Page 94 of The Lies We Tell

“Good idea. Speaking of warrants for search, I wanted to talk to you about Cillian Ó Ceallaigh. He’s getting closer with the club. They did a deal to broker peace between them. Want to know if I should stand clear of the fallout if you guys are thinking about picking him up.”

I know I’m fishing. Jensen probably does too. There’s a pause and the sound of a door closing. “No pickup any time soon. We have an informant. A senior leader. It’s a dirty deal. Inform versus a heavy sentence. It’s gonna be a long process to take it down. But this is the first time we’ve got a guy in the organization willing to flip.”

“What did the guy do?” It matters to me. Because what I intend to do will surely end the guy’s life.

“Beat the shit out of a homeless guy. Died in the hospital two weeks later. No ID. No next of kin. No missing persons.”

I reconcile my thoughts. Fucker has it coming. It amazes me how quickly I’m able to pass judgment.

“I’ll send you what I can. Try to get more details about the pact between the two clubs, yeah?” I say.

“That would be helpful.”

We say our goodbyes, and I end the call.

The next call is harder.

“Spark,” I say when I hear my friend’s voice. It’s gruff with lack of sleep.

“Saint.” That’s it. No warm greeting or stupid pun about it being too early to be calling. “You could get me killed, calling me on a phone you know Vex could trace in a heartbeat.”

“I need Cillian’s number.”

There’s a sigh. “Haven’t you done enough damage to the club?”

“One day I hope you’ll sit down for a beer with me and listen to my reasons. They’re as complicated as your own. Please give me Cillian’s number. It could be the only thing that keeps me alive.” Even though it’s true, it’s wrong of me to say that. Spark’s need to protect those he cares about is unlimited. But I know this is the one thing that will cut through all the bullshit and get him to pay attention.

“Motherfucker,” Spark mutters, then does as I ask, and I enter it to my contacts.

“How’s Iris?”

“A mess, but alive. We’ve got you to thank. I’ll do what I can to help you, preacher man.”

And with that, he hangs up the phone.

I take in a deep breath of air and look over to the open window where the curtains are still drawn. Briar’s asleep still. It’s been less than a month since I found her in that parking lot, and yet so much of my life has changed.

I dial the number Spark gave me.

“Who the fuck are you, and how did you get this number?” The Irish lilt and fury make me smile in spite of the chaos.

“It’s Saint.”

“Preacher man. You’ve got balls calling me.”

I shrug, even though he can’t see me. “Way I see it, I saved your niece.”

“Way I see it, we were all there.”

“You insult me. I’m in this mess so Iris could get her peace. So she could talk to the police, and they could follow the leads of the organization.”

“You sound like you have a vested interest. The girl? She wasn’t your neighbor’s granddaughter, was she?”

I glance back to the window where Briar sleeps. “Who she was is none of your business. But as a man, an uncle, and a godfather, I’m surprised you aren’t a little more thankful for how I helped Iris.”

There’s a pause. A silence. I don’t fill it.

“Aye. You’re probably right. How grateful are you expecting me to be?”