He nodded toward the front door and grinned at me. “Come on, then, let’s get you to work.”

I should have been scared.

And I was.

I should have been worrying about why all of this was happening.

And I was.

But right now I just wanted to bask in how much that grin melted me.

LOGAN

The clock was ticking.

Seven minus one. Six days left. Six fucking days until Patrick makes his move.

Time had given me clarity. Whoever had been harassing Elle was doing just that. If Patrick were trying to strike, there would be no close encounters. And if it were Tommy . . .

With a shiver, I shook that thought away.

I’d know if it were him.

Lost in my thoughts, I glided into the parking lot of the garage where Elle’s car was towed last night. The place was more like a compound. There was a row of five bays on one side and five more bays directly opposite those, with an office connecting them. Once I parked, I looked toward the only open bay and saw O’Shea standing near Elle’s car. He had his kid in one arm and a piece of crumpled paper in his other hand.

Fuck.

I had hoped to beat him here and scope out the inside of Elle’s vehicle before he did. Whoever broke the window did so after I had seen the car—either on the way here or after it arrived. Still, my head was clearly not in the game last night. How the hell had I missed the piece of paper? Unless I hadn’t. When I checked the car last night, I know I looked around, including in the backseat, where I tossed some toys aside. It couldn’t have been there then.

Shoving my thoughts aside, I watched as O’Shea spoke briefly with someone near Elle’s car. The guy wore a blue quilted jacket but also had a tie on, so I assumed he was the manager. O’Shea seemed twitchy. He was bouncing the baby nervously on his hip. She was playing with the large silver rattle attached to a red ribbon that I moved off the seat last night. Despite the manager edging toward the door that must have led to the office, O’Shea seemed to have no interest in following him. The mechanic reached inside and pulled out a clipboard.

O’Shea turned and I put my hat on and slid down in my seat. I probably didn’t have to; my windows were pretty heavily tinted and he didn’t seem to be on alert. O’Shea had of out the bay when he stopped and turned back around. The manager was holding up the clipboard. O’Shea took it and scribbled something, his John Hancock more than likely, and then quickly walked out.

The manager wandered back toward the door and I watched as O’Shea shoved the paper he had been holding into his pocket and then loaded the baby in his own car. I needed to see what the hell was on that piece of paper. The way he was acting was shady at best, and instinct told me it wasn’t just a receipt for his dry cleaning. I wanted to follow him, but if Patrick was already tailing O’Shea, him finding out I was stalking O’Shea wasn’t going to be pretty.

His tires practically squealed as he pulled out of the compound. He was obviously in a hurry.

I couldn’t help but wonder why.

My greatest obstacle was time. As I was pondering my next move, I spotted the mechanic from last night getting ready to close the bay.

Bingo.

Moving quickly, I strode over to him. “Hey dude, remember me?”

He glanced up, rope in hand. Jerking his head toward Elle’s car he said, “Yeah, I talked to you about this Mercedes SUV last night.”

I nodded. “I just wanted to check on it. Make sure you were able to order the tire.”

He scratched his head. “Let me find out.”

As soon as he started walking over toward the office door, I darted for the Mercedes. I knew I wouldn’t find anything, but I wanted to have a look-see for myself. Sure enough, the window was completely busted and glass shards covered the seat and floor.

“Hey, there you are.” The mechanic looked me over like I’d been the one to bust out the window.

“Yeah, sorry. Just wanted to have a better look in the daylight. What’s the ten on the tire? Did you get it ordered?”

“You’re all good. It should be here soon,” he said, my explanation apparently not appeasing him. “Anything else I can do for you?”

“No,” I said walking backwards, edging away from him before he asked too many questions or called anyone else in. “Thanks again.”

“Sure, anytime.”

I hopped in my Rover and hightailed it out of there. As I drove, I prayed like hell O’Shea mentioned his stop at the garage to Elle and in turn she trusted me enough to tell me about it. I needed to know what was on that piece of paper. Was it a threat? A warning? From Patrick? From Tommy?

By the time I reached my suite at the Four Seasons, I was utterly wiped. I needed to catch a few z’s before heading to my father’s to discuss the best way to have a face-to-face with Patrick in order to find out what he had in mind for O’Shea.

The amount of effort Patrick was putting into this whole thing told me he wanted something more than just the net out of the five mil. I knew how he operated. He sent his associates first and then shortly after failure of delivery, Tommy would show up. And nothing good could happen then. Yet, Tommy had been sitting on this for almost three months. That alone told me there was something in it for him. A connection? A product? A pipeline? I didn’t know what, but I was going to find out. And if, by chance, it was about the money, I’d give Elle, who in turn would give O’Shea, what I had in my accounts; it wasn’t much, but it might buy some time.

That reminded me, I had to call my grandfather Ryan and tell him I wouldn’t be back in New York this week. There was no way I was leaving Boston.

I flopped on the couch and pulled out my phone to make the call, but then thought an email would be so much easier. Logan Ryan had already revoked my access to my restricted trust fund. It didn’t become legally mine until I turned thirty. My maternal grandfather was cutting me off until I severed all my ties with the Blue Hill Gang. Too dangerous to access that kind of cash, he reasoned. If I told him I wouldn’t be back this week, chances were good he’d put a hold on my paychecks, too.

I typed a simple email that said I had a case that could possibly detain me and hit send. It wasn’t entirely a lie.

There was a mixture of guilt and resignation in my mind as I headed for the Liberace-style bathroom. I sat beneath the heat lamps as I glanced around. The large Jacuzzi tub and black marble shower with six jets and rain head were way more than I needed on a daily basis. Sure, I’d grown up surrounded by luxury, but sometimes it was a little over the top.

Many months ago, after I received the call about my father’s arrest, I’d checked in here. I went for a standard room, but then Grandpa Ryan made an appearance, and before I knew it, I was upgraded to this suite. I scratched my head. How the hell had I agreed to that? Right, you never said no to Grandpa Ryan.

At first, he covered the hotel bill. Then last week, he called me into his office after my weekend visit here and told me he’d been checking on my father’s progress. Since he appeared to be doing well, it was time for me to leave him on his own and concentrate on my own job. He wasn’t asking.

That was the first time I’d seen that side of him and I tried to bite my tongue at the audacity of that arrogant old man, but I didn’t do a great job and I knew my anger bled through my response. Although I was in no way disrespectful, when I returned to Boston, the front desk asked for a new credit card, since it seemed the one on file had been declined. I didn’t bother to call my grandfather; I knew it was his way of telling me he was in control. I also knew then where my mother got it. It obviously ran in the family.