Chapter 16: Claire

We drove for nearly two hours on the interstate, heading south out of the city, then Sean took an exit that turned onto a narrow two lane country road and we drove for another thirty minutes.

For a just a brief moment, it occurred to me that Sean might have found out that I was a cop and was taking me out to the country to put a bullet in my head.

I know, I watched too many episodes of The Sopranos.

I knew exactly what he wanted to put in me and it wasn’t a bullet.

Besides, if he found out I was a cop he would have just shunned me, not killed me. I pushed the thought out of my head and settled in for the ride. I wasn’t the least bit afraid of Sean. To the contrary, with my hand resting on his on the console between us, I felt completely safe at his side.

We chatted as we drove and the more we talked, the more I grew to like him, even though I told myself not to get too close.

He’s a criminal, Claire.

He breaks the law.

You’re going to put him behind bars.

Don’t get too attached.

Focus, Claire. Focus…

Along the way, we talked about places we’d been and places we wanted to go. We talked more about our families, swapped stories about our parents and our upbringing. I noticed the respect in his voice when he talked about his dad. It was easy to tell that Sean loved Patsy O’Connor despite his crimes and shortcomings. It was also clear why he got involved in the family business when he had so many other opportunities available to him.

Sean O’Connor was a loyal Irish son. He would do anything for his father, including, I suspected, break the law.

We eventually stopped on the side of a dirt road next to a rolling field of tall grass that went on as far as the eye could see.

“This is it,” Sean said, shutting off the engine and opening his door. He came around to open my door, then extended a hand to help me out. He closed the door and we both leaned back against the car to look out over the pristine landscape. It reminded me of an oil painting I’d once seen.

“It’s beautiful,” I said, lifting my sunglasses to the top of my head. “What do you plan on doing with it?”

“You see that hill?” he asked as he slid his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. “I am going to build my dream home on that spot.”

I frowned at him. “Really? I thought you would probably say that you were going to build a subdivision or something and make a bunch of money off it.”

He shook his head. “No, I’ll probably spend a bunch of money getting exactly what I want, but there will be no development and no neighbors. My house will be in the middle of twenty acres and the nearest neighbor will be five miles away.”

I watched his face as he talked about building his home on the hill. His eyes were animated, excited, as if he could already see the home sitting there. He told me everything he planned to do, talking with his hands.

“There will be a big farm house there on the hill with a pool and tennis courts out back, a barn over to that side, stables for horses over there, maybe a few cows and goats.”

“Goats?” I asked, looking at him sideways.

He smiled. “Goats eat grass, they will help keep the pastures cut.”

“Ah. Look at you, Farmer Brown.”

“That’s me,” he said with a sigh. “Farmer Sean Brown.”

“And when do you plan on building your house here?”

The smile faded from his lips. He let the arm drop from around my shoulders so he could fold his arms over his chest. “No idea. At least not until I can convince my dad to retire.”

“You want him to retire?”

He stared into the distance as he spoke. “Yes. I’ve been trying to get him to retire for years. As soon as he does, I’ll arrange the sale of his business and he and mom will have a nice nest egg to carry with them to Florida or wherever they decide to go.”

“And what will you do?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Practice law, maybe. Do what I was meant to do in the first place.”

I tried to study his face without staring. I asked, “So you want to sell the business? I assumed it made you a fortune.”

“The business does very well, but it’s not my business. It belongs to my dad. It’s never been mine. I take a nice salary, but I don’t own any part of it.”

“I get the feeling that you don’t like the business very much.”

He gave me a little sideways smile. “Between you and me, Claire, I hate the fucking business. I’m only involved because dad needed my help. Now I virtually run the place. Without me, it would go under. I can’t let that happen. Dad’s worked too hard. His whole life is tied up in the place.”

“I had no idea,” I said quietly.

“Don’t worry,” he said, bumping me with his elbow. “I’ll need a great secretary to keep me straight if I open a law office.”

“That’s nice to know,” I said absently.

My mind began to race. How was he going to sell a business that ran illegal goods in and out of the port? Unless he had managed to separate the bad from the good, as Lester’s source had suggested.

“Are you sorry that you took over the business?” I asked. I looped my arm through his and put my head on his shoulder. I wasn’t sure why, but I suddenly felt sorry for him. Maybe he wasn’t a criminal after all. Maybe he was just a good son put in a bad situation out of loyalty to his father. Still, that didn’t matter. If he was breaking the law he was just as guilty as his father.

“Sometimes I regret getting involved,” he said, taking a deep breath and blowing it out slowly. “But that’s what good Irish sons do.”

“You really are a good son,” I said, reaching up to kiss his cheek.

“Thanks,” he said, finally smiling. He held out his hand. “Come on. Let me show you where the bedroom is going to be.”