I hate it immediately.
“Thank you,” I say simply.
She nods once, a sharp little jerk of her chin.Then she’s gone, the bell jingling her retreat.
I reach beneath the counter for a Gas N’ Go matchbook and write the name across the inside flap so I don’t forget it.
Michael Devlin.
I put it in my pocket.All day, I’m aware of the name—a live coal burning against my thigh.A promise…and yet another distraction.
But maybe it doesn’t have to be.
A plan begins to form, and I want my court to know about it.
***
“MichaelDevlin.”Idropthe matchbook in the middle of the kitchen countertop like it’s radioactive.
James, Eddie, and I stand in a loose triangle in the kitchen.Shadow Daddy is here too, listening and watching, and for the first time ever, he’s behaving himself.He’s silent and holding still even while two men hover near me.
Maybe I won’t need a leash after all.
I’ve already explained the woman from the gas station, both her first visit when she wanted to give me a name but didn’t, and this time.
“That’s her husband’s or boyfriend’s name,” I say.“The one who beats her.”
Eddie’s blue gaze is hard, already braced for what’s coming.“And you want to…what, exactly?”
“I want to make him stop.”My voice is cool and clear as glass.“Permanently.”
“You mean kill him,” Eddie translates, the note of disapproval in his voice evident.
I meet his eyes.“Not necessarily.”
James lets out a quiet puff of air, something between a laugh and a snort.
Eddie raises an eyebrow.
“I’ve been thinking,” I say, tracing a pattern on the scarred wood of the cabinets.“About how to do this without bringing Vincent down on us.Without creating more problems than we can solve.”
“I’m…listening,” Eddie says cautiously, though I can tell any talk of breaking or bending the law hurts his ears.
“The Farley investigation is still open,” I continue.“A severed hand and no leads about who did it.But what if there were leads?What if evidence started pointing to this Michael Devlin?”
“Evidence?”Eddie shakes his head.
“Yes.”I look at James.“I have the perfect item to plant.”
James’s smile spreads, utterly wolfish and delighted, though he doesn’t say a word.
“Farley’s hand,” I say.“I hate to part with it, but…”
“Good thing he has one more,” James finishes, his eyes gleaming with dark humor.
“Wait, you have Farley’s hand?Youdid that to him?“ Eddie demands.
“I didn’t, no,” I say, all innocence.
