11. Cian
Cian
S kylar stared at me from across the table, her hands caught up in the long sleeves of the sweatshirt she was wearing.
My sweatshirt. I liked seeing it on her.
I shifted in my chair, unsure where to begin.
“I’m not what you think I am.”
“Oh? So, your name isn’t Cian? Or Tony?”
“No, my real name is Cian, but I’m not…I’m not a murderer for hire, Skylar.”
“Does the guy you killed the other day know that?”
“I didn’t kill anyone that night.”
“I saw you! You shot him—he was dead!”
I shook my head, leaning forward. “You saw exactly what I needed to be seen. The illusion of Harper being shot.”
“Harper?” she asked.
“Harper was working with me. Just like Sean is.”
“But the blood…”
I shrugged. “The blood from his leg was real. His chest, no. It was all a setup. I had blanks in the gun, as well as live ammo. It was all staged carefully.”
“Why?”
“To make Orson Valenti believe I had flushed the mole out of his organization and killed him to send a message we were onto the Feds. That I was on his side. It’s part of an operation I’ve been involved with for two years.”
She frowned at me. “The blond guy isn’t dead?”
“No.”
“But you shot him in the leg—for real.”
“I had to. He knew it was going to happen. I shot him where it did the least damage.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m sure he was grateful.”
I snickered. “Grateful might not be the right word.”
“But you told Sean to dump the body!”
“Rex is Orson’s right hand, Skylar. He was there watching on Orson’s behalf. I had to make it look good—authentic.”
“You beat him up. He was covered in blood.”
“Most of that was staged as well. Sean made sure they got delayed getting to the warehouse. He saw a few hits.” I shook my head. “Harper’s tough, Skylar. He’s fine.”
“Where is he?”
“Safe.” I drew in a deep breath. “That’s all I can tell you about him. You can ask Sean when he wakes up—he’ll confirm it.”
She frowned at me. “I’m confused.”
I leaned my elbows on the table, dropping my head into my hands. “I know. You need to let me talk.”
She rubbed my arm and squeezed my wrist. “I’m sorry.”
I looked up. “It’s okay. It’s just not easy.”
She scooted her chair closer and wrapped her hand around mine, repeating my words from earlier. “Tell me.”
“It was only me and my dad all my life. My mom died when I was a baby.” I blew out a huge puff of air. “My dad was a detective. He loved being a cop, and I used to love sitting on his knee while he’d tell me stories of cases he was working on.”
I smiled at her. “ Both our dads were good guys, Skylar.”
She nodded and I continued. “When I was a teenager, he was working this case—a hard one, but they finally broke a big drug ring. He was due to testify in court, and he seemed anxious, which was unusual since my dad was always calm and cool. I remember how jumpy he was the weeks leading up to the trial, constantly checking on me and making sure I was home.” I snorted.
“It drove me crazy since I hated being monitored like a baby. The morning he was due in court, I remember him sitting at the table playing with his pocket watch. He kept turning it over and over, then he’d open it, shut it, open it again.
I asked him what was wrong, but he insisted he was just trying to remember every fact about the case so he didn’t mess up.
He told me he wanted to make sure the charges against the guy would stick.
He said, and I remember his words, ‘This one is dangerous—I need him off the streets.’”
“How did it go?”
“My dad never made it to court.”
“What?”
“I forgot my English paper, and it was due that morning. I had a reading period, so I ran home to get it.” I swallowed the sudden, painful lump in my throat.
“When I got home, I saw his car was still in the driveway. I went inside…” I trailed off as the memory swamped me, and once again, I was back in the house, walking through the rooms, calling for him, barely noticing the mess the place was in.
Then, finding him lying in the kitchen, blood all around him and one round hole in his head, his eyes open and staring.
I didn’t know I was gasping for air until I felt Skylar’s arms around my neck. I buried my head in her chest, holding her tight. “He was just lying there. There was blood. So much blood.”
“Oh, Cian,” she crooned. “How awful.”
I let her closeness soothe me for a few minutes, keeping her warmth clutched to me. She ran her hand up and down my back, stroking my neck until my breathing was under control. When she sat down, she wrapped both her hands around mine, holding tight. “What happened next?”
I shook my head. “I’m not going into day-by-day details. I can’t.”
“Just tell me what you can.”
“After the funeral, my uncle told me I could live with him. He was only ten years older than I was—a really cool guy. He and my dad got along great, even though there was such a huge age gap and I thought of him more like a brother than an uncle. I always enjoyed his visits. From what I understand, he was a bit of a surprise to my grandparents.”
She grinned. “I suppose so.”
“He quit his job and came here to live so I could finish school, and he looked after me. He said I was all he had left.” I shrugged. “I guess he was all I had left too.”
“He sounds great.”
“He is.”
“You’re still in contact with him?”
“Skylar, Sean is my uncle.”
She gaped at me, then smiled. “Well, that makes a lot of sense, actually. He does fuss over you like a dad. The two of you get along very well.”
I snorted. “Not always. I was angry after my dad died. They told me it was a home invasion, but I knew they were lying. My dad was too nervous about that trial—too much on edge. The coincidence was too great. But I was shut down every time I tried to do something or talk to someone. Even Sean shut me down. I started drinking and hanging out with the wrong crowd, getting into trouble a lot. Sean and I argued all the time.” I sighed. “I put him through so much bullshit.”
“You were in mourning.”
“I was. I was angry too. And the anger got worse as the time passed. I felt my dad’s murder was being ignored. I couldn’t even find out what case he’d been working on. Nobody would tell me anything.”
“You were a kid, Cian. I’m sure they were trying to protect you.”
“I know that now. Back then, I didn’t.”
“What did you do?”
“I tried getting into the drug scene. I thought I might be able to find out the identity of this guy my dad seemed so concerned about. I knew he had something to do with my dad’s death, and I was hell-bent on revenge.”
Her eyes widened. “That was dangerous.”
I nodded. “I wasn’t really thinking clearly. Then Sean found out.” I arched my eyebrow at her. “Now, that was dangerous.”
“What happened?”
“He screamed and yelled at me for days.” I shook my head at the memory. “Threw me in his car and brought me here. He said it was for my own good.”
“So, it’s family trait, then, this kidnapping urge you have.”
I chuckled, lifting her hand and kissing it. Even as hard as this was, she made me smile.
“So, I was stuck here, isolated with him, and he yelled. He yelled a lot. And as loud as he wanted to—which was pretty fucking loud. He refused to let me leave until I talked to him and told him where my ‘dumbass-fucking mind’ had come up with ‘such a stupid, inane plan.’”
“And?”
“I finally snapped and told him what I was doing and why. We talked for hours. He told me he felt the same and was trying to find out information. By then, he had established his own surveillance company, and he did a lot of work, discreetly, for the force and other government agencies. He is incredibly gifted when it comes to software and computers.”
I huffed a sigh. “He said there was an investigation going on and what I was doing was only hurting it. He talked to me like an adult. Man-to-man. He made me see sense, and I agreed to stop my behavior and let him handle it.” I used my free hand to scrub my face. “It felt good to get it off my chest.”
“You needed to know someone understood your pain. That someone else heard you.”
“Yes, I did. I needed to feel like I wasn’t the only one who remembered my dad—or what happened to him.”
“Sean did.”
I nodded. “Sean did so much for me I never really appreciated until I was older. He gave up his life and career for me—he put me first. He knew he was all I had and it was too dangerous to stay an active agent, so he left the force and started working on his own. He concentrated on being behind the scenes—he’s brilliant at it. ” I grinned at her. “As you well know.”
She shook her head, even as she grinned back at me.
“And?” she asked. “What happened next? I still don’t understand.”
I shrugged in resignation. “And nothing. The trail grew cold. They were never able to pin the murder on anyone.”
“So, how did you get here, then?”
“I finished school. Went to college. I joined the police academy and became a cop. Sean wasn’t happy about it, but he knew I had it in my blood. He met Julia, and they got married. Life sort of moved along. Until…”
“Until?”
“One day, I got called into my superior’s office. I was told there was a special case they needed help on. A hit man, well-known to them, had voluntarily approached them, offering all his secrets.”
“Why would he do that?”
“He was dying. He found out he had six months to live. He wanted to take someone down, and he needed help to do so.”
“How did you fit in?”
I smiled ruefully. “Tony Malone was known as the Irish Killer, Skylar. He had red hair. And aside from the string of bodies he was rumored to have left behind, that was the only thing that was known about him to the world outside the criminal one. He was not only a killer for hire, but he specialized in stepping in and cleaning house for someone if needed. He never showed his face to anyone who lived to tell about it unless he wanted you to see it. The photos they had of him were few and far between and most of them grainy. All his hits were done with the greatest of secrecy. He was a mystery. A ghost.”