I’m out of my cozy spot on the lounge, racing up the stairs to my bedroom and throwing out my work clothes on the bed while he’s still rabbiting on.
“What time?”
“As soon as you can get here.”
“You’re paying me time and a half.”
He agrees before I’ve finished speaking, only confirming what a malleable and spineless POS he is.
Racing through my shower and throwing on some makeup, I download my emails while putting on my lipstick. An email from my contact has everything coming to a screeching halt.
There’s news coming in from across Ireland that three new children are missing. While there’s no suggestion in the email that they’re connected, and the locations are hundreds of miles from each other, I can’t help but put them in the same basket where all the other unsolved child abductions are sitting. Though, a subsequent email I get is way too specific—the son of Des Kelly, Dessy Kelly, is missing and last seen with Ronin O’Connor.
I sit on the edge of my bed, working through the ramifications of Ronin being identified by the Bureau, as well asthe strong evidence pointing to him actually being responsible for the disappearance of Dessy Kelly.
“Fuck Ronin, what are you doing?” I rub my fists in my eyes as I try to wake up from what was my biggest fear—that the O’Connors are involved in the abduction of children, and possibly the skin trade.
I feel like I’m going to vomit. My whole body slumps forward, and I sink into the gravity and reality of what I just read. The evidence is there, and while he hasn’t been picked up and questioned, he’s on the radar as a suspect. I cling on to the belief I have, and always have, that Ronin and his pack don’t have anything to do with kiddie porn or the skin trade. It’s hard to fight against the logic of an investigation, the process of finding those responsible for heinous crimes. It’s there, though, that I find a way to move past the all-consuming despair that threatens to pull my future from under me. I’m a solid detective. I get results no one else does because of the skill set I bring to the table. This investigation is no different. I have to commit to the process or I’ll fall apart.
Leaving my phone on my bed for a moment, I wet a hand towel and hold it to the back of my neck as a way to shock my system out of the tunnel of stress in front of me. I stare at my reflection, schooling myself into looking at the facts only, and also trusting my gut instincts that haven’t let me down yet.
“Something doesn’t add up,” I repeat quietly as I work hard at locking away the shock of what I just read.
Walking out of the bathroom, I feel better but not great. I sit back down on my bed to read the last update sent over—two employees from Maim didn’t show up for work, which is supposedly highly unusual, according to the woman who reported them missing.
It looks like I’ve got lots of potentially crisscrossing events that I need to either use to gather evidence or decide they’re not connected.
“Normal investigation techniques. No favors. The facts are what will solve the case,” I coach out loud.
Shooting off a response to let my contact know I’ve received the information, I strip out of what I was going to wear and opt for an open-neck shirt, so the bug I wear will have clearer signal, along with black jeans and my boots. Using my backpack with a concealed compartment, I triple-check my badge and service revolver are inside. Locking up for the night, I leave the television on and a light, too, throwing the blankets in a heap on the sofa.
Racing outside, I start walking over to where the guards have been parking, to let them know I’m now working, but the space is empty. Considering the time, it might be because they’re doing a shift change. I don’t feel spooked by the guards not being here. It actually annoys me, because the general protocol is to wait until your replacement arrives before you leave. The flipside is, I don’t have the capacity to deal with other people not knowing how to do their job when I have a pack to either arrest, absolve, or protect.
Arriving at O’Malley’s in an Uber, the night is in full swing, and as I make my way through the crowd, there’s nothing that stands out, making me question if being here was a good idea.
Chapter Forty-Three
TALLY
Walsh is being his usual evasive self, disappearing whenever there’s a rush, but as the night progresses, he’s either doing drugs again, or he drops a handle on his control, because he starts acting like a kid waiting for Christmas morning. He’s basically bouncing on his feet in his eagerness.
“Tally,” he calls as I’m walking out from behind the bar to clean the VIP room.
Pasting a smile over my face to hide how very little I think of him, I walk over. My stomach cartwheels when I see he’s got his keys and my backpack on the top of the bar next to him.
“You went through my locker?” I snarl, unable to hide the glare I aim his way.
“It was open. But it doesn't matter. You want to come with me to one of our other pubs? I have to look at the work the contractor did and drop a couple of kegs there for a friend to pick up.”
Walsh wouldn’t be a great poker player. As soon as he starts lying, his eyes drop away. He’s most certainly hiding something. I consider his offer, including assessing the potential risks. I’m mostly confident I could take Walsh out, since his bravado means I’d read his actions before they happened. Add in, this is exactly the dodgy shit I’ve been waiting for, and it’s an easy yes.
“Are you paying me still?”
He shakes his head and rolls his eyes, playing around with me, trying to be chummier than we are. “Aye. Plus, extra, since it’s outside of your normal duties and all. So, what say you? You interested, or I’ll catch one of the boys from the kitchen to help.”
I smile and reach over to rub a hand over his shoulder, doing a better job pretending we’re buddies than he does. “Hell, yes. Let me grab some crisps for the drive and race to the loo.”
“Ya good. I’ll meet you round the back once you’re done.”
