by Tessa Bailey
“Goddammit,” the man shouted behind her, his nearing voice indicating that he hadn’t stayed down long. Cubs Cap growled an order in the distance. To grab Ailish. Which wasn’t going to happen as long as she was breathing. Not going back to Chicago. Can’t go back.
Tears blinded Ailish as she sprinted toward her stolen car. Almost there.
Blinding white light filled her vision, the breath leaving her body. Pain like she’d never experienced bloomed along her forehead, behind her eye sockets. Something had struck her. A fist? When she managed to crack an eyelid, she was stunned to find herself on the ground, faceup, the two men standing above her and blocking out the sun.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Cubs Cap shouted, nearly splitting Ailish’s head in half. “Bring her back unharmed. That was the job. How are we going to explain a black eye?”
“She threw a knife at me.”
Cubs Cap paced away, throwing his hands up in the air. He jerked a cell phone out of his pocket and started to dial, but Tall Man knocked the device out of his hands. A shouting match ensued. Even in her woozy state, Ailish knew this was her chance. They were distracted and believed they’d incapacitated her. The car keys were still clutched in a death grip inside her palm, the vehicle only twenty yards away. She could get there. She could.
Ailish flopped over onto her stomach and started to crawl. Her elbows dug into the dirt, little lights winking before her eyes as the pain expanded inside her skull. When a foot landed on her back and collapsed her to the ground, Ailish screamed through her teeth. Not fair. This wasn’t fair.
She was jerked up onto her feet by Tall Man—only to find a gun pointed straight at her head. “Don’t,” she managed through numb lips. “Please, don’t.”
“Can’t bring you back like this,” Tall Man said, with more than a hint of pleasure. “And can’t have you talking, saying I knocked you one.”
Ailish played her final card. “I have money,” she whispered. “I can give you money. You won’t need to go back to my father at all.”
Both men tensed, like two dogs that just had a bone tossed down between them. Their expressions turned calculating. Ailish saw Cubs Cap reach for the small of his back and dived away with a prayer on her lips, expecting to feel a bullet enter her body at any second. The quiet zing of shots being fired through a silencer were greeted by still morning silence. Silence so loud, she swore death had found her. But she couldn’t be dead if she still felt pain, could she?
Ailish uncovered her head and looked up, finding Cubs Cap staring at the crumpled body of his associate.
“You show me where the money is.” He punctuated each word by stabbing his gun in the air. “Then you get the hell out of here.”
Chapter Two
Henrik thundered into the squad meeting room, seeing his six teammates and one captain through tunnel vision. He’d never played video games—even as a kid his hands had been too big for the controllers—but he imagined this was how it felt. His objective was secondary to the more immediate crisis he’d been presented with, and that crisis was a sword twisting in his back. Nothing looked familiar or tangible. The walls could turn to smoke at any moment, so he needed to get the required information and get back to the objective.
If, in fact, that objective still existed.
A deafening ring started in his head, making his steps waver. He couldn’t think in terms of what-ifs yet or nothing would get accomplished. Nothing would move forward, because he would turn to stone. Already, his limbs felt like they were swimming through cement as the undercover squad meeting came to a standstill around him.
Henrik found Polly, much like he’d found her the first time they’d met. Always inches away from Austin, her now-boyfriend. And always calculating. But there was a difference in both Austin and Polly since coupling up, like an unbreakable alliance had been formed. One that Henrik could freely admit was formidable with Austin’s skills as a con man and master of disguises. Add in Polly’s hacking abilities and they were invaluable to the squad. A fact they made no qualms about flaunting.
Henrik made sure he had Polly’s attention. Then he removed the bloody knife from his pocket and tossed it on the dirty floor. “She wasn’t there.”
If he’d been in a room full of cops—or even law-abiding citizens—they would have already exploded with questions. Where did you get the knife? Who wasn’t where? However, Henrik was in a room with Bowen and Connor, former gang members from Brooklyn. Erin, a pyromaniac and accomplished escape artist. Seraphina, a rogue cop whose revenge plans had once almost gotten her killed. Austin, a con man with a God complex, and expert hacker, Polly. So instead of asking the typical questions, they all leaned back in their chairs and waited, watching through their own unique, dysfunctional lenses to consider their play. Distantly, Henrik wondered if the smoke coming out of his ears was white, blue, or possibly a light shade of purple.
“She wasn’t there,” Polly repeated, having the decency to look a little pale. “But the knife was?”
Henrik’s chest tried to cave in. “That’s about right. Signs of a struggle outside, too. She’s gone. And that might be her…blood, goddammit.” He drew a long breath that hung in his neck like dangling razor blades. “Why don’t you have your laptop out yet?” Incidentally, another device for which his fingers proved too large. “Get it out.”
Austin came to his feet beside Polly, his once-nemesis. “I understand your frustration, old boy. But you’re going to want to rethink your tone.”
Derek blocked Austin from Henrik’s line of vision. Only then did it occur to Henrik that the captain hadn’t asked any questions, either. Attempting to blend in with the team he’d built? Or had the line between cop and criminal become just as blurred for Derek as it had for Henrik? Didn’t matter. He couldn’t question the captain’s motives now. He had to find Ailish. He’d stopped second-guessing his sanity and embraced the lunacy of finding this girl he didn’t even know. And it felt good, simply allowing the need to rule him. He’d explore his motivation after he knew she was safe.
“Who are you referring to, Henrik?” Derek asked, wariness in the lines of his shoulders. “Or do I already know?”
Henrik stayed silent, giving the captain his answer.
“Jesus Christ.” Derek raked a hand down his face, then turned to Polly. “You lied about Ailish O’Kelly being off the radar. You said you were working on pinning her down, but you already had.”
Austin spoke before Polly could respond. “My fault, as usual.” Cockiness laced the Brit’s tone. “We needed leverage on Henrik, and Polly, darling genius that she is, procured it. But it was my plan. So direct your outrage at me, if you please.”
Of course, the arrogant con referred to his and Polly’s scheme to draw their own big-fish enemy out into the open last month, by using Henrik as bait. They’d made the claim to their mark, who also happened to be Austin’s ex-business partner, that Henrik was willing to throw an underground fight for a big payoff. In exchange for participating in their con, Polly had given Henrik Ailish’s location, the fruit borne of hours spent hacking security cameras and cell phone towers.
Bowen’s chair scraped back, the ex-Brooklynite jumping up to pace, his usual restless energy a living thing inside the room. “Man, Austin. I won’t ever get used to the way you talk. And I sure as shit don’t want to.”
Henrik ignored the verbal posturing that ensued between Austin and Bowen—and the quiet patience with which Bowen’s girlfriend, Sera, attempted to calm them—focusing instead on what Derek had revealed. “You asked Polly to look for Ailish O’Kelly?” He took a step closer to the captain. “Why? We cleared her of charges. In case you forgot, that’s the reason I’m not wearing a badge anymore.”
“Oh, I didn’t forget. It’s the same reason I didn’t tell you we are looking for her.” Derek shook his head. “You might have destroyed the evidence against her, but she’s still an asset in the case against her father.”
Henrik resisted the urge t
o check his stomach for holes. “You can’t put her on the stand. They won’t let her live to see the trial.”
“I have no such plans.” Derek paused, obviously taking Henrik’s measure. “She’ll be more useful to us inside the house.”
“Hell no. Not happening.” Henrik schooled his features so they wouldn’t portray the worry eating him alive. “If she lit out of Chicago, even as a free woman, she had good reason. Caine. And he might have already gotten to her.”
A hand patted him between the shoulder blades in the rhythm of “Shave and a Haircut.” Erin. Had to be. His guess was proven correct when the blonde stepped into his tunnel vision. “She’s probably alive.”
Connor, Erin’s ex-SEAL boyfriend, who was never far behind the blonde, cleared his throat and drew Henrik’s attention. “If you hadn’t found the knife, I would assume her father found her. Caine O’Kelly is a ruthless bastard, but I can’t imagine he would want his own daughter killed in cold blood.”
Erin tilted her head. “Not without saying good-bye first.”
Henrik held up both hands in a request for silence. “No more theories. No more guessing. I need facts.” He turned to send Polly a pointed look, but she already had her laptop open. Her fingers stopped flying over the keyboard long enough to flip him the bird before she went straight back to typing, while Austin looked on proudly from his lean against the wall.
“What do you plan to do with those facts?” Derek asked. “You’re not operating on your own this time. You’ve already proven you’re far from objective where Ailish O’Kelly is concerned.”
There was a surge of adrenaline that always rushed through Henrik before a bout, when everything in his body went loose, apart from his fists. It happened now, the familiar slide into no-man’s-land, causing his decreased vision to narrow even further, further until all he could see was the bloody knife on the ground.
But he beat back the claustrophobic feeling and forced himself to breathe, to think. If he displayed nonobjective behavior, Derek and the squad would have no choice but to cut him out. And this dank basement of an abandoned community center was all he had left to his name. He’d been given a reprieve from prison—sent to purgatory with other misfits just like him. Now compromises needed to be made. Oh, he would find Ailish. Wouldn’t stop until he’d achieved that end. He couldn’t, however, risk being cut out of the picture once he did.
Henrik gave Derek his full attention. “You’ve got it out for Caine O’Kelly. I understand. Your department has been trying to make something stick since I went through the academy.” He swallowed the discomfort the next part instilled. “You need Ailish in order to do that? Fine. But we both know what I’d put on the line for her best interest. If you want to bring her back to Chicago—before anyone else goes after her with a butcher knife—I can guarantee I’m the one who’ll get her here safely.”
A muscle ticked in Derek’s jaw. “Polly?”
The hacker punched a few more keys. “I’ve got a hit. Do you want the good news or the bad news?”
“Bad,” everyone answered at the same time, except Henrik, who desperately needed some good news. Fucking cons.
“Is it too late to choose prison over joining this team?” Henrik wondered out loud.
Polly shrugged. “Sorry, buddy. The masses have spoken. Bad news is, Ailish is either out of money or foolish. Good news is, she’s alive.” The printer on Derek’s desk began to spew out documents, thankfully disguising the deflated sound that whooshed from Henrik’s mouth. “A big-box store north of Wisconsin ran a credit report on Ailish a few hours ago. She must have applied for a store credit card. Not too smart when you’re trying to disappear, but who am I to judge?” Polly closed the laptop and examined her nails. “Anyway, she’s moved north to the Great Lakes state.”
Weight fell from Henrik’s shoulders, allowing him to skirt the group and retrieve the printed documents. “Michigan.”
“Yes,” Polly continued. “When you get to her—and please note my agreement that you should be the one to go—make sure she keeps her cell phone off. Last time she turned it on, her father called. Good for us, because I traced her location via a cell phone tower. Bad for her if Caine O’Kelly has an employee with rudimentary tracing skills.”
“God, but I love my girl,” Austin murmured.
Derek considered him for a beat. “Get moving, Vance. You’ve got a week to get Ailish O’Kelly back here, or I’ll do it myself,” he said, stepping into Henrik’s personal space and lowering his voice. “Listen, this department would place a lot of value on the man who finally managed to roll O’Kelly. You accomplish that? You’ll have my full support to be reinstated as an officer.”
In the midst of his urgency to drive like a bat out of hell to Michigan, the captain’s unexpected delivery of hope almost wasn’t welcome. Too good to dwell on when his priorities were so firmly elsewhere. But the hope wouldn’t be denied. Not completely. It started in his stomach and rolled out like a ripple effect. Cautious, but alive. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll do the right thing. Bring the girl back for your own sake.” He tipped his head forward, eyebrows drawn. “And for the love of everything holy, keep it in your pants.”
...
The first time Ailish ran away, she was thirteen. She’d walked out of her all-girls private school and saw the black town car waiting for her at the curb, the bulky man in sunglasses waiting to bring her back to the walled prison she called home. She remembered that afternoon so clearly because it had marked a week since her mother left. Just…left. Sure, the relationship between Caine and her mother had been volatile, but she hadn’t even tried to keep Ailish. Hadn’t even said good-bye.
Gangster. Evil. Murderer. Words her classmates whispered as they passed her in the hallways, in reference to her father. For a thirteen-year-old girl who’d just essentially lost her mother, any excuse to run away had been welcome. Run away from the male-dominated house, a father who became less recognizable by the day, her new, confusing hormones. So many ambiguities in her life and nowhere to turn. So she’d booked it, without any idea of where she might end up.
The man in sunglasses had caught up with her at the corner noodle shop. She could still remember that frigid fear of being cornered. That realization that she couldn’t survive on her own, even if she got away. No money, no friends. A severe lack of social skills, thanks to her sheltered existence.
That hadn’t stopped her from trying. Again and again.
If anything, Ailish’s faith in humanity had been restored since leaving Chicago. A ramshackle car dealership just outside of Green Bay had traded in her car with no questions asked, giving her a few hundred dollars on top of it, due to the difference in quality of the vehicles. The cash had been sorely needed since Cubs Hat’s greed had left her broke back in Wisconsin. She didn’t realize until later, when a Walmart employee bent over backward to help her apply for a store credit card, that the black eye was responsible for everyone’s apparent sympathy. Not wanting to give a false impression, Ailish had explained to the employee that she was just fine. There was no need for concern. But she stopped when it became apparent her words were falling on deaf ears.
Once she’d reached the small waterside city of Escanaba, Michigan, she’d been given the same careful once-over upon walking into the cabin rental office. Based on the other clientele milling around, the cabins were rented mostly by fishermen and families looking for a quick weekend at the lake. But the woman behind the counter had handed her a key, asking only for a small deposit. Unfortunately, that small deposit had cleaned her out. Tomorrow she would need to think about a temporary job. Maybe renting fishing gear, or—
Creak.
Ailish dropped the Cup Noodles, wincing when the hot soup splashed up onto her bare legs. Not again.
This time, however, she was better prepared.
She jogged to her twin bed, lifted the mattress, and removed the nine-millimeter she’d stolen from Tall Man’s waistband whi
le fleeing from the guesthouse in Wisconsin. After which she’d thrown up in the dirt. Twice. Right now, though, she was sure as hell glad she’d taken the weapon.
Ailish positioned her legs shoulder width apart and pointed the gun at the cabin’s only entrance. When she caught her reflection in the mirror, she deflated a little. No one looked threatening in a Disney Princesses T-shirt—courtesy of the sale section at Walmart—and no pants. She probably didn’t have time to change, right?
The doorknob jiggled and Ailish stifled a gasp. Inhaling nice and slow, she steadied the gun. Ready. She was ready for whomever her father had sent. They weren’t good men. They were men who killed for a living. She had to remember that.
Another creak outside on the porch. “Ailish O’Kelly?”
The booming voice startled her—and then she heard a pop. Followed by a pained growl. Ailish stared at the hole in the door in disbelief before transferring her attention to the gun in her hand. It was hotter than it had been a moment ago. She’d fired a bullet? How was the possible? No…it wasn’t possible. She’d barely grazed the trigger.
“You shot me?”
Okay, maybe she had pulled the trigger. Oh God. What would she do if this unknown person died? Worst-case scenario, she’d planned to aim for their leg and call an ambulance while she slipped out the side window. But the bullet had fired high. “Are y-you okay?”
A long pause. “I don’t know how to answer that.”
Ailish set the gun down on the rickety wooden dresser before thinking better of being weaponless and picking it up again. “Who are you? Did my father send you?”
“No.” A gritted curse. “I’m…with the Chicago Police Department.”
Her stomach dropped. “I don’t know which one is worse.”
