Roland ignored the cold that was making his face sting and his hand numb. He needed to put on his gloves.
“What about the surveillance? Can you get it for this street and the one behind the bowling alley?”
“I can. Give me an hour.”
“I’m headed into the office. I’ll call you once I have an encrypted connection.” He ended the call and immediately accessed an app to wipe his phone completely.
He noticed Maura watching him from across the street, her eyes suspicious. He slid the phone into his pocket, thinking about her request for cooperation. She’d been trying to entice him, not blatantly—she actually seemed almost reluctant at times, but it wasn’t because she found him irresistible or wanted his money. She wanted information. He couldn’t fault her plan since he’d had exactly the same idea, but maybe he should change tactics. He could let her entice him, make her think he was falling under her spell. Then she was more likely to let her guard down.
The flat stare she sent him contradicted the thought. He raised an eyebrow and waited where he was as she grabbed an evidence technician and stomped with the woman through the snow and slush to reach him.
“We’re going to need your phone.” She held out a hand for it. “It may be a waste of time, but we’re going to see what we can find out about that text.”
He nodded. Keenan probably hadn’t sent the message himself, and it was undoubtedly fired off from a burner phone, but he understood protocol. Understood, but had no intention of actually giving Boston PD access to any of his private information. He dropped the phone into an evidence bag held by the technician.
“What, no arguing?” She managed to sound suspicious even though her teeth were chattering. Tiny snowflakes clung to her face, landed on her lush lower lip. The technician sealed the bag and walked away, but Roland caught the curious expression she trained on Maura.
Roland stepped closer and tugged a strand of red hair away from Maura’s face. “I’m cooperating,” he explained.
“Right. I forgot. We’re partners now, aren’t we?”
“There you go with the sarcasm again.”
“You’ll need to come into the station and give a statement.”
Pulling his gloves out of his pocket, he drew them on with a sigh of relief. “Of course. I’ll do that just as soon as I can. In the meantime, I’ll call the governor and have him put pressure on your captain to let me see if I can recover the letters.”
“What do you mean, just as soon as you can? Are you going somewhere?”
Roland nodded. Shane would arrive in less than five minutes, but he wouldn’t be able to get through the police barricades. Roland intended to walk to the next block over. “Shane is bringing me a car before the reporters recognize me and descend en masse.”
“Shane?”
“Milton’s driver.”
“The bald guy with the tattoos?”
He figured she must have encountered Shane at some point last year. “That’s the one.”
Maura shook herself. “What am I doing talking to you? This is nonsense. I have shit to do. You need to wait and come with me to the station.”
“I’m fairly certain I have lawyers who would disagree.”
Her mouth turned down at the corners at the mention of lawyers. He didn’t blame her for that, either. Lawyers were often the bane of her existence.
“But I’ll be in soon.”
She wanted to argue, he could see it in her face, but she didn’t. A borrowed cell phone in her hand rang, and she answered it with a sour look in his direction. “O’Halloran. No, so far we’ve got a whole lot of nothing,” she said to someone on the other end.
She picked her way back to the officers standing around the burned-out hulk of his Mercedes, a small shiny purple badass in a sea of black and gray. He fished out of his pocket one of the candies he’d taken from the restaurant earlier and untwisted the foil. He popped the small treat into his mouth and let the sharp sweet-and-sour taste burst on his tongue. That’s how Maura O’Halloran tasted. Sharp. Sweet. Addictive.
IT WAS 1:00 A.M. and they had exactly nothing. Maura didn’t see how she was going to bed that night. After the initial interviews were complete and the evidence techs finished cataloging the scene, she’d gone into the station to prepare a briefing for her captain. She had a nine o’clock meeting with him before a scheduled press conference. Reporters had already starting calling for her at the station.
“I’m going to need a new cell phone,” she muttered as she reached for it for the fifteenth time. She’d called both Maddie and her father to let them know that she’d lost her old phone and that she’d be at the station all night. Maddie had believed her. Her father had waited until the girl had gone to bed to ask Maura what had really happened. He’d seen the explosion on the news.
“It was bad, Dad, but it could have been worse. One man was killed, two others injured.”
“What were you doing there with Roland Chandler?”
“I was talking to him. He offered to share information in order to find Keenan Shy.”
Her father grunted. “Don’t trust him, Maura. I know that family. Bunch of liars and thieves at best.”
Sighing, Maura rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I know, Dad. You’ve told me all about them. But he knows Shy better than anyone else. After all this time, I think working with him is the only way I’m going to put Shy behind bars.”
He’d grumbled a little under his breath, but she knew he didn’t disagree with her. “Just don’t let him talk you into anything. He’s sneaky, Maura.”
“I can handle Roland Chandler,” she argued. “Seriously, Dad. I’m a grown woman and a detective.”
Maura hung up the phone on her desk before he could continue with any more dire warnings about her interactions with Roland Chandler.
Bert interrupted her train of thought, snapping his thick fingers in front of her face. “Maura, you want to grab some sleep on the couch in the break room? You seem kind of out of it.”
Waving his hand out of her face, she shook her head. “No, Bert, I’m good. I just need some more coffee.”
“Just put on a fresh pot.”
Maura nodded and rubbed her hands over her face. The captain was not going to buy her theory without the help of Roland Chandler. There was no evidence that Keenan Shy had committed the bombing other than the message that had been sent to Roland, and his phone had “mysteriously” been wiped. Why? Why not just turn it in? She pulled a protein bar out of her desk and ate without tasting it, not that it had much taste, anyway. Every time she thought she could trust him . . .
Not that she thought Keenan had used a phone or a number that could have been easily traced, but the message itself was telling. Right now all they knew was that someone had targeted Roland. The bomb techs were working on examining all the evidence that had been gathered, trying to identify a bomber based on the pieces that remained. It would take time, and Maura could only pray that the parts would reveal Keenan’s signature. He’d been identified as the bomb designer for several terrorist groups in the Middle East and Eastern Europe where he freelanced. But if the signatures didn’t match, she didn’t stand a chance of convincing the captain or anyone else that it was Shy, unless by some miracle they’d caught the asshole on video planting the bomb, or Roland really was capable of miracles. Had he heard from the governor? She didn’t know. And without a phone, she didn’t even have his number to call him.
“Where are we on surveillance?” she asked Bert.
“It’s coming in now. The tech guys are working on it. We should have it in a few hours.”
Maura looked at her watch. Only five minutes had passed. Nothing to do but sit and worry until then. Or call Roland and wake his ass up. The press already seemed to know that it was his car that had been destroyed, though he’d left before they’d really started asking questions.
“What about the theft at the chemical plant? The murder. We have the video from Justin’s computer yet?”
>
Bert looked troubled. “They’re cleaning it up, seeing if they can get a clear shot of the woman, but I did get one of the workers at the plant to identify the chemical that was stolen: it was some kind of petroleum-based solvent.”
“What’s it used for?”
“Dry cleaning, mostly.”
“Dry cleaning?”
“Yep.”
“Someone breaks into a chemical company, kills a scientist, and steals dry-cleaning fluid. That doesn’t make any damn sense. Is it dangerous?”
“It’s flammable. Possibly explosive, but it has a pretty high flash point, so it would take effort.”
“Great. Another mystery,” Maura muttered. “That’s just awesome.” She bit off another chunk of the protein bar and chewed methodically.
“Yeah. That’s why you’re a detective.”
“How much was stolen?”
“Not sure exactly. Enough to clean my suits for a year or cause a fuckload of problems. They’re also still working on identifying the woman in the video. FBI is running facial recognition software.”
“So basically there’s nothing I can do right now except wait around?”
“Go lie on the couch and get some sleep.”
“I’m not going to be able to sleep, Bert. Just forget it.”
“Then call Roland. He has connections through his security company. See if he can help.”
“I don’t have his number anymore. It was in my phone. And we have his cell phone, anyway.” For all the good it did them.
“I’m sure he has a new phone by now.”
Maura nodded. “He probably has dozens, but I don’t know the number.”
“What about Blake, could she have the number?”
“I’m not calling Blake at this hour.”
“Then you’re screwed, for now,” he said, and disappeared into the break room, presumably to grab some coffee.
“Gee, thanks,” Maura muttered, but she had an idea. She could call Accendo. Odds were that Roland wasn’t asleep. He hadn’t come into the station, so she would bet he was probably at his office. She had that number—though his assistant, Zach, usually didn’t let her speak to him directly. Worth a shot, anyway.
She looked up the number in her files and dialed with the eraser end of a pencil.
“Hi, Maura,” Roland answered on the first ring, his voice smooth and unsurprised. She could hear voices behind him.
“Good. You’re awake. Did you get a chance to talk to the governor?”
“Not yet. I got a little distracted.”
“Well, get undistracted. Are you going to be at the press conference this morning?”
“Absolutely not.” All the humor had drained out of his voice.
“Why not?”
“Keenan will expect me to be there.”
Maura thought about that. She supposed that if Keenan’s intention was to kill Roland, then showing up at the press conference was idiotic, but if he wanted to kill him, why hadn’t he waited until Roland was inside the vehicle to detonate?
“We shouldn’t talk about this on the phone,” he said abruptly. “I’ll meet you at the Diner in thirty minutes.” He hung up before she could answer.
Scowling, Maura tossed the phone into the cradle, where it jangled loudly. The Diner was a local twenty-four-hour restaurant a few blocks from her station. She usually walked there with a few other cops, but it was fucking freezing.
“Bert,” she called out.
He peeked his head around the break room door. “Yeah?”
“I’m meeting Roland at the Diner. You want me to bring you anything?”
“I’m not invited?”
Maura thought about that. She suspected that Roland might be more inclined to share information if Bert wasn’t around. Bert would also notice the attraction that she wasn’t able to hide. Not exactly something she wanted her partner to witness.
“No.”
“I’m good.” He patted his gut.
Maura checked her duty weapon, making sure it was secured in the holster on her hip along with her shield, then she slung on her coat and drew her beanie over her head. Not sexy, but her ears would stay warm.
“I’ll be back.”
Only the smell of brewing coffee answered her. Maura felt her energy level spike as she headed out of the building. She told herself she was just excited to find out what information Roland managed to dig up on the bomb, not because she thought he might touch her again.
And I’m lying to myself. A gust of icy wind hit her as she pushed open the back door to the station, where the official vehicles were parked. Awesome.
MILTON LOOKED UP from the video surveillance he was studying on his laptop. “Going somewhere?” he asked Roland.
Milton was wearing jogging pants and a long-sleeved shirt, his dark hair sticking up in several places. Open pizza boxes from their favorite restaurant and empty water bottles littered the conference table around him. Nick sat a few seats away, his area as impeccably clean as usual. He had lipstick on his cheek, however, a token from a visit from Blake. Neither Roland nor Milton had mentioned it to him.
Both men had dropped their Sunday evening plans and headed over to Accendo when Roland called, glad to help him with his search, and had been there ever since, working on tracking the IP address Roland had identified, though it turned out to be a proxy server, as he’d expected. They’d managed to get ahold of the surveillance video from around the bowling alley, but so far all they had was an image of a young man in a hoodie. It hadn’t been Keenan; Roland was certain of that much, but he had no doubt that whoever it was worked for Keenan. Milton and Nick had both started searching through international criminal databases for known associates of Keenan Shy and his aliases.
I have excellent friends, he thought, not for the first time. “I’m meeting Detective O’Halloran at the Diner. She has a press conference about the bombing this morning.”
Milton scratched his head. “I thought she hated you.”
“She’s warming up to me.”
“Huh.” Milton eyed him doubtfully. “And you’re trying to get her to like you because . . . ?”
Nick snorted. “Blake told him that O’Halloran has a collection of letters from Keenan. Of course he’s trying to get on her good side.”
Roland ignored the commentary and didn’t tell them that the letters had gone missing. His excellent friends were also annoying. He was using Maura O’Halloran, but it was for a good reason. “I’ll be back soon. Go home. Kiss your women. We’ll get a fresh start in the morning.”
Neither one of them moved from in front of their computers.
“You should invite her to the pub again on Friday,” Milton suggested.
Roland closed the office door without answering and dialed Shane’s number on his new cell phone. Normally Shane had Sunday nights off, but the man was also a friend and former military. Roland trusted him to handle any trouble that might come his way.
“Shane, it’s Roland. I need a ride down to Southie. Would you mind bringing the car around?”
“No problem,” Shane replied. Like Nick, Shane had grown up in South Boston and had the accent to prove it. He also didn’t sound the slightest bit sleepy, so Roland suspected that he’d stayed up late reading again.
“Thanks,” Roland said, and hung up the phone.
Milton stuck his head out the conference room door. “You mind bringing back some breakfast?”
“Go home.”
Milton stepped all the way out into the hallway. “How am I going to do that? You’re taking my driver.” Milton absently made the stylus in his hand appear and disappear. Roland knew how he was doing the trick, but Milton was impressively good at sleight of hand, though not better than Roland himself.
“I’ll send him back directly.”
Milton clapped a hand on Roland’s shoulder, his eyes concerned. “You’ll be careful, won’t you?”
“Keenan won’t hurt me. You know how he works.” His cousin never hu
rt the person he was angry with directly.
Milton nodded. “All the same.”
“I’ll be careful.”
Milton smiled. “And say hi to the detective for me.”
“Of course I won’t,” Roland replied. He looked around them at the quiet office, at the snow falling outside the glass windows in the dark. “You be careful, too. He almost killed Nick last summer. He could come after you both.”
Milton nodded. “He could, but we have security, and neither one of us is an easy target.”
An easy target. The words danced around the edge of Roland’s mind for a moment, teasing him with just the vague hint of an idea.
“There’s a security detail with Regina and Blake, correct? And on my mother and stepfather?”
“Yep,” Milton agreed, rocking back on his heels. “Everyone we could think of that Keenan might try to hurt.”
Roland nodded. He just hoped it would be enough.
Downstairs on the bottom level of the parking garage, Shane was waiting in the limo. Roland waved a hand to keep the man seated behind the wheel and opened the passenger’s-side door, settling in next to Shane.
“Nice night for a drive,” Shane said. “Where we headed?”
“The Diner.”
Shane grunted in approval and took off, his bald head gleaming in the reflected snowfall. Roland settled into the warm leather of the passenger seat, but he couldn’t make himself relax.
“Something eating you, Roland?”
Glancing at the man, Roland shrugged. Shane was more perceptive than he looked. The bald head and hulking body fooled most people into thinking that he was nothing more than a thug, but that wasn’t the case. He was highly intelligent; he simply preferred to drive and read. He kept to himself and led a solitary existence, but Roland knew that he was in love with Jessie, a former Accendo employee and owner of the best pizza restaurant in Boston. And as far as Roland knew she loved him as well, but something was keeping Shane from pursuing her.
“How’s Jessie?” Roland asked in response.
Shane grunted again, this time in irritation, and Roland nearly smiled.
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