Page 22 of Free to Judge (Amaryllis Heritage #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Declan nods. No protest, no arguments. Just a heavy weight he wears on a chain around his neck. “There’s no point in lying to you. You’re too smart.” Then his lips quirk into a wry smile. “Then again, you’d probably search the web and find the right answers anyway.”

“Not anymore. Not that I know what’s truly at stake.”

His eyes widen imperceptibly when he realizes what I’m saying.

Still, that doesn’t alleviate the danger emanating off of him.

As alluring as it is, it’s the kind of dangerous that could place my loved ones at risk.

I jerk my chin toward the other end of my couch before ordering, “What do you want me to know that my family isn’t telling me? ”

When he really lets me see the unguarded version of himself, the wounds I spy almost bring me to tears.

The pain Declan’s weighed down with causes a ripple to travel across my heart and tears to prick my eyes.

I reach out and brush my hand over his arm to offer some relief to his pain. “Oh, Declan.”

“Tanya was my partner. For this case, they only needed a woman to go in. I was to act as her handler.” His eyes fly up to mine to see if I understand.

“Were they trying to trap the Byrnes using a honeypot?”

He nods. “It wasn’t ideal. Tanya is—was—happily married. But the man she was targeting—Cian Byrne—was impotent. Had peripheral artery disease.” He scrubs his hands over his face. “Hell, even tiny blue pills couldn’t help him get it up. She wasn’t worried about…that.”

I didn’t respond. Just waited for him to speak his truth. At this point, it was more about him unburdening himself than anything.

“She overplayed her hand with the old man. I found out through back channels there were some of the family who were suspicious and warned her about it at our last meet up.” His eyes drift shut in memory.

“God, that place was a dump. It was a run-down coffee shop in South Boston. Hell, we came up with a fucking backstory that should have stuck—telling old man Byrne her brother was having emergency surgery. That’s all we needed—a reason to deviate from her schedule. ”

“But she didn’t want to,” I probe gently.

“So damn stubborn.” He sniffles, swiping tears from his cheeks. “Said she was on the cusp of the big payout. Three more days. Pleaded with me to wait.”

“But something went wrong.”

“Exactly.” He exhales. “Despite their criminal ties, the Byrnes are considered old money. Old power. Not the good kind. They’re the kind of people who never appear in headlines because the ink printing is done so with blood.”

My pulse quickens. Yes, I’d grown up with substantial influence and enormous secrets, but Declan’s secrets are more painful. And he hasn’t got to the worst part of his story.

“They own people all over the damn state—police, politicians, judges. While waiting for the high sign from Tanya, I gave an update to my agent-in-charge.”

A sick feeling starts to churn the wine in my stomach. He continues, voice low. “The next thing I know, I’m being called back to the station by the director…something went wrong. Everything unraveled. People were frantic. Tanya couldn’t be found. Gone. Like she’d never existed.”

“Kidnapping?” I ask gently.

Declan’s eyes flickered. “Yes,” he said.

“Then after a few days, Tanya’s head was sent to us.

It was a warning—a huge one.” His voice chokes up.

He slugs back a drink of wine before managing to continue.

“I was the one to go notify her husband. He smiled when he opened the door to me. Led me to the living room. Their wedding photo was above the mantel. His screams brought the kids into the room…” He sniffs.

“I can still see their faces in my sleep.”

I don’t have words. Instead, I just offer him the solace of silence so he can regroup.

“Now, it’s all jumbled in my nightmares.

She’s headless trying to get back to a blood-soaked wedding dress.

Instead of joy, it’s a fucking massacre.

It’s all my fault, Kalie. It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t checked in, if—”

“Declan, stop it.”

He runs his hand beneath his eyes to mop up the tears. I reach over for the tissues and offer them to him. He takes one, murmuring his thanks. I probe, “Have you spoken to anyone else about this?”

He shakes his head. “I went right from the bureau to Hudson. I dove right into finding Tanya’s killers. I have to do whatever it takes to bring them to justice. I have to for Tanya, for her husband Ben, for her kids.”

“And for yourself.”

“I don’t deserve forgiveness.” His laugh is bitter. “That much was made evident to me by the way I was persecuted by everyone at my job, investigations into Tanya’s death, fingers being pointed.”

“Let me ask you a question,” I begin.

“No, I don’t send them Christmas cards every year,” he snaps.

“Wow. So not what I was going to ask, but good to know.”

“Sorry. You were asking?”

“If you were the one undercover, would Tanya—your partner—have executed the same protocols if you’d had the same meeting with her?” The question is brutal but necessary.

It takes a while, but his barely audible, “Yes,” sounds like a shout in the quiet of my living room.

I feel the sting of the guilt Declan still carries twist my gut, but I don’t let it dissuade me from getting my answers. “How did my family get involved?”

“Your family has their own vendetta against the Byrnes.”

“Why?”

“Your father has been working to shut them down from a multitude of angles. Quietly. Legally. The problem is that these people are smart. They have connections that go back decades—business, politics, people you wouldn’t expect.”

“They can’t catch them?”

“They can in other ways but that could take years. They have too many favors owed to them. But since they placed me in a position to have access to their records, we’re getting close.” His eye twitches in the corner. There’s something he’s not telling me.

“What are you hiding?” My voice is crackling with uncertainty.

He doesn’t answer my question directly. “My position at Hudson initially started because your father wanted me to give him every last detail about the individual. He wants this person annihilated—no, I think even that’s too soft of a word.”

The shudder that ripples up my spine at his words is the kind you get when someone dances on your grave. I already know the answer based on what I overheard, but I need for him to confirm it. “Who?”

He lets out a deep breath. “Your paternal grandfather—Jack Marshall. He’s their right-hand man.”

His words steal the breath from my lungs as the fear my father must be experiencing comes full circle. My dad’s biological father hasn’t been heard from in years, but no one worries about it because he hasn’t brought it up. I’m certain most of the family assumes he is dead.

Instead, my father’s been hunting him. “What does he want with him?”

Declan stares at me. “The same thing I want with Tanya’s murder—justice.”