Bedwrecker(100)

Ignoring him, I pulled out my wallet and handed him a fifty. “Just show me where you saw him last. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Visibly relaxing, he scanned his card and the elevator glided down toward the service level.

Within minutes we were just outside the kitchen.

With a shaky finger he pointed. “He was standing right there when he approached me but once he gave me the note, he headed for the stairs.”

“Where do they lead?”

“To the lobby.”

I gave him a nod. “Thanks, man. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

His laugh was more like a cry. “Na, I wasn’t really worried,” he said.

Now that was a lie.

Taking the stairs two at a time, I pushed open the door and hit the service hallway. Once inside the Mandarin lobby, I scanned it and then swept the lounge. Nothing. No sign of him. I searched the bar. The restrooms. The offices. Nothing. I climbed the grand staircase and then combed the exterior of the building. Nothing. He was nowhere in sight.

That didn’t mean shit.





Elle Sterling

Emotion rushed through me.

I wasn’t going to cry.

My clothes were scattered and I busied myself dressing.

Seconds passed.

Minutes passed.

Pacing, counting steps, back and forth from the door to the window, I wore a path onto the carpet.

Finally, I couldn’t take the monotony and flopped on the bed. Unsure of what to do, my thoughts started to wander.

My defense mechanisms weakened with each additional tick of the clock and soon I found myself swallowing against the knot that was lodged in my throat, but I could do nothing about the sting of tears behind my closed eyes.

Logan and I had come so far, so fast.

Neither of us had expected to meet in my brother-in-law’s law office just a week ago. Neither had expected to run into each other at Molly’s Pub later that night. And certainly neither of us meant to have this intense connection.

It was all so surreal.

Somehow we’d become entangled in a drug war brewing amid the Boston Irish Mob, and we weren’t the only ones.

There was my missing sister. I had no idea how innocent or guilty she actually was. Then there was Logan’s father, who had been skirting the edges of the law with the Blue Hill Gang for years. There was also Michael, my brother-in-law, who was acting suspiciously. On top of all of that, Logan was working undercover with the DEA but also trying to protect me from everyone.

And me? I just wanted to keep my niece, Clementine, safe. And if things went well, have Logan be a part of my life.

The odds were against us.

Was this a sign? Was everything that was falling apart around us fate telling me I should have known better than to think we could belong to each other?

I refused to let my thoughts go down that road.

Logan was different.

This was going to work out.

Pushing my issues and insecurities aside, I had to believe that we were going to make it. That Logan would be strong enough to fight his demons. That Logan was going to get through this and that I would be by his side to help him.

After all, it was just a note.

Words on a paper meant to scare him.

Meaningless—or so I hoped.

I was certain that after the initial shock, Logan would see it that way too.

I had to believe that. I just did.

Anyway, by all accounts, if the news was correct, Tommy was in jail and no longer a threat to us. To me. To Logan.

I pressed my lips together, keenly aware of the passage of time.

My attention went to the TV where Channel 7 news was still on. They were replaying the arrest. I turned the volume up. This time names were flashing across the bottom of the screen.

“More breaking news,” the TV correspondent announced. “Members of the powerful Flannigan crime family are among at least twenty-four people arrested tonight in a major drug raid. Details are sketchy, but a confirmed two million dollars in cocaine has been seized. Among those arrested tonight, the alleged head of the Irish Blue Hill Gang, Patrick Flannigan. Sources acknowledge some high-ranking members are still at large, but all efforts are being made to bring them in. If you have seen any of these men, call our hotline.”

I crossed my arms, fighting off the chill that had seeped into my bones. There, before my eyes, was a picture of Tommy Flannigan. I hadn’t known what he looked like before now, but I knew I’d never forget it. Those cold, brown eyes, the lifeless look on his face, the evil that was written all over him.

Knock. Knock.

I jumped, startled out of my own skin.

My heart started to race.

My pulse thundered.

Fear began to set in.

It wasn’t like me to be afraid.

I was strong.

I was resilient.

I’d been through a lot in my life and I’d come out on the other side.

Hardened.

Determined.