Chapter 27
SEAN
Sean slid into the passenger seat of Bjorn Eliason’s silver SUV, which was parked in front of Lukas and Elli’s apartment building. The dashboard glowed in the predawn darkness.
“How solid is this plan of yours?” Bjorn asked without turning to look at him. He put the SUV in gear, and they took off.
“Solid as it can be,” Sean said, and he leaned his head against the window because he was beat.
“Too bad Q’s guy couldn’t get us in this afternoon.”
Sean couldn’t argue with that. Their plane had gotten in late last night, and now it was only a few minutes past six o’clock in the morning.
But because Q had cashed in his marker with that friend who worked in law enforcement, and because that friend had to pull some serious strings, this was an appointment Sean couldn’t miss.
Less than ten minutes ago, he’d carefully pulled himself away from Kiera’s sleeping body and rolled out of bed.
He’d allowed himself a few seconds to drink her in, the sleepy softness of her face, the mess of red-gold hair, even the smudge of mascara under her thick fringe of eyelashes. He’d loved every bit of it.
Then, he’d silently dressed in the same clothes he’d worn home from the game and—since Kiera hadn’t received any of his calls, and he worried about the integrity of her phone—scribbled out a handwritten note so she wouldn’t worry about him being gone.
Just as he’d finished the note, Bjorn’s text had come in, announcing his arrival.
Sean had given a lot of thought to whom he’d bring as wingman. Lukas and Rafe were both strong contenders. But Bjorn had serious BDE, not only in its common usage, but also in a way that was purely his: Bear Dominance Energy.
Bjorn’s presence filled a hockey net and a room. And since Sean would be doing all the talking, Bjorn’s silent physical intimidation would go a long way toward helping him reach his goal.
Bjorn stopped for a red light. “How hard are you going to push this guy?”
“Do you mean, am I gonna get physical?” Sean asked.
“Well…yeah.”
“It won’t need to go that far,” Sean said.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. But just because I won’t take it that far doesn’t mean I’m going to advertise my restraint.”
“That’s why I’m here?” Bjorn surmised.
“You know it.”
After that, they both fell silent.
Sean’s thoughts went to Kiera and her assumption that he’d left her. He understood where that kind of insecurity would come from, though he was surprised to discover how badly Kiera’s parents had wounded her. He’d have to handle her with more care.
It took forty-five minutes to reach the Minnesota State Correctional Facility. A guard met them in the lobby and after going through what Sean presumed to be the normal security protocols, they were led into a meeting room with gray-blue cinderblock walls.
A simple wooden table sat in the middle of the room with a chair on either side. Besides the door Sean and Bjorn had entered, there was another heavy metal door on the far side of the room. The room’s one small window was hash marked with iron bars.
Sean took a seat in the chair facing the second door, then glanced over his shoulder at Bjorn who’d positioned himself at Sean’s back and leaned against the wall with his eyebrows lowered and his big beefy arms folded. Perfect.
They waited in silence, Sean staring at the door, for what felt like twenty minutes but maybe it was less. There was a loud clank, then the door opened, and a prison guard escorted a man wearing an orange jumpsuit into the room. Braden Jones.
Sean studied him, trying to find some resemblance to Kiera. His hair was auburn, similar to but much darker than Kiera’s hair. And maybe there was something in the shape of their mouths. But beyond that, he saw nothing that hinted of family.
Braden’s eyes first landed on Sean, then slid up to Bjorn before returning to Sean. “Who the hell are you?”
“My name’s Sean Murphy.”
Braden’s head jerked back, then—likely consumed by curiosity—he walked forward and took a seat in the opposite chair. “Sean Murphy the hockey player? Are you one of my sister’s new friends?”
The guard exited the room, closing the door with a loud clank.
Braden didn’t even flinch at the sound. His gaze slid up to Bjorn. “Him, too?”
“We’re teammates,” Sean said. “We’ve got some questions for you.”
Braden snorted. “It takes two of you to ask your questions? Is that a joke? Like, how many fae freaks does it take to screw in a light bulb?”
Sean clenched his teeth but didn’t otherwise respond. Bjorn held his ground, too, though Sean could already feel the tension rolling off him.
“Fine,” Braden scoffed. “What questions do a couple of Savage League hockey players have for me?”
Sean leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “We’ll start with why you thought it was a good idea to pull your sister into your shady business. She’s in way over her head.”
Braden’s eyebrows drew together. “Maybe you don’t know my sister as well as you think.”
“That’s a bet you’d lose,” Sean said.
Braden’s mouth twisted, then he glanced up at one of two security cameras in the room and leaned forward, putting his forearms on the table.
“Kiera’s the most honest person I know,” he said, keeping his voice low. “She also knows how to keep her mouth shut.”
“That doesn’t answer my question,” Sean said.
“It absolutely does. Anyone else would double-cross me.”
“So you took advantage of her loyalty,” Sean surmised.
“She’s my sister,” Braden said. “I’m her brother. I wasn’t taking advantage. We look out for each other.”
“Yeah? You’re looking out for her?” Sean wanted to laugh, but not like any of this was funny.
“Listen.” Braden’s tone turned toward menace. “I don’t know you. You don’t know me. You have no idea the relationship I have with my sister.”
“I have a better idea than you think.”
“How’s that?” Braden asked.
“She worries about you. She looks out for you. But there’s not much for reciprocity.”
Braden scoffed and turned his head toward the window.
“Next question,” Sean said. “Who delivered the bag to her apartment?”
Braden’s head jerked back to Sean, and he narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You had to give someone her address.”
Braden gave the cameras another quick glance, then whispered a defiant, “With any kind of delivery, even a hypothetical one like what you’re talking about, I’d never be nothing more than a middle man. Apparently, the less I’m told, the better.”
“Okay,” Sean said, finally feeling like he might be getting somewhere. “Keep talking.”
Braden leaned back in his chair and let his arms hang down toward the floor. “I think I’m done talking.”
Sean felt Bjorn move behind him, and Braden went on high alert, his gaze jerking up to the berserker bear whose energy was now vibrating through the concrete room.
Braden’s head whipped around to the door he’d entered through. “Guard! I’m ready to go back.”
There was no response from the other side of the door.
“Not yet,” Sean said. “Not until you answer my questions. Who delivered the bag to Kiera? Why’d they want to send it to you in the first place?”
“I have no idea what bag you’re talking about,” Braden said bitterly, “but the only reason someone might give me something would be because I’m good at making things disappear.”
Sean exhaled. Was it possible Kiera’s theory had been correct?
“Are we talking about the paper or the steel?” Sean asked, mindful of the cameras and assuming Braden would get his pseudonyms for the money and the gun.
Braden’s face twisted with a snide version of humor. “I was only supposed to deliver the paper. I’m just your regular Minneapolis paper boy.”
Okay, then. If Sean was following the cryptic talk that he himself had started, Braden Jones was supposed to deliver the money to someone, but he—the so-called black market magician—was supposed to make the gun disappear.
“If the paper wasn’t meant for you,” Sean asked, “what were you supposed to get in return for the…um…magic trick with the…uh…steel?”
Braden smirked. “What does any of us ever want? Forgiveness.”
“Forgiveness?” Sean asked. “I’m sure Kiera will forgive you, but how—?”
Braden rolled his eyes.
“What?” Sean asked.
“He’s not talking about that kind of forgiveness,” Bjorn said. “He’s talking about a debt.”
Braden’s eyebrows went up in confirmation.
Sean dropped his voice to a whisper. “Whoever’s behind this agreed to forgive your debt if you delivered the paper and made the steel disappear?”
Braden remained mute.
“But then you got taken into custody,” Sean concluded, “and couldn’t do the job.”
Braden continued to stare straight through him.
“Enter Kiera,” Sean said.
“Who fucked everything up,” Braden hissed, “and now I’ve got more debts than someone in lock-up should ever have. You get me?”
“I get you,” Sean said. “But answer me this: why paper? Why not deliver it electronically? Wouldn’t that have been safer? Less complicated?”
“And leave a digital trail?”
“Okay,” Sean said, “but if they’re so cautious, why trust you?”
“What do you mean?” Braden asked.
“You could have pulled a double-cross and kept the paper for yourself.”
Braden scoffed. “Sure. I could have. And I would have lived about two seconds afterward. Man, are you for real?”
“Who was Kiera supposed to deliver the paper to?” Bjorn asked.
Braden’s angry gaze slid up to meet Bjorn’s eyes. “They didn’t tell me, and I didn’t care.”
“Chandler Moss?” Sean suggested.
“Who?” Braden asked.
“Big guy. Blond. Good looking,” Sean said.
The corner of Braden’s lip quirked. “I don’t usually notice how good looking some other dude is.”
“Really? You mentioned his name to your mother. She confronted Kiera, told her she needed to fix her mistake and to start by finding a guy named Chandler Moss.”
Braden just shrugged, unwilling to give anything away.
“Someone named Junior, then?” Sean asked, his frustration growing.
Braden clamped his lips tight.
“It was him, wasn’t it?” Sean pressed.