquor he was consuming that was sending the wrong vibe my way. Rising to my feet, I strode closer to him. “If you’re asking me if I want to be named Clementine’s guardian, you already know I do.”

There was a darkness in his eyes I’d never seen. “That’s what I thought, Elle. Now, there’s something I need your help with.”

Even though we were alone in the house, he turned the music up, and whispered.

I listened, nodded, and after much thought, hesitantly said, “I’ll think about it and let you know tomorrow.”

With his simple request on the table, he set his glass down and headed for the stairs. When he was halfway, he turned and said, “Good night, Elle.”

Pulse racing, once I knew he was in his room I scurried up the stairs and into the room I’d been staying in. I’d slept here many nights, but for the first time since I’d arrived in Boston more than three months ago, I locked my door.

After brushing my teeth and washing my face, I got into bed and held my phone close. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I called Logan. I had to talk to him.

It only rang once. “Elle, everything okay?”

I sunk further down onto my pillow. “I needed to hear your voice.”

There was a lot of noise in the background. He was out somewhere. “Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t sound right. Did something happen?”

In a whisper, I told him, “I need to tell you something.”

“Elle, I can’t hear you,” Logan said.

I opened my mouth to speak again.

“Sorry I’m late.” It was a female voice I didn’t recognize.

“Hey, can I call you back?” Logan asked clearly into the phone. Clearly to me.

Crushed, I answered with barely audible words. “No, you don’t have to.”

“Elle.” He said my name as if it pained him.

“I shouldn’t have called,” I said louder and hung up.

I remembered wondering that first night at Molly’s if he had a girlfriend, or a girl, or someone in his life. Was that the voice I’d just heard?

Deep.

Husky.

Sexy.

Was that the real reason he’d left me alone in his hotel room?

Tears were streaming down my face.

I felt like I’d been stabbed in the chest, right through my heart.

But really, what had I expected? That he’d tell me he loved me after knowing me for only five days?

I covered my face with my hands and relived the day my mother died, the day my kidney failed her, the day I was declared unable to ever give life, the day my father declared me useless.

Somehow, amidst my sorrow, I fell asleep.

Clementine was the only joy I had in my life now. I wouldn’t lose her.

Sometime later during the night I heard my phone ring.

I didn’t answer.

He left a message that if I needed anything, I should contact Declan at Mulligan’s Cup or Frank at Molly’s.

Obviously, that was his way of telling me to leave him alone.

Wish granted.





DAY 7





LOGAN


I knotted my tie and looked in the mirror.

In my black Dolce & Gabbana suit, the Martini stretch wool—one that my grandfather insisted I buy five of—a crisp white shirt, and a red tie, I was the epitome of high-society class.

Just the way my grandfather liked.

Although he preferred everyone who worked for him to wear gray, it was never my nature to truly conform, and if I did that today he’d know something was up.

I had, however, gotten a haircut and given myself a close shave.

He liked the clean-cut look.

A test smile showed that I’d brushed my teeth properly. They were white and gleaming.

I looked good enough.

Good enough to charm Grandpa Ryan, I hoped.

All he would see tonight was Logan Killian Ryan McPherson—the golden boy he had high hopes for. The man he hoped to groom to take over his empire.

That was never going to happen.

Under the appearance I wore so well, I wasn’t the man he wanted me to be. I’d never be that man. I had too much of Killian, the Killer, McPherson in my blood. And I’d never felt more like him than today. I had fire in my belly and steel in my spine.

I was determined.

Tomorrow was Friday, and I had yet to figure out why Michael wasn’t shitting his pants by now. A call placed to him from my father earlier today only confirmed that he was planning on delivering.

What—he didn’t say.

And we had no idea.

The information we’d gathered on Tommy had led us nowhere so far. I needed a backup plan. The details of how I was going to get the money to Michael were sketchy, but I’d work that out tomorrow once I had the funds secured. No matter what Patrick wanted, I knew if what Michael had wasn’t enough, offering more money would at least buy time.