BRIAN (The Callahans Book 1) (13 page)

You broke the rules. Now your girl will pay.

The world went dark for a moment. Then another message.

Join your friend at Brianna’s condo. Maybe the two of you can put all the pieces back together in the right order.

I couldn’t catch my breath. Or maybe I’d simply forgotten to breathe. Whichever, I couldn’t move for a long moment. And then I was running.

Brian

“Another of my men is missing,” Jack had barked into my ear. “You’d better find this one before he’s hanging from a goddamned rope!”

I was standing outside the warehouse where we’d left the trucks filled with illegal guns weeks ago, watching as Killian worked the lock. Conor McCloud was last seen here, checking another shipment that’d been delivered last night. Jack called him twice to find out how it’d gone and was pissed when he didn’t answer. And then worried that someone was targeting his men.

Jack’s men weren’t the only ones running the streets of Boston at the moment. There was another group across town that was very particular about their territory. Jack’s men had had multiple run-ins with them over the last year. This thing, whatever it was that was going on, he didn’t like. He was concerned that the other group was beginning to hone in on his business.

I knew that wasn’t it. Jack probably did, too. But when you’re the head of the Irish mafia in Boston—a mafia you became the leader of because you led a rebellion against the last leader—you become a little paranoid.

“Fix it,” he’d demanded.

When the door opened, I slipped my gun from the holster in my armpit. It was a nine millimeter, a reliable pistol that’d saved my life on more than one occasion. Killian pulled a gun, too, a Beretta that wasn’t unlike my own. I led the way, moving cautiously, looking around corners before turning them. It was a big warehouse, but it was largely empty at the moment. There were very few places to hide.

“Nothing,” I said.

Killian moved up behind me, towering over me as he, too, looked around. Then he gestured at some footprints visible in some dirt on the floor.

Someone had been here recently.

We followed them to the stairs at the back of the massive room, climbing to the office that once overlooked a working warehouse. It was mostly empty now, just a low wooden desk left in one corner. I pushed open the door and it appeared empty. But then there was a low scrapping sound that made me slip my finger onto the trigger of my gun.

“Who’s there? You’d better come out!”

The scraping sound came again and a low mumble, like someone trying to speak through a gag. I gestured to Killian. He carefully moved around the desk, his gun drawn. Then he dropped to his knees, coming up a second later with Conor McCloud, his hands tied behind his back with cable ties and his mouth covered with what looked like duct tape.

“What the hell?”

Killian shook his head in disapproval as he ripped the tape from the boy’s mouth.

“Shit!” Conor cried after he spit out a piece of cloth. “That fucking hurt!”

“Yeah, well, you’re going to hurt even worse if you don’t explain yourself quickly!”

Conor looked at me, respect suddenly washing over his expression as he recognized me. “Sorry, Mr. Callahan,” he said softly. “I didn’t realize.”

“Start talking.”

He stared down at the floor for a second, clearly embarrassed.

“I was checking the warehouse like Johnny told me to. I was about to leave and someone hit me from behind. The next thing I know, I’m waking up in here under that desk.”

“Did you see who hit you?”

“No, sir.”

Killian caught my eye and nodded. He’d seen dried blood on the back of the kid’s head.

I turned and looked down at the warehouse, trying to see something that would tell me who’d been in here.

“The place was locked when you arrived?”

“As always.”

“Did you lock it behind you when you came inside?”

The kid didn’t answer and that told me what I wanted to know. Someone was watching the place, saw him come inside, and followed. But who? And why?

“It was locked when we got here.”

“Whoever it was must have locked up behind himself.”

“Why?”

Again, silence. I turned and studied the boy. He was a typical kid, dressed in skin-tight jeans that made his legs look like sticks—really unattractive if you asked me. And his t-shirt was an advertisement for a soda brand that was no longer sold. There was a tear on his shoulder and a touch of something that looked like dried blood. I went to him, touched the spot. Not blood. Bright red paint.

“Was this here when you came into the warehouse?”

The kid twisted his neck to look at what I was indicating.

“No, sir. This shirt is vintage. I take really good care of it. I can’t believe he tore it!”

“Get him out of here,” I said to Killian.

“Thank you, sir. I’ve been here forever. I don’t think I’ve eaten in days.”

“How long?” I asked, as Killian was about to shove him out the door.

The kid turned to regard me. “I can’t be sure how long, but I now it was Tuesday night when I came here.”

“Tuesday.”

I shook my head. He’d been here almost forty-eight hours.

I walked around the office after they left, looking for any more of the red paint. There wasn’t any, so I headed down the stairs, walking slowly around the perimeter of the warehouse, looking at the floor with something different in mind this time. I wasn’t looking for danger, but for some indication of why Conor’s attacker would have paint on his hands. Was he just some kid painting graffiti on the side of the building? Or was there something more nefarious about the whole thing?

It took a moment, but then I saw it. Little drips of red paint on the floor. It led to a small room at the back of the warehouse that was once bathrooms for the employees. Inside the women’s bathroom the toilets and sinks had been removed. But the mirrors were still there. Reflected in them was a message that was written in blood-red paint across the back wall.

Say goodbye to what’s precious to you, Brian Callahan.

It didn’t get any more personal than that.

“Cassidy.”

I turned just in time to walk straight into Killian’s chest.

“Who is this, Pops?” he asked, anger dripping from his tone. “Who’s doing this?”

“I don’t know. But I’m guessing they’re going after the women in my life. Why else put this in the women’s bathroom?”

“Stacy?”

I nodded. “I’m going to ask you a huge favor. I need you to go to New York and watch over her. Don’t let her know you’re there, or she’ll find ways to avoid you.”

“I know.”

“Make sure no one touches her, Killian.” I grabbed his arm as he turned to go. “Don’t let anything happen to her.”

“I won’t, Pops.”

I turned back to the message as Killian’s footsteps receded through the building. I couldn’t let it stay there. If Jack saw this…I had to get rid of it.

I searched through the warehouse, tugging my cell phone out of my pocket to call Cassidy. She didn’t answer the first time, so I dialed again, mumbling to myself as I searched through some junk left behind in the warehouse. I found a scraping knife that I thought would work. When Cassidy didn’t answer on the third call, I began to worry.

“Ian, go to the house and make sure Cassidy’s okay.”

“Pops—”

“Don’t argue with me, Ian. I’ll explain later.”

I worked quickly. The paint was thick and fresh, so it peeled off fairly easily. By the time I was done, there were marks left, but you couldn’t tell what it once said. I was sitting in my car, wiping drywall dust and paint chips off my fingers when Ian called.

“She’s not here.”

“What do you mean she’s not there?”

“She’s gone, Pops. I searched the entire house. Twice.”

“You looked in the bedroom? The bathroom?”

“Of course.” There was a slight hesitation. “It looks like she took a shower and then left in a hurry. Her clothes are just piled on the floor and there’s a wet towel…”

“Does it look like there was a struggle?”

“No. Just that she left in a hurry.”

“I’m on my way.”

I couldn’t think of anything but getting to Cassidy as I rushed through the busy Boston streets. Why did it always have to take so long to get from one place to the other? I gripped the steering wheel so hard I might have broken it if I’d been there a moment longer. But I finally pulled into the driveway and slid to a stop. I jumped out before the car was braked for more than a few seconds.

Ian was waiting at the front door.

“Are you sure…?”

“She’s gone, Pops.”

“Have you tried her phone?”

Ian held it up, the small, blue iPhone I’d bought for Cassidy just a day ago.

She’d left it behind.

“There’s a text message.”

Ian pulled it up and held it up for me.

“She’s on her way to California.”

“I checked the airlines. There was a flight that left ten minutes ago from Logan.”

“Call the pilot.”

I spun on my heel, but Ian caught my arm.

“You shouldn’t go, Pops. Let me go.”

I shook my head. “I need to do this.”

“But this is what they want. Don’t you see? They want you to come running to her rescue so that they can trap you.”

“No, they want me to watch the people I care about die, one by one. They won’t hurt me.”

Ian studied my face, his eyes narrowed. “At least let me come with you.”

I nodded grudgingly. He followed me out to the car and we spun out, rushing back across town to the private airstrip where the plane was kept. Killian had already called and arranged a flight to New York, so the pilots had to quickly refile their flight plan. But everyone was willing and ready by the time we arrived.

I explained to Ian what we’d found at the warehouse on the way.

“It is personal.”

“Looks like it.”

“But who would want to hurt you?”

I glanced at him, a chuckle almost leaving my lips. “You’re joking, right? I’ve hurt a lot of people over the years.”

“But most of that’s over now. Do you think it has something to do with the Italians?”

My thoughts moved back to the rival group that’d been causing Jack so much grief over the past year. “No. They have no reason to mess with me personally. They might go after Jack, but not me.”

“Then who?”

I shrugged. “One of the old guards. Someone related to one of the men I’ve killed over the years. Someone hurt by one of the robberies I committed years ago.”

“But that’s just the thing. Those things were years ago. Most of your criminal acts are decades old.”

“We aren’t saints. I shot that guy last month.”

“Because he was breaking into one of the warehouses.”

“There might appear to be a code among criminals, but we are all criminals at the end of the day.”

Ian stared out the window for a long moment. Then he sighed.

“Whoever it is, he’s good. I haven’t been able to find anything on Cassidy’s phone that could tell us where this guy is. He used burner phones and a computer program to force the call to bounce off of so many cell towers that it’s impossible to tell where the calls originated. And the videos? He used some sort of software to dull the background noises and remove anything that might give us a hint about where they were filmed.”

“Then we’re still pretty much at zero?”

“Pretty much. The only thing I can tell you is that I think she’s being held in Los Angeles simply because it wouldn’t make sense to try to travel far with her. And the videos came almost immediately. They couldn’t have filmed while on the move, nor are they in motel rooms when they filmed them. There would have been indications.”

“Where do you think they are?”

“A house? Maybe an apartment, but I doubt it. I would guess they rented a house not far from her condo.”

“Then we have a search area.”

Ian shrugged. “I suppose.”

“Once we find Cassidy, we’ll begin searching.”

“But Pops—”

“She’s your sister, Ian, like it or not. Just because I did something unforgiveable doesn’t mean you can take it out on her. She deserves better than that.”

A muscle popped in Ian’s jaw as he crossed his arms tight over his chest.

“Abigail would have accepted her with open arms. You know that.”

“But you cheated on her.”

“
I
did. Brianna didn’t do anything wrong.” I slowed the car as we pulled into the airport. “If you’re going to be mad at anyone, be mad at me.”

“How much did Mom know?”

“Don’t you think that’s between her and me?”

Ian glanced at me. “Did she know?”

“She knew about Cassidy. Even met her once. But you knew that already.”

“Did she know you were in love with her?”

I stopped the car and threw it into park, shifting to look at my son. “Is that what it is? That I love her?”

Ian didn’t say anything at first. Despite the fact that he was a grown man, nearly thirty just like Killian, he looked like a petulant child as he stared out the windshield at the jet just a few yards in front of us. Killian was there with the pilot, watching us. But he didn’t approach. Killian had this third sense for tense situations. He always knew when to back off and let people deal with their own baggage their own way.