“You tell me,” she sneered.
“And we’ve never had eyes on him?” another guy asked.
She shook her head. “As far as I can tell by flipping through old reports, he was a myth. No one ever laid eyes on the Priest, so the DEA assumed he wasn’t real. Something conjured up to take our attention off what it should be on. Happens all the time. We have so many leads that go nowhere and so many hyped-up heads of drug rings that never existed. According to these reports, any investigation into the Priest led to a dead end.”
“Makes no sense,” someone mumbled.
Irritated, Blanchet slammed her fist down. “All I can say is either he was really good at staying underground or all of you are really stupid.”
O’Reilly stood. He had some balls. He strode over to the whiteboard and started writing. “Seamus O’Shea is still at large. We believe him to be traveling with his wife and son. No known direction.”
“We have this composite of his kid,” Blanchet added, pointing to a taped-up photo Elle helped a sketch artist render.
“Looks like another sick fuck,” one of the guys muttered.
That earned him a look from Blanchet. “Let’s stick to the facts. Text messages and voicemails from Seamus O’Shea on the day of Michael O’Shea’s suicide clearly show threats made toward his sister-in-law, Elle Sterling, and his daughter.” She pointed to screen shots taken from his phone.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up.
“Are they still in danger?” someone interrupted.
“Not that we have reason to believe. As far as we can ascertain, the reasons for the threats had to do with Michael O’Shea’s political career and well, since there won’t be one, I would surmise they should be out of danger.”
Miles was leaning against a window with his arms crossed. “What do you say we concentrate on finding Seamus O’Shea?”
Blanchet’s head snapped in his direction.
The room quieted.
And then she gave him the slightest smile of agreement.
Another agent raised his hand like we were in class.
Blanchet nodded.
He pointed to the board. “What does Seamus O’Shea have to do with Tommy Flannigan’s murder?”
“A life for a life,” I muttered.
Blanchet looked at me.
“It’s an old mob saying.”
“Whose life?” he asked.
The last thing I was going to do was get Frank involved, so I shrugged and said, “I have no idea.” I did, of course. Mickey must have told Seamus what happened years ago, how when he went to shoot at Patrick, Rose got in the way, and then once Seamus was holding the cards, he ordered Patrick to have his own son killed to avenge his mother.
A life for a life.
I’m sure Patrick had a choice, just as my father had years ago. His life or his son’s life.
There’s always a choice.
Blanchet started writing on the board again.
Hands went up.
Miles took the lead and answered most of the questions. In time, he would share Mickey and Rose O’Shea’s tragic story with the DEA. Just not yet. We needed some time to let things settle for all of us first. For Clementine’s sake, Elle wanted the O’Shea name out of the press as much as possible. I understood that.
I watched Miles in action.
Where Blanchet was good, Miles was better. But since she officially worked for the DEA and he didn’t, he had to follow her command. I had a feeling that it was just a matter of time and soon he’d be on her team or possibly managing her. Either way, combined, they both had enough of the facts, and I was certain together they would bring Seamus O’Shea to justice.
With Seamus O’Shea on the lam, and no political hopeful in his pocket anymore, we all really did believe Elle and Clementine were no longer in danger. I had to give it to Michael O’Shea: in the end, he took care of his family the only way he could.
He had made the right choice.
Completely over all of this, I rose to my feet. “If you’ll excuse me, I don’t think I can be of any more help.”
She nodded. “Thanks, McPherson. You’re free to go.”
The way she said it, I knew what she meant.
My father was free. I was free. Elle was free.
Finally, Elle and I could be together without outside forces pulling us apart.
And if that didn’t sound like a happily ever after, I didn’t know what did.
DAY 85
ELLE
I had never been much of a romantic.
I’d never even thought about it. My time was spent searching the world for treasures. It was odd, but it wasn’t until Logan entered my life that I thought about the person I was before him as being a nomad. A gypsy. Traveling around in search of nothing yet never stopping.
Sure, there were times I’d watch romantic comedies and get that little high that comes with happy endings, read chick lit for the sheer pleasure of smiling, and once I think I might have thought the idea of ice-skating in Central Park while holding someone’s hand could be fun, but in all honesty that was as far as my romantic thoughts had ever gone.
Until now.
While I lived with Clementine at Michael’s house, Logan stayed at my place. We had both agreed that easing Logan into Clementine’s daily routine was the best way to move forward. Also, with Michael’s absence, I didn’t want to compound her confusion by moving her out of her home right away.
Small, baby steps, we both agreed.
A saying that never could be applied to our relationship. We’d started full blast, but over the past several weeks we’d learned how to temper the inferno that lived within us both. It was fun. We actually went on the most incredible dates. Real dates. He picked me up and we went out to dinner, sometimes to the movies, and other times we went sightseeing. We double-dated with Peyton and Declan, something I had never done nor had Logan, and sometimes we brought Clementine on our dates.
We also indulged in classic movies from the eighties that for most kids were a rite of passage. Neither of us had a normal childhood, so this was all new to us. Logan bought a Best of the Eighties DVD complete set and it included The Breakfast Club, Pretty in Pink, Back to the Future, Sixteen Candles, and so many more favorites of that decade. At the end of each date, he would drop me off and kiss me good night. The kisses were never soft and sweet, though; they were much more reminiscent of the very first night we met.
Hot and heavy.
Breathtaking.
Unforgettable.
Mrs. R had stayed on, which allowed me to go to the boutique and work on transitioning it over to Peyton. The plan was that I’d remain the owner, but she’d be my managing partner, and once she was ready to be independent, I’d sell her the boutique. And since I was easing out of my duties, I had the luxury of sneaking off during my lunch break and meeting Logan at my place, but today we had a completely different agenda.
Today was the start of our new life.
Logan and I would be saying our goodbyes to everyone.
And leaving Boston.
It was early, around eight, and he was waiting for me on the stoop to my townhouse. With a kiss, he took my hand. “Morning.”
Butterflies bounced within my belly. “Good morning.”
“Come on, we have a lot to do today, so let’s get started.”
I followed him, and as I watched him open the door, I thought, I’d follow him anywhere.
He turned back before entering. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked tenderly.
I nodded and let my gaze devour him. The soft tone of his voice was such a sharp contrast to the strong man standing before me. Logan was wearing a black T-shirt that hugged his torso and faded jeans that hung low on his hips. His arms were chiseled in such a way that didn’t make him appear bulky in the least. He was all long and lean and hard. Powerful. Strong. Competent. There was no one else in the world I trusted more than he to help me raise Clementine.