Chapter Twenty

Dylan

Strange sounds pulled me from a dream. I opened my eyes and stared up at the dark ceiling for a long moment while my brain reoriented itself and remembered where I’d fallen asleep. Emma’s bed. I was in Emma’s bed. I stirred, moving toward the sound. I reached out and found warm, but vacant, sheets and pillow.

“Em?” I mumbled, pushing out of bed. “Emma?”

A sliver of light cast into the room from the bathroom. I knocked on the door and the sound stopped.

“Emma? Can I come in? What’s going on?”

“I—I’m fine.”

Bullshit.

I turned the knob and found it unlocked. I gently pushed the door open and found Emma sitting in a heap near the bathtub. The lid and seat of the toilet were open. “Are you sick?”

She looked up and brushed aside her tangled hair. Her eyes were red and swollen with tears.

“Emma, what’s wrong?” I moved slowly, as though approaching a spooked horse, and took a place on the floor beside her.

She twisted away but not before I caught sight of a small silver device in her hands.

“You making a call?” I asked.

She dragged in a shaky breath and handed over the phone. It was old school, the kind that flipped open and didn’t have a full keyboard. “Look.”

I glanced at the screen and saw a picture of a naked woman. She was on all fours, her ass up in the air, legs spread to show off her whole pussy. A fuck me look on her face as she looked back at the camera.

“Who is this?”

“Some whore.”

I swallowed and clicked to the next image. Another naked woman. “Em, is this—is this Tommy’s phone?”

She nodded. “I found it earlier, before we—”

“Right.” I paused and continued scanning through the images. “Any of these women look familiar?”

“Keep going.”

I clicked through and then stopped cold. The woman looking back in that photo was very familiar.

Tara.

“This is—” I flexed my jaw, thinking of the giant rock my brother had likely scrapped and saved for to get her. “Jimmy’s girl.”

“Tara.” Emma spat the name like it left a bad taste in her mouth. “There’s dozens of messages and pictures. All disgusting. I had a feeling Tommy was cheating on me. But not like this, Dylan. Not with someone like—like her.”

She crumbled and burst into tears. I took her in my arms and let her wail.

“I want out of here, Dylan.” She pounded a fist on my chest. “Fuck her, fuck Tommy, the diner, fuck this whole town!”

“Baby, shhh.” I stroked her hair and tried to keep her still, but it was pointless. She twisted away, grabbed a bottle of shampoo from the edge of the tub, and sent it flying toward the opposite wall.

“I need out. I feel like I can’t breathe!”

I grabbed her before she could chuck something else. I wrapped my arms around her tightly to immobilize her. I wanted to say “We’ll leave, Em. We’ll get out of here and go far away. Wherever you want.” But I couldn’t. As much as I loved her and wanted her, my own mind was in turmoil about where I was going, what I was going to do with my life. I stroked her hair and just said, “We’ll figure this out. Together.”

She sobbed against my chest and clutched at my back.

“You’re safe now, and I’m not ever going to do anything to hurt you, Em. I will never betray you.” That I could say. That I meant.

She glanced up, her eyes still full of tears. She blinked quickly, and they rolled down her face. “I love you, Dylan. I always have. Nothing makes sense when you’re not here with me. Please don’t leave me alone again.”

“I love you too, Em. I’m sorry for all of this.” Gently, I released her. “Now, come back to bed.” But now I worried. Had I promised too much?

***

The following night I left Emma with her family. As much as I hated the idea of leaving her after the shock of the previous night, I knew that it was for the best. She didn’t want to raise any eyebrows, and I wanted to respect her wishes. I spent the day at my parents’ place and when night fell, I meandered down to the pub to check in with Frankie.

Before leaving Emma’s house that morning, I’d snagged the phone in case she was tempted to put herself through it all again. I also wanted to see if there were any further clues to what exactly he and Jimmy had been up to before the shooting. I sat at the bar, working my way through a pint, when I stumbled on a section of notes saved in a strange folder on the phone. The notes weren’t detailed, but my best guess was it was some kind of ledger for each of the working girls they had running around. So far, since my chat with the Irish, there hadn’t been any sign of them in the bar. I’d been tempted to go knocking down their doors, asking them what else was going on, but knew it wasn’t likely they would tell me anything useful. The Irish would have told the girls to keep their mouths shut if they wanted to get more work. Beyond warning Frankie, there wasn’t much else I could do to get rid of that problem.

Besides the notes and sexting pictures and texts, there were more pictures of Tara, fully clothed, in a series of shots taken inside the same location. These were set in a dim room, the images barely clear enough to make out, but after three shots I knew my initial gut instinct was right. The trio of men who’d harassed Tara at Malloy’s the night before were in the photos with her and Tommy. This time though she was lavishing in their attention. One photo showed her with her arms around two of the men, sitting in the center of what looked to be a gaming table, a pile of glossy chips spread in front of her.

My gut twisted. “Do you recognize this place?” I asked Frankie, flipping the phone around for him to see.

“Is that Tara?” he asked.

I gave a curt nod.

Frankie leaned back and wiped down another glass. “Looks like O’Doul’s.”

Of course.

I hadn’t followed Tara inside the night she led me there. I’d figured it too risky and moved on, but now with the pictures, I could question her about it and blow past any bullshit lies she might try and feed me. I got up from the stool. “She around tonight?”

Frankie gave me a strange look but then pointed to the door that led to the kitchen. “She’s in the back office doing the books. Suddenly she’s very interested in the financials.”

“And you just let her fuckin’ see all that?”

Frankie held up his hands. “Hey, she’s good with the books. Jimmy had her handle all that shit when he was here. I’m not going to jump in now. If she wants to help, why shouldn’t I let her?”

I sighed and ran a hand over the back of my neck. There was no point in losing my shit before I had all the intel. I knew it just as well as anyone. Years of training had made me more resilient to stressful situations than most, but this hit too close. It was too personal.

“Tell her I want to see her.”

Frankie scowled but then went to get her.

I rolled my shoulders and downed the rest of the beer. The front door opened, and a gust of chilly air blew in and tickled the back of my neck. I turned to see who walked in just as Tara strutted through the door into the main bar area. She wore a haughty look, clearly resentful of the interruption. Maybe she just didn’t like being summoned. Too fucking bad.

Before I could realize what was happening, a sea of red hair was flying past me, lunging at Tara’s throat.

“You fucking whore!”

Oh shit!

Emma had claws flailing, teeth bared, and looked like a rabid grizzly bear. Tara screamed as Emma collided into her but quickly recovered and landed a solid left hook before I could get to them. Emma got off a shot of her own before I hauled her back, and as they parted blood was gushing from Tara’s nose.

“For fuck’s sake, Emma! Calm down!”

She twisted and snarled at me, “Let me go, Dylan! She’s a fucking whore, and I’m not letting her get away with fucking my husband!”

Tara spat blood on the floor and wiped at her face, which only smeared the red streaks into more of a mess. Her eyes blazed. “Maybe if you weren’t such a frumpy piece of shit your husband wouldn’t have come begging for it!”

Emma reared back, as though slapped again.

“Enough!” I boomed, my voice rattling through the pub.

The handful of other customers had gone dead silent, but I could feel their eyes boring into us. I grabbed Emma by the arm and started toward the front door. “Let’s go!”

Emma didn’t fight me, but right as we pushed out of the pub, she twisted back. “This isn’t over, bitch!”

I tugged her outside. “What the hell are you thinking?” I growled, marching her up the sidewalk.

“Let go of me!” She broke free, and I let her go storming up ahead. She raked her hands through her hair and then rubbed the side of her face where Tara’s punch had caught her. “She had it coming.”

“Maybe so, baby, but this isn’t who you are.”

She shrugged, but her tough-girl facade was crumbling quickly. She glanced back at the pub and a flicker of doubt filled her eyes.

“I’ll take care of it. Make sure she doesn’t get any wild ideas about making a stink. But you’re going upstairs. Right now.”

Emma didn’t argue.

***

I got Emma settled at her apartment and went back to deal with the aftermath at the pub. The last thing I needed was Tara pressing charges and sending Emma away for assault. Tommy Jr. had already lost one parent; I was sure as hell not going to let him lose his mother, too. Frankie scowled at me when I walked back through the doors. “She’s out back, but I would leave her alone if I were you.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re not.” I stormed to the kitchen doors. “What Emma said was true. She was fucking her husband on the side and right under my brother’s nose. I have some words for that girl, and I’m sure as hell going to say them.”

Frankie didn’t say anything but the fire in his eyes died down a little before I punched the door open and strode inside.

Tara wasn’t in the cramped kitchen and a glance around the corner revealed the office was abandoned, too. The side door was cracked open, letting in a stream of icy air. I stalked toward the door but stopped short when a growl of a voice filtered through.

“I don’t care about your fucking nose. Your entire pretty little face is going to get blown off if you don’t fucking get me the information you promised.”