Holy fucking shit. Mickey O’Shea was the Priest, and that’s the connection to Michael O’Shea.

It has to be.

Holy.

Fucking.

Shit.

Blanchet eased her body forward on the table. “What is it?”

My enlightenment must have registered all over my face. “We’ve been missing a huge piece of the puzzle. The source of the drugs is the unknown. Right? The reason we haven’t been able to make heads or tails of this.”

“No shit. That was your job. Remember? We thought we’d get to the source the night the drugs just miraculously turned up outside a strip club.”

I ignored that comment. “If I tell you what I know, will you let me out of here?”

Doubt was written all over her face. She didn’t think I knew what I was talking about. “Depends if the info is good or not, McPherson.”

I had to trust it was, and also trust that she was going to let me out of there. I decided to keep the name “the Priest” to myself for now. It could be leverage for later. “Ever hear of Mickey O’Shea?”

She nodded.

“Then you know there was a time years ago that he operated his own gang.”

She looked bored. “I know the story. Small gang. Gang wars. It folded. Patrick branched out on his own after that.”

“Did you also know that he’s a florist?”

She tapped her pen on the table as if excited. “Go on.”

“This is just a theory. Other than the compound you mentioned, I have no proof. But what if he’s been trying to resurrect Patrick’s old gang . . . and what if he’s the source?”

That got her attention and she slowly nodded her head. “Why not his own gang?”

“Some kind of payback?”

“Very plausible lead, McPherson.”

That might have been a pat on the back. “Good. Now are you ready to drop the bullshit trumped-up murder charges?”

Her huff of laugher had to be admired. “You’re pushing it. I never said that.”

“Come on. You know it’s bullshit. It will take me all of two minutes out of this room to convince anyone I didn’t do it. Yeah, I was in Elizabeth’s O’Shea’s vehicle and I moved some things around; the rattle must have been one of them. And you know Elle Sterling was driving her sister’s vehicle. She was the woman with me that night. I didn’t lie. I never met Elizabeth O’Shea.”

She shrugged. “Then why worry about it?”

I narrowed my eyes and came clean. “I don’t want Elle involved.”

“Very admirable of you, Logan, but I’m afraid the law doesn’t work that way.”

My ability to remain calm was surprising even myself. “Look, there’s a much bigger picture here. You have Patrick Flannigan in custody for a long stretch, but that isn’t going to put an end to the mayhem in the streets. You need the source of the drugs. What I’m giving you, what I can give you if you let me out of here, will help you do that as well as bring down a possible gang that you weren’t even aware existed.”

Her lip twisted and I could tell she was hungry to dig into the information. “Okay, I admit the murder charges are bullshit.” She took a piece of paper from the folder and tore it in half. “And I’ll even let the small detail of similar compound traces on the drugs and in your car get buried.” She took another sheet of paper and stuck it in the middle of all the others in the folder. “For now.”

I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms. “This is what I can do . . .” I told her how I planned to get to the source. It was sketchy. I had to lay the whole thing out, but if it was Mickey O’Shea, and on the surface it looked like it was, how hard could it be? I knew Blanchet wasn’t going to be able to uncover the truth alone, and so did she. She didn’t have enough. Not yet. And she needed me. I had connections she would never have.

The clock on the wall read eight thirty when she slid the keys to the Rover my way. “You’re free to go.”

“Just like that?”

She shrugged. “You were never formally booked or charged. In fact, there is no record of you ever having been here. I’ve also already let the FBI know the terrorist charges couldn’t be validated.”

I shook my head in disgust.

“It’s a task force, Logan, that I’m in charge of. I have certain leeway not everyone has. And letting you go is one of the things I can do.”

I got to my feet.

“But, Logan,” her voice was stern, “don’t screw with me, because I may be new to Boston but I’m not new to the streets. I know what you did. The thing is, I can see the bigger picture, and in it, what you did is irrelevant. But that doesn’t mean I can’t and won’t bring you in and book your ass if the need arises.”

As I stood beside the door, all I could think about was Elle. I didn’t care about anything that had happened in here, and I didn’t care what the fuck the bigger picture was. There was time for that later.

All I needed right now was to get to Elle, so I calmly answered, “I understand,” and walked out the door.

Just like she said I could.

ELLE

Mary Poppins didn’t have anything on Mrs. R.

Rebecca Reeves was Clementine’s new nanny and I couldn’t be more pleased. Michael had broken the mold and hired an older, more experienced woman. She seemed completely competent in childcare and took charge right away.

Finally confident that Clementine was in good hands, I was packing my things to return home. My nerves over her care had gotten the best of me. She’d gone through three caregivers since I’d arrived in Boston and with the death of my sister, I wanted her to have some stability during her days.

Knowing that besides Michael, I might be the only anchor in her life, I’d spent Saturday and Sunday night here. Logan was never far from my thoughts, but with Clementine to occupy my time, my heartache didn’t seem so catastrophic.

Aside from the incident where Michael had put his hand on my back, nothing in his behavior the rest of the weekend had pushed me to feel the need to say anything to him about it.

Just as I was zipping up my bag, the house phone rang. “Hello,” I answered.

Michael had to leave unusually early for work and I had agreed to stay until the new nanny arrived so I could introduce her to Clementine. Things had gotten off to a great start and they were busy getting acquainted in the nursery.

“Elle, is that you?” The familiar voice shouted my name.

“Yes, is this Heidi?” I knew by the German accent that it was.

“Is Michael home?”

Michael? Not Mr. O’Shea. Interesting. “No, he left for work early.”

With a huff, she said, “I’m at his office and his secretary has informed me he won’t be in until later today.”

I set my bag down. “Can I help you with anything?”

She sighed. “I need my paycheck. I’ve been staying at a hostel, but I have to be out in a few days. Could you tell him to please leave it for me at his office and I’ll come by again in the morning?”

Curiosity took control of me. “I’ll let him know. Do you mind if I ask why you left so hastily?”

She laughed. “I didn’t leave. He ordered me out.”

Stunned, I didn’t hold back. “Why?”

“You must know what he’s looking for.”

My skin bristled. “I know he wants someone competent to look after Clementine.”

“Right, that’s what he wants.”

I flinched at the tone of her voice. “Did your departure have to do with a disagreement over Clementine?”

Her laugh was dry. “Not at all.”

“Then what?” I was pushing it and I knew it.

“I didn’t want—” She stopped. “I said no, and he ordered me to leave—Never mind, I’m not looking for any trouble, just please tell him I’ll come by his office in the morning.”

Once she hung up, I stood there at the night table near the bed, reeling. What was going on with him? I didn’t like what I was thinking. Why had he lied to me about Heidi quitting and also about having to go into work early?