Chapter Twenty-Three

 

Kevin finally showed, but Ash was tired of waiting for someone to come up with a better plan than walking the streets.

He’d brought Bella back to her hotel, but on their way back, he was met by two of Boston’s finest before he’d crossed John Fitzgerald Surface Road. Officers McKinley and Trask talked his ear off while they escorted him and Bella to safety, but they’d asked good questions, too.

By the time he hit the doors of the hotel, they knew all about Liam O’Callaghan and his terrorist ways, only none of those good questions or answers located Colby, did they?

“Stop yer pacing,” Kevin said quietly. “I’ve men on the streets and the boys in blue are searching. They’ll find her.” He hadn’t moved from the chair by the window since he’d joined the wait, nor would he. Kevin was too good a friend to leave Ash to face this nightmare alone, but ’twas obvious the stress was wearing on him. Poor bloke looked as if he hadn’t slept a wink.

Ash rolled the despair off his blistered neck. Again. He’d lost everything over these past few years, he didn’t intend to lose Colby too. But who was that woman in the cape, if she was not a figment of Bella’s dementia? That was the question he could nah answer. Had Liam recruited his entire gang to America? For the love of Mike, was he even behind any of this? The not knowing was the worst part of the waiting.

Ash clenched his fists tight. He needed to hit something at the thought of Liam in Boston. Every call to his brother’s phone had gone to voicemail, as had every call to Colby’s gone to hers. Not that the odd coincidence meant anything, but it bloody well could.

Liam was the dark son in the family, the one who’d never stopped until he had what he wanted. He wouldn’t stop now. Even as a boy, he’d been the ne’er-do-gooder, the liar, and the cheat. The thieving scoundrel who had no problem breaking his mother’s heart—or burning her home to the ground with her in it.

How many times had Ash covered for him? Too many, and Ash regretted now every single instance of what he’d thought then was brotherly love. ’Twas Liam who’d driven his parents to their early graves. Liam who thought the world owed him, and Liam who always did as he’d please. ’Twould be a cold day in Hell he did the same to Colby.

But wishes were a lazy man’s way of planning for his future, like believing he didn’t need fire insurance. Ash knew better now. He ached to strike back.

Liam’s last words hadn’t been kind. They’d fought fisticuffs that day at the farm, half in, half out of the river. Sheep scattered, and aye, Ash got his arse handed to him, but before Liam kicked muck into his face, he’d also promised, “I’ll kill you the next time we meet, brother. Go on, Ash! Move to America like the coward you are! You think I can nah reach you there?” He’d spat the blood out of his mouth on Ash then. “And when you do, I’ll follow and kill every last thing or person you love.”

The vile memory demanded another pass through the gilded suite Bella’s lofty position in society afforded her. Once around the settee in her lavish sitting room, then through a kitchen his entire flat would’ve fit in without crowding the walls. Circles. Ash was literally walking in circles with no end in sight and nowhere to go.

“Come on, have a chair,” Kevin offered again. “You’re wearing a path. You’ll make yourself sick if you keep this up.”

Ash glared at his friend. “I am sick, you eejit!” he hissed. “This is my fault. Whoever started those fires is after me, not Colby! Don’t you understand? I’ve caused this. If it’s Liam—”

“You don’ t know if he’s even in the country.”

“Then who?” Ash roared, his last nerve frazzled. “Who else could it be? Who else hates me enough to burn Boston to the ground to get at me?” Of course it’s Liam.

“We don’t know for certain this is related to you.” The man sounded tired and spent, but had he forgotten?

“Like hell,” Ash spat. “Your own department’s building a case against me, remember? Don’t lie to me, not now. I know too much.” And yet I know nothing at all. But someone does. “Give me the name of that insurance investigator, Kev. Do you have it on you?”

Kevin patted his chest pocket, then pulled out a business card. “Here. Give him a call, but I promise you, he’s not a pleasant chap to chat with, especially today.”

“Why?”

“I challenged his findings this morning. I gave him names, Ash, character witnesses willing to vouch for you, and it was a long list. I told him he’s got nothing to charge you with, but the bugger said he’s got all he needs to get you jailed.”

“He still thinks I’m the arsonist?” It made no sense. “All he’s got is circumstantial evidence, and those signatures he’s collected won’t stand up in court. What’s his name?”

Kevin sighed. “It’s on the card.”

Ash took the chair opposite Kevin’s and dialed a Mr. Giles Bottomly of Leviathan Mutual. Bottomly, huh. Sounded downright British. A Brit who hated the Irish maybe? Was that why he was so hard set Ash was guilty? Could prejudice be driving this bloke’s vendetta? It was something to consider.

Scraping his thumbnail over the fine filigree inked on the business card, a whisper niggled at the back of Ash’s mind. Something he could nah put his finger on, but something important. Something he should have done, as if he’d missed an important date or forgotten a customer order. As if he’d left his stove on.

Puzzled, he flipped the card over, then flipped it to its fine front again. Leviathan Mutual. Why did that name sound familiar?

The bloke’s phone rang until it call-forwarded Ash to another number, then dialed it for him. He sat waiting, his gut in knots along with every muscle in his body.

At last. A voice answered. Ash blinked, not believing what—or who—he heard on the other end of that line. “Hammer? Is that you?”

“Ah, sorry. Wrong num—”

“Hammer!” Ash jumped to his feet. “Don’t you be hanging up on me! I know ’tis you. What the bloody hell?”

But click. The line went dead.

“Hammer answered?” Kevin asked, his voice filled with disbelief.

Ash stared at his phone. “Aye. Hammer.” My friend?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Surrender was not the Ranger way. Neither was giving up when the going got tough, by hell. Colby grunted, putting everything into escaping the plastic ties that hindered her circulation. She had to do this quickly, yet passively. Losing her head would only waste time and energy she couldn’t spare. Who knew how long she’d be stuck down here?

You can do this, because you’ve done it before. Damn straight.

She’d practiced this exact scenario in the Army. Her wrists were bound wrist-to-wrist and horizontal, a lead pipe between her and her hands. Without knowing where the door to this small room was, or if there was one—she could’ve been dropped in through a hole in the ceiling—Colby settled cross-legged to work her escape.

It’s not a matter of if, but when…

Whoever’d fastened the zip-ties must’ve been a novice. They were loose. Not only loose, but a better restraint would’ve been to bind them tight with her wrists crossed. Wrist-to-wrist restraints made for easier escapes. She’d already shimmied the ratcheting tail until it faced her. Then she’d clamped it between her teeth and pulled to make sure it was snug, good and tight until it hurt to the point of cutting her skin.

Ready? Oh, hell yeah.

Sucking in a cleansing breath, Colby lifted to her knees and stretched both arms forward as far as she could. Then, with the pipe in her face, she jerked her elbows down, and… SNAP!

Okay, that hurt—a lot, but she was free. “In your face!” she spat to the dark, rubbing her sore wrists. Not like being free solved everything, but now she was pissed and dangerous, too.

“I’m coming for you,” she called to whoever was on the other side of her ceiling. “So run, you chicken shit coward! Run while you still can!”