Page 23

23

SIOBHAN

" W ho's the muscle?" Liam asks me as I approach the bathrooms. He's been here all afternoon as we've been hearing testimony. He has a job to do but he's unnaturally fascinated with this case for some reason. Maybe because it's my first murder trial, or maybe because he's the lead detective Garda on this case.

I glance over my shoulder at Kyle and Erick, both hired hands that Finn insists I have with me at all times. I'm not fighting him. I can't have his buddies following me, but these muscle heads stick out like sore thumbs. Still, I feel safer with them around me. Whoever is out to get me will have two brick walls to go through before they can reach me.

"I took Callahan's advice and hired security. Can't be too safe," I tell him, but I don't pause to talk to him. I walk right into the bathroom and lean over the sink, splashing cold water on my face. I don't have to use the toilet, but I may throw up. Morning sickness makes my stomach my worst enemy. I haven't eaten breakfast in more than a week. If I do, it ends up all over me or whatever I'm around. As it stands, I throw up bile at least daily now. Finn has to sense something, unless he's so distracted with the case that he, too, can't see past his nose.

"Feeling okay?" a woman asks. I don't know how she's connected to all of this but I've seen her in the courtroom. Maybe she's just a reporter, but it's not in my best interests to buddy up to anyone.

"I'm good, thanks. Just feeling ill still." Most of these people who've been at court daily have seen me throw up a few times. It's not cold and flu season but it doesn’t mean people don't get sick.

"I have a mint," she offers, digging into her purse, and I thank her as I take it.

I stick the mint in my pocket and unspool a bit of scratchy brown paper towel to dry my face. The bathroom empties. It's just me staring at my reflection. I can't believe I'm a puppet on a string, sitting back and watching Callahan screw this case and Mick O'Connor. He may well be guilty as hell, but he's not getting a fair trial, not if the judge over the proceedings can't hear all the testimony fairly.

And Finn… bless his heart. Every time I see him, I want to run into his arms, bury my face in his chest, and hide from the harsh truth that the world isn't what it seems. He says he has a verified eyewitness, one who was nearly killed by the Doyle syndicate because he saw the murder. But there's no way to get him on the stand now. I've gone to McVeigh, told him everything I know. His only answer is to stick it out, to wait and see how things develop. I don't know why he doesn't just pull the plug now.

Glancing at my watch, I see I've only got five minutes left. I toss the paper towel and head back into the hallway. Liam is there still, watching me. He scowls at me as I exit the ladies’ room and cuts me off so I can't walk freely.

"I'm sorry, Siobhan, about the other day." He's not sorry. That expression on his face is ravenous. If I were alone with him right now, he'd try it again. I've seen that same look on his face for months now. He's a predator. I feel sorry for his wife.

"I can't do this, Liam." I want to turn away but he grabs my wrist and holds me there. I glance around, wondering what people might be thinking as they watch him handle me. "Let go of me," I hiss quietly.

"I told you that people are watching, and I was trying my best to be a good friend and protect you, Siobhan." His voice is low, threatening.

"Liam, you're hurting me," I whimper. Why would he be this way with me? I don't understand if he's trying to protect me, why he'd threaten me.

"Look at me," he snarls, and I stop trying to pull away from him and meet his gaze. "I'm telling you to just back off. Get O'Rourke out of your life. Do what you're supposed to be doing—do your job." His eyes darken and narrow, and I feel a shudder of fear. "And finish this case before something bad happens. Please."

There's a sense of urgency in his tone. I see the way he looks at me, almost fearful but too intimidating for me to connect with any real depth of emotion. Liam knows something I don’t know and he's worried about me. He looses my wrist, and I rub it for a second before turning away. If he's in on this or knows something about the case, does that mean he's dirty too?

I walk back toward the courtroom feeling a bit flustered. I was previously overwhelmed by what's happening and how to handle it all, but now I'm scared again. If Liam knows something is going on, it means someone somewhere is watching me. Someone who is pulling strings I can't even see.

Finn walks up to me, but I have to dismiss him. Everything in me wants to jump into his arms and run away to never deal with this again, but I can't do that. Mick may not be innocent, but the more things that happen, the more I realize maybe he really didn't kill Aiden Hughes. Maybe I’m a pawn in a game I don't want to be playing and if I concede, a man will be wrongly convicted.

"Sib," Finn says, but I look away, knowing Liam is watching. I fix my eyes on the guards behind him, leaning against the courtroom doors.

"Not now, Finn," I hiss at him and keep walking. If I tuck into his chest I may never come out again. I may never find the courage to fight these men whose lives I've made it my goal to destroy. I'm so confused by it all, numbed by it. If this case doesn't even involve getting to the root of who killed my cousin and I'm running scared, how will I find his killer and take them down? Especially if men like Callahan surround me and hedge me in on all sides.

One of my bodyguards nods at me and I walk past them. I hear them following. They sit in the first bench behind me. They can't join me at my table. Even if they could, I wouldn't feel any safer. When Callahan looks at me, I feel the devil staring at me. But the price he's asking me to pay is far too high for someone like me.

Put a man into prison who may well be innocent of the charges? How can I do that and still live with myself? Yes, Mick O'Connor has done wretched things and probably things worthy of jailtime, but I'm being more and more convinced on the daily that he has nothing to do with Aiden's murder.

The gavel bangs and everyone rises as the judge takes his position again. I can't even look at him now. That interaction with Liam has me shaken. He knows something and I need to know how he knows. I want to know how Callahan got into my penthouse. Why he was there really? And who were the men pulling strings to make all of this happen? Finn says it's the Doyles, but I don't see the ties to them in any of this.

"Mr. Quinn, call your next witness, please." Callahan's voice sounds far away, like he's in a tomb, echoing off the walls.

I rub my forehead and stare at the notes on my legal pad. The bright yellow paper contrasts with my dark red pen, making the letters stand out. I've not made one single note about Quinn's witnesses or any rebuttal I may have. The only reason I objected to his questioning of that shop owner was because I wanted to cool my face off. Otherwise, I'd let him drone on for days. It would buy me time to figure this thing out. As it is, we have a few days at best to make something happen or Callahan wins, and this entire city may as well go up in flames. If our justice system is infiltrated by criminals, what hope do any of us have left for a moral life?

The notes in front of me aren't organized. They're just bullet points and chicken scratches of what I know to be true. The evidence, the suspicions about Callahan. I add to them a suspicion about Liam—his name in all caps, boxed in with a thick, heavy line and a large question mark.

Then something catches my eye. It's a slip of pink paper, the corner of which is peeking from under my legal binder. I narrow my eyes at it as I glance around. I don't use pink paper for anything, not a note pad, not even a Post-It. Someone has put this here when I was away, and I'm curious to see what it is.

The hairs on the back of my neck rise to stand on end as I pull it out and instantly recognize the handwriting. Callahan's penmanship is unmistakable. I'd recognize it anywhere. The small note must've come from him somehow, though he was in his chambers, so I don't see how he could’ve put this here, which means he also has a court official on his side too.

When I look up at him, he's staring at Quinn, but his eyes flick to meet mine. The same dark, inky gaze that terrified me more than a week ago in his office locks on me for a split second and I almost piss myself. When my eyes peer back at the paper, I have to blink a few times to force them to focus.

The note reads, O'Connor is guilty. Convict him, or you'll be sentencing yourself. No appeals. No second chances . It makes a chill creep down my spine, pooling in my gut, stirring up my nerves. I shake as I read it again, and my body feels like I've been plunged into ice water. But I'm sweating.

Before I can stop it, I'm dry heaving, rising to lean over the edge of the table where bile and stomach acid comes up and pours onto the floor. The pitcher of water on my table spills, toppling over the edge, and I gasp for air.

Never in a million years did I think trying a case like this would put me in this position, but I know better now. I know I need help. I need Finn, and McVeigh, and anyone else who will be in my corner, because the forces I’m up against aren't going to stop unless they suck me into the vortex with them.