Last Chance (Second Chance Book 3)

by Michelle St. James

  She thought about her Uncle Neil, the man who’d been a fixture in her life since she’d been born, attending every birthday party, every holiday, every graduation. He was in his sixties, still fit but old enough that it was impossible to imagine him storming the house, successfully overpowering her.

  Beth had been a pain in Kate’s ass since she’d been born. They’d been at odds more often than not. But they were still sisters, and Kate refused to believe Beth would try to hurt her.

  Then she realized it wasn’t about Neil or Beth at all. Neil was smart, even wily, but he was no mastermind. And Beth could barely hold down a job.

  Head over heart…

  Her dad’s words, words she’d heeded in every facet of her life — except this one.

  Neil and Beth had been an unlikely team since the beginning, but Kate had been too wrapped up in her own pain, her own betrayal, to look at the situation dispassionately.

  Now she realized their partnership had always been improbable. Not because they didn’t have motive — Neil’s jealousy and Beth’s alienation would have provided more than enough fuel for their plans — but because neither of them were disciplined enough, patient enough, to execute a plan that involved killing off Mac Walsh, gathering enough shares of WMG to initiate a hostile takeover, and doing it all without drawing attention from the law or the vultures who watched the stock market for any anomalies, including a massive stock transfer or purchase.

  Hadn’t she felt all along that there was something else going on? That she and Declan and MIS were missing something? Some piece of the puzzle?

  Maybe it was just a fresh rush of paranoia, but her fear at the sound she’d heard from the door seemed like a warning, her long-ignored instinct telling her there was a reason she’d never been afraid of Neil. She’d been repulsed by him, by what he’d done, but even after his murder of her father had been revealed, even after he’d taken Griff too far out in the cove, she’d never been afraid of him.

  Because deep down she’d wondered if maybe someone else was on the sidelines calling the shots and pulling strings.

  Someone far more dangerous. Someone who would give her reason to be afraid.

  8

  Declan glanced at the iPad balanced in the console of the Rover, his eyes on the image of the road displayed there.

  “It’s too soon,” Nick said from the passenger seat. “They just got to the market.”

  “I know.” The fact that Nick was right didn’t make him any less annoying.

  Ronan had texted them when Jóhanna Leifsson had pulled away from the curb in Reykjavík. He’d tailed her all the way to Hólmavík, texting an update an hour into the drive when she’d stopped for gas and a bathroom break.

  Last they’d heard, she’d arrived at the market in Hólmavík. It was too small to provide cover, and Ronan had stayed outside in the car, waiting while she did the weekly shopping for whoever was inside the house half a mile from where Declan and Nick were parked on a side road lined with trees off the main road leading to the house.

  They’d been planting cameras along the road for the past three days, hiding them in the trees so they would be able to see Leifsson’s approach when she made her weekly trip to the house.

  So far no one had left the house via the road, and no one had arrived that way either. Whoever was holed up in the house was locked down tight.

  A new text pinged Nick’s phone and he looked down at his screen. “She’s leaving. Ronan’s on her tail, but he’s going to drop it when she turns onto the road.”

  “Good.” The road leading to the house was too small, too deserted, to allow Ronan to tail Leifsson without being seen. They would have to use the cameras from here on out, the cameras and the listening device Ronan had planted in Leifsson’s bag during a planned run-in on the street in Reykjavík that had caused the woman’s bag to spill onto the pavement.

  “Think Beth’s in there?” Nick asked.

  “It stands to reason,” Declan said. “Where else has she been all these months?”

  He thought of Kate, of the way her eyes darkened when someone mentioned Beth, the tension that still hung over every interaction between Kate and her mom because of Annie Walsh’s affair with Neil Curran all those years ago.

  “Gonna be tricky if she is,” Nick said.

  “That’s the understatement of the year.”

  Kate had been worried sick about the prospect, trying to give Declan the room he needed to get Neil while also begging him to be careful of Beth.

  It wasn’t the way MIS usually worked. Their raids weren’t designed to minimize collateral damage — they were designed to take out the target at a time when no one else was around to bear witness to it.

  MIS wasn’t in the business of hurting innocent people. The justice was exacted under cover of night, with no witnesses, at a time when the people who had motive were setting up airtight alibis.

  But his job wasn’t like the others, and it wasn’t just a job. Neil had to pay for what he’d done to Mac Walsh, to Kate and Griffin by taking Mac away from them, but they needed details on what Neil had planned, and they had to protect Beth even if she was part of it.

  Kate didn’t fool him. Whatever she said, she was anything but sure about their relationship. She loved him. He knew that much was true. But the newly revealed lies in her parents’ marriage had created doubt in her mind, making her wonder if she could really trust Declan, if she could really trust anything.

  He worried that she would use any excuse to put distance between them, and no excuse would be more powerful than something happening to Beth at the hands of MIS.

  Of Declan.

  They didn’t know for sure that Beth was inside with Neil, but if she was, they would have to create an airtight plan for getting her out alive, and for keeping Neil alive long enough to get the information they needed out of him.

  “We can’t guarantee her survival,” Nick said, still talking about Beth. “You know that.”

  Declan looked at him. “We have to. And Neil’s too, at least in the short term.”

  Nick shook his head and swore. “That isn’t our business, Dec.”

  “It is now. Besides, that’s not what you were saying when we were sniffing around Alexa’s accident, and it’s not what Ronan was saying when we agreed to search for Elise.”

  His brothers had only found the women they loved because MIS had broken the rules, taken cases that stood in opposition to their mission statement of providing the ultimate justice only after all the facts were in — criminals who went free on technicalities, whose cases were thrown out of court because some beat cop didn’t deliver Miranda, who’d managed to escape arrest time and time again when the evidence made it clear they were guilty of hurting innocents.

  What MIS wasn’t was an investigative firm, and they definitely weren’t in the business of searching for kidnap victims like Elise.

  But they’d done it. They’d broken the rules to save Elise from Manifest. They’d broken the rules to deliver justice for Alexa by discovering the identity of the powerful man who’d killed her best friend and almost killed Alexa in a hit-and-run accident a decade earlier.

  “Point taken,” Nick said.

  Declan relaxed his shoulders. The same conversation with Ronan wouldn’t have gone the same way. Ronan would have argued the ways the Walsh case was different from the other exceptions, mostly because he just didn’t like being wrong.

  “Killing Neil doesn’t tell us anything about what he had planned and whether those plans are still in effect.” Declan was reiterating points that had been made in previous conversations, just to make sure they were on the same page. “And killing Beth solves nothing. She’s not the real target here.”

  He stopped short of saying she was a victim. She had undoubtedly been manipulated by Neil, who’d used her resentment about her paternity and her need for approval from her biological father to get her on his side.

  But she was also an adult. She was responsible for her c
hoices, and she would have to pay for those choices one way or another.

  That wasn’t death. Being stupid, being naive and bitter, wasn’t a crime.

  No, but murder is.

  He silenced the voice in his mind. They didn’t know Beth had been in on Neil’s plans to murder Mac. Until they could confirm that, she was only guilty of working with Neil to gather enough shares for a takeover of WMG.

  It was a betrayal of the family, of Mac Walsh’s legacy, but it wasn’t murder.

  Nick’s phone pinged again. “Ronan just left her at the road. He’s heading to the house. We should be seeing Leifsson any second.”

  Declan turned his eyes to the iPad where eight different camera feeds displayed different parts of the road. Twenty seconds later, a white Volvo appeared on one of the screens.

  “There she is,” Declan murmured. “Camera one.”

  Nick reached into the console for the receiver, transmitting from the bug in Leifsson’s bag. “I’m going to turn up the audio.”

  A muffled rumbling filled the car as the audio from the listening device planted by Ronan, obviously still in Leifsson's handbag, filled the car.

  “I hope we’ll be able to hear enough when she gets inside,” Declan said.

  “We will,” Nick said, his eyes on the iPad. “The ambient sound from the car is making it garbled. Camera three.”

  Declan watched as Leifsson’s car passed through the feeds from the rest of the cameras, traversing the route to the house they’d been watching for the past four days.

  “And she’s turning into the driveway,” Nick said, leaning back in the passenger seat, his eyes on the feed from the last camera.

  From here on out they would have to rely on the audio feed. It had been too risky to plant cameras closer to the house. They couldn’t afford for Neil to spot them and run. Not when it had taken them six months to uncover the most tenuous of leads.

  An assortment of bumps and jolts sounded from the audio feed, a product of the dirt road leading to the house, visible from the drone footage they’d managed to get of the property.

  The feed went silent and a few seconds later a faint rhythmic ding became audible: the sound of the open door warning on Leifsson’s car.

  The next five minutes brought an assortment of sounds: Leifsson closing the car door, the rustle of grocery bags, the slam of the trunk, the crunch of gravel under her feet as she presumably made her way to the house.

  Declan hated not being able to see. “This sucks. We’re flying blind.”

  “I know but once she’s inside it’ll be easier. I just hope we’ll be able to tell if it’s Neil.”

  “I’ll be able to tell.” Neil Curran had lied to Declan’s family, used them, put Griffin in harm’s way. “We’re recording too right?”

  Nick checked the device to be sure. “Yep.”

  “Good. Then we can have Kate listen to verify. She’s known Curran her whole life.”

  Nick nodded, then held up a finger to indicate Declan should be quiet as the sound of muffled voices came from the receiver.

  Declan leaned in, trying to get a better handle on the voices, but all that was clear was that Leifsson was talking to a man.

  “Can you…?” Declan gestured to the receiver and Nick played with the controls, trying to refine the transmission.

  The car filled with the sound of voices, muted but clear.

  “Thank you,” the man said, followed by the rustle of bags.

  “You’re welcome,” the woman said in accented English. “Unfortunately, Mr. Ármannsson has asked me to pass along the message that we will not be able to continue such assistance. It poses too great a risk.”

  “I’ll phone him. I need another month,” the man said.

  Nick lifted his eyebrows at Declan. “Is it him?” he mouthed.

  Declan held up a finger. He needed more.

  “You can try,” the woman said. “But it has been six months. Our exposure is too great, to say nothing of the burden. I’m sure you understand.”

  “I do, of course. And I hope you know how much I appreciate your assistance.” Declan might have expected the man's voice to be pleading, but something cold and tight had crept into it instead. It was the voice of entitlement, a man who expected everything to go his way and always found someone to blame when it didn’t. “It’s taking longer than I’d expected to get everything in order, but I’m almost there, and I can promise Mr. Ármannsson that the payoff will be well worth the wait.

  “It’s him,” Declan said.

  Nick looked at him. “You sure?”

  “I’m sure, but we’ll play the recording for Kate anyway.”

  “Let’s wait,” Nick said.

  Once Leifsson left the house, they’d be in the dark. They needed to see if anyone else was with Neil, if a reference was made to another person or if someone else spoke up.

  But in the next five minutes there was no sign of anyone else. Just a bland exchange between Leifsson and Neil discussing the supplies purchased by Leifsson, a bundle of cash that was apparently part of the deal, courtesy of Gunnar Ármannsson, and a new track phone that had been requested by Neil.

  Then Jóhanna Leifsson was on her way out of the house, wishing Neil well, seeming in a hurry to get away from him. They waited for the sounds of her leaving to play in reverse: her footsteps as she walked to the car, the ding of the door alarm, the slam as she closed the door, the soft rumble of the engine catching.

  Nick turned the audio down and stashed the receiver back in the console. “So either Beth isn’t there or she was in another room.”

  “Fuck.” Declan was hoping for something more definitive one way or the other. Any breach of the house would have to be executed carefully, with the possibility of Beth’s presence and the need to keep her alive looming over every move they made.

  Nick yawned. “Let’s go back to the house. I’m starving. At least we know Curran’s there, and we know he doesn’t have a team of security with him,” Nick said.

  It should have been comforting. They wouldn’t be facing a swarm of armed men protecting Neil. But Declan couldn’t help feeling that would have been preferable. They knew how to deal with security, with mercenaries, with anyone intent on killing them.

  Keeping someone alive was a different kind of burden.

  9

  Kate looked up as Ronan came into the great room. “Good morning! Or should I say good afternoon?”

  He yawned and stretched. “Morning. I didn’t mean to sleep so late.”

  “I’m sure you’ve had a long few days,” she said.

  He’d arrived at the house the night before, after passing Jóhanna Leifsson's car off to Declan and Nick via the cameras they’d set up on the road. Less than an hour later, Declan and Nick had returned with the news they’d been waiting to confirm: Neil was here, in Iceland, just a few miles away.

  It was still a shock.

  “Funny how sitting and walking can be so exhausting,” Ronan said referring to the hours he’d spent staking out Gunnar Ármannsson’s apartment in Reykjavík and tailing Jóhanna Leifsson through the city’s streets. “I take it there’s coffee?”

  “In the kitchen,” Kate said. “Want to sit on the deck? I could use a break.”

  She’d already participated in an early morning meeting with her staff back in Boston, reviewed the marketing budgets for the coming month, and sent several emails regarding recent focus groups on new design directions for WMG’s magazine division. Plus, she hadn’t been able to be outside when she’d been in the house alone. Now that Ronan was there, she couldn’t imagine Declan objecting to coffee on the deck.

  “Sure.” He opened a couple of cupboards, looking for coffee mugs, then pushed a cup under the high-end espresso machine in the kitchen. “Dec already out?”

  She nodded and shut her computer. “He left first thing. Nick’s asleep.”

  Now that they’d confirmed Neil was at the house, they didn’t want to risk him leaving. Nick and Declan had
decided to take alternating shifts watching the camera feeds on the road leading to the house, with Nick taking the first overnight shift and Declan relieving him in the morning.

  They would rotate Ronan in while they organized a plan for going in to get Neil.

  “Stakeouts suck,” Ronan said, pulling his steaming cup out from under the machine. “Amazing how hard it is just to be still.”

  She stood and picked up her cup, then opened the door leading to the deck. “I can only imagine.”

  Ronan’s eyes were pulled to the view beyond the deck. “Wow.”

  It had been dark when he’d arrived the night before. Now the sun cast hazy light on the yellow grass covering the hill that led to the water, a blanket of mist unfurling as far as the eye could see.

  “Gorgeous right?” She inhaled the clean air, glad to be out of the house. She checked the lounge chairs on the deck for dew, then settled into one of them when she realized the sun had burned it off.

  “It’s incredible.” He took the chair next to hers, leaned back with a sigh, and took a drink of his coffee. “Must have been lonely here for you though.”

  “It wasn’t so bad,” she said. “Declan didn’t want me outside, which I understand, but at least I had the view, and I could open the doors on the deck for some fresh air when I needed it.”

  “I guess there are worse places to be trapped,” Ronan said.

  She smiled. “Definitely.”

  They sat in silence for a few minutes, both of them looking out over the fields and sea, before Ronan spoke again.

  “You really don’t think Beth is there? With Neil?” he asked.

  “I really don’t,” she said. “Beth isn’t exactly known for keeping quiet. If she’d been in the house, I think Declan and Nick would have picked her up on the bug.”

  “Still no guarantee though. Jóhanna Leifsson was only inside the house for a few minutes,” Ronan said.

  “That’s true. I just don’t think she’s there. I wish she was.” Every day without news of Beth was an exercise in worry and frustration. Kate wanted her found, wanted to know she was safe in spite of everything, but just as badly, she wanted to ask the questions that had been burning in her mind since she’d discovered Beth was working with Neil.