O’Hara fires two shots, deafening in the small room. Byrne takes one of them to the forehead, the other in the cheek. He collapses immediately, and Tara dives away toward Murph, who gathers her up and shields her with his own body in the best tradition of all the bodyguards I’ve ever seen working for the Morellis.
Conor O’Hara stays rooted to the spot, staring at his now-dead lover.
I take the initiative and go over and kneel next to the body, make absolutely sure he’s dead. I kick his gun away with my foot, then take an absent pulse.
I almost want to compliment O’Hara on his marksmanship, but I don’t think it would go down well.
Finch has already rushed over to Tara, making sure she’s unharmed. He and Murph are trying to pull her out of the room, but she resists them, tugging her arms out of their grasp. “I’m fine,” she insists. “I’m fine, let me go.” She brushes off their concerns and steps quickly to O’Hara instead. “Conor, areyouokay?”
Her voice pulls him out of his reverie.
“I should’ve seen it,” he says blankly. “I should’ve…”
Tara looks across to Murph and flicks her head at him. “Make sure everyone knows what’s happened. But keep them out of this room until I give the word.” She looks to Finch and me, her face creased with regret. “Please,” she says softly, while putting an arm around O’Hara‘s shoulders, “give us a moment.”
Finch takes my hand and leads me out of the room, following Murph as we go, then heading toward the library. But when I glance back over my shoulder, I see Tara pulling her second-in-command into a warm embrace.
It’s never easy being betrayed. God knows I’ve discovered that myself over the years.
* * *
We have quitea wait before Tara comes to speak to us again in the library. And when she does, it’s clear she’s been crying. She turns her face aside when she sees Finch sympathetically looking at her red eyes and says, “I really was happy for Conor, you know. I really thought…” She shakes her head. “And the way Rory spoke about the IFF, the absolutehatredhe showed…but I suppose who he really hated wasme. He must have been thinking about me, about the Donovans, every time he pretended to be talking about the IFF.”
She takes a breath and pulls herself up to her full height, which is still several inches shorter than Finch. “Don Morelli,” she says formally, looking me straight in the eye, “I want to thank you for what you’ve done. You have proved once again that you’re a great ally—a great friend. But I think it’s best for now if you—if you leave. A-and you, Howie,” she adds, her voice breaking a little. “I mean, I hope you understand I’m grateful, but—”
“We get it,” Finch says gravely. “We really do. And Tara, if there had been another way, we would have taken it. But you can understand why we didn’t want to send any communications about this. Rory was in charge of comms here, so…” He spreads his hands. Tara nods, and Finch goes on tentatively, “Is Conor okay?”
“No,” Tara says. “I think he’ll blame himself about this for some time to come.”
“Love is blind, as they say,” I tell her with a shrug. “But O’Hara’s actions today demonstrated without a doubt where his loyalties lie. He has no reason to blame himself.”
I’m not sure I fullybelieveit, that he shouldn’t blame himself, but it seems like the right thing to say. Besides, that’s Tara’s problem, not mine. God knows I have enough trouble without borrowing more. I’ll have to manage this Al Vollero situation as soon as we’re back in New York. It’s become much too volatile if even our enemies in Boston have heard about it.
Tara turns to Finch. “The USB—may I have it?” Finch hands it over and she turns it around a few times in her fingers. “Have you done anything with the information so far?”
“I’ve used a couple of names as collateral,” I say. I made sure Detective Gina Garcia got a few crumbs to keep her interested. Not through the Morellis, of course, but through the new backchannel of Baxter Flynn. “But I wanted to discuss it with you, since the IFF is a problem for both of us. We could hold onto it, use it as blackmail material to keep them in check. Or…” I shrug.
“Or we can turn it over in its entirety to the authorities and destroy those bastards for once and for all,” Tara finishes, her eyes flashing.
“Maybe,” I say. “There are benefits to both avenues. We can discuss it in more depth at a later date.”
“We don’t need to discuss it later,” Tara says, and I can see in her face which avenue she intends to take. I’m glad, because it’s my preference as well. Blackmail’s an ugly business, and it only causes more bad blood.
Much better to lance the boil and let the infection drain away completely.
Chapter Sixty-Seven
LUCA
Problems beget problems.
It’s something Tino Morelli said to me once, and I never forgot it, musing over it from time to time when it floated into my mind during times like these.
Problems beget problems. My own have become legion over the last few years, and Tara Donovan must now be feeling similar, I thought, as we drove away from Boston.
Finch was uncharacteristically quiet during the drive. Like his sister, he really had been happy for Conor O’Hara, too. There was one thing he said, though—one request he made, out of the blue.
“Luca? I think I want to stay in the mansion. Permanently.”
