I leaned back on his desk and crossed my arms. “Okay, so how does this help us move forward with a solution?”

“It doesn’t. But if we can find out who O’Shea’s wife was working for and/or who she was getting the drugs from, we should be able to follow the trail up to the source, which will more than likely be the person in charge of the renegade operation. And if we deliver that person or persons by Friday, that girl you’re so concerned about should be safe.”

That girl.

She wasn’t just that girl anymore.

She was my girl.

Admitting it would be futile, though. What mattered was that I keep her safe. And that I would do, no matter what. “I know where to start,” I said.

My father looked at me skeptically.

I shoved off the desk. “Something happened last night.”

It took me fifteen minutes to tell him what happened to Peyton. He had so many questions—why was I there, what was I thinking, I shouldn’t even be near Elle. When the lecture started, I started for the door.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“To see Declan Mulligan. I’ll call you later.”

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

I indicated my appearance. “I’m in a suit—what am I going to do?”

My father said, “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“I’ll be smart.”

“Dinner?”

“Can’t tonight, but tomorrow night I’ll be there,” I responded as I left his office. I had no idea what today might bring. Plans weren’t anything I needed to have.

His heavy sigh could be heard down the hall.

My heavy sigh, though—that was what Declan should be worried about.

Tie pulled loose, suit jacket off, and sleeves rolled up, I found a place to park on ever busy Charles Street.

Mulligan’s Cup was open for business and full of patrons when I walked through the door. And Declan himself was working the espresso machine like he was born to brew lattes.

“I need to talk to you,” I said, bending over the counter.

“Yeah, give me a minute,” he responded without glancing up.

“In less than a minute, this fancy machine of yours is going to be on the floor.”

That got him to look up and when he saw my unhappy face, he paled, and then cranked a knob or two on the Italian masterpiece in front of him that had to cost at least thirty thousand. “Logan, look, I don’t want any trouble.”

“I said, I need to talk to you.” I was seething. My fingers gripped the back of the machine so tightly it shook. I would shove it to the ground if I had to—if it was the only way to get his attention.

He swallowed nothing in his throat and gave me a nod. “Charlene, can you finish this order?” he asked the girl behind the register.

“No problem,” she answered, eyeing me with distaste.

Declan took off his apron and bobbed his head toward the door leading to the backroom.

As soon as we were through it, I slammed him into the wall. “Why would you do that?” I said with disgust.

Sputtering, gasping for breath, he choked out, “I didn’t do anything.”

“Wrong answer.” I punched him in the gut.

Declan curled around my fist as all the air went out of his body. “Logan, I didn’t do anything. I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

I pulled him up by the shirt collar. “You’re trying to tell me you didn’t put Peyton in the hospital?”

“No! What do you mean? What happened to her?” He coughed the words out, his concern clear in his tone.

Shoving him back against the wall, I looked him in the eye. “Someone saw me with her yesterday and last night she was attacked—by Tommy.”

He blinked rapidly as if trying to process what I’d just said. “Is she okay?”

I stepped back so I could better assess if he was lying to me. He looked genuinely upset. With narrowed eyes I hissed, “You’d better not be fucking with me.”

He raised his palms surrender style. “I swear, man, I haven’t seen Tommy in years. I’m staying clean and trying to run an honest business.”

I clenched my fists, trying to beat back the urge to knock him around a bit and see if he really was telling me the truth.

“What happened to Peyton?”

Calming myself, I leaned back against the counter. “She was attacked and left with an E on her stomach as a warning . . . to me.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Fuck, no.”

Declan reached behind him, but I was on him too fast. My face was right up in his. “Don’t even think about it.”

“I’m not carrying. I was reaching for my phone. I want to call Peyton.”

Unsure, I patted him down.

“Logan, I told you, I’m not in that life anymore. And besides, I like Peyton—I’d never do anything that might hurt her.”

Images flickered in my mind of the long walk up the hill yesterday, of the dozens and dozens of people we must have passed. Was Tommy one of them? Was he combing the streets looking for the same thing his father demanded be delivered by Friday?

Drugs.

Money.

The connection.

What the fuck was it?

I found myself staring at Declan. “What do you know about Tommy and dealing drugs?”

He shook his head. “I told you, I’m out of that life.”

Air pushed from my mouth. “Come on man, I’m not stupid.”

“I am.”

“Tommy let you out?”

“Patrick did. He knew my old man needed help with his business and for some reason, he let me go. Said it was for the good of the neighborhood.”

Possible, but not probable. “Come on, Declan, don’t lie.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Then what’s the real reason you’re out and still alive?”

He sighed. “Tommy got shot a few years back and the guys he was with left him on the ground bleeding. I saved him and in return, Patrick let me out. But it really was to work my old man’s business.”

For some reason, I believed him. “Even out, I know you have to hear things. Peyton is an innocent girl who got caught up in Tommy’s shit. If you care about her, you’ll help me out.”

An unlikely ally, I was surprised when he said, “I heard he was dealing and had been seen over at the waterfront with a redhead a lot, but that was months ago.”

“Can you find out where exactly?”

“I can ask around, but I’ll need some time. I can’t just bring it up. I have to run into the right people.”

My mouth twisted. “Something is going down soon and we don’t have much time.”

His eyes told me he understood. “I’ll hit the neighborhood tonight.”

The room was organized and I reached behind him for a clipboard hung on wall. Tearing a corner from a sheet of paper, I wrote down my number. “Call me as soon as you hear anything. I don’t care what time it is.”

I was out the door when I turned back. “Hey—”

He was already on his phone.

For a minute, I wondered again if he’d played me and was calling Tommy.

As if knowing my thoughts, he held his phone. Calling Peyton flashed on the screen.

“Sorry about the misunderstanding.”

He gave me a nod and then turned his attention to his call. “Peyton, it’s Declan . . .”

The door closed and I reached in my wallet and stuffed a twenty in the tip jar. Charlene was still eyeing me, but at least she added a smile.

Once I was back in my car, I sent Elle a text.

Me: What color hair does your sister have?

Elle: Red, why? Do you think you found her?

Red.

Could Tommy have been in business with Lizzy? Was O’Shea on the up-and-up when he said he had nothing to do with what went down?

I texted Elle back.

Me: No, I haven’t. Do you have a picture of her you could send me?

Elle: I don’t have any recent photos, but I know there are some on Michael’s FB account. Hang on.

Elle sent me a link.

Me: Thanks. I’ll be back soon.

Elle: I’m at the boutique. I took a cab. I’m waiting for the deliveries and then I’ll meet you back at the hotel.