Chapter Fifteen
Caroline
Present Day
Seven hours later, I’d left Juliet with Frankie again. I’d put her to bed like everything was normal and hoped the East Coast time zone didn’t mess with her too much. Although she didn’t fight more than usual so I knew she was still exhausted from her twenty-four hours of terror.
Francesca had been happy to stay with her, but I could feel her mounting anxiety. Her uncles hadn’t summoned her to see them yet. In fact, nobody from the brotherhood had reached out to her. That would have been good news if she wasn’t the heiress to the Volkov legacy.
I suggested she go to them first, a sign of goodwill. But we didn’t know how to see them if they didn’t initiate the meeting, since Central Detention didn’t normally allow visitors. Instead, we’d left Cage with Francesca and Juliet, advising him to shoot anyone that wasn’t us on sight.
Hopefully, both Mason and Atticus showed up for a surprise visit.
Sayer had been quiet about tonight’s plans. He’d said it had something to do with our goal to overthrow the Volkov, but as far as what we were doing and where we were going, it was anyone’s guess.
I’d dressed in faux leather leggings, a scoop neck black tunic that showed off my tattoo, a sheer black cardi and my motorcycle boots. Sexy? Hell yes, but also very practical should we need to break into anywhere or rob a bank or go to a funeral on the fly.
I looked like the boho version of Cat Woman if she lost the tail and the ears.
And worked for the Russian mob.
At street level, I counted at least four surveillance cars. Two of them were clearly FBI. The other two were probably Russian? Maybe somebody else. It was impossible to tell after being out of the city for so long.
I looked up, to Sayer’s floor. Were they safe enough up there? It wasn’t exactly a secret where we were staying, so I wasn’t surprised to find that we were being watched. That didn’t make me feel less uncomfortable leaving Juliet behind.
“Just a sec,” I told Sayer and Gus. I walked across the street toward a nondescript white, windowless van. The tire covers were rusting, and the front bumper seemed to be barely hanging on.
Knocking on the back door, I suppressed a smile at the frantic movement inside the van. “I only want to talk,” I called out when nobody seemed willing to expose their presence.
Finally, the back door swung open, revealing Mason and two other agents squished together in the middle of surveillance equipment. They blinked at me.
I smiled brightly and waved. “Hi there.”
“Caro?” Mason asked with his eyebrows scrunched together over his hawkish nose.
“How many different factions are watching the apartment?”
“I, we weren’t…”
Rolling my eyes, I tossed out a gritty, “Oh, you just happened to be in the neighborhood? Spare me.”
“Seven that we’ve counted,” he admitted. “We have two vans. Local PD is here. Russians have two cars. Ukranians are here. And we think the Lambo belongs to the Cubans.”
Holy shit.
I took a step closer to Mason. “I need to step out for a minute. I have a dentist appointment.” Mason didn’t even flinch at my obvious lie. Dropping my voice to a whisper, I said, “I’m leaving Juliet with Frankie. Will you keep an eye on both of them?”
“Are we exchanging favors?” Mason asked, opportunity flashing in his eyes.
“Are you willing to let a little girl get kidnapped right under your nose?”
His expression hardened. “This is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.”
He was only saying things I already knew. “I’ll let you interrogate me tomorrow.” He perked up at my bargain. “I’ll even come down to the office for you. You can lock me up for hours. Days even. Whatever it takes for you to get your answers.”
“Maybe I’ll just arrest you now.”
I couldn’t resist a small, insignificant, teeny, tiny smug smile. “You don’t have any cause.”
“I have years of cause,” he countered.
Stepping closer, I dropped a hand on my hip. “Bought and paid for, remember?”
His angry expression turned into a fuming glower and I was surprised when steam didn’t start gushing from his ears. “How about because you’re starting to piss me off?”
“I promise to make it worth your while,” I said, sweetening the pot. “I’ll even bring Augustus with me.” And Juliet. Because that was one place I did trust to keep her safe while I was preoccupied. I pointed at the building behind him. “Make sure nobody makes a move on my girl. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
He quickly added his demand. “First tell me where you’re going.”
Feeling the most optimistic I had in weeks, I winked at him just to drive him crazy. “To finish what you started.”
He hesitated, trying to make sense of my statement. “You better be there by noon tomorrow,” he ordered, his voice deep but also a little manic. He was stressed.
I saluted him, but it turned into a one-finger point. “Do your job, agent. Keep them safe.”
Letting out a harassed sigh, he dipped his head. “You don’t have to worry about a thing. We make excellent babysitters.”
He was wrong. I had to worry about everything, but I appreciated his presence right now. “That’s why I asked.”
“I’m still sending a car to follow you.”
Turning around, I couldn’t help but get the last word in. “I hope they can keep up.”
When I rejoined Sayer and Gus they were both wearing identical masks of confusion. “What?” I asked innocently.
“It’s like you never disappeared,” Gus finally said. “It’s like you just picked up right where you left off.”
His comment made me frown and I realized I had been smiling until then. I hated this life, didn’t I? I’d run away as fast as I could as soon as I’d been given the opportunity, right? So why did being back here feel like home again? Why did jumping back in the game feel so damn good?
I should loathe every second of this. I should definitely turn myself over to WITSEC tomorrow when I went to visit Mason.
And yet… I couldn’t do either. This con was too important. This game wouldn’t end until I finished it. Not somebody else, not Roman and the remaining bratva, not Mason and his long list of arrests, not even Sayer with his secret deals and secret conversations and secret thoughts. It was only me. And I planned to make every last one of them suffer.
“It’s all part of the plan,” I lied. I was lying about lying, the layers of my manipulation made my head spin.
Sayer’s intense gaze seemed to see straight through me. “Like riding a bike, yeah?”
I looked away. “Something like that.”
“We’ll take the subway,” Sayer instructed, leading us the right direction. “Traffic is a bitch tonight.”
Taking the subway would also make it easier to see who was following us, but he didn’t need to say that part out loud.
I still didn’t know where we were going until we crawled out of the underground in a familiar, but foreign area of town.
As a child, even as an adult, I had been forbidden to go to this side of downtown— NoMa. The Irish side of town.
What had once been a rough Irish neighborhood had been rebranded and updated in the last ten years. There were rumors that the Irish were behind it. They’d made deals with the city council and pushed for a more civilian-friendly section of town.
And obviously the inflated construction bids weren’t bad either.
Now this affluent area of town north of Massachusetts Avenue was bustling with life and shiny steel and four-leaf clovers.
I wished I’d packed a side piece.
“Why are we here, Sayer?”
He shrugged, leading us deeper into the heart of Irish controlled DC. “We’re going to talk to an old friend of mine.”
“An old Irish friend?” I asked carefully, sharing a confused look with Gus. He seemed to know less about this than even me.
I felt like everyone was staring at us as we caught a cab in the business district. I knew it was in my head, that most of the people moving about this part of the city at this time of night were civilians and tourists, not Irish mafia.
Telling myself to be calm, I crawled into the car that Sayer had flagged down and practiced breathing evenly. My nerves had almost settled when Sayer gave the address to our destination—an affluent Irish neighborhood I knew for a fact was the epicenter of their organization.
“Sayer, where are we going?” My eyes were pleading as I practically begged him to tell me what was up.
He simply inclined his head subtly to the driver. “Relax, Six. I have a friend on this side of town.”
I didn’t believe him. True, I knew he wasn’t lying. He’d definitely acted more suspicious about other pieces of information lately, but this was too far.
The Irish were going to shoot us in the face.
Or put black bags over our heads, drag us to some dungeon of a basement and try to blackmail the bratva for our safe return.
Unfortunately for them, they would get zero dollars. The Russians would probably send them a thank you note for taking care of their problem. Again, that would encourage them to shoot us.
I saw no way out of this scenario that didn’t end with a bullet in my head.
“Gus, what’s going on?” I asked in a whisper.
“I wish I could tell you,” he murmured back.
The driver continued plodding the cab along through the crowded streets. Instantly, I missed Frisco where the worst traffic I’d ever faced was not making the first turn arrow. The traffic here was a greedy beast that never let up.
Although I would have stayed in the gridlock all day if it meant I didn’t have to face the Irish. I wasn’t prepared. And I didn’t know our game plan.
By the time the too short cab ride was over, I was practically hyperventilating with desperate thoughts. Sayer glided from the cab and reached for my hand. I couldn’t manage to give it to him.
We were in a wealthy area of town with massive town houses and manicured lawns. The cab had stopped in front of a red brick and white stone palace with a circular drive and step out balcony in the front. It was one of those houses that immediately screamed pretentious and disgustingly rich.
My curiosity only grew more intense as Sayer paid the cabby and walked straight up to the front door. It opened before he could knock, a discreetly armed bodyguard stepped outside to see what we wanted. His open sport coat covered the butts of two guns, but he stood in such a way that I knew they were there, waiting to be used.
“How can I help you?” he asked in a deep, melodic Irish accent.
“We’d like a meeting with your boss,” Sayer explained.
“He isn’t expecting you,” the bodyguard returned, flapping his coat quickly so we could see the two guns more clearly.
“He’ll see me,” Sayer insisted. “Give him my name.”
“What’s the name?”
“Sayer Wesley.”
The guard visibly blanched, lowering his gun and taking a few steps back. “Oh, I’m sorry Mr. Wesley. I had no idea it was you. Please forgive me.”
Sayer looked away from the guard, out to the street. “It’s nothing to worry about. Just get your boss.”
The big guy took another few steps back. “Please wait inside.”
Sayer nodded, letting Gus and me walk inside first. My intention was to turn on Sayer as soon as the guard disappeared, but the house we walked into demanded my full attention.
The sprawling town house pushed into both houses on either side, making it a monstrosity of intricate parquet floors and flawless wainscoting. I could see all the way to the back of the house where French doors opened to a long pool with fountains pouring into it at each corner. The kitchen was up a few stairs to my left, all white tile and gleaming stainless steel. To my right was the formal sitting room in more neutrals save for a tattered Irish flag framed over the tall fireplace. The flag was a vulgar burst of color that caught the eye and didn’t let go.
The bodyguard returned from the back of the house, looking obviously humbled. “Mr. O’Donnell will see you.”
Sayer pushed up from where he’d been leaning against the wall. “Of course he will.”
The name pieced together in my head fast enough that I tripped over nothing. “Conlan O’Donnell? The Conlan O’Donnell?”
Sayer started up the stairs after the bodyguard. “Is there another one?”
“Conlan O’Donnell as in the head of the Irish mob Conlan O’Donnell? The Conlan O’Donnell responsible for the coup that unseated the McElerys and took over the entire organization at the tender age of twenty-two? The Conlan O’Donnell who’s empire reaches into New York and all the way down to Florida? The Conlan O’Donnell that is rumored to put the heads of his enemies in bowling bags? That Conlan O’Donnell?”
Sayer’s half smile was enough to make me want to punch him. “I had no idea you were so impressed with the man. I would have introduced you sooner.”
“What the hell, Sayer?” Gus mumbled.
“He’s a friend,” Sayer promised gently. “It’s okay.”
It was not in any way okay. I was not prepared to have my head put into a bowling bag or detached from my body in any way. “How long has he been your friend?” I demanded, needing details, needing something solid to stand on before my knees gave way and I tumbled down the stairs.
Sayer faced forward again. “Longer than I’ve known you.”
Holy shit.
Before I could ask any more questions, we’d reached the top of the stairs. The bodyguard stood next to double doors that opened to a beautiful office in the same style as the rest of the house. From this floor, Conlan could conduct business while enjoying the view of the city through his floor to ceiling windows on two sides or sit down in lush leather chairs in front of a roaring fire on the third.
When I was a kid my dad had told me that the Irish were nothing more than white trash brawlers. He said they all lived in trailer parks and ate canned lamb for dinner—which sounded awful.
I’d met a few Irish in my lifetime and I’d decided long ago that my dad was right. The men I’d been forced to interact with had missing teeth and fingers. They were brain-damaged fighters or druggies hoping to find a score. They did not live in pristine mansions and look like Conlan O’Donnell.
He stood up when we walked into the room and I tried not to swoon at the auburn-haired man. He was all tailored suit and trimmed beard. His cufflinks blinked in the light of his desk lamp as he reached out to button his jacket with long fingers. His green eyes sparkled with mischief as Sayer invaded his space, challenging the Irish boss’s power with his own innate strength.
“There’s a sight for sore eyes,” Conlan’s voice dipped and rolled over the R’s with that singsong Irish accent and when he grinned I decided that he was maybe the most attractive human being on the planet. Possibly also the tallest human being.
He was definitely too good-looking to chop off heads.
Conlan stepped around the desk and embraced Sayer in a brief hug. “It’s nice to see you’ve remained humble despite your success,” Sayer goaded.
Conlan’s head tipped back and he let out a rough, rumbly laugh. “And I find it reassuring prison didn’t take away your sense of humor.”
“I don’t have a sense of humor,” Sayer laughed.
“Aye, I remember.”
The two men shared a silent secret, one that was impossible to read. “It’s good to see you again, brother,” Sayer told him.
“And you. Although I didn’t think you’d be returning so soon.”
Sayer glanced back at me. “Not everything went as planned.”
“I heard that too.” Conlan nodded solemnly. “They’ve returned the girl to you? Unharmed?”
“How do you know so much?” I asked, unable to stay silent any longer. This was too strange. Sayer hated the Irish. He went out of his way to make them suffer. It was the Irish he’d stolen guns from all those years ago to break his way into the bratva. It was that job that had launched his entire career.
Conlan’s gaze fell on me, seeing me for the first time. I didn’t know what I expected but the warmth and gentleness radiating from him was surprising. I’d assumed he would be nothing but hardened killer, ruthless criminal. Instead, I felt oddly uncomfortable with how affectionately he stared at me.
“Is this her then?” he asked Sayer. “The reason behind everything we’ve done?”
Sayer stepped to my side, wrapping an arm around my waist. I was too stunned to do anything but stand there. There was a smile in his voice when Sayer said, “Conlan, this is Caroline Valero.”