Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
freddie
My phone rings at half six in the morning, dragging me out of dreams filled with blue eyes and whiskey-flavored kisses.
Stephen's name flashes on the screen. It’s never good news when Stephen calls this early.
"Yeah?"
"We got him." His voice is tight with excitement, it’s the kind of controlled energy that comes when a long shot finally pays off. "Lorenzo's contact. He's in."
I sit up, suddenly wide awake. "Who is it?"
"Benjamin Sullivan. One of Trace's lieutenants. He’s been with him for three years, handled security and logistics."
"What's his angle?"
"Personal. Trace assaulted his wife at a party eighteen months ago. Beat her so badly she spent two weeks in hospital. Sullivan's been looking for a way to get back at him ever since."
Eighteen months ago. What the fuck is this man doing? He was married to Ava at this point. It makes me wonder what else Trace was doing while his world was falling apart.
"He's solid?"
"Lorenzo thinks so. He says Sullivan's got access to Trace's schedules, his security protocols, his safe houses. Everything we need to get close."
Finally. A break in this fucking war that's been bleeding us dry for months. A chance to put Trace Harrington in the ground where he belongs.
"When do we meet?"
"Tonight. Neutral ground. Lorenzo's setting it up. The man's in Dublin already, which means so is Trace."
"What's the timeline?"
"Soon. Sullivan says Trace is planning something big. Something that involves the Gallaghers’ little princess."
Alastríona. Of course it comes back to her. She's the symbol everyone wants to use, the prize everyone thinks they can claim.
"What kind of something?"
"Don't know yet. But Sullivan thinks it's happening within the week."
Fuck. Whatever Trace is planning, we're running out of time to stop it.
"I'll be there," I say.
"Freddie?" Stephen's voice is careful, controlled. "There's something else."
"What?"
"Sullivan says Trace knows things about the girl. Personal things. Details about her life in Belfast, her father's business, her mother leaving. Stuff that wasn't in any file."
My blood runs cold. "How?"
"Someone told him. Someone from Killian's past. Someone who knew them both well enough to have that kind of information."
A betrayal. Someone close to the family, someone trusted, has been feeding information to Trace. Probably for months, maybe years.
"Any idea who?"
"We’re working on it. But Freddie... whoever it is, they know about you too. They know you're the one who brought her back, that you're protecting her."
Which means I'm compromised. Every move I make is being watched, reported, analyzed for weaknesses.
"Changes nothing," I say.
"Doesn't it? Because from where I'm sitting, it changes everything. If Trace knows you're emotionally invested in the girl…"
"I'm not emotionally invested."
"Bullshit."
Stephen's voice is flat, matter-of-fact. There’s no point denying what everyone can see.
"It's complicated."
"It's dangerous. Trace will use whatever feelings you have against you. Against her."
True. Men like Trace Harrington are experts at finding pressure points, exploiting weaknesses. If he thinks Alastríona matters to me, he'll use her to get to me.
Which means I need to be more careful. Need to keep my distance, maintain professional detachment.
Even if professional detachment is the last thing I want.
"Where's the meet?" I ask.
"I'll text you the details. And Freddie?"
"Yeah?"
"Watch your back. If there's a mole in the family, they could be anywhere. Anyone."
The line goes dead, leaving me alone with the implications. Someone we trust has been betraying us. Someone with access to Killian's secrets, to family business, to information that could get us all killed.
Someone who's been playing both sides while good people died.
Time to find out who. Time to make them pay for their betrayal.
* * *
Stephen's waiting for me at the docks, smoking a cigarette and staring out at Dublin Bay like it holds answers to questions he's afraid to ask.
"You look like shit," he says when I walk up.
"Feel worse."
"Long night?"
"Something like that."
We walk in silence for a while, footsteps echoing off wet concrete.
"Tell me about Sullivan," I say.
"Real name's Benjamin Sullivan. Thirty-eight, married, two kids. Been working with the Harringtons since he got out of the army. Clean record, no outstanding debts, no obvious vulnerabilities except his family."
"And his wife?"
"Sarah Sullivan. Thirty-five, works as a nurse. Trace cornered her at a Christmas party, tried to force himself on her. When she fought back, he beat her unconscious."
"Witnesses?"
"None willing to talk. But Sullivan found out and his wife tried to file charges. Trace made them disappear and had Sarah transferred to a different hospital where she couldn't cause trouble."
"So he's been planning this for over a year."
"Looks like it. Lorenzo says he's smart, patient, careful. Not the type to rush into anything without thinking it through."
Good. Revenge is a dish best served cold, but it's also a dish best served right. No point trading Trace's life for Sullivan's if we fuck up the approach.
"What's he offering?"
"Full access to Trace's operations. Schedules, security details, financial records, the works. Everything we need to put together a comprehensive hit."
"In exchange for what?"
"Trace's head on a plate. Literally. Wants proof the bastard's dead."
Fair trade. Sullivan gets his revenge, and we get Trace off our backs permanently. Everyone wins except the man who started this war.
"Lorenzo trusts him?"
"As much as Lorenzo trusts anyone. He says Sullivan's got too much to lose to be playing games."
"Can I ask you something?" Stephen says after a moment of silence.
"Shoot."
"This girl. Alastríona. What is she to you?"
Direct question. The kind Stephen only asks when he's worried about something.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean yesterday you were ready to tear Maverick's head off when he questioned your feelings for her. I mean you look like a man who's been thinking about something other than revenge. I mean I've known you for fifteen years, and I've never seen you like this."
Like what? Confused? Distracted? Compromised by emotions I don't know how to handle?
"I don't know," I say honestly.
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer I've got."
Stephen nods, understanding. Sometimes the truth is that you don't know the truth.
"She's beautiful," he says, and I know that he’s seen the dossier on her. Not to mention, the bastard has been keeping tabs on me since I’ve been back in Dublin. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s been watching me.
"Yeah."
"Smart, too. Can see it in her eyes."
"Yeah."
"And she's got that thing. That quality that makes men do stupid things."
"What thing?"
"Strength wrapped in vulnerability. It makes you want to protect her and possess her at the same time."
Accurate description. Too accurate.
"You speaking from experience?"
"Jessica had it. Still does. First time I saw her, I knew she was going to ruin me for other women."
Jessica. Stephen's wife who's currently pregnant with his child. She's also Jer's niece.
"How'd you know?"
"Because she looked at me like she could see straight through all the bullshit to whatever was left of my soul. Because she made me want to be better than I was."
Sounds familiar. Alastríona's got that same quality, that ability to see past surfaces to the truth underneath.
"And?"
"And I fought it for years. Told myself it was just physical attraction, told myself she'd be better off with someone else, someone who wasn't filled with violence and death."
"But you ended up together."
"I couldn't fight the pull. There was always something about Jessica that made me want her. I watched her for years, knowing it was the only way I could have her."
We're quiet for a moment, both lost in our own thoughts. Stephen thinking about his wife. Me thinking about blue eyes and whiskey-flavored kisses, about a woman who dances alone with her father's ghost.
"I kissed her," I say.
"And?"
"And she pulled away. Said she can't trust it."
"Smart girl. Trust is a luxury in our world."
"Yeah."
"But sometimes it's worth the risk."
"Is it?"
"Depends what you're risking it for."
Good question. What am I risking it for? A chance at something real? A break from the loneliness that's been eating me alive since Ava died? Or just another way to torture myself with what I can't have?
"She's the job," I say.
"So? Does it matter? I mean, what's going to happen after the job is done?"
The question hangs between us like smoke. What happens after? Do I walk away like nothing happened? Do I go back to being Freddie the thief, taking what doesn't belong to me? Or do I try to build something real with a woman who's seen too much violence for one lifetime?
"I don't know."
"That's honest, at least."
We reach the end of the pier and look out at gray water stretching toward the horizon.
"You need to be careful," Stephen says finally. "If there's a mole in the family, if Trace knows how you feel about her..."
"He'll use it against me."
"Against both of you. He’ll make you choose between saving her and completing the mission."
"I know."
"Do you? Because right now you look like a man who's already made that choice."
Have I? If it came down to it, if I had to choose between revenge for Jer and keeping Alastríona safe, which would I pick?
I don't like the answer that comes to mind.
"I can handle it," I say.
"Can you? Because if you can't, I need to know now. Before we meet Sullivan, before we commit to this plan."
"Why?"
"Because if your head's not in the game, people die. Good people. People who trust us to make the right calls."
He's right. I can't afford to be distracted, can't afford to let emotions cloud my judgment. Too many lives are hanging in the balance.
"My head's fine."
"Is it? Because from where I'm standing, you look like a man who's falling in love."