26. Ciara
Chapter Twenty-Six
CIARA
My toast is halfway to my mouth when Ronan strolls into the kitchen, looking like he’s stepped out of a cologne ad. I’m practically drooling as my eyes fixate on his firm ass as he walks over to the coffee machine to make an espresso.
He glances over his shoulder at me. “Can I help you?”
Peanut butter clings to the roof of my mouth, making it feel even drier, so all I can do is shake my head as I try not to imagine Ronan tearing off his clothes right here in the middle of the kitchen.
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Sure about that?”
Ronan leans against the counter, folding his arms over his broad chest as he waits for his espresso to brew.
My eyes roam down his chest, lingering on the way his dark shirt stretches around his biceps and shoulders.
“Huh?” I swear these pregnancy hormones are turning me into a sex addict.
I want Ronan all day, every day, and from the look in his eyes, he wants the same thing. But before I can suggest bypassing our morning coffee and heading back upstairs to bed, the heat in Ronan’s eyes fades.
“I have to head out for a few hours.” He takes his coffee cup and brings it over to the island.
I set down my toast and reach for my water. “What’s on the agenda today? Drug raids? A shootout?”
Ronan rolls his eyes as he sips his coffee. “Hopefully, just a few heated conversations.”
“Sounds relaxing.”
He shrugs as he leans against the counter.
Now it's his turn to let his eyes roam over me, and my cheeks burn as I catch them lingering on the swell of my breasts barely contained by my tank top.
“What about you? Any big plans?”
“Mila’s coming over again. I’m trying to help her work through her grief. She does better when she’s focused on something, so I’ve roped her into a little project.”
Ronan raises an eyebrow. “What kind of project?”
I hesitate, realizing too late that I’ve said too much. If Ronan knew our plan to look into Max’s killer, he would be furious.
“Nothing you would be interested in.”
“Try me.”
“Really, it’s nothing exciting. You’ve got bigger things to worry about.”
He studies me for a moment, like he knows I’m brushing him off, which of course I am. So, I force a smile and change the subject.
“How’s the mole situation going?”
The shift in Ronan’s demeanor is immediate. His shoulders tense, and his jaw tightens as the playfulness in his expression vanishes. “Not as well as I would like. It feels like they’re always one step ahead. But I think I’ve come up with a good plan to smoke them out.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“It’s risky. One wrong move, and it could backfire on me.”
I slide off my stool and walk over to him, sliding my arms around his waist. “You’ll figure it out. If anyone can, it’s you.”
He wraps his strong arms around me and rests his chin on my head.
“I hope you’re right.”
“I usually am.” I chuckle.
Once Ronan leaves, I clean up the kitchen and put on a fresh pot of coffee, which finishes brewing just as Mila arrives, looking like she’s stepped out of an eighties spy movie.
I laugh as I take in her hoodie and sunglasses. “You do know you’re allowed to be here, right?”
“It doesn’t feel like it, considering what we’re about to do.” She takes off her glasses and glances around the empty foyer.
“Stephen’s in the upstairs study. He’s looking over some surveillance footage.”
Mila nods but doesn’t seem convinced.
I link my arm through hers and lead her into the kitchen to finish making us some coffee, not that I can drink much of it.
I hand her a steaming mug. “You look better than the other night.”
She frowns. “Thanks?”
“I mean, there’s some color in your cheeks.”
“And my hair is clean.”
“Well, that too.” I laugh.
I’m aware that what we’re about to do will likely reopen the wounds that Mila is trying so hard to heal. Part of me feels guilty for even suggesting looking into the mole in hopes of finding Max’s killer, but if we’re successful, this could give my friend the closure she so desperately needs.
So, ignoring the guilt, I lead Mila upstairs to my old bedroom, and we settle on the bed with my laptop open between us.
I load up Ronan’s payment system. “I did a little digging the other night. I’ve got a few names, but so far I haven’t found any leads.”
“You might just need a fresh set of eyes.” Mila reaches for the laptop.
For the next hour, we go through the contacts and links I’ve pieced together, but the dead ends I found become solid brick walls, even with Mila’s fresh perspective.
Mila groans as she throws herself back on the bed and stares up at the ceiling. “Who are we kidding, Ciara? We’re not detectives. What are we even doing?”
I rub my eyes. “I don’t know. But we need to do something. This isn’t just about Ronan anymore; it’s about Max too.”
At the mention of her brother’s name, something shifts in Mila’s expression. She sits up slowly, her dark brow furrowed as she looks at me.
“What?”
“Max was always ridiculously paranoid.”
“Yeah, and…?”
“He had this whole system in place because of it.”
I frown. “What kind of system?”
“I’m talking alarms, backup phones, and hidden cameras that Ronan’s guys might have missed when they swept the place.”
Holy crap.
My pulse quickens. “Do you think they caught something the night he died?”
“There’s only one way to find out.”
When Mila bursts through the front door almost exactly an hour later, her face is flushed, and her navy hoodie is covered in dust like she clawed through some drywall. She’s panting and wild-eyed as she clutches a laptop to her chest.
“I found it.” She shoves the laptop into my arms.
“Let’s go.” I hurry back up the stairs before Stephen decides to make an appearance. “Where was it?” I settle back on my bed and open the laptop.
It’s an older model compared to the one Ronan bought for me, and heavily scratched. It’s a far cry from the high-tech setup that Max had in his apartment, which only makes me more curious to know what’s on it.
“Hidden behind a false panel in his wardrobe. It took me forever to pry it open without tearing the whole thing apart. I knew he kept his important stuff somewhere private because he didn’t trust anyone.”
“I guess it comes with the territory of being a reclusive hacker.”
I fire up the laptop.
Immediately, Max’s cluttered desktop appears.
“This is weird…” I start scanning the folders.
“What is?”
“There was no password.”
Mila frowns. “Really?”
“It’s like he wanted someone to find whatever is on here.”
There are various zip files and folders, along with a couple of grainy screenshots of spreadsheets on the desktop, but I bypass them all.
Mila points to the screen. “Here. There’s a surveillance folder.”
I click on the folder, and immediately a window pops up with a dozen video thumbnails, all timestamped.
My stomach churns as I notice the timestamp on one of the last videos.
It’s from the night Max died.
“Is this it?” Mila whispers.
I don’t answer. Instead, I double-click on the thumbnail, and we both lean in as the video opens onto a wide-angle shot of Max’s living room. It’s dark, with only the glow from his computer monitors lighting the space.
“Max,” Mila chokes as he appears on the screen, his back to us, with his phone pressed to his ear.
I reach for her hand as my own throat thickens with emotion. “I can watch it alone if you don’t feel up to i—”
Words lodge in my throat as the door to Max’s apartment flies open.
“Oh, my god!” Mila cries as three men storm into the apartment, dressed in black with balaclavas covering their faces.
One is brandishing a crowbar, and another has a gun aimed right at Max’s head.
I’m frozen as I watch two of the men grab Max by the shoulders and throw him against the wall.
He tries to fight back, but something is off about him. Almost as if he’s already in pain.
I peer closer, noticing some heavy bruising on his cheek. “What on earth?”
Where did he get those bruises?
“Ciara,” Mila gasps.
I force my attention back to the screen as Max is thrown to the floor and pinned down by the guy with the crowbar. I lean forward and turn up the volume to try to catch what they’re saying.
Mila looks like she’s about to pass out, but she doesn’t tell me to turn the video off, so we continue to watch the last few seconds of Max’s life tick by.
The third man, whom I assume to be the leader, crouches in front of Max. Their faces are only a few inches apart, but Max doesn’t look afraid. “I need access to Ronan Sullivan’s accounts. You give me what I need, and this ends quickly.”
Max only spits in his face.
I wince as the leader wipes his face with the back of his hand, which has an intricate Celtic knot tattooed onto the skin, before balling it into a fist and slamming it into Max’s cheek over and over again.
Max collapses back against the floor as blood starts to pour from his nose and mouth, his dark hair slick with sweat, but he still doesn’t say a word.
“Max,” Mila whispers.
Before I can offer my friend any word of comfort, the leader shouts something, and the next thing we know, a gunshot blasts through the speakers.
Mila staggers off the bed and rushes toward the bathroom to empty her stomach in the toilet.
I have the urge to do the same, but I can’t look away. My eyes are locked on Max’s lifeless body, watching as a pool of blood starts to spread behind his head.
Only when the men file out of the apartment like nothing ever happened do I press pause on the video.
My hands are shaking so badly I can barely feel them.
The sound of Mila retching fills the silence, and my own throat burns with the need to throw up, but I force it down.
Mila returns a minute later, her face white as a sheet, and her cheeks wet with tears. She looks like she’s about to pass out. “Oh, my God. T-they killed him for information.”
I nod slowly, my mind completely numb from what I just witnessed.
She slides to the floor. “They wanted access to Ronan’s accounts. That’s why they came. That’s why they killed Max.”