Given Boston traffic, it was going to take me fucking forever to get to her, and in the pit of my stomach I knew I didn’t even have five minutes.

Black rose petals.

They meant dread.

That was all I knew.

A chill ran down my spine, my stomach lurched, and my pulse skyrocketed. I hoped I could reach her in time. But as soon as I stepped out the door, I knew I was fucked.

The sky was dark, black clouds circling overhead, and the rain was pouring down like sheets of ice. It was fucking hailing out and the temperature was dropping by the minute.

Her sharp, agonizing scream echoed in my head and I ran as fast as I could to my vehicle. Just as I started it, the passenger door whipped open.

Fuck!

My gun wasn’t on me. It was locked in my desk drawer back in the office and my other one was in the glove box right in front of where . . . my father was now sitting.

“Pop.” I blinked in surprise.

He pounded the dashboard. “Go, go, go!” he yelled.

My hands gripped the steering wheel. My heart thundered and I pressed on the gas full power. “Call the cops,” I ordered.

“No, we can’t do that, son.”

Of course, he was right. Who knew which cops would be dispersed and whose payroll they were on?

I wove in and out of the traffic, the cars moving at a snail’s pace with their hazard lights on.

“Watch it!” my father yelled.

Suddenly, I skidded to a stop at the traffic light and the burning red circle seared into my brain like a hot poker. I was being way too emotional to think this through tactically. The jerk and skid checked my emotions, though, and focused me on the task at hand—getting to Elle.

In one piece.

“Where are you headed?” my father asked.

“The boutique,” I managed.

The urgency in his voice told me he must have heard me on the phone with Elle. “Take the back way to Ashmont Street and then cut through the small alley to get to Neponset Avenue.”

I nodded. “Call Declan—tell him someone grabbed Elle in her car. She’s in the Mercedes and it was parked . . . fuck,” my throat was tightening, “I don’t fucking know where she was parked.”

My father pulled out his cell.

“And tell him to get a hold of Miles,” I managed to say even though my throat was almost fully constricted now.

“Declan, are you at the coffee shop?” he said. “Okay, we have a problem . . .”

Elle’s cries echoed in my head and I found myself driving blindly through the haze.

“Logan, turn here!” my father yelled.

Fuck. Pay attention, asshole, I told myself. I took a right and then an immediate left and got my head back in the game.

“He’s out looking for her now and Miles is on his way. They’ll both probably beat us there.”

I laid on the horn at the slow traffic in front of me. “Move, move, move.”

“Go up on the sidewalk, get around the cars, and take the next right. That will get us to 93 faster in this traffic.”

My tires climbed the curb and I moved around the cars on the pavement until I got to the turn he’d told me to take. “What are you doing here?” I finally asked as I swerved around the bend in the road and went over the railroad tracks somewhere in Boston I’d never ventured.

He spoke calmly and rationally. Nothing like me. “Logan, I don’t know what you’ve been up to but I know whatever it is, it’s dangerous. I heard the terror in your voice from my office and followed you. Now tell me what’s going on.”

I chanced a single glance toward him. “That’s just it, Pop, I don’t have a fucking clue what just happened. She told me she’d found black rose petals on her back step this morning and a sinking sensation hit me like a ton of bricks. A story Gramps told me.”

“Yeah, they were the calling card of the Savin Hill Gang back in Mickey’s short heyday. Left as a warning.”

Ring. Ring.

It was my cell, and the name Miles flashed across my dash. I pressed the accept button on my steering wheel. “Tell me you’re there. That you’ve found her.”

“No, I’m in Beacon Hill though. Her vehicle isn’t anywhere outside the boutique. Declan’s on foot combing the side streets, I’m almost to the end of Charles, and then I’ll start looking in the parking lots. Listen, Peyton saw Declan and wanted to get him out of the rain. He had to tell her Elle was missing and now she’s near hysteria. What do you want me to tell her?”

“Fuck!” I slammed the steering wheel.

My father’s voice filled the car. “Miles, let’s not say anything right now until we figure everything out, but she shouldn’t be anywhere alone.”

“Yeah, I agree. I’ll tell her to lock up the boutique and go to Mulligan’s Cup. The streets are a ghost town, but Declan said the café was packed. She should be safe there.”

It was odd listening to the conversation, because the one thing about the Irish Mob that had really changed over the years was that they never made a move in public. The days of shootouts in public places were over. Not enough police protection. Not enough men in their pockets. Therefore, Miles’s plan for Peyton was a good one.

“Keep in touch,” my father told him, “And we’ll call when we’re closer.”

“Roger that,” Miles said and hung up.

The familiar blue and red sign for Interstate 93 was just ahead. That meant less than eight miles to get to her, but it could have been the entire two-hundred-mile distance of 93, which ended in St. Johnsbury, Vermont, that I had to travel because the traffic on the highway was at a complete and total standstill.

“Fuck!” I cried out.

The sigh from my father told me he felt the same. “Turn around and go back to Dorchester Avenue.”

“It was worse there.”

“We’ll double back to Washington Street and then over to Blue Hill Avenue.”

“That’s at least ten miles out of the way.”

“Logan, trust me, son, it will get us there faster.”

I threw the car in reverse and looked backwards as I zoomed the wrong way off the on-ramp. I felt raw and nervous inside in a way I never had. Back on the road, I hit the gas, spraying water, speeding to the corner, and turning left so fast that I almost fishtailed up Washington Avenue.

My father gripped the handle above the door but said nothing else.

I kept control of the Rover and when the light ahead turned red, I hit the gas and powered through the intersection.

Nothing was going to stop me from finding Elle.

Not now, not ever.

ELLE

T he sun was shining.

Clementine was chasing me through a field of dandelions as fast as she could.

“Mommy,” she called. “Please slow down, I can’t keep up.”

I was in front of her, trying to get away. I couldn’t slow down. I wanted to be with her but I knew I shouldn’t.

“Please, please, Mommy, don’t leave me.”

My heart stung and I turned around. I couldn’t stand it and I had to comfort her. To explain to her it was safer for her not to be with me. I bent down and picked a dandelion and handed it to her. “Blow, just blow,” I said. “And everything will be okay.”

She took it and blew on it, but still she wouldn’t stop crying. Although I knew better, I reached my hand out for her to take, but instead of feeling her smooth, baby-soft skin, I touched something damp, gritty. Dirt. The ground. Sand. I couldn’t tell. All I knew was that I wasn’t in a field and a hammer was pounding against my brain.

I tried to move but couldn’t. It was as if my arms and legs weren’t attached to my body. Chemical fumes stung my nose. I was aware I was somewhere, I just didn’t know where. I couldn’t see anything but that retched blackness.

With all my might, I concentrated harder. Slowly, my consciousness was coming back.