Blow(33)

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 f*cker. 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 f*ck 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.