Chapter 21
Logan
Istride down the hallway, my boots echoing against the polished floors. I need to move fast before Connor decides to make this harder than it needs to be.
He’s in his study. I know because that’s where he always is when there’s business to handle. The door stands ajar, golden light spilling into the darkened hallway. I push it open without knocking.
Connor looks up from his desk, a tumbler of whiskey halfway to his lips. “That was quick. She asleep already?”
“She’s in the shower. Can you have food sent up?” I close the door behind me and move to the leather chair across from him. “We need to talk.”
“Already on it.”
I lean forward, elbows on my knees. “O’Rourke’s gone to ground. The sniper knew exactly where we were. Someone’s tracking us, and they’re not fucking around anymore.”
Connor sets his glass down with deliberate care. “You think they were fucking around before?”
I snort. “You know what I mean.”
“The notebook.”
“That thing has turned into a grenade with the pin half pulled.”
“Do you have it?”
I pull it out of the back of my pants and fling it across his desk. We both watch as it slides to a stop in front of him. “Does Ms. Quinn know you are handing this over?”
“I’m not handing it over. I’m letting you look at it so we can figure out who the hell is behind this.”
Connor picks up the notebook and flips it open.
His eyes scan the first page, then the second.
I watch his expression shift from casual interest to something harder, colder.
I tap my fingers against my thigh, impatience crawling under my skin.
Every second Nuala’s upstairs alone feels like a second too long.
“This is bigger than I thought,” Connor says finally. He looks up at me. “These aren’t just loan records. These are insurance policies.”
“What do you mean?”
“Someone was keeping track of who owed what to whom across multiple families. Not just debts—leverage.” He taps a page. “See this notation? That’s not an amount. That’s a code for what kind of dirt they had.”
I lean forward, studying the cramped handwriting. He’s right. The numbers don’t add up to simple debts. There’s a pattern I missed before.
“So the banker wasn’t just tracking loans. She was tracking blackmail.”
“Exactly.” Connor closes the notebook. “This is a kill list waiting to happen. Anyone named in here has a reason to want it destroyed.”
“And anyone who has it has power.”
“Which is why they’re so desperate to get it back.” He slides it across the desk toward me hesitantly, but the act of trust is monumental. I let it sit there between us. “You need to figure out who it belongs to. Fast.”
You.
Not we, not me. But you. He is trusting me with this.
“What did you send me there for? What rumblings did you hear that made you want more info on these private bankers?”
He sighs. “There is word of an underground heist operation.”
“Heist? Of a private bank?”
“That bit is unclear. We aren’t sure if it’s the bankers themselves planning the heist or someone planning a heist on the private banks. There are three across Dublin who deal in assets over ten million.”
“Who is we?”
“That is need to know and irrelevant for these purposes.”
Fair enough. I won’t get it out of him if he’s not going to say, and he’s right. It’s not relevant. What is relevant is whoever ordered the massacre.
“Okay, so it’s safe to assume that the dead woman in the toilet wasn’t the brains, just the accountant.
And we can also assume Stacey killed her and hid the book in Nuala’s bag, hoping to get back to it before Nuala ended her shift.
Here’s something I’m not sure about. Why did the—let’s call her the accountant—hide the book under the table in the function room during the meeting, forget about it, and then go back for it when she remembered? ”
Connor’s eyes narrow at this piece of new information to him.
“Nuala was having lunch and found it. The accountant rushed back in and snatched it from her before Nuala could see what it was.”
Connor nods. “Ms. Quinn definitely didn’t look in it at this point?”
“She says not. I believe her. She has no reason to lie.”
Connor drums his fingers on the desk, a tell he has when he’s thinking through angles.
“So, the accountant hid it during the meeting, maybe if someone entered the room during the meeting. Then she left without it, panicked, and went back for it. While we are assuming, we will assume it was Stacey. She was the manager. She would have reason to go in, bringing in food or beverages, or whatever.”
“She saw the notebook before the accountant hid it, knew what it was, and then killed her in the bathroom to get the book, also knowing the kind of power she would have over the city with that kind of information.”
“Then she hid it in Ms. Quinn’s bag.” Connor picks up his whiskey again. “Time ticks on, everything is normal. But then the shooters arrive and massacre everyone. Are they looking for the accountant, assuming she still has the book on her and is missing in action?”
“But then why kill an entire club full of the hardest men in the city, including Stacey? Another thing is, Nuala wasn’t supposed to be working.
The woman whose shift it was quit that morning.
Lisa someone. Nuala said she would cover the shift.
Later on, she noticed a guy checking out her nametag.
Confirming it was or wasn’t Lisa. He was the marker.
The massacre happened less than five minutes after this.
Lisa is definitely up to her neck in this, but how? Why? Who is she?”
“There are a lot of balls up in the air at the moment. This goes past a usual hit.”
“No shit,” I mutter and slouch into the chair. I run a hand through my hair, frustration mounting. “I need to talk to O’Rourke. He’s the only one who can tell us who bought those weapons.”
“He’s gone dark. No one’s seen him since yesterday.”
“Then I’ll find him.” I stand, pacing to the window. The gardens stretch out below, lit up like a fucking Christmas display. “Someone knows where he is.”
“Logan.” Connor’s voice carries a warning. “You’re not thinking straight.”
I whirl on him. “I’m thinking perfectly straight. Someone tried to kill Nuala tonight. Again. I’m done waiting for them to make the next move.”
“And what about her? You’re going to leave her here while you chase down O’Rourke?”
The thought of leaving her makes my head spin with unease. But the thought of sitting around doing nothing while whoever’s hunting her plans their next attack makes me want to put my fist through the window.
“She’ll be safe here,” I say.
“Will she?” Connor leans back in his chair. “Or will she do something stupid like threaten my life again?”
Despite everything, I feel my mouth twitch. “She’s got spirit.”
“She’s got a death wish.” But there’s something almost approving in his tone. “You care about her.”
It’s not a question. I don’t bother denying it. “Yes.”
“How much?”
I meet his gaze. “Enough to kill anyone who tries to hurt her.”
Connor doesn’t flinch. He just nods slowly, like I’ve confirmed something he already suspected. “Then you understand what that means.”
“I understand perfectly.”
“Do you?” He sets his glass down and stands, moving around the desk until we’re face to face.
“Because once you cross that line—once you kill for someone—there’s no going back.
You become their shield, their weapon, their executioner.
And when the dust settles, you’ll be the one covered in blood while they’re still clean. ”
“That’s the point, isn’t it? Keep her safe.”
He nods, and his hand lands on my shoulder. “You have fallen into this life like you were meant for it.”
“I was. I just took the scenic route.”
“You need to get into the Sailing Club, get whatever data you can.”
“Won’t the Garda have lifted it?”
“Not yet. They’ll have pulled all the information, but the hardware is still there for now. It won’t be for much longer.”
“And you know this how?”
He smiles. It’s that smile that tells me I don’t want to know. “Favors, boy. This city runs on them.”
“And illegal debt and blackmail.”
He snorts. “What a time to be alive.”
“Yeah, fucking brilliant,” I mutter, and with a nod, I snatch up the notebook and take my leave, heading back upstairs to Nuala.