Page 94

“Shut the fuck up. I get the picture. You messed up. You took money from the wrong people, and now because of your mistake, Amelia is in danger. Why her? You’re divorced.”
“I might have… uh, well, they’re based in New York, that was one of the reasons I was back in town. And I might have mentioned her, told them we were getting back together.”
“And are you?” I ask, blood pounding through my veins. Not that it matters. I’d still move heaven and earth to keep her safe. He shakes his head, a tight expression on his face. “No. I tried, but she wasn’t interested.”
I know he has more to say on that subject, that he probably blames me for the rejection rather than the fact that he’s a cheating dickwad who treated her like crap. “She’s a good judge of character,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him, relief flooding through me. She’s not only alive, she’s not with him. “And Chad, remember this—she’s yourex-wife. Once I get her back, she’s myfuturewife. You understand?”
He wants to argue, but maybe the memory of my fingers around his larynx helps him stay silent. He nods once.
“Good. Am I right to assume that Declan Boyle is Irish?”
“Yeah, I think so. He has the accent anyway.”
“And I’m guessing from the fact that he’s kidnapped an innocent woman that he’s not an orthodontist looking to boost his retirement fund?”
He shakes his head. “No. He’s, uh, a businessman.”
Right. A businessman. I know exactly what that means. And exactly who to talk to. I pick up my cell and find his name. He answers straight away.
“Drake. What can I do for you?”
That’s one of the things I like about Shane Ryan, the head of the Irish Mafia in New York. He’s all business.
“You know a guy named Declan Boyle?” I ask. A pause, the sound of music in the background, the clanking of metal on metal telling me I’ve interrupted a workout session.
“I do. He’s a fat fuck with a face like a bloated weasel. Why?”
“He’s taken someone. Someone I love the way you love Jessie.”
The music fades, and he’s obviously walking away. The mention of his wife has ensured I have his full attention. “What do you need from us?”
“For now, information. He’s asking for cash. Is he the kind who’ll stick to the deal? Will he hand her over if he gets what he wants?”
“Yeah, he will. He has money, enough for a fancy car and some of the trappings, but not enough for any real power. He’s also a squeamish coward, which is good for your girl. He’ll probably be working with his cousin Evan Finnegan, who’s more likely to be handling anything, uh, physical.”
I suck in a breath. If either of these Irish fucks has touched a hair on her head, I’ll make them wish they were never born. Shane obviously knows what I’m thinking and adds, “Try not to worry too much about that. Neither of them are heavy guys. Boyle is involved in gambling, and we tolerate him—but he’s not a violent dude. Talks a good game, but he’s soft. He once attacked Mikey with a fucking butter knife.”
What the fuck? His brother Mikey is the size of a fucking rhino, and you’d probably need a chainsaw to do any damage tohim. “Why?” I ask, needing to know if I’m dealing with a psycho here. Amelia is not the size of a rhino, and the thought of even a butter knife touching her perfect skin makes my blood freeze.
“Mikey fucked his wife… At their wedding reception. Liam knocked him cold and stole his Maserati.”
I shake my head. That’s how it goes with the fucking Ryans. “Right. Good to know. If I come across this guy, will I be able to handle him?”
He snorts down the line. “Fuck yeah. In your sleep, pal. But he can be slippery, so maybe take something with you—a knife, maybe a gun. You need help with that?”
“No, that’s handled. Look, Shane, I’m going to pay the guy because I need to get her back safe, but you should know that once that’s done, I will be seeing them again. On less friendly terms.”
There’s a pause at the other end of the phone, and I wonder if he’s going to give me trouble. If I’m going to provoke some Mafia bullshit pissing contest by laying hands on someone from their macho world. If so, bring it on.
“I get it. I know I’d burn the fucking world down if anyone touched Jessie. Let me know if we can help. Now or when you pay him that second visit.”
He hangs up, and I make a second call, arranging for half a million in cash to be delivered to me in large bills. In most people’s worlds, it’s a lot of dough, and I see Chad’s eyes widen as I request it like it’s pocket money. I don’t live in most people’s worlds.
Once that’s done, I tell Chad to call them and set up the exchange. He obeys immediately and puts the call on speaker so I can hear both sides of the conversation. There’s some bullshit about swapping the cash for a location. It takes every ounce of self-control I have not to snatch the phone out of his hands and do it myself. It wouldn’t help. If this scumbag gets wind of thefact that Amelia means something to someone with my kind of money, the best-case scenario would be a price hike. I can’t even bring myself to consider the worst-case. It’s better if I keep my distance, at least for now.
Once it’s all sorted, Chad stands up and looks to me. The stupid fuck actually looks pleased with himself, like he’s played some vital role in rescuing her instead of being the crooked cunt who got her abducted in the first place.
“Done?” I ask. He nods and starts to talk, but I’m not really listening at this stage. All the rage, all my fear and frustration are rising to the surface. I stride around my desk and enjoy his confused look as I prowl toward him.