Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

Jude found Sloan sitting on his couch, her suitcase beside her, a distant look in her big brown eyes. Something had changed back in the O’Connor house, though he was at a loss to know what it was. Even when Sorcha had threatened her, Sloan stood up to him and demanded he keep his promise.

Jude crouched in front of her, putting himself in her line of sight. “She’s alive.” He’d left her tied as Sloan requested, but he didn’t like the woman’s odds once Callista Sheridan got ahold of her. Still doesn’t put Callista on my list. Not anymore.

“Thank you.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, didn’t know how to deal with the way his entire world had changed the second Sloan walked into it. Really, there wasn’t a damn thing to do but keep moving. He straightened. “It’s time to move.”

“Don’t you need to pack?”

He checked her eyes for signs of shock, but they were clear and her hands didn’t shake when she placed one in his.

“I’m ready.” He’d packed everything up but the bare necessities the second he’d gotten back to Callaway Rock after meeting with Dmitri. Even if he hadn’t, he was ready to leave on the fly as a matter of habit. “We’re taking my truck.”

She nodded, then looked away. “I have to call my brother to tell him about Sorcha. And before you say something scathing, I have several burner phones and will destroy them as soon as I hang up.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything.” When it came right down to it, Sloan had a point. Sorcha’s wrong hadn’t been aimed at him—it had been aimed at her own family. It was up to her family to deliver justice.

And if they didn’t…Well, he’d deal with that when the time came.

Hewasn’t going to forget that Sorcha had pulled a gun on Sloan, and had likely had every intention of using it.

“Come on.” He kept ahold of her hand and grabbed her suitcase. It made it damn near impossible to get to his gun, but he didn’t like the stiff way Sloan was holding herself. She was going to break down at some point, possibly in the near future, and getting her in his truck took precedence.

He headed out his front door, not bothering to lock it behind him. There was nothing to find, no evidence that he’d ever been there or where he might be going. If someone wanted in badly enough, a locked door was child’s play to get past.

And a part of him wondered if he’d ever be back. He’d enjoyed being so close to the beach, and even the townspeople weren’t that aggravating when it came right down to it. More than any of that, this was the place he’d met Sloan. The exact spot that had sent him spinning from the path he’d been on since he could remember.

The place where everything changed.

Jude didn’t usually waste time feeling sentimental about a house, but he was doing a lot of things these days that he didn’t normally do. He tossed the suitcase into the bed of the truck and opened the door, taking in his surroundings. There was no movement from the O’Connor house, but he didn’t expect there to be, and the rest of the street was deserted. The rain would keep people inside, which was a goddamn blessing in disguise because it meant he didn’t have to worry about someone wandering over to make small talk the second he left his front porch. He slammed the door behind Sloan and wasted no time getting into the driver’s side and gunning the engine.

With every street they passed, the tension wound tighter between his shoulder blades. There weren’t any warning signs, no indication that someone was following them, and he’d scoured the truck for bugs before he’d gone to check on Sloan while she packed. But it was still too easy. There should be something.

As if on cue, his satellite phone rang. He cursed and yanked it out of his jacket. “What?”

“Going somewhere?”

How the hell did that Russian fucker know? Jude checked the rearview again, but there wasn’t any other vehicle on the road. Then again, with the godforsaken trees trying to encroach on the highway and the way the pavement dipped and twisted, it was entirely possible that he had a tail just out of sight. There weren’t many ways in or out of Callaway Rock beyond Route 101. He could go north toward Seaside and cut east to Portland and hope to lose them there, or head south toward California…None of them good options.

He kept his voice detached, ignoring the questioning look Sloan sent him. “I was under the impression that we were aligned and you were going to mind your own goddamn business in the meantime.”

Romanov sighed. “Things have escalated, and we need to reevaluate.”

“That’s unfortunate. For you.”

“We’re in this together, MacNamara.”

Except they weren’t. Dmitri wanted Colm dead—hell, Jude still wanted Colm dead—but the Russian was more right than he knew. Things had escalated faster than anyone could have anticipated. With Sloan’s potential pregnancy in the equation, gunning for Colm on someone else’s schedule was too much of a risk to take. “The timeline has changed.”

“Unacceptable.”

He shot a look at Sloan. She was staring out the window at the dark trees as they flew down the road, but she would hear every word he said. And why not? She knew who he was now. She knew what he did—what he had planned on doing. He’d promised to leave Callista and Sorcha alive and unscathed, and he had no intention of breaking that promise.

But his chances of getting to Colm Sheridan without putting Callista in the crossfire could be complicated. He had to go back to square one and rework his plan from there. “You can say ‘unacceptable’ all you want, but you know better than to rush me.”

“Colm and Callista Sheridan have dinner at their favorite restaurant every week. There’s an apartment across the street with a perfect view of two of the three entrances. I expect you to make good use of it.”

Jude white-knuckled the steering wheel. “I don’t appreciate you doing my job for me.”

“I wouldn’t have to if you weren’t about to go back on your word.” Dmitri waited a beat. “You know what I do to people who break their word to me.”

“I’m not breaking my word. I just need more time. In the meantime, however you’re tracking me, fucking stop it. Or any consideration I have of working with you will disappear and I’ll take my chances elsewhere.”

“Do not cross me. You will be at that apartment with the appropriate weapons before their Sunday dinner—one way or another.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Are you going to kidnap me?”

Dmitri snorted. “Please spare me the dramatics. Once your identity is out, who do you think is going to be blamed if both the remaining Sheridans are assassinated?”

Even if I don’t pull the trigger, he’s going to make sure everyone thinks I did.

The realization sat like a stone in his stomach. The Russian had effectively backed him into a corner, and he didn’t know what the fuck he was supposed to do about it. He wouldn’t shed a single damn tear if Colm Sheridan was taken out with a bullet from someone other than him. But Callista…

Knowing she was pregnant, he’d be no better than Colm if he sat back and didn’t do anything to stop it. No better than Romanov.

Fuck. “I’ll be there.” At least then he could ensure the only person who died was the one who deserved it. Don’t know how I’m going to explain that to Sloan, though.

“I thought as much.” Dmitri hung up, leaving turmoil in his wake.

Sloan wasted no time, turning in the seat to face him completely. “Please tell me that wasn’t Dmitri Romanov.”

“It was Dmitri Romanov.” There was no point in lying to her. Either she’d be able to handle everything or she wouldn’t. It was better to know now than…What? He wasn’t letting her go. He damn well knew it. She’d come into his life with her quiet strength and now everything he thought he knew was gone. It didn’t make a single fucking bit of sense, but he was actually considering throwing everything he’d spent his entire life working for out the window if it meant keeping her safe.

More than considering it. He was damn near planning on it.

She smoothed her hair back, her hands only now shaking. What did it say about Sloan that she could face down certain death by shotgun and be relatively unaffected but that Russian bastard flustered her calm? That she’s a smart fucking woman. Sloan took a deep breath, and he could almost see her counting to three before she released it. “Any kind of alliance with that man is out of the question.”

“I don’t remember putting you in charge of this operation.”

“Well, you should if you’re stupid enough to think that man won’t stab you in the back the first chance he gets.” Her voice shook and she made a visible effort to calm it. “He’s a snake. Worse than a snake. He’s not to be trusted.”

“I don’t trust him.” Especially considering the threat currently hanging over his head.

“I don’t…” Her breath hitched again. “I’m scared, Jude.”

“I’ll take care of you, sunshine.” He just had to figure out how the hell he was going to pull that off without signing a death warrant for both of them.

*  *  *

“You’re sure.”

Liam sat behind the wheel of the sedan, his face unreadable in the neon light from the bar across the street. “As sure as I can be. She’s John Finch’s daughter—his only kid. It took some digging because she disappeared off the face of the earth four years ago.”

Aiden studied the place. It looked like a thousand dive bars across the country—filthy and unassuming. The kind of place bikers and people up to no good would congregate. “There’s more.”

Liam nodded. “Charlotte Finch used to be a cop. She was a bright shining star of the NYPD and moving up the ranks pretty damn quickly—until she was accused of being a dirty cop and thrown off the force. There wasn’t an official trial for some reason, but right after that she disappeared. Two years later, Charlie Moreaux shows up in this shitty little bar in New York City, running high-stakes poker in the back room.”

“Was she dirty?” If she was, it would have broken her dear father’s heart—and she’d be useless to him, because John Finch seemed the type to cut ties if he thought his daughter was on the wrong side of the law.

Aiden flipped through the file Liam handed him, raising his brows at the list of her accomplishments. She hadn’t just been a cop—she’d been a good cop. Beneath that sheet was a short report about her time in the academy. Good grades, one hell of a shot, and adored by both her instructors and peers. Must have been quite the kick in the teeth to have them turn on you at the flip of a coin.

“She’s not dirty.” Liam hesitated. “Though I can’t be sure without more info. But if I were a betting man, I’d say that Charlotte stumbled onto something she shouldn’t have and paid the price. Her former partner got a promotion. And there’s this.” He passed over a photo.

Aiden studied the two men. One he knew far better than he’d like to. Dark hair, lean build, predatory gaze—Romanov. The other…“This is her partner?”

“Yeah.”

Which meant it was possible—probable even—that Romanov had some of New York’s finest on his payroll and, when the starry-eyed golden girl had found out and refused to fall in line, he’d had her discredited.

It’s what Aiden would have done.

Killing cops was bad for business. It was easier to have the ones who wouldn’t take bribes framed and removed, since there was little that honorable cops hated more than finding out one of their own was dirty. No one would believe what a dirty cop said, and no one was going to be forming a posse to avenge them. It was a nice bloodless way to tie up loose ends.

I bet John Finch just loved that shit. “She still have contact with her father?”

“Hard to say. He spoke out in her defense at first, but after she left the force, he shut the hell up.”

Aiden considered what he knew of John Finch. It was quite a bit these days. The man was from a long line of cops who firmly believed that the ends justified the means. He hadn’t flinched at using Teague to further his investigation, and gave no regard to what the O’Malleys—or Sheridans or Hallorans, for that matter—would do to him if they found out he was a rat. They would have killed his brother—worse than killed him.

And John Finch would have just kept on living, doing what he did best—turning people against their friends and families. Part of him still couldn’t believe that his little brother was a fucking informant to the feds. The O’Malleys did a lot of terrible things, but they held family above all others. To betray family…

He hadn’t confronted Teague yet. He didn’t trust himself to even see his brother’s face without losing control. If Teague was still just his brother, it wouldn’t have been an issue. But he wasn’t just Teague O’Malley anymore. He was married to the head of the Sheridan family, which made any interaction Aiden had with him a potential political incident. They’d barely avoided a war up to this point, and he wasn’t going to be the reason that changed.

But he was only holding off the inevitable and he knew it. Eventually he was going to have to see his brother face-to-face and tell him exactly what Aiden knew.

Anger tried to choke him, but he fought it, focusing on the man he could make pay. John Finch. If he simply removed the fed, another would take his place. No, Aiden needed leverage to get Finch to back the hell off of his own free will.

Aiden had no illusions about what kind of man he was. He’d do unforgivable things to uphold his family’s power and keep those closest to him safe. He had done unforgivable things.

He was about to add one more to the list. “Let’s go meet this Charlie Moreaux.”

Approaching her on her own territory was a mistake. Even with Liam at his back, she would have home-court advantage. So they took up a spot just outside the door and waited. They’d timed their arrival to coincide with last call, and sure enough it didn’t take long before a scattering of people filed out of the bar, some weaving on their feet.

Fifteen minutes later, a woman exited alone. Aiden didn’t need Liam’s nudge to know that this was Charlie Moreaux, formerly Charlotte Finch. Despite her white blond hair, painted-on jeans, and downright sinful good looks, her blue eyes were a cop’s. She stopped when she saw them, taking both him and Liam in in an instant. “If you’re looking for trouble, you’ve got the wrong woman.”

She shifted, and his gaze flicked to her right hand. “I suggest you don’t pull that gun on me, bright eyes.”

Charlotte frowned. “Who the hell are you?”

He weighed his odds of telling her the truth, and decided it was in his best interest to start things out correctly. “Aiden O’Malley. A pleasure.”

“Wish I could say the same.” She narrowed those gorgeous blue eyes. “I know that name…Isn’t New York a bit of a jaunt from Boston? I wonder what Romanov thinks of your trespassing.”

If he’d had any question about who she blamed for her downfall, the answer was in the way she practically spat the Russian’s name. Perfect. His initial plan had changed the second Liam had mentioned her potential connection to Romanov—now, a new plan solidified. Two birds, one stone.

He kept his hands at his side, doing his best to be nonthreatening, and went in for the kill. “Dmitri Romanov is no friend of mine, and with your help I can bring him down.”

She snorted. “I’ve heard that one before.”

“Maybe other men have promised. I can deliver.”

She cocked her head to the side, her long hair spilling over one shoulder. The sheer lack of pigment in her hair drew his attention to her blood red lips. While she considered him, he returned the favor, taking in her fitted white T-shirt and jeans that hugged every curve. And then there were those heels, the same color as her lips. The woman looked like…Fuck, if he was going to be honest, she looked like sex, with her smoky eye makeup and her stillness and the way she watched him like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to shoot him or fuck him.

“No.”

Aiden took a step forward and caught himself, retreating immediately. Crowding her would only result in her doing something like going for the gun she must have in the back of her waistband. He couldn’t bully her into agreeing. She had to do it because she wanted to or it wouldn’t work. “Give me a chance to change your mind.”

She hesitated, and he waited, giving her time to think about it. Charlotte finally glanced at the door to the bar and lowered her voice. “Look, I don’t know what you think you know about me, but even if you had the ability to take Romanov down, I can’t do a damn thing to help you. I don’t have contacts in the force anymore. I’m just a woman with a gun who’s better than average at poker.”

“That’s not all you are, and you know it.” She was the daughter of a fed with a specialty in organized crime, and her record when she’d been a cop was downright impressive. Every sign pointed to her having a keen mind and the ability to think on her feet. The woman was practically built for undercover work.

And getting her to work with me will be a knife in her father’s heart.

He set the thought aside, refusing to allow it to show on his face. He had to play this slow, because if she’d been a good cop, that meant she was going to want to check him out—which was a big fat black mark against him. There was no way she wouldn’t equate him with Romanov, and getting into bed with one devil in order to take out another would reek of desperation.

Something he counted on.

Because if Charlotte Finch really wasn’t a dirty cop, she’d do damn near anything to clear her name and punish the one who’d orchestrated the whole thing.

Moving slowly, Aiden pulled out a card and held it out. “If you want to meet up and talk someplace more…neutral…give me a call. I think you’ll like what I have to say.” He waited for her to take it, reaching out to snatch it like he was a snake who might strike at any time.

She read the card, her brows raising. “There’s no such thing as neutral territory in New York. And I’m sure as hell not coming to Boston.”

That’s what you think.

Aiden gave a smile that made her take a step back despite his best efforts to be disarming. “The ball is in your court. You can toss that card in the nearest Dumpster, or you can call that number and let me help you right all the wrongs that Dmitri Romanov has done to you.”

Her lips parted, and the tiny part of him not locked completely down and under control wondered if she’d taste as good as she looked. Charlotte hesitated. “I’ll…think about it.”

“I’ll be waiting.” He had her. She might not realize it yet, but he did. Now it was only a matter of playing his cards to maneuver her into exactly the right position to maximize her benefit.

And to maximize the knife to John Finch’s throat once he realized his precious daughter was in bed with Aiden O’Malley.