I glanced around at the vanilla-colored walls and heard a pelting of sorts. When I turned my head toward the massive bank of windows, I noticed the doors were still open and I could see hail as it hit the terrace. My sister always said when it hailed that God was shooting bullets from the sky.

I hoped that wasn’t a sign.

DAY 5

LOGAN

The legend of Killian “the Killer” McPherson was like a shadow over me.

Mostly it was dark and looming, but sometimes it was a blessing in disguise.

Everywhere I went, if people knew me, they moved out of my way. If I asked a question, they answered. If I needed something, they gave it to me.

Tonight wouldn’t be any different.

I was certain of that.

Still, there was a taut awareness in every muscle of my body. I felt confident. Ready to do what I had to in order to find out what the fuck was going on.

Declan was sitting in the lobby of the Seaport Hotel. He couldn’t look more out of place in the regal yet stuffy hotel that screamed aristocratic affiliations. Not that I looked like I fit in much more tonight.

“What’s going on?” I asked him, slipping into the plush beige club chair beside him.

He wiped his hands on his worn jeans. “Miles Murphy, my buddy who works security, said he’s seen someone matching Tommy’s description coming in and out of here with a redhead as little as three or four days ago.”

My brows rose in confusion. “Days or months?” I asked in clarification.

Declan’s silver hoop earrings glinted off the light of the chandeliers that flanked the room.

It made me a little jumpy.

“Days.”

Something keen to excitement whirled in my gut. “Does he know what he’s been doing here?”

Declan shrugged. “I asked if he saw anything suspicious, but he said no. He’s pulling security tapes for me to look at.”

I was impressed. “When will he have them?”

“His supervisor goes on break at one thirty. He said he’ll slip me into the security office then to take a look.”

I glanced at my watch. In sixty minutes I might finally get some answers.

Declan shifted in his chair. “So, I saw Peyton.”

“How was she?”

“She said she’s fine. She told me what happened, and there’s no doubt it was Tommy.”

I nodded in agreement. I didn’t have to ask him if he’d kept his mouth shut. I knew he had.

“She told me you’d walked her from the boutique to the coffee shop and back. Someone must have spotted you with her and then watched her.”

An unease was in the air. Or maybe it was my guilt. “Yeah, I know.”

Tension lined his face. “The flowers that you sent were nice.”

I nodded. I owed her so much more.

“You know, that night was the night I decided to get out.”

My skin prickled at the mention.

“What they did to that girl you were with, it made no sense.”

Something attacked me. Guilt. So fierce and raw and hard that I couldn’t breathe. I clutched at the fabric under my fingertips and couldn’t contain my snarl. “No, it didn’t.”

He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t have to. I saw what he was thinking in his eyes. He wanted to ask me why the fuck I would be seen on a popular Boston street with a girl after that night.

I’d been asking myself the same question, and stupidity was still my only answer. My head was so far up my ass worrying about Elle, no one else was on my radar. I couldn’t justify my mistake.

Time passed so fucking slow. For the rest of the time we sat in silence. Declan kept his eyes down, while mine scanned the area for any signs of Tommy or a drug trade operation. I saw neither.

“Hey, man, you ready?”

I jerked my head practically all the way around to find a guy in black security duds, built like a tank, rubbing his hands. He was definitely ex-military. From his haircut, to the frown on his face, to the type of boots on his feet.

Declan and I stood at the same time. “Yeah, let’s do this.”

The security guard’s eyes shifted to me and his nervousness was more than apparent. I was surprised, given his size, but maybe his worry was more about his job than me. “You didn’t tell me you were bringing someone along.”

Yes, definitely his job.

Declan cleared his throat. “Yeah, right. This is Logan McPherson. He’s the one looking for the dude I described.”

Implication—he’s Killer’s grandson.

I could tell the security guard was uneasy and I had two ways to go with this—intimidate the shit out of him or ease his fears. I wasn’t sure I could do the former and I preferred not to anyway.

It was late and the lobby was empty of visitors. I leaned over. “Show me what you got and there’s a grand in it for you.”

His shoulders straightened. “Follow me.”

We walked down a corridor, through a door marked employees only, and then down a flight of stairs. For a nice hotel, the offices were a shit hole.

Miles unlocked a door at the end of the hall and led us into an eight-by-eight room. There were a few monitors, a couple of computers, and large stacks of papers covering every inch of desk space.

“Over here,” he said. He sat in a rickety brown leather chair in the corner that creaked and punched a few buttons on the keypad in front of him. “Here—this is the footage from the last time I remember seeing him.”

On the screen, a black-and-white image just outside the entrance to the hotel presented itself. The date/time stamp informed me that this clip was taped this past Saturday at three ten A.M. My skin went a little clammy when I saw the prick. Tommy was the renegade supplier Patrick was looking for? Could it be? His limp was the first dead giveaway, followed by his short stature. Born with some disease that stunted his growth, he was always trying to make up for his physical impairments with his fists. Sure, he was tough, but that’s not what kept him alive. Everyone was afraid of what would happen if they dared touch him.

A few had over the years and it wasn’t them that suffered, it was their families—their sisters were raped, their fathers beaten, their mothers both.

I still didn’t know if it was Patrick or Tommy commissioning the warnings surrounding Elle, but I knew better than to attack Tommy in a physical way. I wasn’t afraid of what he’d do to me, but I feared what he’d do those around me. Especially Elle, if he found out about us.

Refocusing on the screen, I bit back the bile rushing up my throat. He hadn’t changed—dark hair bleached blond with roots the color of midnight, black bushy eyebrows, and beady eyes.

He was standing casually in the arrival area with a leg propped up against the limestone wall and a cigarette between his lips.

A cab pulled up and he dropped his cigarette and toed it out. A smile came across his lips as he started walking. A woman got out of the cab and he approached her. She was dressed in black, all black, but the red hair told me who she probably was.

Lizzy.

The angle of the camera only allowed me to see the back of her, though, so I couldn’t be certain. Tommy paid the cab driver and it was then that I noticed she had nothing on her—not a coat, not a purse—but she was holding something in her hand.

My mind rewound to the first night I met Elle. The perp in the bushes dressed in black with what I thought was a gun in his hand. Elle thought that the he was a she. Was she right?

“Can you pause it and zoom in on her hand?” I asked.

“Yeah, sure,” he said.

The image was blurry at best, but the metal clip and rectangular shape peeking through her fingers looked an awful lot like a garage door opener.

Everything started to make sense. That night it wasn’t Tommy or Patrick after Elle, it was her sister. And more than likely it was her sister in O’Shea’s house the following night. My mind seemed so much freer knowing Elle wasn’t on Tommy’s radar.