Touch of Dark: Dublin Devils 3

by Laurence, Selena

  "Fuck," he whispered, finally cracking open one eye.

  "You can not put him back in a cell," Keira continued. Finn’s head throbbed.

  "What are you, his lawyer now?" the man asked.

  "No, but I am sworn to uphold the law and make sure that others do, as well. There is nothing in his actions that dictate a return to jail. He saw a threat to me, warned me verbally, then took probably no more than ten steps toward me as an instinctive response to seeing someone point a fucking AK-15 at me. There was automatic gunfire, a roaring car engine, and chaos. You can not prove that he heard you when you told him to stop."

  "Detective, I’m not sure why you’re going to the mat over this, but I’m sure his attorney will argue his case for him. I really don’t think you need to, as well."

  Finn blinked in the low light of the hospital room. He took a deep breath and tried to sit up. A pain shot up the right side of his torso. He gasped, but twisted until he saw the control panel for the bed. His wrists were both cuffed to the bedrails, but his right hand was fastened to the same place on the rail as the controls, so he pushed a button to raise the head of the bed until he was sitting upright.

  Without freedom of movement, he couldn’t inspect himself to see what had happened. He was guessing they’d shot him, though, the motherfuckers.

  He squeezed his eyes shut as the hopelessness that was slowly eating away at him took another big bite. He was conscious, the pain was low in his right side, he obviously wasn’t going to die from this, so he ought to focus on the positives. Somehow, he was finding that harder and harder to do.

  Jesus Christ he wished he could see Cian right now.

  "Go ahead and thank him or whatever it is you think you need to do," the male voice in the hallway instructed. "Take as much time as you want. I’m not sure why you’re bothering, but sometimes near-death experiences make people do some weird shit."

  "This isn’t over," Keira warned. "I’m filing a separate report and I’m going to give it directly to the Chief of CPD and ask him to forward it to your field director."

  "Whatever," the man said dismissively.

  Then the door to his room opened and closed. Finn’s eyes strained to see her with the curtains drawn over the window, but in a heartbeat she was by his bedside, her hand reaching out to flick on the small lamp on the nightstand.

  "You’re awake," she stated quietly, and was that concern in her big brown eyes?

  "I take it they shot me?" he asked, his voice rough and scratchy.

  She picked up a cup of water with a straw off the nightstand and held it out. With his hands cuffed he couldn’t even get himself a drink. It was humiliating. After he’d taken a few sips, she replaced the cup on the nightstand.

  "They did shoot you. Luckily, they still find you valuable enough not to take the kill shot, it was a through and through. Didn’t catch any organs."

  He gave her a wry smile. He couldn’t help wondering if she would have been sad if they’d killed him.

  "It was convenient I was right outside a hospital anyway."

  "True."

  She watched him, her face unreadable. Then her voice lowered.

  "Why did you do that? Save me, I mean? You could have just let it unfold. Maybe even used it as a chance to run while the agents were returning fire on the car. But you yelled out to me—warned me—then moved toward my car, drawing attention to yourself so both the shooters and the Feds were focused on you. They’re trying to act like you were running from them, but we both know that’s not true, don’t we?"

  He cleared his throat to buy himself some time. Why did he save her? He wished he had an answer. All he knew was that when he’d seen that car rolling toward hers, he’d been desperate to stop it. Stop the bullets that were flying at her, stop the image that flashed in his head of her lying motionless on the ground, blood pouring from her body.

  "I guess I have a soft spot for the CPD," he answered carelessly.

  She huffed sarcastically, giving him a smile that was a little dazzling for a guy who’d just been shot. "Yeah, right." It was the verbal equivalent of an eye roll.

  "And who were they?" he asked, referring to the shooters.

  "Members of Los Locos. I was one of five detectives who put together the case against their leader. He goes to trial next month so they apparently thought they could give a warning that would make us reconsider."

  It was Finn’s turn to roll his eyes. "There’s a reason they don’t control more than a few blocks of territory in this town," he said. "They’re dumb motherfuckers."

  She raised an eyebrow. "I can’t believe we’re having this conversation, but yes, they are."

  "So it had nothing to do with me?"

  "Not only did it have nothing to do with you, but they didn’t even know I was following you. Although, the fact I was following you was the only reason they were able to corner me like that. I was so focused on keeping track of you, I didn’t notice they were tailing me."

  "But I did," he admitted. "I saw you pull behind us when we left my building, and then I saw them pull behind you."

  "Shit," she whispered. "You’re an idiot, Watson."

  "Don’t be too hard on yourself," he consoled, with a small smile. "I only noticed because I was cuffed in the back of an FBI car with absolutely nothing else to do but watch you tailing us. You’d be amazed at the things you start to notice when you’re literally dying of boredom."

  She laughed softly, her body swaying a touch closer to his bed. Her hipbones rested against the siderail now, and he’d never wanted his hands free so badly in his life. If they were, he’d dig one of them into that mass of curly hair she couldn’t control and pull her lips to his right there in his hospital bed.

  Then her expression sobered. "The Feds are going to use this as an excuse to put you back behind bars until the trial."

  He shrugged. "Not surprising."

  "Also not okay." Her tone was irate, her expression sharp.

  "Keira." He said her name for the very first time, and he noticed the way her eyes widened at the sound of it on his lips. "They’re going to put me in prison no matter what."

  He suddenly felt that it was imperative for her to understand he couldn’t be saved. She needed to know it was hopeless—his case, his future, his life. Somehow, if she couldn’t accept that, it would be all the harder for him to. And he knew that eventually he had to reach that point. The point where he actually embraced his fate.

  "But they don’t get to do it for the wrong reasons," she replied. "You just saved the life of a police officer. That counts for something. It shouldn’t only be our bad deeds that get put on the ledger. The good stuff matters, too."

  And that was when it happened. When Finn’s quiet, solitary heart finally heard something that made it swell, made it reach out, asking for understanding, for forgiveness, for companionship. His intake of breath was sharp and sudden, and for a brief moment he wondered if something had gone wrong when they shot him. Maybe they’d hit an artery the doctors hadn’t noticed. Maybe he was dying right now, right here.

  Keira heard him breathe, and she touched him then, her hand on his biceps. Her gaze turned to concern, and his cuffs rattled against the bed rail as the impulse to touch her made him jerk suddenly.

  "Do you need a doctor?" she asked, voice husky, eyes softer than he’d ever thought possible.

  He shook his head. "I’d have never thought a cop would worry about my ledger balancing," he told her quietly.

  "I’d have never thought a mobster could have a balanced ledger," she answered.

  In the darkened room, they were alone in a small circle of light made by the tiny lamp, an island that only they inhabited—two tired, lonely souls in a cold, hard world.

  "You don’t need to fight for me. I didn’t yell out to you in that parking lot because I expected to get something in return."

  She hadn’t moved her hand from his arm, and he yearned to touch her back, his body aching with the need.

  "I
would have died," she told him matter-of-factly. "If you hadn’t yelled when you did, I would have been sitting in the driver’s seat and those bullets would have torn me to pieces. I’m not sure there’s a way to repay that—ever."

  He smiled, slow and soft. "If I were my brother, Liam, I’d have a whole list of suggestions for how you could repay me." He winked then, but instead of slapping him or marching out of the room, she grinned.

  "Given what I’ve heard about your brother, I’m not surprised by that."

  "But again, you don’t owe me anything."

  She finally removed her hand from his arm, and he felt the loss as if her touch had been a permanent part of him, suddenly excised without his permission.

  "I’m not going to let them lock you up right now. That’s how I’m going to start. And I’m going to make sure you’re allowed a visit from your mother. She’s right upstairs with your dad. They told her when you were brought in."

  His heart throbbed with the thought of seeing his mother. "Okay. I won’t argue with any of that."

  She smiled then, and he realized it was the single most beautiful thing that he’d seen in weeks. Maybe months.

  When she turned and walked out of the room without a backward glance, Finn’s heart went right along with her. Thank God she didn’t know it.

  Chapter 9

  Cian held his phone out for Liam to view. On it was the text message from one of the men he had assigned to guard Robbie’s hospital room.

  Finn shot by Feds. Going to be fine, but they say he tried to run. Plan to put him back behind bars.

  "Son of a bitch." Liam’s voice was the hiss of a snake, deadly and cold.

  "I’m going to have to risk meeting up with the lawyer somewhere," Cian said as they drove through the gritty city streets at sunset, one of the MacFarlane men at the wheel.

  "We have to get in there," Liam answered, his tone as hardened as concrete.

  "It’s a fucking hospital. There are Feds everywhere—"

  "How have you gotten in to see Pop?"

  "With our guys sneaking me in and out. But there weren’t Feds crawling all over then. They might be watching the hospital hoping to spot me, but they weren’t standing outside the door of his room. They weren’t allowed anywhere in that wing, since I paid for it. They had no legal rights to be there, and I made sure they didn’t get close."

  The car stopped in the midst of a traffic snarl three blocks off the Magnificent Mile. To their right, people lined up on the sidewalk outside the ACME Hotel, waiting to be admitted to the Berkshire Room, a hipster bar at the back of the hotel lobby. Somewhere nearby, a woman yelped before dissolving into giggles, and a cab honked before the driver began cursing in Arabic.

  "We can still use the cop."

  "I could see convincing her to pass a message for us, but even if she were willing, how the hell can she get one of us by the Feds at the door? The FBI doesn’t give a damn about playing nice with the CPD. They’ve already shown that by cutting the CPD out of the case against Finn."

  "She’s going to have to think of a way," Liam threatened.

  Cian sighed as the car started moving again. He watched the mix of twenty-somethings waiting to drink and flirt at the Berkshire. The women wore platform shoes and colored streaks in their hair. The men sported beards, dark slim pants, diamond studs in their ears or on rings. Tattoos decorated exposed skin, and false eyelashes fluttered like birds’ wings in the evening breeze.

  Had there ever been a time in his life when Cian had been that carefree? A time when a visit to a club on a Friday or Saturday night was the biggest item on his to-do list? Doubtful, he thought, shaking his head slightly. He’d been the club owner, trying to run a business and MacFarlane drug and gun smuggling at the same time. Trying to keep his younger brothers safe on the streets and in their own homes.

  "You’re going to go to her, threaten her, and tell her to find a way to get you into the hospital?"

  "Pretty much."

  "I give up," Cian finally said, his normally controlled temper flaring and showing that underneath all the sophisticated polish he was still an Irishman at heart. "I’ve done everything I can to keep you safe. I sent you away with all the money and support a man could ask for. You had Katya, you had enough cash for three lifetimes, you had a loyal staff and a safe home. And you still chose to come back here and now you’re putting yourself directly in the crosshairs of the CPD. Fuck it all, Liam. I’m done."

  Liam’s lips tilted up on one side. "It’s about time."

  "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

  "It means, I’ve been waiting for the day you’d finally realize that you can’t save us. We’re all in this together, Cian. It’s not you against the world, it’s the four of us. You can’t continue to play human shield for three grown men."

  "I was doing just fine until you came back to town after I explicitly told you not to," Cian snapped.

  "Really?" Liam asked, one eyebrow raised. "Finn’s in custody, Lila’s been kidnapped, and you’re on the run from the FBI, CPD, the Russians, and a psychopath our father hired. Not seeing where you were doing just fine."

  If they hadn’t been trapped in the backseat of a car, Cian would have taken a swing at Liam for that. As it was, all he could do was flip his brother off, and glare. Liam seemed unconcerned by both things.

  Cian turned away and glared some more out the heavily tinted window. Yeah, he knew everything was a mess. But he had a plan—he always had a plan. And what was with this Liam two point oh? Sure, the loyalty was normal, but the defiance wasn’t. No, Liam had never gone against Cian’s wishes until he’d met up with Katya in that Russian brothel. Since then, it had been one headache after another as Liam took more risks and had more opinions.

  "Why can’t you just trust that I’ll take care of Finn?" he asked softly.

  "Why can’t you understand that it’s not about you taking care of him? It’s about things I need to tell him."

  Cian watched and waited, sensing Liam was going to do something he didn’t often—open his heart.

  "You weren’t there when it happened—when he got arrested." Liam cleared his throat. "It should have been me. I’ve been inside before, I know how to survive. It should have been me. But it all happened so fast, and he was between me and the cops. I was between him and the door. He shielded me and told me to run—and I did."

  Cian took a deep breath. Sometimes it was a curse, this bond with his brothers. This thing that made them all feel they had to protect and love one another before all else, even themselves.

  "Okay," he finally said. "You’ll get to see Finn, but you’re not going to arrange it—I am."

  "I can handle—"

  "No." Cian’s voice was firm. It was the tone he’d used for years as the leader of an army of men—criminals, gangsters, men who didn’t like authority in any other circumstance, but would accept it from him, and only him. "I will arrange for you to see Finn. I can’t promise where, but it will be soon."

  Liam stared at him a long minute, then he nodded, and Cian breathed a sigh of relief. Then he pressed his advantage while he had it. "Until then, we’re going to keep working to figure out where Lila’s being held."

  "Of course," Liam answered softly. "We’re going to find her and get her back."

  "When we’ve taken care of Finn and Lila, you’re leaving," Cian demanded. "And you’re not ever coming back, no matter what. You understand?"

  "Unless my brother needs me again." Liam smirked.

  Cian grimaced. Liam didn’t understand that where Cian was going he’d never need his brothers again. He’d never need anyone again, because he’d be far beyond help. He’d be in the one place where no one could save him.

  * * *

  "This is Watson," Keira said as she lifted her phone to her ear. She balanced it between her jaw and shoulder as she typed the report of the hospital shooting on her laptop in the front seat of the replacement car some uniformed officers had delivered to her thirty minute
s ago. The old car had been towed away earlier as evidence, its body riddled with bullet holes.

  Parked outside the hospital in the dark, she could see the light in the window of Finn’s room from where she sat. That shouldn’t matter to her, but it did. She felt protective of him now, as if his life ought to belong to her the way hers certainly did to him. She knew there was some ancient culture that believed that somewhere, but rather than waste energy researching it, she’d just accepted the weight and now worked to fulfill the obligation.

  "I hear you’ve been looking for me," came a deep velvety voice on the other end of the call.

  She stopped typing, breath catching in her throat.

  "I’m generally looking for all sorts of people," she said slowly, "I’m a detective."

  "Meet me on the corner of Twenty-ninth and Indiana at Dunbar Park, in fifteen minutes," the man continued, disregarding her comments. "Don’t tell anyone else, don’t come with anyone else, don’t mess with me. I’m not in the mood. But if you want the answers about Danny O’Reilly’s death, be there. On time."

  Then the line went dead, and her heart beat hard.

  Cian MacFarlane. She’d just been contacted by Cian MacFarlane. The newspapers had once called him the Irish Prince of the Windy City, speculation about his family’s criminal dealings not nearly enough to outweigh his good looks and fat bank account. When his father and brother were arrested years ago, Cian had been the face of the family, making what few public statements there were, and being photographed incessantly for weeks. The cameras loved him, as did the public.

  Meanwhile, the police and the FBI hated him with every fiber of their collective beings. He was confident, powerful, and seemingly unstoppable. But he’d just contacted her, and if she wasn’t mistaken, offered to solve her case, as well.

  She slammed the lid of the laptop shut and tossed it on the passenger seat before starting up the car and popping it into gear. After making sure to be aware of everything around her, she pulled out of the parking lot and went slow, rolling up the drive aisles as if she were heading to nothing more important than a coffee shop. She knew it was possible the Feds were watching her just as she was watching them, and the last thing she needed was to lead them straight to the big fish she wanted to hook herself.