Blow(89)

With a slow shake of my head, I said, “When O’Shea’s wife disappeared?”

My father turned back around. “Yes. But I’m not sure the two are connected.”

“But possibly?”

He shrugged. “The only thing I’m sure of is that something was going on behind Patrick’s back.”

“More drug buys?”

“Could be. Tommy knows Patrick doesn’t want Blue Hill relying on the drug trade to earn.”

“Do you think he’d be that stupid to defy his father?”

“I don’t know, Logan, but I’ve been thinking about this whole situation. Tommy first brought Patrick’s attention to the drug ring for a reason.”

“Because he needed the funds?”

“Yes, but why wait so long after the deal went bad to tell Patrick?”

“He tried to handle it himself?”

“There’s something else.”

“What?”

“I wish I knew. At this point Patrick wants his money back, but I’m almost certain he’s looking to eliminate whoever is running the renegade op. It’s like that person is some kind of threat to him or something.”

I leaned back on his desk and crossed my arms. “Okay, so how does this help us move forward with a solution?”

“It doesn’t. But if we can find out who O’Shea’s wife was working for and/or who she was getting the drugs from, we should be able to follow the trail up to the source, which will more than likely be the person in charge of the renegade operation. And if we deliver that person or persons by Friday, that girl you’re so concerned about should be safe.”

That girl.

She wasn’t just that girl anymore.

She was my girl.

Admitting it would be futile, though. What mattered was that I keep her safe. And that I would do, no matter what. “I know where to start,” I said.

My father looked at me skeptically.

I shoved off the desk. “Something happened last night.”

It took me fifteen minutes to tell him what happened to Peyton. He had so many questions—why was I there, what was I thinking, I shouldn’t even be near Elle. When the lecture started, I started for the door.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“To see Declan Mulligan. I’ll call you later.”

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

I indicated my appearance. “I’m in a suit—what am I going to do?”

My father said, “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“I’ll be smart.”

“Dinner?”

“Can’t tonight, but tomorrow night I’ll be there,” I responded as I left his office. I had no idea what today might bring. Plans weren’t anything I needed to have.

His heavy sigh could be heard down the hall.

My heavy sigh, though—that was what Declan should be worried about.

Tie pulled loose, suit jacket off, and sleeves rolled up, I found a place to park on ever busy Charles Street.

Mulligan’s Cup was open for business and full of patrons when I walked through the door. And Declan himself was working the espresso machine like he was born to brew lattes.

“I need to talk to you,” I said, bending over the counter.

“Yeah, give me a minute,” he responded without glancing up.

“In less than a minute, this fancy machine of yours is going to be on the floor.”

That got him to look up and when he saw my unhappy face, he paled, and then cranked a knob or two on the Italian masterpiece in front of him that had to cost at least thirty thousand. “Logan, look, I don’t want any trouble.”

“I said, I need to talk to you.” I was seething. My fingers gripped the back of the machine so tightly it shook. I would shove it to the ground if I had to—if it was the only way to get his attention.

He swallowed nothing in his throat and gave me a nod. “Charlene, can you finish this order?” he asked the girl behind the register.

“No problem,” she answered, eyeing me with distaste.

Declan took off his apron and bobbed his head toward the door leading to the backroom.

As soon as we were through it, I slammed him into the wall. “Why would you do that?” I said with disgust.

Sputtering, gasping for breath, he choked out, “I didn’t do anything.”

“Wrong answer.” I punched him in the gut.

Declan curled around my fist as all the air went out of his body. “Logan, I didn’t do anything. I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

I pulled him up by the shirt collar. “You’re trying to tell me you didn’t put Peyton in the hospital?”

“No! What do you mean? What happened to her?” He coughed the words out, his concern clear in his tone.

Shoving him back against the wall, I looked him in the eye. “Someone saw me with her yesterday and last night she was attacked—by Tommy.”

He blinked rapidly as if trying to process what I’d just said. “Is she okay?”

I stepped back so I could better assess if he was lying to me. He looked genuinely upset. With narrowed eyes I hissed, “You’d better not be f*cking with me.”

He raised his palms surrender style. “I swear, man, I haven’t seen Tommy in years. I’m staying clean and trying to run an honest business.”