Page 17

I wonder what Flynn and his associates think of all this? They’re a group that seems to care and want to do something about it.

"You're going to get yourself killed." Flynn’s warning echoes in my mind. My cheeks heat remembering him, remembering my fantasy of him, but I push those thoughts aside. This story matters more than some mysterious maybe-cop with striking eyes and protective instincts.

I pull up property records, tax documents, anything public I can find. The Keans acquired most of the Ifrinn holdings within months of that devastating fire. The connection seems clear. What’s less unclear is why? Well, money and power, yes, but there’d been a time that Hampton Kean and Joseph Ifrinn were friends, or at least friendly. What went wrong that had Hampton Kean murdering his friend and his friend’s family? What happened to the Ifrinn children?

My phone buzzes with another blocked number. I let it go to voicemail, like the others. The Kean men might not have my last name and know who I am, but I'm not taking chances.

Still, I can't walk away from this story. Not when I'm finding breadcrumbs that point to something massive. Something that could finally expose the truth about one of Boston's most powerful families. Bring their secrets to the open in a way that law enforcement can’t ignore or shrug off. Maybe bring justice to four boys who lost their parents. I can’t imagine what it was like for them to lose their parents. That’s assuming they’re still alive. I can’t help but think they are. I haven’t found anything to suggest they’re dead. Are they waiting for a time to return? Plotting revenge? Or have they simply built new lives somewhere else?

I grab my phone, needing to hear a familiar voice. Kate, my sister, picks up on the second ring.

"You're calling early. Everything okay?"

“I’m alive, that’s something.” I move away from my work table and sink into my couch cushions.

“Oh, my God, what happened?”

"Remember that story I was working on?"

"The one about the Irish Mob? Please tell me you dropped it."

I glance at the bandage on my arm. "Not exactly. I got myself in a little situation the other night."

"Lucy!" Kate's voice rises. "What happened?"

"Some guys cornered me in an alley. But before you freak out, I'm fine. This guy stepped in and helped me. He even stitched up my arm."

"Wait, what? Some random dude gave you stitches? Are you insane?"

Yes, I just might be. “Not stitches like sewing. He bandaged me. He knew what he was doing. He's an undercover cop." I pause, remembering how efficiently Flynn had handled those men. "I think."

"You think?" Kate's exasperation crackles through the phone. "Lucy, this is exactly why I worry about you. First, you're poking around a dangerous crime family, then you're letting strangers play doctor?"

"Kate—”

"No, listen to me. These people, the Keans? They're not some story you can chase for a promotion. They hurt people. They make people disappear."

“What do you know about it?”

“I know what everyone else does. You don’t have to be named Gotti to know you should stay away. Sure, the Keans appear like benevolent people, but there’s a lot of death and destruction around them.”

“You sound like Flynn. He told me to stay away.”

“Who’s Flynn?”

“The guy who helped me.”

“Right, the guy you don’t know who bandaged you. Good God, Lucy…”

I press my fingers to my temples. "I know, but?—”

"But nothing. If this mysterious cop told you to back off, maybe you should.”

“The story?—"

"Then listen to him! Please, Lucy. I can't lose you over a newspaper article." There’s genuine fear in her voice.

"I hear you. I do."