Ice floods my veins.
“I need to take this,” I tell Tierney. “Work emergency.”
“Now? During dinner?”
“It’ll just take a minute.”
I head to my office and call Mannino immediately.
“What the hell is it?” I ask the second he picks up.
“Your brother-in-law’s been busy today.”
“Busy how?”
“Meeting with Liam O’Rourke at a coffee shop in Queens.”
Fuck. Liam O'Rourke. One of Declan Blake’s most trusted men. Last I heard, he was handling shipments through Dublin’s docks.
“You sure it was Connor?”
“Positive. O'Rourke flew into JFK yesterday. Intelligence we got from our sources in Dublin tracked him. Connor sat with him for forty-five minutes this afternoon.”
“What the fuck is O'Rourke doing in New York?”
“That’s what we’d like to know. Whatever business he has here, it involves your brother-in-law.”
My free hand clenches into a fist. “Where in Queens?”
“Astoria. Little café called Murphy’s.”
Murphy’s. The same name as the Irish bastards who threatened Tierney. Can’t be a coincidence.
“Anyone else there?”
“Two other men were with O'Rourke. They looked like muscle from what we could tell. Probably security he brought over from Dublin. Connor knew exactly where to meet him. Walked straight into the pub, no hesitation. This wasn’t a first-time thing for them.”
I lean against my desk, blood pounding between my temples. Connor Blake, the innocent victim who needs our protection, is having secret meetings with his father’s criminal lieutenant and a crew of Irish muscle.
“Send me photos. Everything you have.”
“Already did. Check your email.”
I hang up and open the messages. Clear photos of Connor sitting across from Liam O'Rourke, leaning in close, accepting what looks like a thick envelope. His body language is relaxed. The whole thing looks familiar. Like he’s done this plenty of times before.
Like he’s not the scared kid hiding from threats.
Like he’s part of the fucking operation.
I stare at the photos, pieces of a very fucking ugly puzzle clicking into place. Connor’s nerves. His vague answersabout where he’d been. The way he keeps checking his phone and glancing at the door.
He’s not afraid of the Irish men hunting him.
He’s working with them.
And Tierney has no fucking clue.
I head back to the kitchen, my mind trying to wrap itself around what I just saw and heard. Connor and Tierney are laughing about their childhood days back in Ireland. She’s refilling his wine, he’s stealing food off her plate.
