I lean in, ignoring the email address that sent it, and study the photos. Photo four: the man has a tattoo on the side of his neck like our John Doe. Haircut and color are the same, the shape of his chin, the nose. I glance up at Aoife. “And these men are …” I know, but I want to hear her say it.
“Known members of the Albanian Mob. Some spotted here in Boston and New York City.” She pulls back and clicks a few keys on her keyboard.
“I’ll have to have the ME analyze this. Can you send me this?”
“Already done. But I’ll do you one better. Let’s go visit them.”
“No.” I stand, tucking my hands in my pockets. “We can’t do that.”
“Maybe alone you can’t. But I’ll go with you.” She winks at me, her long lashes grazing her cheek before bouncing wide. “Protect you from the big, bad mob monsters.”
“That’s not?—”
“Because like it or not. I’m going to have a little chat with them. They shouldn’t be in Boston. It’s Irish and Yakuza territory. Not only that, but someone, who appears to have a grudge against made men knows it, too. We need a name on this guy, so we can figure out what the hell is going on inmycity. So I can …” Her voice fades to a whisper. “… so I can finally tell my dad about Finn.”
Her father. Kieran O’Donnell. Known for his time in the ring and getting down in the dirt with his men. He came off less like a mob leader and more like a father to the whole outfit. Looking at Aoife, maybe that’s what real leadership looks like.
A light tear trails from the corner of her eye, but she pats it away with her ring finger—herbarering finger.
What the hell?Why can’t I ignore it’s empty?Though I can’t help but wonder if she leads alone. Not alone, alone—look at her photos. Full of life, family, and trips. No. Aoife O’Donnell isn’t alone. Her life is probably filled to the brim with those wanting in her good graces and never leaving her alone.
But she didn’t tell her father about Finn. Why?
“Anyway, you coming, or not? I need to run down to change, but I’ll be back. My G-Wagon is in the shop—never get one—so I only have my bike. Can we go in your car?”
I stand there, unblinking.
“I’ll meet you in the car in ten.” Then she darts over, opens her office door, and runs down the hallway in the opposite direction.
I sigh, resting my hands on my hips under my long coat, and I allow my shoulders to slump in the silence of her office. Actually, wait? Is that Christmas music? Her laptop has a faint sound coming from it. I tilt an ear closer, and words like “must be Santa,” “red suit,” and “on a special night” filter out.
Christmas music and made men. Lovely.
CHAPTER 4
AOIFE
“Turn right up here.”
Grayson side-eyes me. “I know.” He turns right toward the marina.
“Next two lights, turn left.”
“I know.”
I hold up two hands, then pull my legs up to cross them, or as much as I can without spearing myself. I’d much have preferred to stay in my leggings, throw on a hoodie and fur boots and call it good, but I have a job to do. So, I put on my black leather pants, and over my tank top I pulled on my forest-green military-style jacket. Instead of my desired boots, I slipped into the razor-sharp stilettos my dad hates but Summer likes to borrow and marched with my head high across the slushy sidewalk to Grayson’s sedan.
His car is plain. Dark gray with a rattling vent doing its best to pump heat into the chilled car. The smell is heavy on the coffee, a little on the cigarette smoke, and … snow-soaked wool lingering after a winter storm. I’m not sure why, but I take a long breath, kind of loving the mix of all three.
Luka’s intel places a meager group of Albanians staying on a boat in the Boston Harbor. I hate that they’re here, and I hatethat I didn’t know about it. My dad would. He’d know they were here, and he’d orchestrate a way to run them off.
Grayson makes the left turn after the light, and I open my mouth, but he cuts me off. “Don’t. I know the way.”
“You grow up in Boston?”
“No. Cambridge.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Fancy. My biological mom went to school at Harvard.”
