A tracker.
Connor Gallagher.
A scream bubbles up my throat, and I roar into a fistful of bathrobe.
The action provides the release—however temporary—that I need.
So, Iamon my own.
And there’s no time for fear.
I have to move before the Riccis end up in too deep with the wrong people.
Chapter 11
Connor
I mess with the gauge on the electric fireplace in Finn’s apartment, just to busy myself more than anything. I can’t just hang around here staring at his white walls and lounging on his plush sectional. This place may be a bachelor’s dream pad, but I’m not the type to sit around. I even poured myself two fingers’ worth of Finn’s fine brandy. It’s daytime, though, so the tumbler sits untouched on a coaster beside me as I listen to my father bitch and moan.
Declan’s not happy.
My dad’s not a happy person in general, at least to my memory. Maybe before Mom passed away, but he paid so little attention to his kids when we were younger that I can’t recall much about his mood swings. You need to be present in someone’s life for them to get a sense of your personality.
Our mother was a saint, with smiles and everlasting patience. I can still see the way her eyes lit up when she laughed, the happy flush in her cheeks. I can still recall the way she touched my arm whenever I was in trouble. She never lifted a hand to reprimand me. Instead, she doled out firm words and hugs.
Of course, that was before the booze and the pills. Before my father drove her to ruin.
My mother. I tuck her memory back in the box and close the lid. I don’t have time for this sad shit.
Declan wants answers.How long is this little field trip to NYC going to last? How much more time do I need to get the Bonasera diamond? When will the Russians and Italians be at each other’s throats?
For the hundredth time, I heave an exhausted sigh. “I don’t know, Dad. I’m not jacking a car downtown. High-end heists require time and careful planning.”
“We’ll be in touch.” Once he issues his signature goodbye, the line goes dead.
Fucker.
I down the glass of brandy.
My father’s gnat-in-my-ear technique has always been effective, though it’s getting old.
Problem is, Cat eliminated most of the cameras. And while I’ve endeared myself to her in some ways, that isn’t enough to garner me an invitation to a Ricci estate slumber party, complete with hair braiding and midnight hunts for their most precious heirloom.
Unfortunately, the diamond’s not on display in a velvet box on her dresser. Plus, with me beingpersona non gratawith the other Riccis, I need a new way in.
Of course, creating solutions out of problems is what I do.
I’m tired of asking, tired of waiting.
Tired of being so damn giving.
It’s time to tell Cat how things are going to go. Time to claim what’s mine.
I pull up the app for the tracking device I planted on her when we kissed in the salvage yard.
She’s at the private swimming facility near the Ricci mansion. She mentioned her love for the water. More like a love affair with swimming itself that ended in a terrible breakup.
Perfect. I’ll catch her in her natural habitat. A practice run for the diamond hunt.
