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A s soon as Doyle got off the phone with Murray, he heaved the desk phone across the room. It crashed into the wall and broke into three pieces. Ignoring the mess, he called his travel agent. “Get me on a plane to Helena, Montana. Tonight. Sooner the better.”

“Will do, Mr. Doyle. I’ll call you back with the details.”

Bobby shoved his cell phone into his pocket, along with a wad of cash, then tossed a few changes of clothes and a couple extra weapons into a bag, got into his car and headed for the Harry Reid Las Vegas airport. He’d have to check his bag, because of the weapons, but that wouldn’t slow him down much once he arrived in Helena.

After a flight that took forever, he pulled up to the front door of the Excelsior Hotel after midnight and checked in. The receptionist asked, “Would you like me to have a bellman carry your bags up to your room?”

His rage at Murray had been building since he’d left Vegas, but he managed to control it. Smiled at the woman, although by the way she flinched, it was probably more of a grimace. “No thanks. I’ll park the car in the garage, then carry my bag in. I’m only staying for a couple of nights, so I don’t have much luggage.”

“Very good, sir,” the receptionist said. “May I have a credit or debit card for any incidentals you might require during your stay?”

“Sure,” Bobby said, pushing one across the desk. She ran it through the credit card machine and handed it back to him, along with a folder holding a room key.

“Enjoy your stay,” she said brightly.

“Thank you,” Bobby said, managing a tight smile.

He shoved the key into his jacket pocket and walked out to his car. He drove into the garage and proceeded slowly up the floors. On the top floor, he spotted Murray’s black Cadillac Escalade.

Bobby parked his car several slots down from Murray’s, then pulled out his lock picks and popped open the locks on Murray’s car. He opened the back door, slid onto the seat, then twisted to look at the third row of seats. He smiled. Just what he needed.

He yanked the old blanket into the second seat, lay down on the seat and pulled the blanket over him. With any luck, Murray wouldn’t look in the back seat of his car when he got in. He knew Bobby was supposed to arrive today, so he’d make sure he was out of Helena long before Bobby arrived.

Rage bubbled beneath Bobby’s skin. So many betrayals. Murray extorting him. Nicky taking off in the middle of the night and living with the woman who was supposed to be dead. He’d take care of that piece-of-shit Murray, then he’d find Nicky’s apartment. He’d watch it for a while to make sure both Nick and Celia were inside, then he’d take care of them, too.

Bobby managed to sleep a little, but part of him was listening for Murray approaching the car. When he heard footsteps before dawn, he slid onto the floor of the second seat, pulled the blanket over him and stilled, listening for the telltale sound of the locks opening.

False alarm. The footsteps went past the car. But after another ten minutes, he heard someone else approaching. This guy was whistling. Murray was a whistler, and Doyle clenched his hand into a fist. It had always driven him crazy. But now he appreciated the warning it gave him.

The door locks opened and Murray popped the cargo area door and tossed in a suitcase. Then he opened the front door and slid behind the steering wheel. Bobby gripped his favorite gun in his right hand and rose from the floor. “Murray,” he said. “Where you going in such a hurry? You were supposed to meet me here, but it’s barely light out.”

Murray froze, then turned to face him. “What are you doing here, Mr. Doyle? I thought you were driving down today.”

“I decided to fly. Got here last night.” He rested his gun on the top of the seat in front of him, and Murray’s eyes darted to the gun. Back to Bobby’s face. “So you thought you could extort me, huh Murray?”

“Wasn’t extorting you,” Murray said, which just made Bobby angrier. “I had valuable information. When you got something valuable, you should get paid for it.”

“I already paid you to take care of Celia, but you and Fingers screwed up.” Bobby’s hand tightened on the gun as he stared at Murray. “You expect me to pay you twice? After you screwed up the first time?”

Murray was watching him in the rear-view mirror and didn’t say a thing. Doyle narrowed his eyes at Murray and growled, “I want that money back, Murray. Right now.”

“It’s… ah… it’s in a bank. In San Francisco.”

“You moved it there last night? You can move it again.”

“I’ll give it back to you, Mr. Doyle. You’re right. You already paid me once. It wasn’t right to ask you to pay again.”

“Good,” Bobby said, rage still roaring through him. Screaming at him to put the gun against Murray’s skull and pull the trigger. But he forced himself to relax his grip on the gun. Returning the money wouldn’t save Murray now.

“Where, ah, where do you want me to send the money?” Murray asked.

“To the same account you get your paycheck from,” Bobby said, his hand tightening on the gun.

“You, ah, you got the number, Mr. Doyle?”

“Yeah. I’ll read it off to you.” He watched Murray fumble with his phone. His hands shook as he called up his account. Good. He wanted Murray to be afraid. Wanted him to die scared.

Once the money was transferred, Murray took a deep breath. “Okay, Mr. Doyle. The money’s back in your account.”

“Good. I’d thank you for your service, but you don’t deserve my thanks, you disloyal weasel.” He lifted his gun, but Murray spung around in his seat and pointed his own gun at Bobby’s heart. The two men stared at each other for a long moment.

Finally Murray said, “Get out of my car, Doyle. You already fired me, but I’m firing you, too. I’ll find a job with another family.”

“You think anyone’s gonna hire you when they hear what you done?”

Murray stared at him for a long moment, and Bobby narrowed his gaze at Murray. The fool wasn’t nearly as intimidated as Bobby’d thought he’d be. Finally Murray said, “I got a good rep in Vegas. I’ll go somewhere else. All the families know what I can do. Don’t think I’ll have any trouble finding a new job.”

“Yeah? You think anyone’s gonna hire a dead man?” Before Murray could respond, Bobby fired two shots at his head. One went into his forehead, the other shattered the windshield. Bobby added another round to Murray’s chest, and Murray toppled backward. Landed on the steering wheel, and the horn blared, a shocking sound in the empty garage.

Shit. With that alarm going off, someone would be up here to check things out. Swallowing, Bobby reached into the front seat and grabbed Murray’s shirt. Yanked him to the side, where his torso toppled into the footwell of the passenger seat.

The horn finally went silent, and Bobby drew a deep breath. Blood splatter covered the windshield, the steering and Murray. Probably him, too. The acrid smell of urine filled the car -- Murray had pissed himself. Definitely dead. He opened the door, then removed his handkerchief and wiped down anything he might have touched. When he was done, he slammed the door hard. Walked over to his rental car and grabbed his bag, then walked into the hotel and found his room. Went inside, took a shower, and got into bed. He slept like a rock until his alarm when off at four PM.

After eating a room service meal, Bobby pulled out the piece of paper from his wallet that held Nicky’s address. According to Murray, he lived above a sporting goods store. Bobby snorted. Was that the best he could do in this hick town?

He entered the address into his mapping app and saw that it was a ten minute walk from his hotel. Should he walk? Or drive?

Bobby mulled it over for a moment, then opened his suitcase and pulled out a suppressor. He shoulda used it in the garage, but there was no one around at one in the morning. Now he attached the suppressor to the gun he wore beneath his jacket. He didn’t want the people in the store below Nicky’s apartment to hear the gunshots. Or the thump of the bodies hitting the floor.

Walking would be the smart way to go. Nobody noticed pedestrians, and he wouldn’t have to worry about parking the car. After he’d taken care of Nicky and Celia, he could walk away from the apartment and back to the hotel. Have a glass of scotch and a nice meal in his room.

He headed out of the hotel into the warmth of the late spring day. Rage a fire in his veins, he stalked to Nicky’s apartment. As he stood in front of the sporting goods store, Bobby shook his head. What was his kid thinking, living in a dump like this? He was pretty sure Nicky had plenty of money, although he’d never been able to hack into his accounts to find out how much. So why stay in a place like this?

A moment of rationality made him realize Nicky was living here because no one would expect Bobby Doyle’s kid to live above a retail store. Bobby grudgingly admitted that maybe Nicky’d been smart. But Murray’d managed to find him, hadn’t he? Maybe Nicky wasn’t as smart as he thought he was.

Pulling out his set of lock picks, Bobby found the one he needed with no trouble. Back in the day, he’d had a lot of experience using picks. They were quieter than kicking doors in. Made it a lot easier to sneak up on his victims.

He didn’t bother to lock the door behind him. He smiled as he climbed the stairs. The unlocked door would make it easier to slip away after he’d taken care of business.

At the top of the stairs, he stood for a long time and listened. He heard the murmur of voices inside the apartment but couldn’t make out what they were saying. But they were talking a lot, so he’d be able to unlock the door and surprise them.

He jiggled the pick in the door and felt the lock disengage. Smiling, he pulled his gun out from the back of his pants, twisted the doorknob and opened the door.

When he stepped inside, Nick looked over at him. He was pouring wine into one of two glasses, but he froze. “Dad. What the hell? What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you, Nicky.” He nodded toward the kitchen, where a blond woman was working with her back to them. “And the woman who’s supposed to be dead.”

At his voice, Celia spun around, holding a knife in her hand. Stared at him as if she’d just seen a ghost. Her face paled and her hands trembled. She set the knife she was holding onto the counter, then shoved her hands into the pockets on the ass of her jeans. She looked over at Nick, and a signal of some sort passed between them. Finally Nick turned to face Bobby. “How did you get in here?” he said.

“You think I wait for an invitation?” Bobby scoffed. “I go where I want to go, whenever I want to.”

“This is my place,” Nick said. You’re not welcome here. So get out.”

Bobby stared at his son. “Why don’t you make me, Nicky?” he asked. Then he nodded at Celia. “How is she alive?”

Nicky shoved his hands into his pockets. “Why don’t you ask her?”

Bobby turned to Celia, holding his gun loosely in his right hand. “How did you survive? Fingers is a damn good shot.”

She wrapped her arms around herself, as if protecting her chest. Like that was gonna do any good. She studied him for a long moment, as if deciding if she would answer him. His fingers tightened on the gun. Those eyes of hers had always been spooky, and they were fixed on him now. She didn’t look scared, which pissed him off. Her eyes freaked him out, and he wanted to tell her to stop looking at him. But he didn’t want to give her any power.

He’d expected her to beg for her life and Nick’s. Instead, she just stared at him. It felt as if she could look right through him. Like she knew he wasn’t used to firing a gun. Although he’d managed to kill Murray, hadn’t he? Other than ending Murray last night, it had been a long time since he fired a gun. That’s what he had his guys for. To take care of unpleasant shit like this. To keep his hands clean.

Celia still hadn’t answered him. His fingers tightened on his gun. “You don’t want to tell me? That’s okay. I don’t have to know. I’ll just shoot you and get it over with.”

She glanced over at Nick, and unspoken words passed between them. “Quit that spooky shit,” Bobby said, raising his voice. His hand holding the gun shook a little, and he tightened his grip on it. No way was he gonna look weak in front of Nicky and that spooky bitch.

Her fingers tightened on the towel in her hands, and she slung it over her shoulder. “I was wearing a vest,” she said. She turned her head and touched the scar where the bullet had nicked her scalp. “Fingers tried to shoot me in the head, but he missed. Scored my scalp, but didn’t kill me. He fired one more shot at my chest, but the vest stopped it. It hurt like hell, though, and I passed out. I guess he and Murray assumed I was dead. They buried me, then drove away. I waited a while, and when I didn’t hear them come back, I dug myself out of the grave and walked away.”

Bobby scowled at her. “No one walks away from one of my men,” he said. He tightened his grip on the gun. “Come over here and stand next to Nick. You’ll die together. Seems fitting, since you betrayed me together.”

* * *

Celia reached behind her and touched the handle of the knife she’d shoved into her pocket when Bobby wasn’t looking at her. He’d seen her put down the one she’d been holding, but he hadn’t seen her slide this one into her pocket because he’d been talking to Nick.

She drew a trembling breath. This was it. Either they’d both survive, or they’d both die. And she wasn’t going to die tonight.

She took a deep breath. “You’re killing your other son? Wow! I thought mobsters were really big on family. Guess I was wrong.”

Bobby scowled at her. “We’re big on family when family is on our side.”

“Robert was on your side,” Nick said. “He was all you wanted.”

Bobby shrugged. “Robert made one too many mistakes. I had no choice but to take him out.”

Celia tilted her head and smiled, and she could see that bothered Bobby. Instead of pleading for their lives, she was laughing at him. She guessed not many people laughed at Bobby Doyle when he was holding a gun on them. He probably wasn’t used to his victims fighting back.

“And now you’re going to kill your other son. That’s not going to make you very popular with the other Mafia families. They’re all really big on family.”

“How would you know that?” Bobby scoffed.

Celia shrugged. “You think you were the first mob guy I worked for?”

While she talked, she’d edged closer to Nick, until they stood side by side. Her arm brushed his, and feeling his skin against hers gave her strength. Hope. Nick nudged her behind him, and Bobby laughed.

“Protecting her, Nicky?” he asked. “You’re a stand-up guy. Don’t matter, but hey, good for you. In fact, I’m glad you’re standing together,” Bobby said with a sneer. “It’ll make my job easier.” He looked from her to Nick. Back to her. He must have decided he didn’t want them to stand together, because he motioned toward her with the gun.

“I changed my mind,” Bobby said. He held his gun in his hand, but his eyes were on her. “Come closer,” he said. “I want to see those spooky eyes of yours go dead when I kill you.” He turned to look at Nick. “I’ll take care of you after she’s dead.” Bobby smiled. “I like the idea of making you watch her die.”

Nick started toward his father, and Celia grabbed his hand. Brushed her mouth over his. “Don’t,” she murmured. “I have a plan. Keep your father looking at you.”

“Don’t go near him,” Nick whispered.

Celia squeezed his hand, then took four steps toward his father. “What do you want, old man?”

“I want you dead,” Bobby said. “You should have been dead months ago. This time, I’m going to make sure of it.”

His gun swept up, and Celia grabbed the knife she’d put in her back pocket. She lunged toward Bobby and swiped the razor-sharp blade over his thigh, just beneath his crotch. Where his femoral artery should be.

A red geyser of blood gushed out of Bobby’s leg, and Bobby stared down at the blood as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

While Bobby stared at the blood, Celia kicked the gun out of his hand. Still watching the blood pool on the floor beneath him, Bobby fell to the floor, blood pumping steadily out of his leg. Celia yelled for Nick to come and put pressure on the wound.

While Nick was doing that, she wrapped the towel she’d had over her shoulder around Bobby’s leg above the wound. Pulled it as tight as she could. The blood stopped spurting, but it was still pouring out of his leg.

“Keep pressure on the wound,” she called to Nick as she grabbed her phone from the kitchen table. “I’ll call 911.”

Bobby was sheet white but still alive when the paramedics burst into the apartment five minutes later. They shoved Nick and Celia out of the way and went to work on Bobby. They slid a tourniquet around his leg above the wound and pulled it tight. After the river of blood became a trickle, they loaded Bobby onto a gurney and ran down the stairs with him.

As Nick pulled her close, she wound her arm around his waist as they both stared at the huge pool of blood on the floor. He was shaking as much as she was. A few minutes after the door had closed behind the paramedics, it opened again and Noah and another Sheriff’s deputy ran into the room. Noah sucked in a breath when he saw Nick and Celia and the huge pool of blood on the floor.

“You guys okay?” he asked immediately.

Celia nodded. “A little shaken up,” she said. “Made a mess.”

“Damn,” Noah said. “Talk about an understatement.” He scanned both of them. “Neither of you are hurt?”

“No,” Nick said. “Thanks to Celia. She was in the kitchen when my father walked in, and she shoved one of her new knives into her back pocket. Swiped it over my father’s leg just before he was gonna shoot her.”

“Holy Christ.” Noah’s gaze swept the room, and he shook his head. “You’re gonna have to come into the office to give your statements,” he said. He snapped on a pair of latex gloves and put the knife in one evidence bag, Bobby’s gun in another one. Then he glanced at Celia, who was covered with blood. “But you might want to change your clothes first. Looking like that? You’re gonna scare the public.”