22. Kyle
22
KYLE
Mateo Dragonetti clears his private jet for take-off at 6 a.m.
I’m already six hours behind Sienna.
Six hours.
With the image of her bloody face in my head, I can’t sit around waiting for the flight. I have to keep busy. There’s nothing else that I can do for Cash until we have more information on his alibi, so instead, I go with Terry to Hooch’s apartment.
We already know that someone is covering Nick Morris’s tracks, but has Sienna’s father been as careful or as clever? His perfectly timed alibi for the break-in at the gallery was premeditated, meticulously planned even, but I get the feeling that someone else was pulling all the strings behind the scenes. Robert Hooch has a history of gambling addiction, petty crime, and assault charges against women, but now he’s messing with the big boys, and I believe he’s in way over his head.
Terry’s team of men are breezing through Hooch’s apartment like ninjas. I stand in the middle of the living room and watch them rolling back the carpet to reveal dusty floorboards, lifting the lone picture frame from the wall and taking it apart, ripping open cushions and pulling out the stuffing.
It’s hard to picture Sienna in this dingy space. She doesn’t belong here. It’s too stifling, too decrepit, too dull, like locking a peacock inside a cave and telling it to shine. There are no personal touches inside the apartment, which tells me everything I need to know about Sienna’s father.
He’s a drifter, following the money and trying to avoid getting caught.
Until now.
Pressure leads to panic, and panic leads to mistakes, and Hooch made the biggest mistake of his life when he involved his daughter.
I wander through to the kitchen. Sienna said that he took her keys. It would’ve been simple enough to make a copy of the gallery keys and replace them without her noticing that they were missing, but he didn’t. He also lied to her about what time he came home from the casino the night she stayed with him. Why?
I call Caleb and ask him to find out where Hooch was that night. I should’ve done this sooner, but I was so fixated on Nick Morris that I didn’t figure on Hooch being a prominent player in whatever game this is. My mistake. He blundered into Sienna’s life, making sure that we all saw him, and added the finishing touches to Nick Morris’s plan right under our noses.
“Feels like the guy was living out of a suitcase.” Terry joins me in the kitchen. “This place isn’t lived in. It isn’t a home.”
“Do you know how he got out without being spotted?”
“Best guess is that he broke into an empty ground floor apartment and climbed out through a window. He clearly had someplace to be.”
“Men like Hooch normally run at the first sign of trouble, but I don’t think he’s done here yet.”
Terry’s eyes are scanning the room as we speak. “So, what’s keeping him here?”
“It isn’t Sienna.”
“Whatever they’re paying him, it was too good to turn down.” Terry pauses. “More importantly, he believes that they’ll deliver.”
The image of Hooch in my head suddenly grows clearer, like the tiny picture inside the autorefractors used by opticians to measure light bouncing off the back of the eye. The lies. The brazen way in which he flaunted meeting Sienna in the Rinse. His accusation that she stole money from him.
He was gaslighting her. Terry is right: Hooch is convinced that whoever is paying him will follow through because he believes that he is untouchable. He preys on people who are weaker than him—generally women—and systematically breaks them down until they can no longer fight back. Then he moves on.
Hooch believes that he is worthy of payment.
He doesn’t care who he destroys in his wake because he is the center of his own universe. He doesn’t even care that he has put his daughter’s life in danger. If Hooch is okay, that’s all that matters.
“I need to know if he is on the flight with Sienna.” I flex my fingers.
I’ve never wanted to hurt someone so badly, to the point where Nick Morris is going to have to wait in line until I’m finished with Robert Carlton Hooch.
“If there’s anything here, we’ll find it.” Terry lays a warm hand on my shoulder.
I wander through to the bedroom. The bed is mussed up as if Hooch left in a hurry. The closet is empty apart from a rolled-up sock and a crumpled subway ticket. I unfold the ticket. It tells me that he took the subway to Fifth Avenue/53 rd Street station.
It isn’t what I’m looking for.
He must’ve dropped some breadcrumbs along the way. He’s untouchable. He got away with hurting Sienna’s mom and walking out on his family, and God knows how many other women he has treated the same way. So, to him, this must be just another situation that he’ll walk away from unscathed when his bank account is looking a bit healthier.
The nightstand is empty.
The bookshelves are bare.
On impulse, I get on my hands and knees and check under the bed, sneezing when I inhale dust. My airways start to clog, and I cover my mouth and nose with my hand while I scan the carpet that’s thick with fluff-balls.
I’m about to stand up and open the window when I spot what appears to be a crumpled note. Turning my face away to help me breathe, I slide my arm under the bed and retrieve the folded paper. Only it isn’t a note, it’s a well-worn paper coaster, the kind used in traditional Irish pubs.
There’s a faded image of a pint of Guinness on the coaster and a name printed across it in bold red font. The first letter is missing, erased with use, but the remaining letters spell out ARREN’S BAR.
Darren’s bar?
Terry appears in the doorway, and I hand him the coaster.
“Does this mean anything to you?” My phone is already out of my pocket.
“Darren’s Bar?” Terry jumps to the same conclusion as I did.
“No search results.” I start systematically working my way through the alphabet until I reach the letter F. “Farren’s Bar, Malin Head, Donegal. Why would he have a coaster from an Irish bar?”
“Souvenir?” Terry suggests.
I pocket the coaster. “It’s as good a place to start as any.”
I stand a little taller, buzzing with the find. It might be unimportant, but there are too many coincidences surrounding Hooch’s reappearance in his daughter’s life for me to let this go.
I check the time on my phone. If I don’t leave now, I’ll miss the flight.
Terry’s right-hand-man joins us in the bedroom. He’s taller than Terry, broader, more solid, his hair turning rusty silver in patches. Patrick has been around for as long as I’ve known Terry, and in all that time, I’ve never known them to be more than a few miles apart at any given moment.
“Patrick is going with you,” Terry says.
“No, Tel. You need him here.”
“This isn’t up for debate.” Terry smiles. “Your mom would never forgive me if I let you do this alone. And besides, Patrick has more connections in the Irish mafia than I’ve had hot dinners.”
Terry pulls me in for a hug. He was always tactile when we were growing up, but it’s one of those things that you wake up one day and realize it’s been years since you last hugged. He still makes me feel safe.
It’s also a stark reminder of the danger I’m flying into.
Patrick talks. A lot.
He talks about the first sheep he ever sheared as a young lad growing up in rural Ireland. The time he and his pals stole a bottle of whiskey from his pa’s stash and got drunk in a forest where they used to spend weekends camping. His grandma’s soda bread which she was apparently famous for in the village where he grew up.
By the time we reach the airport, I’m mentally acquainted with every member of his family, including cousins, second cousins, aunts and uncles, grandparents, and even their neighbors when he was growing up.
We’re on board the Dragonetti private jet when he mentions a name that raises the hair on the back of my neck.
Sinead.
I trawl through my memories for the name, knowing that I’ve heard it recently, but unable to place it into context. Until I recall the conversation with Sienna’s father in the executive room at the casino.
He said that he wasn’t going anywhere until I called Sienna.
“Sienna or Sinead. Take your pick.” He’d peered at me with bloodshot eyes and added, “I’d pick Sienna if I were you. Just saying.”
He was drunk. I didn’t question the name Sinead at the time. He’d been rambling on about the drinks being watered down in the casino bar, and I thought it best not to entertain him. But now, I’m not so sure. Was the name another breadcrumb dropped into the palm of my hand to see if I’d notice?
“I have to make a call.” I apologize to Patrick and call Bash from my cell phone, grateful that the aircraft hasn’t taken off yet.
“Bash.” I don’t even wait for him to say hello. “What does the name Sinead mean to you?”
Silence.
I hear my brother walking with the phone clamped to his ear. I hear him close a door behind him, then, “Who told you?”
“Told me what?”
“Sinead Duffy.” His voice is hushed. “She’s married to Sasha Bogrov.”
He doesn’t elaborate.
It takes me approximately two-and-a-half seconds to figure out where this is going.
“Shit.” I glance at Patrick who is following the one-sided conversation with narrowed eyes. “Cash’s alibi.”
“Got it in one.”
“Have you managed to get hold of her yet?”
Bash hesitates. “Seems she’s left the country for a while. Gone home to spend the holidays with family while her husband signs her lover’s death warrant.”
“Find out where she is. I’m heading to the airport, but if you can get the details to me while we’re in the air, I’ll pay her a surprise visit when we land.”
I end the call, and stare at my blank screen.
What the fuck was Cash thinking?
If Sasha Bogrov finds out what’s been going on, there’ll be nowhere for my brother to hide.
For a large man with the hugest hands I’ve ever seen, Patrick’s thumbs are flying nimbly across his cell phone’s keypad. He peers at me with a smile.
“I’ve arranged for a friend to meet us at Dublin airport. He’ll take us to Sinead Duffy.”
We find Sinead Bogrov nee Duffy in the spa at Lough Eske Castle.
Patrick’s friend, a giant of a man with a scar puckering his top lip and a missing front tooth, gains us entry to the spa, whilst ensuring that the staff allows us some privacy for our ‘surprise reunion with the cousin we haven’t seen in years’.
“Sinead Bogrov?”
Her face is buried in the hole at the head-end of the massage bed, a towel covering the lower half of her body. The room is bright, airy, and serene. Relaxing music plays through an invisible speaker. The temperature is perfect, conducive to falling asleep while the masseuse works her magic on strained back muscles.
Her shoulders bunch up, and I almost feel sorry for spoiling the massage before it has even finished.
Almost.
She rolls over, covering herself discreetly with the towel, and slides her legs gracefully over the side of the raised bed.
Sinead Bogrov is an attractive woman. Her hair is darker red than Sienna’s, thick curls framing a pale freckled face, and clear blue eyes the color of the sea on a summer’s day. Her face is makeup free. Flawless. I’d guess her to be in her mid- to late-thirties, but she is obviously a woman who takes care of herself.
“You know that I can have you removed from here in a heartbeat.” Her Irish accent has been tamed, but there’s no mistaking the gentle lilt.
“Yet you haven’t.” Patrick holds her gaze. “Because you know that it would get back to Sasha, and the less he knows about what goes on here the better. Am I right?”
Her eyes harden. “What do you want?”
“My brother Cash has been arrested for a murder he didn’t commit.” I step in. “You know that he is innocent.”
A flush appears high on her cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking ab?—”
Before she can finish, Patrick twists her arm behind her back and tilts her neck sideways, his fingers hovering over the Vagus nerve on her throat.
The blue eyes grow stormy, but she doesn’t lower her gaze or beg him to stop.
Patrick nods for me to continue.
“We know that you were with Cash the night that Luca Benito was murdered.”
“So, what do you want me to do about it? Stand up in court and confess to fucking your brother while my husband was growing his empire? Do you really want to be responsible for Cash’s death?”
Her voice cracks when she speaks his name out loud. I might be wrong, but I believe that she cares about him, and Cash’s silence, even though she could provide him with an alibi, indicates that he might feel the same way about her.
Or perhaps jail is simply a better option than death at the hands of her psychopathic husband.
“That’s not the reason why I’m here.”
She blinks several times, trying to figure out what comes next. “I’m listening.”
“The woman I love has been abducted by someone who is working for your husband. She is being held somewhere in Ireland.”
“Ireland is a big fucking country, you know.” There’s the Irish accent I was waiting for.
“But who better to tell me where she might be than Sasha Bogrov’s wife?”
Her chest rises and falls with the effort of breathing, while Patrick’s hand is around her neck, and her arm is forced behind her back. “Sorry, I can’t help you. I’m sure you can find the way out by?—.”
Patrick applies pressure to her throat, and she groans out loud.
I motion him to release her.
Her hand instinctively flies to her throat as tears trickle from the corners of her eyes. “Fucking bastards.”
I move closer. Gripping her chin between my thumb and forefinger, I raise her face so that she is looking directly at me. “Do you love your husband, Sinead?”
“What the fuck is it to you?”
“I want to know what you would do if his life was threatened. How far would you go to save him?”
“That’s what he pays his bodyguards for.”
“Okay.” I change course. “How far would you go to save Cash?”
She swallows and looks away before recovering quickly and meeting my gaze again. “I won’t let my husband find out about him if that’s what you’re asking.”
It’s a start.
“So, you understand where I’m coming from. Your husband is using the woman I love as leverage to steal Cash’s business. I have a picture of her on my phone.”
Her eyes track my movements as I slide the cell phone from my pocket, unlock the screen, and turn the image of Sienna’s bloody face around to show her.
“Now, I know you probably don’t care what happens to Sienna, but I do, and I’m going to save her with or without your help.” I lower my voice and speak clearly so that she understands I’m not messing around. “A word of warning though. It will get messy without your help because there’s no fucking way I’m handing over everything my family has worked so hard to build so that your husband can reap the rewards. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
She nods.
“If I have to throw your name into the mix to save Sienna, I will.”
“What about Cash?” She isn’t quite so belligerent now.
“Cash is a big boy. He’ll figure it out.”
“I didn’t know this was going to happen, I swear.”
I believe her, but she’s involved in this whether she likes it or not, hence the reason she’s hiding out in an Irish castle. “Where is your husband holding Sienna?” I exchange glances with Patrick to remind her that he could break her neck in a heartbeat.
“I don’t know for sure.”
“Go on.” My pulse spikes.
I’m standing on the same soil as Sienna. It’s only a matter of time before I find her, and once I know that she’s safe, I’m going to blow Sasha Bogrov’s growing empire apart brick by fucking brick.
“He’s trying to acquire a property on the Donegal coastline. A fucking mansion, don’t you know.” She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Because the big bad bratva boss wants to prove that he’s invincible.”
The scorn in her voice is unmistakable.
“Where is it?”
“It’s built on a fucking cliff. Perfect for tossing the enemy off the roof when they get a little too close.”
“Who else knows about this?”
My mind is already connecting the dots between Sasha Bogrov, Nick Morris, and Robert Hooch. One of them is holding Sienna on the bratva’s orders, and I don’t care who it is. They’ll be the first to learn what happens when they try to harm someone the Murrays care about.
“I don’t know.” She shakes her head. “But I can tell you how to get there.”