Almost Innocent (2 page)

I couldn’t think about anything other than Declan. “Why didn’t you tell me about Dec?”

There was a long pause. I was beginning to think I’d lost her when she finally cleared her throat. “Because he asked me not to.”

“Why? Why would he do that?”

“He didn’t want to cause you more pain. I know you probably don’t believe this, but he’s been through hell. He has to live with what happened for the rest of his life.”

I had to live with it for the rest of my life too. Shit. The feelings of dread I got whenever I thought about Dustin, and what happened, hit me, and I felt as if I was going to throw up.

“And I’m sure he didn’t think you’d want to see him.”

My hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Not want to see him? I went to the jail every week for six months. He refused to see me every single time. I wrote him letters for years, Fi. Years! How in the hell does he interpret that as me not wanting to see him?”

“I don’t know, Gabby. I only know that I respected the wishes of my little brother. A man who is trying to acclimate back into society the best he can.” Her defensive tone only pissed me off.

“So you don’t have a problem with him not wanting me to know he’s out, but you’ll show him my Facebook page? What else have you told him about me?”

“What?” She sounded genuinely confused. I could picture her scrunching up her face.

“He said that he knew everything there was to know about me because he looked me up on social media. On your account.”

“We never talk about you. Ever. If I bring you up, he changes the subject or leaves. And I sure as shit never showed him anything on Facebook.” Then she groaned. “That fucking ass. I’m so sorry, Gabby. I have let him use my phone. I didn’t even think about it.”

I shook my head even though she couldn’t see me. “I don’t care about that. He just seemed to know so much about me, but he didn’t say anything about… has he been to your house? To your mom’s? If he has, he must have seen pictures.”

“No. He won’t come to my house, and I’m not even sure he’s spoken to Ma. That’s one of his rules. We can’t talk about you, her, or… or…” She cleared her throat. “Or Dustin.”

I could understand him not wanting to talk about me. Part of me knew he would never forgive me, even though I had held out hope that he would find peace in prison. It also made sense that he didn’t want to talk about Dustin. None of us talked about him. Not really. Once in a while Fi or I would mention our teenage years, laugh about the stupid shit her brothers had done. And I would answer any question that I was asked. The rest of the time, we avoided bringing him up.

Moira Callaghan though? That surprised me. Declan and his mom had always been close, even after everything. She’d traveled to see him in prison often, and even though she only tolerated me, she loved her family with all of her heart. I hoped Fi was wrong.

“I don’t know what he saw on your page,” Fiona continued, “but I can guarantee you that if he doesn’t want to talk about you and he doesn’t want to talk about our brother…” she trailed off, letting me connect the dots.

“Then he doesn’t want to talk about Grady.”

“Give him time. One day, he’ll get to discover what an amazing kid Grady is. But right now, it would hurt him too much. He’s not ready to be a role model, let alone answer the questions we both know your son has. Let him find himself first, then Declan can be the cool uncle he always planned to be.” She sighed. “Listen, I know it’s a lot to take in, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. But right now, you have more important things to worry about. Go kick some ass at your interview.”

After promising that I’d call her that afternoon, I hung up and focused on the upcoming meeting. At least I tried to. Every time I thought about one of my practice questions, my mind wandered to a certain blue-eyed man and all the things I should have said to him. I couldn’t ignore the fact that he'd never forgive me for what I was about to do. When he was behind bars, where I couldn’t get through to him, finding an agent had seemed like the right step. Now it felt like another betrayal.

By the time I found a parking space, I’d come to one very alarming conclusion—I needed to see Declan Callaghan again. We needed to talk. And I couldn’t take no for an answer.

A
s I stood
in the parking lot, freezing my ass off and watching her drive away, I shoved my hands in my pockets and channeled my inner Bogart.
Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.
Why in the hell was she there, in the middle of a town she’d never belonged in to begin with when her life existed in southern Maine? There was nothing here for her, I’d made sure of that.

The last time I’d spoken to the woman who called herself my mother, we came to a solid agreement. She tried to drive a hard bargain, using blackmail, and then Irish Catholic guilt when the first didn’t work, but I’d had nothing to lose. I’d been very clear. My needs weren’t negotiable, and they superseded her wants.

So in the end, we’d both gotten what we wanted most. I stopped fighting my lawyer and let him use my family’s connections to get my charges reduced to manslaughter, and I agreed to take over the family business. Mommie Dearest, in return, had relocated a few hours south, taking what was left of my family—Fiona, Gabby, and my nephew—with her, and rebuilt her life in a place where no one knew them. It gave them all a fresh start, and it gave me peace of mind knowing I wouldn’t have to see
her
face every time I turned around.

I waited until her pathetic excuse for a car turned onto the freeway, telling myself I was watching to make sure she was really gone. As far as good-byes go, that was definitely better than our last one. Part of me hoped it would be the last one we’d ever need.

Here’s looking at you, kid.

A horn blared behind me, and I turned, glaring at my truck. I couldn’t see any of my guys through the sunlit windshield, but one of the pricks was going to get an earful. I stalked toward the truck, the bad mood I’d been in all morning coming back in full force.

They were quiet as I swung up into my seat, but as soon as I slammed my door, Adam ran his mouth from the back. “Is that tasty little piece what kept you busy all last weekend?” His tone made me want to lunge over the seat and beat him bloody. “’Cause if it is, you let me know when you’re done. I want soma that, and I ain’t above sloppy seconds.”

I jerked around, ready to haul his ass over the seat and out my door, just so I wouldn’t fuck up my interior, but my best friend reacted before I could.

“Do you ever stop talking?” Mark glared at Adam. “I don’t like hurting stupid people. So just shut the fuck up before I knock your teeth down your throat.” Adam garbled a response, but Mark ignored him, looking at me instead. Shrugging, he pointed at the GPS on my dash. “All programmed in. I’d say buckle up, it’s gonna be a long ride, but I think we should go gear up for a road trip.”

I glanced at the screen, looking for the destination he’d entered, and rolled my eyes when I saw it. The fucking prick had run to a city in Massachusetts. I’d spent enough time there to know he was in over his head. He probably thought I wouldn’t cross state lines to get him. Or that the people he was with would protect him. He was wrong.

“He won’t be alone,” I pointed out. Ron was a few cans short of a six-pack, but he wasn’t stupid enough to be by himself.

“Good, we’ll leave one alive, so he can spread the message that Declan Callaghan is back, and he’s not fucking around.” Mark glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll call Southie and McLean. Have them meet us there. Let’s go load up.”

My passengers rattled on, nervous excitement filling the air while I drove the short distance to Adam’s. After a few seconds of their petty bickering, I blocked them out and processed my morning.

Ron Mansfield had worked for my family for years. I’d never liked him, and over the last four months, I had been very clear about the fact that I didn’t fucking trust him. But he was one of my top delivery men, and I believed you needed to let people prove themselves, one way or another. Ron had proved to be nothing more than a moron when he disappeared with my money.

The four of us had gone to the store that morning with the sole purpose of talking to one of the employees and finding out where in the hell her boyfriend had disappeared to. Why she worked in a shithole like that, I’d never understand. Ron made enough to give her a life that didn’t include living in a trailer park and working retail. Yet that wasn’t what he did with his money. Instead, he was probably blowing it on women who wouldn’t spread their legs for a guy like him unless they were being paid and snorting the rest.

Stupid son of a bitch. I had to start vetting people who came to me better. They were going to have to take an aptitude test, not to see what job they’d be best at but to make sure they had even the most basic level of common sense. Not only was this moron dumb enough to waste every dime I’d paid him, Ron had made the ultimate unwise decision by taking off with a payment from a buyer.

A high-six-figure payment that he was supposed to bring right to me.

Maybe if I’d thought he was making a power play or if he’d been skimming a little off the top of every sale, creating a nice bankroll in an offshore account so he and his family could live out their lives peacefully, I’d have a little respect for him. But no. The fucking weasel stole my cash on a whim, leaving his woman vulnerable and broke.

If I hadn’t already planned on killing him, I would be now. You don’t leave your family unprotected. Ever. Especially if you’re going to do something fuck-all stupid. In my world, you get your family out first, or they’re the ones who suffer. Everyone knows that.

The selfish dick had left his girl, knowing what I would do. Knowing who he was fucking over. I might even drag out his death, make it messy, just to send a message to those who had forgotten what I was capable of.

When I’d gone into the store and asked for Ron’s girl by name, the woman at the desk eyed me cautiously, swallowed, then used her radio to find out exactly where the girlfriend was. She gave me the aisle number and turned away.

My boots squeaked as I headed down her aisle, and the young woman with matted black hair glanced up, offered me a small polite smile, then looked back at what she was doing. It took all of two seconds for the recognition to hit, and she did a double take, the fear on her face clear as she tried to back away. The guys were behind her, though, so she didn’t get far. She’d started to shake before I could even tell her why I was there.

I didn’t have many standards, but hurting innocent women was not something I enjoyed. That had been my brother’s thing. When push came to shove, I would do what I had to do, though. I gave the guys the nod then walked away as Mark carried her out back.

I didn’t need to know how they got Ron’s location out of her, and with my temper, it was better that I didn’t know. All it would take was one of them to get on my nerves, and before I could stop it, I’d start picturing all the sadistic shit they’d done. Then I’d have to bury another one of my men.

Instead, I’d walked up front to use the john. And right into Gabby.

Gabriella fuckin’ Forte.

That was a blast from the past I hadn’t expected. She’d been shocked to see me as if she hadn’t even thought of me in years. But I was used to seeing her. Her picture had hung next to my bunk, the first thing I saw every morning and the last thing I looked at each night.

Hell, I’d seen her a million times since the day I got out. Of course, none of those women were actually Gabby, but my eyes refused to stop fucking with my mind. She never left me.

She looked good. Shit, the adult version was more beautiful than the teenager ever had been. Her bleached-blond strands had been replaced by dark-blond curls. Her body and face had filled out, showing she was all woman now. Glasses replaced her contacts, pushed high on her thin nose, giving her a worldly and wise look but hiding the eyes I had spent hours trying to turn my way.

Yeah, Gabby was still gorgeous. It was subtle though, not the kind of beauty that called attention to her. She gave off a vibe that told men like me that she was too fucking good for us. She was right. My brother would have never given this woman more than a second glance. This woman would have looked down her nose at him.

Her clothes were the biggest change. I didn’t know shit about women’s fashion, but she oozed class and charm. She looked like a business executive on the way to some billion-dollar merger, not the girl who had once lived in corduroy pants, tank tops, and flip-flops.

Then she opened her mouth, and I realized Gabby was still Gabby, no matter what she wore or how she changed her hair.

I turned into Adam’s drive, letting reality and work distract me from thinking about her. After almost twelve years behind bars—ten in a maximum security prison and close to two in county waiting for my fate to be decided—and countless hours spent focused on her, my mind should have been anxious to move on to other topics. It wasn’t. Even as we loaded the cars, broke into two groups, and steered our vehicles south, my thoughts kept trying to drift back to Gabby. As soon as we were on the highway, I turned on Disturbed and cranked the volume.

We’d made it almost to Portland when Mark flipped off the music. I arched an eyebrow in his direction, unsure of what was coming.

“Funny thing,” he started slowly, adjusting his legs and leaning back. “That woman you were with earlier looked just like someone I used to know. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear it was this chick named Gabby. Guess it’s time to get my eyes checked.”

I didn’t take my eyes off the road. I didn’t need to look at him to know he had his lips twisted in mock thought, his fingers tapping his leg the way they did when he was trying to cover his emotions. He couldn’t hide it from me any more than I could keep shit from him though.

Mark Smith was more than my oldest and best friend. He was my blood. Callaghan in every way except name. And that was only because he was a stubborn fuck. As stubborn as the woman who’d named him Markus Smith.

My uncle Logan, according to my dad, loved his wife. As he loved all of the women who warmed his bed. Hell, all women period. He didn’t love any of them enough to leave Aunt Erin though. When Mark’s mom found out she was pregnant, she demanded Logan leave his wife and marry her. When he denied her, she refused to give Mark the Callaghan name.

Born two months before me, Mark had always been a member of my family, yet he refused to change his name. Apparently if the name was too good for his mom to give him, it was too good for him to take. Bullshit. The topic was a sore subject for us because I loved him like a brother and wanted him to claim what was his. You didn’t leave this world with anything other than your name, and being a Callaghan meant something.

Of course, what it meant depended on who you were.

To some, the name was another word for power—a level of corruption that ran deep. To others, the name inspired fear. A few felt it was synonymous with untouchable criminals.

They were all right.

Once, it had been O’Callaghan. If you followed my roots back centuries, you’d find noblemen who spawned children who were loved by their subjects because they weren’t afraid to stand up for what was right. Then some genius did something that embarrassed his family and was banished to the Americas. He built a life here, in what is now New England, because it was the only place that reminded him of home, long before this country was its own.

Then other immigrants invaded, and being Irish became something dirty. So the family dropped the O and continued to live as they always had. They built an empire, a legacy to be proud of.

There were times when a man didn’t have anything but his name. No matter what else was wrong, your name didn’t fail you. I was honored to be a Callaghan. I wanted to share that with Mark.

We would never agree on certain things, but we still covered for each other. Always had. And we didn’t lie to each other, no matter how fucked up the truth was.

“You don’t need glasses, old man. It was Gabs.”

He stayed silent, waiting for me to continue.

“She didn’t know I was out.”

He scoffed. “They must not have newspapers at that fancy school she teaches at.”

I shot him a death glare, not liking his tone or his snide comment.

He only chuckled, shrugging. “Just pointing out the obvious. It’s not like your release didn’t make headlines. The
Kennebec Journal
even had that piece on the Callaghan Crime Circuit. She’d have to be living under a rock not to see that shit.”

“Or vacationing in Florida with her kid.”

“Or that.” I could see him, out of the corner of my eye, staring at me. “That’s some crazy coincidence, huh? Almost as if someone planned it.”

I reached for the cup of coffee that was now cold, needing something other than the steering wheel in my hands. “Almost. Pity Fiona rented that house on the beach for the entire summer then realized at the last minute that she couldn’t go, wasn’t it?”

“Imagine that.”

“I didn’t want her here, okay?” I snapped, knowing that he wouldn’t stop until he heard me say it. “She didn’t need to be dragged into all that bullshit. I did what I had to do to keep her and the kid off the reporters’ radar and out of the story. No one needed to take a trip down memory lane.”

“Or you did it so you wouldn’t have to see her.”

Fuck him. “I’ve seen her every day for the last twelve years.”

“She know?”

Normally I knew what he was talking about without him having to explain. Where Gabby was concerned though, there was just too much. Too many layers. “Know I sent her away? We didn’t exactly talk about that shit.”

“No, dipshit,” he snapped, obviously annoyed. “Does she know that you’re still hung up on her?”

I could deny it. It would be an easy lie that I’d told myself millions of times. There was no point though, because he’d see right through it. And the truth hurt much more than any story could. I needed to feel that sharp sting of regret, the stab of pain that always came with the knowledge that Gabby was never mine—it would help me focus. “She never knew to begin with.”