We’d moved from my pop’s to Miles’s place. Miles was sifting through all the shit on O’Shea’s computer. He’d logged on about an hour ago and Miles had gained access. It was late and I was going fucking nuts. I’d looked at every file and seen enough of O’Shea’s videos that I knew he was arranging these escorts for a reason and not for his sick pleasure.
As soon as my old man left, I found myself doing something I rarely did—taking refuge in a bottle of scotch.
I had to do something.
I was going crazy.
Time was passing and nothing, still nothing.
I had no leads.
My mind was so fucked that I had to escape the madness, even if for a little while. I wasn’t a drinker, so when I say a bottle, I don’t mean it all went in my mouth. Some landed on me, some on the floor, some on the couch.
But come on, I’d watched sex tape after sex tape of Lizzy, and other men, all the while O’Shea sitting by watching. Whatever the reason, there couldn’t be one strong enough to justify this shit. It was then that I realized just how fucked up O’Shea really was. And Elle had slept in the same house with him. The very thought sent me right over the edge.
Eight more hours and I could call Blanchet. When I’d called her earlier¸ she hadn’t turned me down like I thought she would. Hadn’t told me it wasn’t within her duties to find missing persons. All she told me was to pursue normal police channels and if Elle was still missing after twenty-four hours, to call her back. Obviously, the police couldn’t find Elle and I couldn’t find her on my own either. No matter what the consequences of getting the DEA involved, if they were able to find her, I’d deal with the fallout when it came.
I threw myself down and closed my eyes.
Where the fuck was she?
Someone was shaking me. “Come on, Logan, get up.”
My eyes came unglued in the blind-darkened room. I quickly looked around. I was in Miles’s townhouse. I must have passed out. My pulse was pounding. My hair was damp. My white T-shirt was glued to my sweat-plastered skin. “It’s like a fucking sauna in here.”
Miles opened the blinds. “You’re sweating all the alcohol out of your system.”
“Is that what it is?” I squeezed my eyes shut. Pressed the heels of my hands into my eye sockets as hard as I could, hoping that would help.
Miles nudged me and shoved a cup of coffee in my face. “O’Shea just arrived back at his office. Go take a shower. Your father stopped by earlier and left you some clothes. They’re on the counter. He said he had a couple of early clients and he’d be back.”
Even the cup was warm when I took it. “Anything?”
He shook his head.
There was a knock on the door, and I practically bolted out of my seat and swiped the bottle from the floor to shove it under the couch. Last thing I needed was for my father to see me like this.
Miles eyed me as he swung the door open. It was Declan and Peyton, not my old man.
“You look like shit,” Declan commented.
I gave him a slow nod and then glanced at the clock. It was just after eight. Two more hours and I would be sitting in Blanchet’s office.
“Good morning,” Peyton said. Declan had told her most of everything last night.
“Morning.” I looked toward Declan. “Don’t you have to be at work?”
He strode to the kitchen. “Charlene opened up and agreed to work the day. I’ll drop Peyton at the boutique and meet your old man.”
“Want a coffee, Peyton?” Miles asked.
“No, thank you,” she answered, and then looked at me with eyes like saucers. “Still nothing?”
I gave her a slight shake of my head. “Nothing. I’m going to take a shower. I’ll be back.”
“Anything on the computer?” I heard Declan ask Miles.
Jogging up the stairs, I felt my stomach turn and took the steps two at a time. The bathroom door was close enough that I was able to get to it to block out his answer. Yeah, there was shit on that computer. Nothing that could help me find Elle, but enough for me to know she needed to stay as far away from that freak as she could.
The bathroom was tiny and I pulled the shower curtain open to turn on the water. After I pissed about a gallon of what had to be the booze, I hopped in. Yesterday was a complete waste of a day, and today didn’t look promising.
Every lead led us nowhere.
I held onto everything I could. The feel of her lips on mine, the kisses she blew to Clementine when she spoke with her on the phone, the sound of her voice.
And yet I worried those very vibrant things would be crushed by the fact that she was missing and I couldn’t find her.
My old man and Declan were going to watch Mickey’s floral shop for unusual activity. I’d talked over with my old man the possibility of Mickey resurrecting the Dorchester Heights Gang. Just like Frank, he highly doubted it. Said Mickey had lost his drive when his gang folded. What he was going to do, though, was visit Patrick. It was doubtful he’d tell my old man anything but on the off chance he would, it was worth the visit.
Then there was O’Shea. He’d cut loose yesterday after we left. Turns out he went home. The monitoring device that Miles had left in his office didn’t give us shit. He didn’t so much as sneeze before he left.
The videos from his computer, though—fuck, I couldn’t block them out no matter how hard I tried.
In them, it was O’Shea and Lizzy and a second man, but that man was never the same. One video was with Derrick, and what he’d told us about his encounter was true. The hotel rooms were always different but Michael was always sitting in a chair, watching, and then praying. Some verse about bearing with one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other. Miles looked it up. It was Colossians 3:13, a scripture on forgiveness.
Perhaps forgiving adultery?
I had no idea.
The videos had all been taped within a one-week time span.
Regardless of the date, they all played out the same. O’Shea sat in his suit. Lizzy turned the camera on and opened the door, where a man would be standing. He’d go in and they’d get right to it. The fucking was different, but her face the same—saddened. When it was over, the hired escort would leave, O’Shea would take Lizzy’s hand, and they would pray. Then the camera would turn off.
It was like some kind of test.
Only once did the camera remain on after the little prayer session, and it appeared as if it was left on by accident.
Lizzy stood beside Michael and reached to turn the camera off, but it didn’t turn off.
He took her in his arms.
“No more,” she cried.
He kissed her head. “This was the last time. I promise.”
“I can see Clementine now?”
He shook his head.
“Michael, please, you promised.”
“It’s not my choice. He doesn’t think you’re ready.”
“But I did what you asked.”
“That’s just it. You didn’t pass.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t you see? You aren’t strong enough to fight off the evil. You shouldn’t have fucked those men.”
“But you told me to!”
His eyes glassed over. “Turn it back on—he’ll know we talked.”
“What’s this about?”
“Turn it on.”
She reached again but the camera didn’t turn off. She had to be doing it on purpose—like she planned to use it for it something. Then she went back to stand beside him.