Page 12 of The Dangerous Dance

Declan is at the compound the following morning and in a mood that is not improved by the fact that I come directly to him, which I can see he would have preferred to avoid. He is eating breakfast at the kitchen table with the focused attention of a man who is hoping that if he concentrates hard enough on his eggs, the problem walking toward him will reconsider its approach.

I pull out the chair across from him and sit.

He cuts his food. Doesn't look up.

"Declan."

"I'm eating."

"You can eat and hear what I have to say at the same time. You've done it before." I set my hands on the table. "The meeting spot. Two nights ago."

His jaw tightens. Just slightly. "What about it."

"A shot was fired. One of our men was hit, not critically. The description of the shooter matches Russian contract work." I wait. "You were there that night. You were coming back from somewhere when I found you."

Now he looks up. "You're asking if I brought Russians to our own meeting spot."

"I'm asking what happened."

"I'm telling you those are different questions." He puts his fork down. "I didn't bring anyone. I was meeting with Connolly and Brennan about reorganizing the south distribution — which, before you say it, yes, I know I'm supposed to clear that through you, and no, I'm not going to apologize for maintaining my own relationships with my own men." He holds my gaze. "The shot came after I'd left. I heard it from the car. I didn't stop because I didn't know yet it was one of ours."

"Why didn't you call it in."

"Because I knew you'd make it mean more than it means."

"A Russian shooter at a location one of my senior men was using for an unsanctioned meeting means quite a lot, Declan, regardless of what interpretation you'd prefer I assign to it."

He is very still for a moment, and I know this kind of still — it's the still before he decides whether to come at the argument or go around it. Usually he comes at it. Tonight, something different happens. He exhales through his nose and picks up his fork again. "They're watching us. They know our patterns. That's the part that should concern you."

"It concerns me considerably. As does the fact that you're holding meetings I don't know about in locations I'm not securing."

"You can't secure everything."

"I can secure more than I'm currently securing, and that starts with knowing where my own people are." I lean forward. "I'm not your enemy, Declan. I know it feels like I am. I know the last six months have felt like I've been dismantling everything without asking if you wanted it dismantled. But I need you with me, and I need you where I can see you, and right now neither of those things are true."

He stares at his plate. A long moment.

"Ailish won't talk to you about this one," he says. It isn't what I expected. "I told her not to."

"I know."

"And you came anyway."

"I always come anyway. You know that about me."

He doesn't answer. But the still has changed quality — less like a door held shut and more like one that isn't sure yet whether to open. I'll take it. With Declan, I take what I can get.

I stand. "The south distribution reorganization. Write it up and bring it to me. If it's a good plan, we'll run it."

He looks up at that.

I leave him to his eggs.

In the car on the way back, I check the tracker app.

She's at the ballet studio. She's been there since eight.

I close the app.