Chapter Forty-Three

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Montana

X avier slammed the fridge door and held the bottle of beer against his forehead for a second before he twisted off the top and downed half of its contents in one swallow. What a frustrating, mind-numbing day. His head was so full of useless information, he wished he could take a shovel and dig out the gunk.

After they’d eliminated Doyle’s son as a suspect, they’d covered every known man or woman who was tied or previously tied to the Irish mob in Chicago. It had been a long list. They’d found money launderers, weapons and designer knockoff smugglers, and a surprising number of people who earned their wealth by demanding money for providing protection. Kevin Doyle had made his fortune from all those activities, but they could find no ties between those illegal activities and Jazz’s abduction.

There were tons of illegal happenings tied to the mob, and more than a few of those people would likely be very interested in snatching a woman with blood ties to Ronan Byrne, as well as someone who could bring in a load of cash to sweeten the deal. But so far, not one person gave off the slightest hint of a vibe that Jasmine McAlister had been located, much less abducted.

So they were left with some possibilities, and Xavier didn’t like any of them. One, Kevin Doyle, along with a few of his goons, had been working alone. Two, someone out there was manipulating the data, just waiting for OZ to give up so they could strike again. Three, everyone was lying.

His gut told him the first possibility was wrong. Doyle might’ve kept things close to his chest, but no way had he done this solo.

The third possibility was off, too. There were way too many people giving them the same answer. None of them were novices when it came to interrogation. Someone usually flipped or said something by mistake, leading to the guilty party. As of yet, that hadn’t happened.

The second scenario seemed the most likely and was his least favorite. Data was being manipulated, intel was being buried, and someone was waiting in the wings until they let their guard down.

Chugging down the last of his beer, Xavier opened the fridge, reached for another one, and then stopped. What was he going to do? Get drunk? How was that going to help? Admittedly, he could put away more than a couple of brews before he felt a buzz, but drinking another one would be useless. Nothing was going to make this better.

Bypassing the bag of takeout he’d purchased on his way home, Xavier stripped off his clothes and headed to the bathroom. He’d had maybe five hours of sleep in the last three days. A shower, sleep, and then maybe he’d be able to get his head on straight and actually accomplish something.

The minute the water pounded down on him, he leaned his head against the cool wet tile and admitted the truth. He missed her. Heaven help him, he missed her so much. Why had he waited so long to tell her how he felt? They’d had only a few weeks together after he’d cut out his heart and handed it to her. And now, they were thousands of miles apart, and he wasn’t sure when he’d be seeing her again.

He’d made a promise to himself that he would uncover the threat before he followed her to Wisconsin. So far, it had been an epic fail.

The only good thing about this, and it was a very good thing, was that she was safe, and from the calls and texts he had received, she was thoroughly enjoying her time with Serena’s family.

Serena was keeping him updated as well and had reported that Jazz was sleeping well and had put on a couple of pounds. Knowing that she was recovering and getting the peace she needed kept him here, continuing to dig.

Blowing out a sigh, he finished up his shower, dried down, and brushed his teeth. Grabbing a pair of loose shorts, he slid them on and fell face-first into bed.

Two hours later, he heard the slightest of sounds and knew he wasn’t alone. With swiftness born out of practice, he went for his gun on the nightstand, only to find an empty space.

“Relax,” a gruff voice said in the darkness, “if I’d wanted to kill you, you would’ve been dead years ago.”

It took half a second for him to know the man’s identity.

“About time you showed up, McAlister.”

“How’s my sister?”

Xavier’s first instinct was to bark out a furious, scathing response, lambasting him for abandoning his sister. He couldn’t do that because from what Kate had told them, Brody had been abducted, tortured, and held against his will for years without ever revealing his sister’s location. He had protected her the only way he could.

Xavier wasn’t willing to give him a total pass, though. The man had known Jazz’s location for years and knew how much it would mean to her if he’d come back into her life. He hadn’t done that, and that pissed Xavier off.

“From your silence,” McAlister said, “I can only surmise that you can’t decide whether you want to kill me or answer my question.”

“Hurting you would hurt Jazz, so you’re safe.”

“So how is she?”

“She’s recovering.”

“Good.”

“Is that why you’re here? To ask about your sister?”

“That and to give you some advice.”

“What’s that?”

“Keep looking at the Doyle family.”

“We’ve dug into them as deep as we can go. There’s nothing there.”

“What about Sullivan?”

“Doyle’s brother-in-law? He came through as a wannabe gangster without any real substance. He’s got no known ties to anything illegal. He seems harmless.”

“Look again.”

“All right, thanks for the tip. Can I ask you a question?”

“You can. I don’t promise to answer.”

It was worth a try. “Why’d you kill Bass?”

“You know as well as anyone that you sometimes have to do things you’d rather not. He was going to die by someone’s hand. Might as well have been mine.”

And whether Brody had intended it or not, he had confirmed what Xavier had been thinking all along. Brody was working an angle.

“All right. One more?”

“You can try.”

“Do you know who killed Jazz’s mother and your dad?”

“That’s for me to take care of. You just concentrate on taking care of my sister.”

Though Xavier still couldn’t see him, and could barely hear his movements, he knew the other man was now standing.

Xavier went to his feet, not willing to let him go before he got more answers. Brody McAlister had other ideas. He was out the door before Xavier could get to him. Flipping the light switch, Xavier managed to see the hulking guy slip out his front door as quietly as a ghost.

Turning, he noted that Brody had left Xavier’s gun on the chair he’d been sitting in, along with a piece of paper. Grabbing it, he read the cryptic one-line message. Tell the brilliant spitfire in Wisconsin that she’s on the right track but to watch her back.