Chapter 13 #2
“No idea, but the dead manager at the Sailing Club was Stacey Landry.”
“His niece,” he murmurs as if he knew this all along. Which, in all fairness, he probably did. Connor’s jaw tightens as he scans another page. “Who kept this?”
“A banker. She was at the Sailing Club meeting. Ended up dead in the ladies’ room. Strangled. Before the massacre. Nuala found her.”
“Is that how she got her hands on this?”
I shake my head. “Someone planted it in Nuala’s bag. We think Stacey. Stacey was in debt, borrowed from whoever this book belongs to. She killed the banker for it, hid it in the first place she could think of, then got massacred along with everyone else.”
“So the shooting wasn’t about the book,” Connor murmurs, still flipping pages.
“No. It was about Stacey. Taking out a room full of people to make one person pay. It’s brutal as fuck.”
“It’s smart. The Garda will be chasing leads for months, if not years, trying to figure out who the target was or trying to connect the dead.”
Smart. That’s one way to look at it.
Connor closes the notebook and sets it on the counter with deliberate care. “What else?”
“I tracked the SUVs, or one of them, to an arms deal with Paddy O’Rourke. I’m guessing they went back and shot the place up.”
“O’Rourke. Completely neutral. He had nothing to do with this.”
“Except supplying the weapons that nearly got Nuala killed,” I spit out.
He raises an eyebrow with a sly smile. “And fuck the other fifty three, right?”
I grimace. “You know what I mean.” It makes me a hypocrite. But I don’t give a fuck. Those people are dead. Nuala is alive. That’s what matters to me.
Connor takes a sip of his whiskey, watching me over the rim of the glass. “You’re in deep with this one.”
“I’m protecting her.”
“You’re obsessed with her.” He sets the glass down. “I’m not judging. The good Lord knows we’ve all been there.”
I don’t deny it because I can’t. He’s right. In less than forty-eight hours, Nuala has become the center of my world. Every decision I make factors in her safety and comfort first. Every breath I take is measured by whether she’s still alive.
“Have you identified the shooters yet?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Working on it. The Garda are crawling all over the scene. We’ve got people inside feeding us information, but it’s slow going.” He picks up the notebook again. “This complicates things. If Thomas Landry finds out his niece was killed over a debt she owed—”
“War,” I finish.
“Exactly.” Connor tucks the notebook into his jacket. “I’m taking this.”
“The hell you are.” I reach for it, but he steps back.
“Logan. This is bigger than protecting one woman. If this book gets out, if the names in here become public knowledge—judges, politicians, Garda officers—it’ll tear Dublin apart on terms that aren’t mine.”
And there it is. The head of the O’Neill crime family playing God.
No wonder Nuala thinks I have a god complex. I fucking inherited it from him.
“Let me make one thing very clear. If Nuala gets hurt in any way whatsoever, because you took away her leverage, I will blame you,” I state.
His gaze pins mine. “Tell me again how she’s just a witness.”
“I mean it, Connor. I’m not fucking playing around with her life.”
“You’re not taking that.”
Nuala’s voice is strong, but I can hear the undercurrent of fear.
I turn to her, moving towards her like a gravitational pull is guiding me. She is still wearing my tee but has put on her skirt for decency’s sake.
“Girl, you don’t tell me what to do,” Connor says, his gaze lasering into her.
She flinches, but she stands her ground. “That is mine. I found it in my bag. Possession is nine-tenths of the law, right?”
“And it’s currently in my possession,” Connor replies.
I watch Nuala’s face flush with anger. Her hands clench into fists at her sides, and I feel a surge of pride at her courage even as I position myself between her and my uncle.
“Give it back,” she says, her voice steady despite the tremor I can see in her shoulders.
Connor laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that. But you’re out of your depth, sweetheart.”
“Don’t call me that,” she snaps, stepping forward and pulling my gun out of the back of my jeans.
“Whoa, Nuala,” I say, holding my hands up as she levels it at Connor.
“Are you joking me right now?” Connor asks with a laugh. “Do you know who I am?”
“I don’t give a fuck who you are,” she spits out. “Drop the book and slide it over the counter to me.”
“I’d do as she says,” I mutter. “She has no idea how to handle that thing.”
She fires me a look of pure death.
“Fucking hell,” Connor mutters, his hands going up slowly. “Logan, control your woman.”
“She’s not mine to control,” I say, though every possessive instinct in me screams otherwise. I keep my eyes on Nuala, watching her grip on the gun. The safety is on, but neither of us is taking any chances with a newbie. Her hands are shaking, which is bad.
“The book,” she says again, her voice harder this time.
Connor studies her for a long moment. I can see him calculating, weighing his options.
He’s killed men for less than pointing a gun at him.
But something in Nuala’s face must convince him she’s serious, because he slowly puts the notebook down and slides it across the counter.
It lands next to the third glass of whiskey.
Nuala doesn’t move to pick it up. “Logan, get it.”
I move carefully, keeping my body between them as I grab the notebook. Her eyes never leave Connor’s face.
“I’m impressed,” Connor says. “Not many people would hold a gun to my face and make demands. None of them would live if they did.”
“Except you aren’t going to kill me,” she says. “You think I know more than I’m letting on, and maybe I do. Who knows?” The last two words ring out with all the menace of the most hardened criminal.
My dick is raging right now. I want to bend her over the couch and spank her for the audacity while I fuck her into oblivion.
Connor’s eyes narrow as he takes in Nuala’s threat. I can see the wheels turning in his head, calculating whether she’s bluffing.
“Logan,” he says without breaking eye contact with her. “You need to explain to your woman that threatening me is a very bad idea.”
“She’s making her own choices,” I say. My heart is hammering from watching Nuala stand up to the most dangerous man in Dublin. It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed.
“Put the gun down,” Connor says, his tone shifting to something almost gentle. “Before someone gets hurt.”
“I’ll put it down when you leave,” she says, her voice not wavering even though I can see the sweat beading at her temple.
I move closer to her, keeping my movements slow and deliberate. “Nuala, give me the gun.”
“No.”
“Give me the gun,” I repeat, reaching for it carefully. “You’ve made your point. You’ve got the book.”
She finally looks at me, and I see the fear beneath the bravado. Her hands are shaking badly now. I wrap my fingers around the barrel and gently take it from her grip. The moment it’s out of her hands, she sags against me.
I tuck it back into my waistband, keeping one arm around Nuala’s waist.
Connor straightens his jacket, his expression unreadable. “That was the most surreal experience I think I’ve ever been involved in. Whiskey?” He grabs the bottle and pours himself another. I snatch up the remaining one and hand it to Nuala. She looks like she needs it.
She takes it without a word, downing it in one. Her throat works as she swallows, and I watch the tension in her shoulders ease just slightly.
“Feel better?” Connor asks, pouring her another before she can answer.
“No,” she says flatly, taking the second glass. “But one more might help.”
I keep my arm around her waist, feeling the tremors running through her body. The adrenaline is crashing now, leaving her shaky and pale. I pull her closer.
Connor studies us both with an expression I can’t quite read. “You two are going to be a problem.”
“We already are,” I say.
He laughs at that, shaking his head. “Fair enough.” He drains his glass and sets it down with a decisive clink.
“Keep the book for now,” he says as if he didn’t just surrender it under the threat of being shot in the face.
“But Logan, you need to figure out who that book belongs to. Because when they realize it’s missing, they’re going to come looking. ”
“They already are,” Nuala says quietly. “That’s why people are trying to kill me, right? They think I have it.”
“Maybe,” Connor concedes. “Or they think you saw something. Either way, you’re a liability to someone.”
“Thanks for the reminder,” she mutters.
“You have three days,” Connor says. “Which I feel is more than generous. If you aren’t either dead or bringing me a name to annihilate, this escalates into a you problem.”
“Understood,” I mutter as he sweeps out of the room, like the king he thinks he is. I turn back to Nuala. “Nuala, we need to…”
She collapses out of fear, shock, and or alcohol, and I catch her swiftly, cradling her as I carry her to the bedroom and lay her down.