Flynn’s sat just below his waistband, by his right hip. Smaller than everyone else’s, because McGinty knew that as the faceof the “legit” business, Flynn’s couldn’t be obvious. Doing business in Chicago meant being out on a boat in trunks duringthe summer, sharing a locker room at a golf club. His tattoo had to be discreet.
God, he wished it was gone. The moment the trial was over, he was getting that thing burned off. The first step in his officialmob-free life.
If he got to have one.
Patrick went into the bait shop and Flynn took the opportunity to walk out. He immediately cut right, putting his back tothe shop, in case he came right back out. Then he stopped just around the edge of the building. Flynn scanned the street.Not too busy, this early in the morning and the crowd was thin enough that it was easy for him to scan. No other Chicago facespopped out at him.
Yet.
But Pat was in a bait shop. That meant fishing. Was everyone else on a boat? Were they doing the tourist thing during theday as a cover, before coming to take out the Maguires at night? From his hiding place, all Flynn could see were the topsof some masts down at the marina. No way to tell without going down there and searching all the boats.
The silver lining to not seeing anyone meant that nobody had seen him with Sierra, either. As long as she stayed safe, Flynn could handle whatever came at him.
Footsteps crunched over the mix of gravel and crushed oyster shells of the back parking lot. Flynn didn’t bother turning around.If it was a bullet to the back of the head, he didn’t need to see the face of the coward pulling the trigger. Otherwise, itwas Rafe.
“Tell me your finger slipped.” His brother’s voice was harsh and low. “That you meant to send me a flaming shit emoji, andnot the shamrock.”
“Although they’re one and the same in my book now, no.” Flynn met Rafe’s worried gaze head-on. Let him read the certaintyin his own expression. “No mistake.”
Rafe’s hands fisted at his sides. “They’re here?”
“One is. Built like a fireplug. Red hair. Nose broken so many times it looks like that famous curvy street in San Fran.”
With a double snap of his fingers, Rafe said, “Pat O’Connor.”
“That’s the guy. I saw him through the window of Norah’s shop. Hightailed it out of there.” Flynn held up a hand to cut offthe next obvious question. “He didn’t see me. I’m positive.”
As Rafe flexed his fingers, he gave a nod of agreement. “Pat’s big on muscles and temper. Massively lacking in the brainsand patience departments, though. If he’d seen you, there’d already be blood on the ground. Where is he now?”
Flynn looked around the corner again. “Bait shop. Easy to spot, too. He’s wearing a Hawaiian-type shirt covered with sharks.”
“Such a douchebag. Some things never change.” Rafe put a hand on Flynn’s shoulder, leaned over and eyeballed the street. “Yousee anyone else?”
“No.”
“Could mean we’re in the clear. That it’s just a hell of an unlucky coincidence.”
Once the panic stopped icing over his neurons, the same thought had occurred to Flynn. “You remember Pat ever talking aboutfishing? You hung out with him. I only saw him a couple of times a year at parties.”
“The city’s backyard is Lake Michigan. Everyone swore they’d retire and fish at every great watering hole. Never noticed ithappening. Nobody retires. No real vacations, either. How often did you and I leave Chicago for the hell of it?”
They’d taken Kellan on a three-day trip to celebrate his high school graduation. Boat ride to Ellis Island, a Broadway show,a game at Yankee Stadium just so they could boo them, and some of the best steaks they’d ever had—not that they’d admit toit back in Chi-town. That was it for vacations.
Wonder what they’d do now for a vacation? If they made it past the trial?
Damn, Flynn was starting to wonder, to care about that a lot more.
He squinted against the morning sun. “Should we call Kellan?”
“Not yet. Shit.” Rafe slammed the flat of his hand against the brick building. “I fucking hate that we have to tell him atall.”
Yeah. But that was nonnegotiable. It didn’t matter that Rafe was the eldest. Flynn would insist on dialing Kellan in or he’dnever trust the two of them again. “We promised. No more secrets. No more lies.”
“I know, I know.” This time he kicked at the gravel. “I just hate it.”
“Me, too.” Without saying anything, they alternated quick looks around the corner. “Does this mean we’re having another warcouncil?”
“Hell, no. We’re not sliding backward.” Rafe stabbed an index finger, pointing at both of them in turn. “You and me, we’renot those people anymore.”
Funny, since Flynn had never felt like one of those people. He’d always felt out of sync with the rest of McGinty’s crew. That’s what came of straddlingthe line between legal and not.
For now, though? Flynn would jump to whatever side of the line was necessary to protect Kellan and Mollie and Sierra and everyoneelse in this town who never asked to have mobsters fucking infiltrate them.
“That means killing him’s out?”
“For fuck’s sake, Flynn, you and I have never killed anyone.” Rafe fisted Flynn’s forest green tee at the neck and yankedhis brother close enough to see the darkening flecks of navy and black in his eyes. “We’re not starting now that we’re out of the mob!”
Flynn shook his head. Rafe’s intimidation didn’t scare him one bit. A Chicago mobster possibly hunting them down—that scared him. “Didn’t say I wanted to. I do want to be certain that we’re strategic about this. Smart. That we pro/con everyoption that exists and choose the best one.”
“You and your damned lists. No war council, and no PowerPoint, bullet point list.” Rafe let go to pace in a circle. “Let’sjust think for a second. I’m telling you right now that running’s off the table. I won’t leave Mollie.”
Maybe Norah hadn’t been as off the mark
