“Listen, Judd. Tommy’s on to me—on to us. We need to get gone and do it fast. He knows where I’m staying, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the police are already on their way.” It was a gross exaggeration. I didn’t really believe Tommy would call the police and he didn’t have any idea where I was staying, but I’d say whatever it took to keep Judd from going after Tommy or Spencer himself.

“You really are nothing more than a useless buffer,” Judd hissed into my ear. “I knew as soon as Pop opened his mouth to tell you about this job that it would all go to shit in the end. I knew it.”

“Well, it looks like you were right,” I said, my jaw tight. “If you clear out now, you can beat me back to the Village and have everyone set to run me out on a rail as soon as I get back.”

“Don’t you worry about that, Buffer,” Judd said. “Everyone’s been set to do that for years. This’ll just give ‘em the excuse.”

The line went dead, and the words “Call Ended” flashed on my phone’s screen. I shoved it back in my pocket and stared down the tracks, glad to see the lights of an approaching train. If I were lucky, Judd would be gone by the time the train pulled up to the station in Balanova.

THE SHRIEK OF the teakettle startled me as it filled the tiny carriage house. I turned the burner off and poured the steaming water into the mug I’d already prepared. I’d been lost in thought, staring through the window above the sink that looked out over a line of trees separating my landlord’s property from its neighbors. I’d never quite understood why country people always insisted on cutting themselves off from one another when being part of a community offered so many comforts.

Comforts like Maggie’s tea. I smiled to myself as I took a sip, but even the connection to her wasn’t enough to lift my spirits for long. I sighed and carried the mug to the table. A matchbook from some two-bit motel was still on the tabletop, apparently abandoned by Judd in his rush to clear out last night. I swiped it aside and set my mug down, then flopped onto the chair to continue my wallowing in relative comfort.

I’d fallen in love with Spencer, lost her, and still managed to screw up a con twenty years in the making. Things couldn’t possibly have gone worse. My chest felt heavy as I allowed a moment for that bitter reality to sink in.

This con would’ve meant finally gaining the status I’d always wanted. It would’ve meant a whole new life for me and for my family. But now we’d be worse off than we’d been before. I’d be lucky if I could even go back after Judd got done running his mouth. But it was the thought of Spencer that really killed me. By now, Tommy would’ve told her everything, and she’d never forgive me.

I’d been up most of the night, and it was Spencer my thoughts kept returning to over and over. I was afraid of what Pop might do when I got home, of how I’d be treated by the rest of the clan, but none of it seemed to matter when the image of Spencer’s face appeared. I sighed heavily and pushed back from the table again. I took the mug to the sink and poured out most of the tea.

I glanced at the clock. Ten in the morning. My bus home didn’t leave until tonight, but I was already packed, thanks to a sleepless night, and the bustle of 30th Street Station might be enough to take my mind off the mess I’d gotten myself into. At least for a while.

I pulled a hooded sweatshirt over my head and sat down to put my sneakers on. As I laced them, my phone started to dance across the coffee table. I jogged across the room to answer it before the buzzing stopped. It was probably Judd calling to yell at me again now that he was halfway home and clear of any potential run-in with the law. The phone’s display glowed, and the buzzing persisted as I fumbled to answer it before he hung up. Travelers, as a rule, didn’t use cell phones because they were too easy to trace, but I had to admit they did come in handy for this job, particularly when you were trying to blend in with a bunch of college students.

I didn’t recognize the number on the phone’s display. Only a handful of people had my number, and this call wasn’t coming from any of them. Jimmy Boy and I had both gotten burner phones before I left. He was even more opposed to the idea than I’d been, but he’d promised to keep his phone with him day or night in case I needed to get a hold of him fast. But this wasn’t his number.

I pressed the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

Tommy’s stony voice came through the speaker. “I need to speak with you.”

“I’m listening,” I said.

“Not on the phone,” Tommy answered. “Can you meet me in the city?”

I thought for a long time before answering. What could Tommy possibly want to meet me for after last night? He must’ve gotten my number from Spencer, which meant this was about her. If it was, did I want to hear what he had to say? In the end, curiosity and the fleeting hope I might be able to salvage the situation—whether with Spencer or Tommy—got the better of me. “Name the place.”

Tír na nÓg had heavy oak doors that creaked as I pushed through them. I glanced around and squinted in the dim light. It was fairly crowded considering it was a bit early for the lunch rush, but there were still plenty of empty seats. The bar—a mammoth construction of deeply stained wood and gleaming brass fixtures—dominated the room. I scanned the patrons scattered around its edge. Two young women talked animatedly to one another over their salads. They ignored a second pair of well-dressed businessmen across the bar who appeared to be long past their first drinks of the day. The men waved and winked at the girls, who, in turn, erupted into stifled giggles but otherwise pretended not to have noticed. An old man, who looked as if he’d been in the same spot for so long he’d begun to grow roots, nursed a pint of thick, brown liquid and grumbled occasionally at one of the televisions mounted above the bar.

“Welcome! Can I help yah?” I turned my attention to the source of the familiar accent and met the eyes of a pretty brunette. She beamed at me, her hands splayed over the swollen belly that strained the fabric of her cableknit sweater. I’d known Tír na nÓg was an Irish pub but hadn’t expected to be greeted by an actual Irish lass. I returned her broad smile with one of my own.

“I’m supposed to be meeting someone,” I told her. “So I think I’ll sit at the bar if that’s all right?” I pointed in the direction of the seat I intended to occupy.

She nodded. “Right, of course. Help yerself to it.” She handed me a thick menu. “You can have a look at this while you’re waiting.”

I thanked her and made my way to the far side of the bar where fewer people sat and where I would have a clear view of the door. I set the menu aside and ordered a soda, though what I really wanted was a pint to steady my nerves. I planted my elbows on the bar and pressed my mouth and nose into my clasped hands, watching the door over the top of my knuckles. Ignoring the soda that had been placed in front of me, my feet toyed with the bottom rung of the barstool, my eyes trained on the doors. My nerves jumped each time they swung open, only settling again when it wasn’t Tommy who walked through them.

As I began to wonder if the man had changed his mind, the doors swung again, and Tommy Costello appeared. His black overcoat hung open, revealing an expensive charcoal suit and a lavender silk tie that reminded me of Maggie’s herb garden. I watched as Tommy chatted with the pretty brunette, who laughed when he patted her belly. Still smiling, Tommy glanced up, but as he met my gaze, his expression changed. He set his mouth in a hard line, and his eyes narrowed. Tommy turned his attention back to the hostess and smiled again, but it was strained this time. He said something, she nodded, and then he made his way down the broad side of the bar. I lifted my drink to take a sip as he slid into the seat next to me and laid his soft leather briefcase on top of the stool on his other side.