If Nick and Alexa moved out, the house would be occupied solely by Ronan and his family. Declan didn’t mind it — the money wasn’t an issue for any of them thanks to Nick’s management of the profits from MIS’ wealthy clientele — but it was hard to imagine none of them living together.
They made their way down the sidewalk, then continued over the brick pavers that lined the walkway in front of the small corporate complex on the water. They’d bought the building after their first job and had occupied the fifth floor ever since. A few of the other units were rented, but they never worked too hard at filling the vacancies. Privacy was a necessity in their business., and according to Nick, the loss on the vacant units was a good tax write-off.
They continued to the front of the building and stepped through the glass doors into the large lobby, but instead of greeting Joan, the greeter and security guard, Declan’s eyes went straight to Clay, pacing the lobby.
His eyes lit up when he spotted Declan and Nick, and he rushed over, his messenger bag smacking against his leg, his slight body practically vibrating.
“What’s up?” Declan asked. In the nearly ten years they’d been working with Clay Reddy, Declan couldn’t remember a time when he’d shown up unannounced. Their meetings were scheduled, either by Clay after he’d had a breakthrough on a case or by one of the Murphys when they needed to give him information on a new one.
The excitement in his eyes was new too. Data was Clay’s business, and he was the best of the best. Finding something new wasn’t usually something to write home about. It was just his job. “We got a hit.”
Declan blinked. “On?”
“On Curran. We think he’s in Iceland."
3
Kate took a sip of her martini and reached for another piece of sushi. It was lunchtime on a Thursday and Ruka, a downtown restaurant known for its Japanese-Peruvian cuisine and dark, clubby atmosphere, was hopping with customers eager to start the weekend.
She was only half paying attention as Joanne Fuller, one of her two best friends from college, told Priya Varma, Kate’s other best friend from college, about Joanne’s most recent conversation with her most recent ex, a real estate developer that had managed to break through Joanne’s jaded defenses right before he dumped her without warning.
“You still with us?”
Kate looked up to find Priya’s dark eyes trained on her face. “Oh, yeah! Sorry… I’m still getting used to being out without feeling guilty.”
They’d been best friends since they’d ditched their respectively bad roommates to room together sophomore year. Joanne and Priya had been there since the beginning of Kate’s relationship with Declan, through the discovery of her pregnancy and her decision to go to L.A., through the breakup with Declan.
She’d even told them about Beth — about her paternity and her involvement with Neil. They were the only people she’d told outside of family. She didn’t need to hide anything from them.
“It’s lunchtime,” Joanne said, knowing Kate was talking about Griffin. “You’d be at work anyway.”
“I know, but old habits are hard to break,” Kate said. “I’m used to scarfing a salad at my desk unless I have a meeting with Aiden.”
“It must be so nice though,” Priya said, pushing back a lock of the glossy dark hair falling in soft curls around her face. “Having Declan there to help, I mean.”
Kate nodded, pushing the food around on her plate. “It is.”
“Oh, boy.” Several men at nearby tables turned to look at Joanne as she laughed, deep and throaty. Kate had always envied her friend’s sex appeal. She was attractive, with green eyes and thick brown hair that was always perfectly styled, but that wasn’t the reason men — and sometimes women — turned to look at her as she passed.
That was something else, confidence and lack of self-consciousness, plus a free-spirited hedonism that conjured big beds and satin sheets and overflowing glasses of champagne.
Kate was too practical for that stuff. She’d have to make the bed, wipe up the spilled champagne.
Kate scowled. “What?”
“I better order another drink for this one,” Joanne said.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Kate said.
“Don’t be coy.” Joanne caught the waiter’s eye and tapped her glass with a come-hither smile. “Something’s obviously up.”
“Is it Declan?” Priya asked.
They’d both championed Declan’s cause during the months Kate had held him at arm’s length, waiting to see if he would really come through for Griffin, if she’d have the guts to take a chance when he did.
Kate took another drink of her martini. “Declan’s great. He’s… perfect.”
“Uh-oh,” Joanne said, sitting back in her chair, her brow furrowed.
“There’s no uh-oh,” Kate said. She lowered her voice, aware that the murmur of conversation around them didn’t provide much cover for their own. “Seriously. Declan’s amazing. It’s… it’s me.”
“You always say that,” Priya said. “It’s never true.”
Kate smiled gratefully at her friend.
Joanne was an Assistant Director for a financial services company. She was used to selling, and she was good at it, which always made her perspective suspect in Kate’s eyes.
Priya, on the other hand, worked for the CDC’s quarantine program. She was accustomed to presenting data calmly and truthfully, with a minimum of fuss, which meant she could be relied on to be truthful even when the truth hurt.
And Kate saw Priya’s point. Kate had spent her whole life digesting her father’s wisdom like a baby bird taking food from its mother’s mouth, and one of Mac Walsh’s old favorites had been “followers pass the buck, leaders take responsibility.”
Like all of her dad’s advice, Kate had taken it to heart to the point of dogma. She didn’t know how to blame anyone but herself for anything that went wrong, a quality that served her well at work but had caused her to become her own punching bag in relationships.
But this time, she was right. There was nothing wrong with Declan.
“This time it’s true,” Kate said. She went silent when the waiter appeared with Joanne’s drink and waited for him to leave to continue. “I’m just… messed up.”
“Is Declan fucking up?” Joanne asked. “Because if he is, I can be at your place in less than half an hour to talk some sense into him.”
Kate laughed. “No! Seriously. He’s so, so great. I just can’t help thinking…”
“That something’s going to go wrong?” Priya asked.
Kate sighed. “Yeah. That.”
“That’s because of Beth,” Joanne said, lifting her gin and tonic to her lipsticked mouth.
“And your parents,” Priya said softly.
“Probably,” Kate acknowledged. The unfinished business with Beth and Neil, with whatever they had planned, was a thorn in the bouquet of roses that was her life with Declan, and the secrets and lies that had been revealed about her parents’ marriage didn’t exactly inspire confidence in long-term relationships. “Not that it makes sense.”
“Not everything makes sense when it comes to love,” Priya said.
“No, but it should,” Kate said.
Joanne laughed and lifted her glass. “Here, here.”
“I just wish we could find Neil,” Kate said. “It’s like there was all this stuff going on, you know? All this… intensity. My dad dying and me and Griff coming back to Boston, finding out about Neil and then Beth, getting back together with Dec, and then… nothing. Like somebody pressed pause in the middle of a movie and now I can’t sleep until I know how it all ends.”
“That’s understandable,” Joanne said. “Add to that the stuff you found out about your parents’ marriage, and it’s no wonder you’re spooked.”
Kate exhaled. “Exactly. I feel like I can’t trust anything right now.”
“But you know that has nothing to do with you and Declan right?” Priya asked. “You
and Declan aren’t your parents.”
“I know but…” Kate shook her head. “I guess I thought I’d feel more settled after Declan moved in, like it would all feel more permanent.”
“It is permanent,” Joanne said. “I’ve seen the way Declan looks at you, the way he looks at Griff. He’s not going to let anyone hurt either of you. If Neil comes back, Declan will deal with him. If he doesn’t, you’ll live your happy life together, regardless of whether Beth ever reappears. Don’t give them more power than they deserve.”
“I think it’s totally understandable for you to be unsettled,” Priya said. “It must feel like everything’s all mixed up together.”
Kate nodded, relieved Priya had given voice to feelings she hadn’t been able to articulate. “Yeah, I think that’s it. Everything happened at the same time — Declan coming back into my life, and the truth about my mom’s affair, and Neil and my sister. And then Declan and I were back together, but Neil was gone and so was Beth.”
“It’s a lot,” Priya said.
“It is, but you don’t have control over what happens with Beth or Neil,” Joanne said firmly. “I mean, maybe he’ll turn up, but what if he doesn’t? You can’t tie your happiness to something you have no control over, not when you have a man in your bed who loves you, who wants to spend his life with you, a man you love.”
“You’re right,” Kate said. “I just feel so…” She took a deep breath and then reached for her drink, surprised to find her hand was shaking.
Joanne looked at her. “So…?”
“Pissed,” Kate admitted. “Just… angry, all the time.”
It felt good to say it. To admit it.
It wasn’t logical. It wasn’t reasonable. But it was the truth.
She’d wondered almost since the day Declan walked back into her life what her dad would say if he were alive, whether he would encourage Kate to take a shot at happiness by listening to her heart for once or whether he’d run down the list of Declan’s pros and cons and declare Declan a bad risk.
In the months since she’d found out about her mother’s affair, she’d wondered if her father would issue cautionary tales about marriage, taking a cynic’s view because of the affair her mother had had with Neil, or if her father had made peace with it, if he’d tell Kate it had all been worth it in spite of the pain.
She still didn’t know. But she knew she loved Declan, that he was her person, that he’d always been her person.
She also knew she was angry — at her mom and Neil and Beth and the series of events that had turned people she’d trusted into enemies, and even at her dad, who had taught her to rule an empire but had left her ill-equipped for matters of the heart.
That anger was powerful enough to threaten everything she’d been building with Declan. It would eat away at what they had if she let it, at what they were building, as insidiously as it was eating though her own happiness every day she let it fester.
“Anger isn’t always bad,” Joanne said. “Use it to make Neil pay for what he did, to protect your father’s legacy, but don’t let it ruin all the good things you deserve.”
Kate bit her lip. If only it was that easy.
4
“Iceland?” Ronan asked, leaning back in his chair at the head of the conference table.
“Iceland,” Clay confirmed.
Declan and Nick had ushered Clay upstairs as soon as he’d delivered the news. They’d gone over some of the details while they waited for Ronan to arrive, then Clay started all over again, his demeanor only mildly less excited the second time around.
“How sure are you?” Ronan asked.
“Well… not very,” Clay admitted. “We haven’t actually seen Curran, but it’s the closest we’ve come to a lead.”
“If you haven’t seen him, how do you know he’s in Iceland?” Ronan asked. “Don’t tell me he’s been stupid enough to use his credit cards after going dark for six months.”
Clay tapped some keys on his computer and a list of names appeared on the screen at the front of the room, each of them highlighted in green, yellow, or red.
“This is a list of Curran’s known associates.” He scrolled for nearly a minute before he came to the end. “As you can see, it’s an exhaustive list. Took my people two months to put it together, but we’ve been using it to comb cameras and databases and everything else you can imagine. Some of the people have been easy to eliminate as an ally to Neil. Those are the names in green. Most of them are casual acquaintances, people he knows through his work at WMG, higher profile people who are pretty visible and easy to track, people who don’t seem to have any personal connection to Curran that would make them willing to go out on a limb. We’ve been tracking them anyway to be safe, but most of our focus has been on the other ones.”
“What do the other colors mean?” Nick asked.
It was a question they hadn’t been able to ask when Clay gave them the initial rundown, before he’d plugged his laptop into the conference room’s projector.
“The names in yellow indicate personal connections, old friends, distant relatives, people he might trust to get him out of a bind. These are the people we’re watching with the most interest. Anyone in trouble is most likely to turn to an old friend, especially when they’re trying to stay out of sight of the law.”
“And red?” Ronan asked.
Declan could see the annoyance on his brother’s face. Ronan didn’t want to decipher a color-coded spreadsheet. His time as a SEAL had accustomed him to reading battle plans — GPS and geographical terrain and security countermeasures.
Spreadsheets were Nick’s territory.
“Red is why we think we found him,” Clay said. Declan looked at the names in red on the spreadsheet. There weren’t as many of them as there were yellow and green. “They’re the people who have shady backgrounds and only casual contact with Curran — maybe they were on the same philanthropic committee or maybe they belong to the same business association,” Clay explained. “In other words, a connection capable of helping Neil hide but not necessarily willing to help him hide.”
“And this is how you found Neil?” Declan asked.
Clay tapped the keys on his computer. “This is how we think we found him.”
The screen filled with the image of an older man, probably in his seventies. His hair was silver over a lean, craggy face that would have been as at home hiking rugged terrain as it was in the custom suit he was wearing in the photo. His eyes stared like chips of blue ice from the image.
“That’s Gunnar Ármannsson,” Declan said.
Clay nodded. “That’s right.”
Ronan looked at Declan. “How the fuck do you know that?”
Declan shrugged. He had no idea how he knew a lot of the things he knew. It was a source of endless frustration to his brothers, who’d tagged him for years as lazy and undisciplined while grudgingly admitting that Declan was always prepared. He might have been late. He might have been unkept and hungover. But his brain remained able to roll out facts and figures, to propose new ideas, even when his body was barely functioning.
“Who is he?” Nick asked, his eyes trained on the photo.
“On the surface?” Clay continued without waiting for an answer. “A finance guy. He used to be chairman of the board at one of Iceland’s biggest banks. That landed him on Forbes’ list of richest people in the world, far enough down not to draw too much attention but still well over a billion dollars. He was indicted for embezzlement, spent a year in prison, then retired to a life of supposed philanthropy.”
Ronan looked at him. “Supposed?”
“He’s got some shady connections — organized crime, arms dealing, trafficking rumors. You name it, someone on the internet has accused him of doing it. No proof though, and I’m guessing he’s smart enough after getting caught once to stay pretty low to the ground on anything illegal,” Clay said.
“And this is the guy that led you to Curran?” Nick asked.
“Indirectly.
Like I said, we weren’t watching him super close. We just sent a spider in to troll data related to the red names. We didn’t get anything useful after the first month, so someone on my team had the idea of expanding the parameters to include the inner circle of the original targets.” Clay looked at them. “It was a good idea. It’s pretty on brand for the rich to hire out their dirty work.”
A spider was a web crawler designed to find certain key words, phrases, or images. It had started as a way for big companies to index their data but had morphed into a favorite tool for hackers looking for something specific.
“Smart,” Declan acknowledged.
Clay nodded and pressed one of the keys on his computer. The image on the screen changed from the one of Gunnar Ármannsson to that of an older woman. The shot had been taken with a zoom lens, the woman rushing with her head down, face partially obscured over a brightly patterned scarf. Her hair was blond, pinned to her head in a severe knot. Even in the photo Declan could see the creases on her face, the lines fanning out around her eyes.
“This is Jóhanna Leifsson,” Clay said. “She’s been a personal assistant and housekeeper to Ármannsson since he was in his thirties. There have been rumors of an affair, but no one really knows for sure. Anyway, she was included in our secondary trawl of Ármannsson. She tripped our spider when she showed up on camera at a market in Hólmavík four weeks in a row."
“And that’s significant because?” Ronan prodded.
“A few reasons,” Clay said. “First of all, Hólmavík is over three hours from Reykjavík, where Jóhanna Leifsson lives at Ármannsson's apartment. Second, there are less than four hundred people in Hólmavík. It’s not exactly a hop-skip-and-a-jump for groceries. Third, a search of records doesn’t indicate anyone known to Leifsson or Ármannsson in Hólmavík. And lastly, Curran and Ármannsson co-chaired an initiative to build wells in Ghana a few years back.”
Last Chance (Second Chance Book 3) Page 3
