Rory Byrne blinks. Laughs. “Are you for real?”
“Bullshit,” O’Hara growls in a low voice.
Tara looks back to Finch with a wordless question. He nods.
“No,” O’Hara says roughly. “There’s no way—”
“You motherfucker,” Murphy says, turning to Byrne in astonishment. “But I should’ve known.” His face darkens. To one of the Donovans, at least, the news sounds about right. He looks at Tara. “I never felt right about him, ma’am, not since that attack on Shanahan. Byrne had too much blood on him, right from the start.”
“I did all I could for that asshole Shanahan,” Byrne says indignantly. “Cradled him while he was dying, and that’s when he bled all over me. What didyoudo, Murphy?” Byrne spreads his hands in appeal to O’Hara. “Conor, come on. You’re going to believe these Italian fuckers overme?”
Conor’s lips tremble, but before he can speak, Tara stands up from her seat and glares at Byrne. “Would you like to rephrase that?” she asks, and even I get a little quiver down my backbone at the tone in her voice.
“I’ll apologize for my language, Ms. Donovan,” Byrne backtracks, “but I won’t let anyone slander me like this, because that’s what this is, it’sslander. Accusing me of being a rat when they have their own problems in New York—yeah, that’s right,” he laughs when I give him a closer look. “Everyone’s heard that Capo of yours running his mouth, trying to take you down. You want to find a leak? Look no further than Al Vollero.”
Finch and I exchange glances, and Finch slides a hand into his back pocket. “The thing is,” he says, “we brought a copy of the intel with us, Tara. You can check it yourself if you don’t believe us. So can you, Conor.” His voice on that last addition is gentle, too gentle perhaps, because Conor’s jaw clenches like he’s trying to keep himself in check.
Finch holds up a USB, and all attention in the room swivels to him—except mine.
And except for Rory Byrne’s.
I don't have my weapon with me, thanks to O'Hara. If only he’d used that same attention to detail on his lover. But there’s no time to blame the man now. Byrne has seized his opportunity, and jumped forward to grab Tara, turning her around and holding a knife to her throat.
“Rory!” Tara gasps, as O’Hara immediately goes into a shooting stance, his handgun trained unerringly at Byrne’s head. O’Hara says nothing, but the fury in his face says more than words ever could.
Murph holds out his hands, placating. “Calm down, now, Rory. Don’t do anything stupid.”
“Sure, I’ll leave the stupid stuff up to you, Murph. You’ve never been all that bright. You know what, fuck it, you were right—I killed Shanahan, and it was only seconds before you came around that corner. But you believed me alright when I said I’d seen someone running away. Christ, you’re an idiot.”
His eyes are bright, almost feverish, the delight of a man who’s been playing a part and finally gets to drop the mask. “What do you want?” I ask, before Murphy can get out of hand. If he tries to jump Byrne, Tara will only get caught in the crossfire.
“Me?” Byrne spits. “I just want out of here alive. Whether or not Ms. Donovan stays alive as well…that’s up to the rest of you.” He sends a cocky smile O’Hara’s way. “I really am sorry, Conor. We had a good time, though, didn’t we? But put the gun down, now. You know you don’t want to shoot me. And you definitely don’t want to shoot Ms. Donovan, here.” Byrne pulls her even closer, making sure O’Hara doesn’t have a clean shot.
But O’Hara doesn’t move, keeping his sights fixed.
“Drop it, Conor,” Byrne warns. “I fucking mean it.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see O’Hara’s gun waver, just slightly. Tara mouths a furious,Do it, at him, but Byrne is keeping her so close that it’s a tricky shot. I have no idea how good O’Hara’s aim is. If it were Vitali, Angelo, Nick Fontana, I’d tell them to drop the asshole and be confident they’d get it done.
But I don’t know O’Hara’s skills.
“Let her go,” O’Hara says at last. “Iwillshoot you, Rory.”
Byrne gives a humorless laugh. “So much for the love of your life, eh?”
I clear my throat, drawing Byrne’s attention, and ask, “How exactly do you plan to get out of here? The entire block is full of men who are loyal to the woman you’re holding hostage. You’ll catch a bullet as soon as you step out of this house. Probably when you step out of this room, if we’re being realistic.”
There is desperation behind Byrne’s feral smile. Despite his desire to seem calm and controlled, he’ll panic any second. That’s not good. I don’t want him panicking with a knife to Tara’s neck. “I plan to phone a friend, since you ask. If the crews out there let him through, and you let me walk out of here, we can all live. And I’ll take that USB with me, too.”
“Conor,” Tara says softly, and gives a very slight nod.
“Okay, so the thing is,” Finch says loudly, before Byrne can turn his attention back to Tara. My husband looks as relaxed as I’ve ever seen him, and if it weren’t for the slight shake in the hand holding the USB, I’d believe he wasn’t affected at all by the scene in front of him. But I know how much he loves Tara, and I know how scared he must be. And how determined, despite it all. “The thing is,” he repeats, “we’re living in the future, buddy. This is not the only copy of the information. Plus, how do you know we haven’t already done the IFF some damage with it? Dropped it off to FBI headquarters, maybe? You’d be better off running instead of haggling.”
“Still, I suppose if they have it,” I say conversationally, as Tara gives an encouraging stare at O’Hara, “they can check how bad the damage will be, pull out the men they need to before the Feds come down on them—not to mention the NSA, the CIA, Interpol, and, well, all those other organizations who must be looking forward to catching up for a chat.”
“Stop talking,” Byrne says, between his teeth. “I told you what I want. And if I don’t get it, Iwillkill this bitch.”
I can see Finch’s face morph into outrage at the idea that anyone would dare to speak about his sister that way, and unfortunately for Byrne it’s the last thing that ever comes out of his mouth.
