His shoulders lifted. “He could be just buying time, hoping his wife turns back up before the deadline.”

“Or maybe he does have something in his back pocket as you mentioned earlier, like the missing drugs and money that his wife stashed away.”

He pursed his lips. “Yeah, could be either. Not sure.”

“Does he have money to front if all else fails?”

My father shrugged. “I can’t imagine he has the kind of money he’s going to need.”

I didn’t know O’Shea, but I could see his arrogance a mile away and I knew if he didn’t lose it, he was going to get someone killed. “What do you think Patrick will settle for?”

“It’s possible O’Shea knows who the big supplier is and plans to spill it to Patrick when the time comes.”

My eyes widened. “Would that be enough to satisfy Patrick?”

“In the short term, maybe. It depends on who it is and what O’Shea knows about him.”

My head was spinning.

When Patrick declared O’Shea’s payday, all the cards would be on the table, but until then, we could only speculate.

Putting all the unknowns aside for now, I focused on the known. “Someone slashed her tire.” I didn’t have to clarify who the her was. After what happened earlier, I was certain he knew.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure it was slashed. I saw it.”

“Logan, you don’t know it was Patrick or Tommy who did it.”

With a shake of my head, I admitted, “It would be a huge coincidence if it wasn’t.”

“Listen, son, I have to say, I don’t think Patrick knows about her.”

I looked up. “What did Patrick say to you when he finally showed tonight?”

“Not that much.”

“Then what was the summons for?”

My father sat beside me. “Just flexing his control. Nothing out of the ordinary. He wanted to know how my visit with O’Shea went so he could plan his next move. Nothing we couldn’t have taken care of over the phone.”

“Did he ask about the girl?”

My old man shook his head. “Like I said, O’Shea’s wife has been missing for three months. Whoever that woman is that was in his office tonight, she couldn’t have been her. O’Shea wouldn’t be that stupid to have her walking around in the open when he knows she’s wanted by the Blue Hill Gang. That girl must have been a nanny or girlfriend.”

I recoiled at the word girlfriend and couldn’t stop the jealousy that spiked in my veins. “She’s not his wife,” I said flatly, trying to pull my shit together.

My father scrubbed his jaw. “That’s what I thought. Like I said, he’s not that stupid.”

“She’s not the nanny or girlfriend, either.”

His eyes narrowed on me. “Logan.”

“Look, she has nothing to do with this. I want her left alone.”

“You don’t know she’s not involved.”

He was right, I didn’t—but my gut told me she was an innocent. I ran a frustrated hand through my hair. “If you thought she was his wife, what’s to prevent Patrick from thinking the same thing?”

“Nothing.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought too.”

“Who is she, Logan?”

“His wife’s sister. She’s new in town.”

“And you know this information how?”

Confessing, I answered, “I ran into her.”

He narrowed his eyes once again. “You ran into her?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“And you don’t think she’s involved?” he snapped.

For once, I stayed calm. “No, I don’t think she is. What makes you think Patrick doesn’t know about her?”

My father shrugged. “I stayed clear of mentioning her and Patrick didn’t say jack about her. Just mentioned the missing wife. Asked if she’d been found and if O’Shea said anything about her.”

Clearly, my interest had been evident. “What did you tell him?”

He drew himself up. “I told him the wife hadn’t been located as far as I knew and that O’Shea was still claiming to know nothing about her disappearance. But Logan, Patrick already knew about the baby girl.”

“Do you think he has someone besides you on O’Shea?”

He looked out the window. “It’s possible, but baby news is easy to find out.”

“If he does have someone on O’Shea, maybe he’s following anyone close to him and that’s who slashed her tire?”

He pulled the curtains closed. “Like I said, it’s possible, or maybe some punk on the street did it and you’re overreacting.”

I was done with that conversation. I knew I wasn’t overreacting. “Maybe. Did Patrick say anything else tonight that mattered?”

With a deep sigh, he told me, “He declared the payday.”

“What? When?”

“He’s giving O’Shea until next Friday. Seven days. If he doesn’t have the money, the drugs, and his wife by then, I’m to deliver a message.”

Troubled, I squeezed the frozen bag with my fingers. “What’s the message?”

A weighted silence fell between us.

“Pop, tell me,” I said softly.

Shifting his eyes toward the closed curtains seemed to make it easier for him to speak. “He’ll let me know.”

“Cocksucker,” I muttered.

The television was still on and my father stared at it. “I want you to go back to New York and stay there. I’m fine. I can handle the client load and I can handle Patrick.”

I leaned forward and put my elbows on my knees. “I can’t do that.”

Cautious now, he spoke softly. “Why?”

I looked up. “Because of her. I can’t explain it, but I don’t want her or that little girl hurt.”

He drew in a breath. “They aren’t your concern.”

“I can’t leave.”

“Just say it, Logan. The woman looks like Emily.”

Unable to stand the pain of the memories, I pushed up and headed for the doorway. I knew that was coming, but still, I wasn’t going there.

My father’s reaction was to follow me. He just wasn’t going to let it go that easy. He also knew I’d never stand in the kitchen willingly and talk about it, so he had limited time to make his point.

But feeling like I owed him an explanation, I stopped just before I opened the door. “Yes, she does. But my reasons for being concerned about her aren’t what you’re thinking.”

I could tell he didn’t believe me.

“Pop, I’m not attracted to her because she looks like Emily, but I am attracted to her. And I’m afraid for her because she does look like Emily. I’m afraid of what will happen if Patrick—or worse, Tommy—notices the similarity.”

“Yeah, I am too,” he sighed.

That wasn’t reassuring at all.

ELLE

Cries in the night.

That’s what I remembered most from my childhood. The root of my self-pronounced aversion to desire. With the memories ripped open so unexpectedly, I had a hard time sleeping.

Nightmares.

My nightmares.

They kept waking me up, forcing me to remember what I’ve tried so hard to forget. My fists gripped the sheets and I fought the panic they evoked, but it was too late—they’d already surfaced.

“I asked you to take your clothes off,” he barked.

“The doctor said we should wait at least two weeks.”

“It’s close enough.”

“But Henry, the doctor said—”

“Do you think I give a shit what advice some doctor is giving you? You’re my wife and I’ll fuck you whenever I want to.”

“Have you been drinking, Henry?”

“This isn’t about my drinking.”

“But it is. I’m not sure you’re thinking clearly. It hasn’t been that long since I lost the baby.”

He huffed in frustration. “Susan. Not this again. It’s the same thing every night. Now I’ve waited long enough. Take your clothes off or I’ll rip them off.”

My mother protested. “Henry, I’m not ready.”

Under his breath he muttered, “You never are.”

“That’s not true. I’m just not sure I’m up to it.”

“Fine, then lift your nightgown and turn around.”

My mother sighed.