Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Aiden O’Malley stared at the papers on his desk, wanting nothing more than to throw them into the fire. His brother Cillian had brought in the report with the mail earlier today, but he’d only gotten around to opening it now. A small miracle, since for once he was alone in his father’s massive office. No one needed to see what he’d just read, the undeniable proof in photos and phone taps, showcasing one seriously fucked-up truth.

They had a rat.

One who was high enough up in the ranks as to pose a very true threat. One he couldn’t touch without inciting the war they’d all worked so hard to hold off. All of that was bad, but it wasn’t the worst part of the whole situation. He sat back and ran his hands over his face, feeling a hundred years old.

His motherfucking brother.

Cursing under his breath, he picked up the envelope and flipped it over. There was no return address, but that fact was less important than the contents of the file. There were pictures of his brother meeting with the FBI, wiretaps detailing the information he’d shared, even a report detailing how the FBI had saved Teague’s life when shit had gone down with the Hallorans, transporting him and Callie to the hospital before they went forward with their sting. There were only a handful of people capable of this level of surveillance—and who had reason to put this much effort into following his brother around.

Aiden flipped through the photos again, part of him wishing he’d see something different this time, while the practical side of him knew better. “Goddamn it, Teague. What the fuck were you thinking?”

More importantly, what had he let slip? Their entire business—their entire life—depended on flying below the radar of law enforcement, and his goddamn brother had been willingly handing that information over in return for…Fuck, he didn’t know. There weren’t payoffs, though that sort of thing would be hard to track. The only one messing with O’Malley business appeared to be Dmitri Romanov, and Aiden highly doubted that man was in bed with the feds. The only thing that stood out as too coincidental was the raid on the Hallorans. Teague had definitely had something to do with that.

Even then, only a few of their men were arrested. Those fuckers had their eyes on the prize—Victor Halloran. That old bastard was currently living out what remained of his days in federal prison. Good riddance.

Doesn’t mean they won’t come for us eventually, armed with whatever information my brother gave them.

The only silver lining to the whole shit show was that Teague had never been privy to certain information because he was neither the heir nor the one running the books.

But he still knew plenty to damn them and the Sheridans, both. God, what would Callie say?

Aiden eyed the phone. He could call Teague right now, arrange a meet up, and…What? Try to force him to confess everything? Threaten him?

It’s what their father would have done.

But, as everyone was so fond of reminding him, he wasn’t their father. He might be close these days, but he couldn’t make himself go through with it. They’d already lost a brother to circumstances that might have been avoidable. To lose another over shit like this? Maybe he was weak, but Aiden couldn’t pull the trigger, proverbially or otherwise.

Not to mention, he was pretty fucking sure Teague was behind Sloan’s convenient disappearance two weeks ago. Of them all, Teague was the only one not going mad with worry. New papers weren’t hard to get ahold of if someone knew where to look.

Especially when that someone had the goddamn FBI in his pocket.

His gaze shifted to the other man in the photos, one John Finch. Aiden drummed his fingers on the desk, considering. He might not be willing to take irreversible steps with Teague, but this agent had no such protections in place.

He picked up his phone and dialed without taking his gaze from the photo. Liam answered almost immediately. “What can I do for you, boss?”

“I need you to find everything you can on an FBI agent named John Finch. And I mean everything—I want to know who he cares about most in the world, and if he has any vices that can be exploited, and every noteworthy case he’s had in the last decade.”

Liam hesitated. “There a reason you don’t want Cillian on this? The kid’s getting pretty damn good at hacking. Give him a half an hour, and he could get you everything you need to know.”

If he did, Cillian would find out about Teague.

Aiden shook his head, even though the other man couldn’t see. “I want you on this. Only you. And, Liam, it goes without saying that this stays between us.”

Another hesitation, longer this time. “Is there something going on that I need to know about?”

They’d been friends for a long time. Aiden didn’t like taking the boss man tone with him, and, truthfully, Liam didn’t need threats to do his job. He sighed. “There’s trouble, but until we have this information, there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it.” The cat was already out of the bag where Teague was concerned—he’d already talked to the feds. Now it was just a matter of figuring out what he’d told them.

And doing damage control.

“Got it. I’ll see what I can do and pass along the information as soon as I have something.”

“Thanks.” Aiden hung up and sat back, releasing a pent-up breath. He’d fix this. It might not be the way his father would have gone about it, but he’d fix it all the same. Their family had taken too many blows in too short a time, and he’d be damned before he let one of their own bring them down for good. Depending on what Teague had told the feds, their father could be looking at jail time right alongside Victor Halloran.

Aidencould be looking at jail time.

He stared at the phone again, the tightness in his chest making it hard to breathe. Hurting Teague right now, even to get information, would do more harm than good, but he had to know what his brother had told John Finch—and he had to know it sooner, rather than later.

If he didn’t…

If Seamus returned and found out what Teague had done…

Aiden cursed and scrubbed his hands over his face. Sloan’s disappearance had broken something in their father. He’d gone out to the house in Connecticut with their mother and just…not come back. Aiden spoke with him daily, but he’d more or less handed over everything. Aiden kept thinking that one day Seamus would show up and take control again, but it hadn’t happened yet.

Now he was starting to wonder if it would never happen.

He’d been trained to expect a knife in the back from everyone around him—from ally to enemy. In their world, everyone was out for themselves and willing to play dirty to get what they want.

He just hadn’t expected the hand holding the knife to belong to his brother.

*  *  *

It took Sloan the better part of the day to put a name to the emotion sinking its barbs into her. Fury. She hadn’t seen Jude since he walked out of the bathroom last night, though she hadn’t really expected to. Her body ached with the memory of what he’d done to her, and even as angry as she was, she enjoyed the remnants a little too much. Last night was the first time she’d truly taken control.

And look how that ended up.

Wonderful sex with a less-than-perfect man. She stretched and stood. Though she’d had every intention of attending the yoga session at sunrise, she’d slept until ten. Between the diner and Jude, apparently she’d needed the sleep.

Restlessness drove her to clean, but it hadn’t taken long since the house was in immaculate condition. So she’d gone to the little market, but short of a few select items, she didn’t know what to shop for. I need a cooking class. Maybe that way she could expand her diet to something other than diner food and salads.

At least I can’t burn salads.

A knock on the door had her freezing. It could be Jude. Sloan shook off her initial impulse to rush to open it, and made her way slowly to the front of the house. If it was him, he could very well wait on her whim—especially after how last night had ended.

Except, when she opened the door, a curvy blond woman stood there. It took a second for Sloan to place her, but when she did, she smiled. “Jessica.”

“Sloan, right?” Jessica held out a hand, her high ponytail bouncing with the motion. “You were there and gone at yesterday’s class before I had a chance to formally introduce myself.”

She hadn’t been aware that chatting was part of yoga class. Some of the older folk had stuck around, but Sloan had felt a little like a kid hoping not to be picked last for a group project. It had been easier to walk away. “I had a shift at the diner.”

“I know.” Jessica grinned. She wore a pair of purple yoga pants and a loose gray wrap thing over a white tank top. The wrap defied comprehension, leaving gaps to show the tank beneath it. “Sorry, that was creepy and stalkerish. The truth is that everyone pretty much knows everything about everyone else in Callaway Rock. So, I promise I’m not snooping around, but I had heard that you got a job from Marge.” She spoke so fast, Sloan wasn’t sure if she was supposed to interject a response or not, so she just stood there and waited. Jessica wasn’t done. Her smile brightened. “I’m babbling on, and it’s terribly rude. I’m sorry. The whole reason I came by, aside from introducing myself, was to tell you that I offer one-on-one sessions. I can tell you haven’t done much yoga before, but you have a knack and you’re bendy. And, forgive me for saying it, but you are tense enough to be brittle. Yoga will help with that.”

Sloan started to beg off, and then stopped. The truth was, she’d enjoyed the class yesterday, but she had felt more than a little lost going from position to position. She opened the door a little wider. “I would love to do that. What is the cost of the classes, though? I haven’t gotten my first paycheck and—”

“First session is on me.” Jessica bounced on her toes. “After that, it’s twenty-five for an hour, or one hundred fifty for a month’s worth of a couple times a week. We can work it out if that’s what you decide you want to do.”

Purchasing a month’s worth of anything seemed like a large commitment right now—a declaration that this was her final settling place. Sloan pulled at the hem of her shirt. And getting a job doesn’t? She finally looked up. “When are you free?”

“Right now, in fact.” Jessica’s grin widened. “I’m being pushy. Sorry again for that. I’m just excited to meet some fresh blood in this place—which goes doubly because you’re my age instead of twice that.”

She had noticed that most of the residents skewed to their forties and beyond. “I just need a few minutes to change.”

“Go for it.” Jessica danced back with a little twirl. “I’ll meet you on the beach.”

Sloan wasted no time. She dug out a pair of yoga capris and, after some consideration, pulled on a tank top over a sports bra. She didn’t make a habit of showing much skin, but the less fabric to slide around and suffocate her the better. She’d learned that the hard way yesterday.

Had it only been yesterday? It seemed like a lifetime ago.

She couldn’t stop herself from shooting a glance at Jude’s house as she stepped onto her back porch, but the door was closed and the shutters drawn. If she thought too hard about it, she might half convince herself that last night never happened.

It happened. He took everything you offered and walked away.

It shouldn’t matter. She was an adult. She wasn’t young or foolish enough to think that sex meant anything other than a potential pair of mutually satisfying orgasms. Between Cillian and Carrigan, she’d learned that lesson through observation.

The pang in her chest hit again, sharper than it had a right to be. Carrigan. She missed a step and almost stumbled. It was easier not to think of her sister out here. Carrigan would hate this place, would feel confined by the lack of anything resembling city life, by the small population, by the thought of a life of settling down. She wouldn’t understand.

Devlin would have.

It doesn’t matter what Devlin would have understood. Devlin is dead.

“Over here.”

Jessica’s voice brought her out of her spiral, and not a moment too soon. She couldn’t manage a smile as she approached where the other woman had dropped her water bottle onto the sand, but at least this was one potential relationship uncomplicated by a past that went back…Well, her entire life.

She pulled her hair back into a ponytail that wasn’t nearly as bouncy as the other woman’s, and eyed the ground. “We had mats yesterday.”

“The older folk find it comforting.” Jessica shrugged. “Honestly, it’s better to have a connection to the earth. It grounds you, makes you feel like a small cog in a very large system.”

Though the words sounded suspiciously like some sort of hippie dogma, she couldn’t deny the attractiveness of the vision Jessica painted. So she nodded. “Where do we begin?”

The next hour passed in a blur. It started with the breathing technique she’d learned previously, which was relaxing in and of itself. Jessica turned out to be incredibly helpful once they began going through the poses. She demonstrated and then helped Sloan adjust to the correct form before moving on. Between the steady whisper of the waves coming in and the clear air and the slow burn of her muscles, her thoughts emptied out of her head one by one, until there was only blessed silence in their wake.

At the end of the session, they spent ten minutes lying flat on their backs and just being.

Jessica stretched and sat up. “You did amazing. How do you feel?”

“Good.” And, for the first time in a very long time, it was the truth. She could feel all her worries and anxieties waiting to crowd back in, but for the moment they felt curiously distant. “Thank you. I didn’t realize how much I needed that until just now.”

“It’s addicting like whoa.” Jessica tipped her head back and closed her eyes. “Runners have their high, but yogis have serenity like no others. It’s worth its weight in gold in today’s world.”

Sloan couldn’t argue that. “I’ll be at the class tomorrow.”

“Great! I keep things pretty steady there, but you’ll be moving on to more advanced moves before you know it.” Her face lit up. “Just wait until we get to inversions. They’re a trip.”

“I look forward to it.”

Jessica’s expression changed, sharpening with curiosity. “Holy crap. Don’t look now, but our resident brooding writer is staring at you like he wants to eat you alive.”

Naturally, she looked. She couldn’t help it.

Sure enough, Jude stood on his porch, a beer dangling from his fingers, and even across the distance, she could read his hunger for her. Could feel her body already responding despite the fury she still felt over how he’d walked out last night.

He wanted her? Well, that’s just too bad.

She turned back to Jessica, gathered her newly found courage around her. “Is there a place around here to get a drink?” One night didn’t make her much of a drinker, but it seemed like a big deal to ask the other woman to a meal.

Jessica slanted her a look. “Are you sure? If he was looking at me like that, I’d already be in his bed.”

“He can wait.” She couldn’t believe she’d said the words, couldn’t believe she was going to ignore the way her body called to him, even after the single time together, but apparently she had some of that pride that seemed to run through the O’Malleys like bedrock. Jude had hurt her last night when he left, intentionally or no.

And his bold words didn’t hold up to the light of day.

Or that was what she told herself as she ignored his silent command to come to him, and smiled at Jessica. “So what do you say?”

Jessica’s green eyes twinkled. “I say that you’re a woman I want to get to know better. Let’s do it.”