Crush (Tainted Love Duet #2)

by Kim Karr

  My brows popped. “Any of them say whether it’s coming from the men in Patrick’s old crowd? The former Dorchester Heights Gang members?”

  Miles crossed his leg over his knee. “Nope. The gang was small and no one has names. The only name they’ve heard on the streets is the Priest.”

  Declan kicked back and put his arms behind his neck. “Let me ask my old man. He’ll remember who was involved.”

  “You sure he’ll tell you?” I asked as I stood. “He’s been out of it for so long.”

  “He’ll tell me.”

  I gave him a nod.

  “Get me the names, I’ll slide them over to the BPD and let them look into it.”

  We all nodded.

  Declan shifted in his seat. “Moving forward. I just don’t get why Patrick would have his own son killed unless he stood to benefit somehow. I mean, I know he’s a heartless bastard, but he kept Tommy as his number two for all this time, even through all of his fuck-ups. So why now?”

  Miles shook his head in agreement. “I’m with you. Why? It’s true we all know Patrick didn’t keep Tommy around for his brains. He fucked up time after time, each train wreck worse than the last, so how is it Tommy stealing money and selling drugs under Patrick’s nose is any bigger of a crime?”

  “A life for a life,” I muttered.

  “What’d you say?” Miles asked, his ears perking.

  “A life for a life. It’s the code on the street.”

  Declan shot to his feet. “That’s it. Patrick had to have given up his son as retribution.”

  I started to pace. “But for whose death?”

  “That’s what we have to find out. If we find out who has Patrick by the balls, who Patrick gave his son up for, we’ll be one step closer to uncovering this entire mess.”

  “You think it could be the Priest?” Miles asked.

  “I do, except he has to be relatively new in town. I don’t see him having the pull to get Patrick to agree to off his own son.” Glancing out the window at the clouds that had started to take dark form in the sky, I hated to rain on their parade. “Then again, what if Patrick simply ordered the hit on Tommy for the drug deals he was making behind his back? What if that’s all there was to it?”

  Miles was shaking his head. “We talked about this. It makes no sense.”

  “I agree,” Declan added.

  “Okay, I agree too. So what next?”

  Miles pointed at me. “You lay low. You’ve caused enough chaos on the streets. Playing off of the life-for-a-life thing, let me ask around and see if anyone of importance was one of the Blue Hill Gang’s victims. Coming from me, no one will question it. Coming from you, it might just get you killed.”

  I conceded. He had a point. I had gotten in a little over my head. “What about O’Shea?” I asked.

  “Seems clean. Can’t find anything linking him to his wife’s disappearance before her murder.”

  “And Tommy? Any solid links to Lizzy or O’Shea?” I asked.

  “Well, we know she worked at Lucy’s. As for Tommy’s claim that Lizzy and him were an item, nothing solid to prove that other than the tape where we saw them together at the hotel.”

  Declan cleared his throat.

  “You got something?” I asked him.

  “Not much, but I talked to a few guys who’ve gone to Lucy’s for years. One remembers her from about two years ago. He said, and I quote, she was a chick who really knew how to suck his dick in the backroom. Another dude said he thinks he remembers seeing Tommy with her more than any of the other girls but when he paid her a hundred to blow him under the table, Tommy was cool with it. Anyway, if Tommy was tapping Lizzy, he didn’t mind her blowing others while he was hitting it.”

  “Maybe they weren’t together. Maybe he lied,” I noted.

  “Either way, he sounds like a real scum bag,” Miles remarked.

  “Did either of the guys you talked to know O’Shea?” I asked Declan.

  “Not sure; I didn’t ask. What are you thinking?”

  “Maybe he had met Lizzy before he represented her on that pro-bono prostitution charge, like at a strip club, and that’s the connection between the three of them. I mean I’m really reaching here.”

  “Like maybe at Lucy’s?”

  I was leaning against the wall. “Exactly.”

  “Let me check into it,” Miles said as he rose to his feet.

  Declan was already in the doorway. “Let’s get together Tuesday and go through everything again. See if we can come up with anything new.”

  “Sure. Let’s talk to Frank, too. He was around in the Dorchester Heights Gang days. Molly’s, Tuesday at seven?” I suggested.

  “It’s a plan,” Declan said.

  “Sounds good,” said Miles.

  I followed the two of them out to the kitchen. After they left, I stood there for a bit, listening for ghosts.

  None.

  I pulled my wallet out of my pocket and took the newspaper clipping of Emily’s death I kept there from it. It was time to let that go. I crumpled it and threw it in the trash.

  With a deep breath, I thought about whether I should be kicking a possible hornet’s nest. Tommy was gone and nothing around me showed signs of upheaval. Yet, there was something about O’Shea that had nagged me from the moment I laid eyes on him.

  My gramps, too.

  Blanchet aside, that was reason enough to dig further.

  But not today.

  Today was a day of celebration. With the threat of Tommy no longer hanging over us, it felt like a fresh start for Elle and me.

  Hopping back in my truck, I decided to go to the bank and get that ring my gramps wanted me to have. I didn’t know when I’d give it to Elle, but I wanted to have it cleaned and sized so when the time was right, it would be ready.

  I hightailed it back to Elle’s place first to get the key out of the silver box. I’d told Elle about the box but not the key. And like my grandfather, I didn’t go to much trouble to hide the box. It had always worked for him. While I was there, I picked up my shit that was all over her room. Elle had been cool about it, but it was time to get my laundry done. While I was at it, I also packed a few things for the weekend. I didn’t need much since we’d be staying at my apartment.

  My apartment.

  I needed to figure out what to do with it.

  My current financial status dictated that I should sell it, which didn’t bother me. It wasn’t like I was attached to it or anything. It was nice, though. Located in a ritzy, white-glove building directly across the street from the Metropolitan Museum of Art, it was prime real estate. The problem was my grandfather owned the building and he had insisted that I live there, which meant I bought it for next to nothing. I wasn’t sure what he’d think about me selling it.

  Then again, he was much cooler with the news of my leave of absence from the Ryan Corporation than I thought he would be. I think he was finally coming to understand I preferred working on my own. I have no idea what brought about his change of heart, but I accepted it at face value and figured it was time to terminate my employment now that I knew I’d be staying in Boston.

  Although Elle and I really hadn’t discussed where I’d reside, I knew she wouldn’t leave Clementine, which meant either I moved to Boston or our relationship turned long distance. The thought of not seeing her every day twisted my gut and the answer to where I would live was an easy one—anywhere she was.

  After I shoved everything in the back of the Rover, I jumped in and headed for the bank. The dark clouds had multiplied and there was no doubt rain was coming.

  For some reason it made me think about the first night I met Elle. It was raining and she was so wet when she walked into Molly’s. Even then I thought she looked beautiful. Exquisite may be a better word. There wasn’t anything about her that didn’t make me want to give her as much of myself as I possibly could.

  Just as the rain started to pound the pavement, something in my rearview mirror grabbed my attention. Som
eone was following me. My mindless driving had me looking around, trying to figure out where the fuck I was.

  I hadn’t been paying attention.

  Okay, I was on a small side street, just having crossed over Dorchester Avenue. With another glance in my rearview mirror, I saw flashing blue lights. The sound of the siren immediately followed.

  Fuck, how fast was I going? I hadn’t been paying attention.

  I pulled over and then yanked open the glove box to retrieve my insurance card. As I was reaching for my wallet, I noticed another cop car pull behind the one already parked.

  Suspicion started to loom.

  The rain was falling, and as one officer got out of the first car in his rain gear, another leaned out, holding a transmitter in his hand. “Get out of the car with your hands up.”

  Fuck me. Not this again.

  Slowly, I opened the door and heard my sneakers squishing in the water as I stepped away from the car and turned around. It wasn’t Blanchet’s goon squad, though, like I thought it might be. These cops were from Patrick’s neighborhood, which meant more than likely they were on Patrick’s payroll.

  Fuck me.

  The officers approached me and this time there was no pretense. “Logan McPherson, you’re under arrest.”

  “What for?” I yelled over the drowning sound of the rain.

  “Aiding and abetting a known felon with possible terrorist ties.”

  Cuffs were being slapped on me before I could even draw a breath to think. “What are you talking about?”

  The cop from the second car got out and strode over toward us. He popped the hatch to the back of the Rover. “Call impound and have them pick up the vehicle.”

  “Why? What’s going on?”

  No answer.

  One was in front of me. Another one behind me. The third was now inside the Rover. “I got a weapon,” he said.

  “It’s registered,” I bit out.

  “Move it,” the one from behind drawled.

  Sandwiched between two of them, I was being shoved toward the police car. “You have to read me my rights.”

  “Law enforcement has the ability to question suspected terrorists without immediately providing Miranda warnings when the interrogation is reasonably prompted by immediate concern for the safety of the public . . .”

  I struggled against the hold on me. My legs stopped moving. My body became rigid. My shoulders squared.

  No. No. No.

  This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

  I started to dig my heels in. That’s when I saw the baton. Felt it against my rib cage, my thighs, my back, and then my legs. The one cop kept speaking. The second cop was now dragging me to the car.

  They could keep me in isolation for a prolonged period of time by marking me as a potential terrorist. Twenty-four, forty-eight, or even seventy-two hours wouldn’t be blinked upon.

  Up to three days I could be MIA.

  Elle.

  Elle.

  What would she think?

  Oh, God! Fuck no.

  “You have to let me make a call,” I pleaded.

  Their laughter was loud and the echo of it carried over the rain.

  There weren’t going to let me do shit.

  At that point I tuned out.

  I knew the law. I knew what this meant. The only way to gain latitude when it came to Miranda Rights was for the DEA to have turned to the FBI.

  The DEA knew. Somehow they knew I’d moved the cocaine. They had to.

  And now they’d involved the FBI.

  I was fucked on so many levels.

  ELLE

  The clock on the wall read six twenty.

  It wasn’t like Logan to not call if he was going to be late. I pushed the door open and stood outside. Time passed slowly as I gazed around. At the sidewalk that was wet from the rainstorm that had just passed. At the spring leaves that blew in the cool breeze and stuck to the ground. At the birds singing in the sky.

  When the streetlights switched on to illuminate the impending dusk, I glanced at the time again.

  Six forty.

  A dark and terrible thought pushed to the front of my mind as I pressed end on the call I’d just made. It was something my mother had always said, and it had been in my mind ever since Killian’s death.

  Things come in threes.

  Was this the third?

  One last time I tried to call him, but Logan’s phone was still going directly to voicemail. I left a short message: “Logan, it’s me. I’m going to go ahead and walk home. In case we miss each other, meet me there.”

  I could call Peyton and ask her to come back and pick me up, but the walk to my townhouse was short and I hoped it would help unravel the unease I was feeling in the pit of my stomach. I refused to think the way my mind was headed. Logan and I had simply crossed wires. Miscommunicated. He was probably at my house waiting for me and hadn’t realized his phone had died.

  Yet, deep within, I knew that wasn’t the case. He was always beside his phone. Always answered every single one of my calls.

  Nonetheless, I pushed that aside until I couldn’t any longer.

  As soon as I turned the corner onto my street, I noticed the Porsche was gone. Picking up the pace, I started to run down the street. I felt like it was Charlie all over again. Charlie was my first love. The only person I had said “I love you” to besides Logan. At the time I was young and naïve, and I mistakenly thought love conquered all.

  I learned the hard way—that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

  Charlie and I were inseparable.

  We were such a perfect pair with such similar interests.

  We’d been living together for a while when one day, he came home and announced, “My family is coming to visit.”

  I was shocked. “When?”

  “Next month. They’re going to adore you, love.”

  Nervousness was the only thing I felt for the next week. When I came home from work one night, out of the blue, he started talking about marriage.

  Marriage? Was this because of his family coming?

  I felt sick. I couldn’t discuss marriage until he knew everything about me. “Charlie,” I interrupted as he was going on about how perfect we were for each other.

  “Yes, love,” he said.

  “I have something to tell you.”

  Right then and there, with no preparation at all, I was forced to tell him I was unable to have children.

  Charlie did his best to accept that hard truth but as the weeks passed leading to his family’s arrival, I could tell he wasn’t doing well processing the information. He was from a large family and I had come to learn he, too, wanted a large family.

  All talk of marriage had ceased and he began to pull away from me. More time passed and we were no longer inseparable. I had thought about ending things before he eventually did, but I just couldn’t. I didn’t want to be alone, so I held on to hope. Hope that I shouldn’t have had.

  Three days before his family was to arrive, I had to go out of town. It was a Wednesday and I had to travel from Paris to Monaco. The back-to-back meetings and seven-hour commute had me returning just in time to meet them on Saturday. But by some stroke of luck, on Friday morning I had finished my work and decided to hop on an earlier train.

  Feeling stressed about our relationship, I knew Charlie and I needed to spend some time together and just talk before his family arrived, so I stopped at the store and bought what I needed to make a nice dinner. My arms were loaded with bags when I burst open the door to our flat and found it practically empty. Everything that Charlie had brought into our relationship was gone, and so was he. He’d left a note on the counter that said, I’m sorry. I just can’t.

  Approaching my townhouse, it felt like déjà vu as I reached my door and swung it open. “Logan!” I yelled.

  There was no answer.

  I knew there wouldn’t be. The Rover wasn’t parked out front and the Porsche was gone. Still, who knew? May
be something had changed.

  Hopeful, I hurried up the stairs and into my room. “Logan,” I said hoarsely.

  There was no answer.

  That’s when I knew there wasn’t ever going to be one. His things that had been scattered around the room for weeks were gone. I’d told him the truth about myself and like Charlie, he couldn’t handle it and had packed up and left.

  “Logan,” I whispered, and crumpled to my knees.

  No tears fell, though. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew this was how things would end for us. There was no other way. Love really never would conquer all.

  My father hadn’t talked much about the future with me, but he had told me I’d end up alone. Taking charge of my own life, I’d set that course all by myself, but then with Logan, things had changed and I thought maybe my father had been wrong. In that regard, he wasn’t.

  That horrid memory started to materialize.

  Huge and overpowering, he stood at my bedside. “I begged your mother not to go through with this, Gabrielle. I knew you weren’t a strong enough match. We should have waited for your sister to be cleared.”

  “No, we couldn’t wait. The doctors all said time was running out.”

  “Nonsense, they didn’t know what they were talking about. Your mother was doing fine. She would have held in there. She was tough, like me.”

  He was delusional. Had he always been?

  I think he refused to see my mother’s physical weaknesses. “You’re wrong,” I dared to say out loud.

  His eyes narrowed on me and his jaw twitched. “No, Gabrielle, you were wrong for agreeing to do this. For encouraging your mother. It was selfish of you to want to take your sister’s place. Now, your mother is dead and I’ll be stuck with you forever.”

  His words stung, but I kept on. “It wasn’t about me. She was my mother and I loved her. I only wanted her to get better.”

  “And she was my wife.”

  Anger roiled in my gut. He’d said that as if it trumped anything I’d said. “She was just another one of your soldiers. Someone to command. You never loved her,” I spat.

  He grabbed my chin and jerked it toward him, slapping me hard. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You should have listened to me. And because you didn’t, she’s gone and you have no future. Don’t you see? No man will want you now.”