Chapter Twenty-Four

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Chicago

O scar Sullivan glared at the dead coroner lying on the floor. Dead men told no tales, and that was something his good-for-nothing scum of a brother-in-law had forgotten. Guilt lay heavy on Oscar’s shoulders, but it had nothing to do with killing this crap of a dead doctor. This had all started because Oscar had found the girl in the first place. Going to Kevin had been a mistake.

If only he’d just taken the girl for himself and used her for what she was meant for, none of this would have happened. He knew a part of him still had that old-school mentality. In the old days, Kevin had been of a higher rank, and Oscar had followed that odd kind of protocol. And now his beloved sister was dead.

The coroner had been easy enough to break. For a nice chunk of change, the doctor had skewed the autopsy findings to show an aneurysm had killed his sister and not the poison Kevin had injected into her scalp. And that was why the coroner would never be able to draw another breath. He might not have done the actual deed, but he had covered it up, and that made him guilty in Oscar’s book.

He still had no idea how his sister’s will had come to indicate that cremation was her preference instead of a traditional Irish funeral. He’d known his sister—obviously better than her husband had—because there was no way she would have chosen such a thing. Not only would she have considered it a sacrilege, she had once told him that she was terrified of cremation. She wouldn’t have changed her mind. So either Kevin had forged that document, or he’d somehow coerced her into agreeing to it. Either way, he knew without a doubt that the man was responsible.

A deep, dark sadness swept over him. He had acknowledged his role in how this played out, and he would regret to his dying day his part in making this happen. The only way to make amends for the wrongs done to his sister was to destroy the person responsible.

Once that was done, he’d find the girl again. Just because she had escaped didn’t mean he didn’t still need her. She was the key to everything. But once he had her, he’d do it right this time. Just because the girl was the key didn’t mean she needed to survive. He just needed her for a few statements and signatures. Having her breathing after that would be more of a problem than he’d want to handle.

But first things first. Some retribution needed to take place.

Pulling his phone from his pocket, he placed a call to get everything started.

His hand shaking, Kevin poured himself another three fingers of Scotch. The first two glasses had eased the pangs of disappointment, but what was left was a rage beyond anything he’d ever felt before. He had to get ahold of himself to handle the fallout. He had to figure what to do and where to go from here.

Obviously, he had underestimated the little witch. She had looked so tiny and harmless. No one that small, especially a woman, should have been able to take down two of his men. They might not have been the smartest, but what they’d lacked in intelligence, they’d more than made up in bulk. They’d certainly known how to subdue a hundred-pound woman. So what the hell had happened?

He’d never gotten any answers from her. Where had she gotten her self-defense training? She’d had two professional-grade weapons on her when she had been taken, and she had never told him why or how she’d come by them. Had she known how to use them?

The video feed he’d seen of her whimpering and crying for mercy had been faked. That much he knew. She had been playacting this whole time, pretending she’d learned her lesson and was ready to comply with his demands.

He’d thought limiting her food and water intake and treating her like an animal with absolutely no comfort items other than the blanket and pillow would have broken her. And while he’d allowed her a toothbrush and toothpaste, that had been more for him than for her. The last thing he’d wanted was a wife with rotting teeth.

But those items were minuscule compared to what he would have given her if she had just done what he wanted.

When his men hadn’t brought her to the house like he’d ordered, he’d pulled up the feed from outside the kennel. The live feed had given him nothing. Just an empty parking lot. Then he’d pulled up a recording from two hours prior, and his whole world had shifted.

He’d watched Miles and Kip go into the building. He now regretted not adding cameras to the inside, but since he hadn’t planned for the girl to stay longer than a few days, he hadn’t wanted the added expense. What had gone on inside he could only guess, but fifteen minutes after the men had entered, the girl came stumbling out. Alone.

The angle of the camera had been off, so he couldn’t see her all that well, but from the way she walked, he knew she’d been injured. She’d barely made it outside the door before she’d stumbled and fallen. As she lay there, he had held his breath, figuring at least one of the men would follow her out. He’d watched as she made a call from a cellphone. It had to have belonged to one of the men. So not only had she disabled the men, she had managed to get a phone to call for help.

The call lasted only a couple of minutes, but he could tell the girl was on her last dregs of consciousness. Then, to his surprise and delight, Miles had come staggering out of the building, holding a hand against his shoulder. He’d glared down at the girl, and though Kevin couldn’t hear any words, he knew the man was furious. When he’d spat on the girl and kicked dirt into her face, she hadn’t reacted, which made him wonder if she was even alive.

Still, he had assumed the man would pick her up and bring her to the house, dead or alive. But no, that hadn’t happened. Instead, Miles had taken the phone out of her hand, spat on her again, and then gotten into his truck and driven away.

Kevin had sat there for the longest time, watching the girl and waiting for something else to happen. He thought maybe Kip, his other man, might come out. Or even that Miles would return to get her. But that hadn’t happened. He’d called Miles to demand an explanation. So far, the man hadn’t returned his call.

Then, what had occurred after that was so far-fetched, even now he questioned if he’d actually witnessed the events.

A large helicopter had appeared out of nowhere and landed in the parking lot. Two men and two women had emerged from the chopper and run toward the fallen girl. All four of them were armed. The men were large and looked fierce. The women were small but appeared just as dangerous.

While one of the men and one of the women attended the girl, the other man and woman went inside the facility. Seconds later, a man on a motorcycle skidded into view. The man jumped off the cycle and ran to the girl. They apparently knew him, because they talked to him as they continued to work on the girl. Even though Kevin got only a side view, he was almost certain that the motorcycle man was the one he’d seen with the girl at the restaurant. And now he, along with some others, had rescued the girl and erased all of Kevin’s hard work.

They’d administered first aid and then taken her away, no doubt to a hospital. Two of them had stayed behind, apparently trying to figure out what had gone on inside the building.

Kevin tried to find anything positive in all this, but there was absolutely nothing there. True, the fact that they likely didn’t know who’d taken the girl was a definite plus. He didn’t know what her injuries were—didn’t care. But he didn’t want her dead. She was of no use to him dead. Unfortunately, it was now going to be even harder to get to her. Especially since he didn’t know where she was or what name she might be using. He knew only what was in her bloodline, and that was the most important thing of all.

Going to the kennel and checking it out for himself was out of the question. He was sure someone would be keeping an eye on it for some time to come. The body of Kip had already been carried out by some cleaners. He assumed they belonged to the same group who’d rescued the girl.

Thankfully, Kip had no relationship to him or his family. He performed grunt work for various families throughout the city. Tying him to just the Doyle family would be impossible. True, he and Miles had likely worked for him more lately, but since that development had been a recent happening, no one should be the wiser.

The kennel couldn’t be traced back to him either. He’d paid the guy under the table for the building, so there was no paperwork to be found. The man he’d bought it from had died a few months later—not his doing. He’d just been old.

So Kevin knew he was in the clear in that respect. Now he just had to figure out how to get the girl back.

As he downed the last of his Scotch, he decided that things weren’t really all that bad. For one, he knew the girl existed. That was huge, because before, there had just been conjecture.

He would hire private investigators to find her again. Good ones this time. Yeah, it would be expensive, but once he found the girl, all his money problems would be over. He’d have plenty of cash to take care of any expenses he incurred.

Although he was a little concerned that Oscar suspected him of doing something to his wife. They hadn’t really talked since the memorial service, but he thought he’d caught his brother-in-law giving him the stink eye a few times. But that could just be his imagination—he’d been under a lot of stress, having just lost his wife and all.

There was no way to prove he’d had anything to do with her death. The coroner had been well paid to skew the results of the autopsy. He wouldn’t snitch since his ass was on the line, too.

He poured himself just a smidgen more Scotch to take that final edge off. Everything was just fine. Just fine.

A noise outside in the parking lot caught his attention. Sounded like a car door slamming. He frowned because it was well past midnight. The restaurant downstairs had closed a few hours ago. There would be no reason for anyone to be here.

Staggering to the window, he looked down into the empty lot, and his heart almost stopped. The glass fell from his hand, and he stumbled back. His son was headed to the back entrance. The streetlight had given him a good view of his expression. He’d never seen that look on his face before—he had, in fact, tried to teach him that look to no avail. Everything he knew about torture and killing he’d learned from Kevin, but Kevin hadn’t believed it had ever taken. But now, seeing that expression, Kevin thought he might have succeeded all too well.

Whirling around, he desperately searched for a way out. He was here for him—of that he had no doubt. In a moment of clarity, Kevin knew what had happened. Oscar had double-crossed him. Probably told Ryan that Kevin had killed his mama. The kid had been a mama’s boy, through and through. No matter how many times he’d beat him till he was broken and bloody, determined to destroy any tender feelings and make him a man he could be proud of, Ryan had never gotten over his affection for her.

The thud of footsteps on the stairway sounded like thunder. His heart pounded so hard against his chest, he could barely think straight. Ryan wouldn’t kill him outright. He’d torture him first, just like he’d been taught.

Dashing to his desk, he now cursed the Scotch he’d consumed. His stomach roiling with acid and bile, he pulled open a drawer and withdrew his nine millimeter. He’d shoot him. Once he got the girl back, he’d get another son—maybe two or three. This time, he’d raise them right. They wouldn’t be weak mama’s boys like this one.

Leaning against the desk, he pointed his gun at the door. The footsteps were close now. In seconds, Ryan would burst through the door. Even drunk, Kevin was smart and aware enough to know that his aim would be off. He’d have only one chance.

A ping on his phone behind him caught his attention. His hand shaking, he clicked without even thinking about the threat he was about to face. When he saw the text and the photo, he knew he was done for.

A harsh sob escaped him. None of this had worked out the way he’d planned. And it was all the girl’s fault.

Closing his eyes, cursing the girl for destroying his dreams, he turned the gun, pressed the barrel against his temple, and pulled the trigger.