Chapter 30
“W hat do you mean none of the traps were activated?” I ask Alex as he sits across from me in my office. This week has been one letdown after another, and I’m about ready to resort to torturing answers out of people. There has to be a reason it worked so well according to the history books.
“I mean exactly that. I informed each of them about gun shipments being sent from different locations, dates, and times. I set up dummy warehouses and nothing. Not a single cop in sight.” He sighs, rubbing a hand over his bald head, looking just as frustrated as I feel.
“Fuck. That puts us back at square one. Unless they’re just biding their time. In the meantime, are we any closer to finding a new way to ship the guns for the Daniels deal?” I ask, eager to get these guns moving.
“Yeah, I’m meeting with Smithy’s cousin next week to see where he stands. I’ll fill you in afterward and see if we can make it happen. Any updates on Freya or Helen?”
“Helen’s past is a mess of foraged papers. It’s looking like she was running from something and the chances of Montgomery being her real surname are slim to none, but we haven’t locked down the real one. And as for my Mum, no, the house in Belfast was a bust. Someone clearly beat us there. Rigamortis hadn’t set in. But we’ve no leads on who did the killing or if that man was even the buyer. The only real lead we have is the auction that’s due to take place next month. Word on the street is that it’s happening with or without the Clans backing.” The thought makes me sick to my stomach. I thought taking out Angus would stop this sick human trafficking ring, but all signs point to that not being the case.
“How the fuck are they pulling that off? I thought your dad was supplying them with the girls.” He frowns.
“You and me both. He was. Which raises the question of who's taking over.”
“Fucking hell, this shit is getting messier by the second. I need a drink,” he says before helping himself to some whiskey from the bar cart. I don’t blame him. I’ve been drinking since ten this morning with no intention of stopping anytime soon. This shit is too much to stomach sober.
“So, plot twist: what if Helen is Scottish?” Owen tosses out as soon as our FaceTime connects, and I nearly spit out the whiskey I’d just taken a sip of.
“What the fuck makes you think that?”
“We found her school records. At least the ones she used to get a job in Jonathan’s office,” Brennan answers before sharing his screen with us. And there, in black and white, is a copy of Helen’s school records with her surname and address blacked out. But if they were able to verify this to hire her, there must be an inch of truth to it. Which changes everything.
“Shit. What are the chances she wasn’t tied up with the Clan in some way?” I ask, dreading how complicated things are about to get. If she was somehow tied up in the Clan, then that changes everything.
It gives Angus motive for attempting to kidnap her and kidnapping Cora.
It means the chances of her not knowing who Jonathan was are slim to none.
It makes it possible her relationship with Jonathan was either a ploy or an escape plan, and neither is a good option.
It means that a good portion of the current Clan members have a lot to answer for—Peter included.
“Unicorns would have to be real,” Owen tosses out, helpful as ever.
This is not what we needed, but at the same time, it feels like the puzzle pieces might just be falling together.
I have a suspicion itching at my brain, but I don’t want to voice it. If it’s true, then shit just got really real.
Maybe if I don’t manifest it, then maybe this is one mess that can stay buried.
Then again, maybe pigs will fly.