25

FRIDAY AFTERNOON

Sean Callahan. Rory Doyle. The angry man from the pool. The old man with the hat. They were all there in the room with Ian.

And his mother too. Hidden in the darkness of the corner by the shuttered window.

No one was speaking—then they all were speaking, words and thoughts ricocheting through the room.

“You can’t take my money.” That was Rory, Ian thought.

The old man set his hat on the floor, shaking his head.

“How about what you did on the job?” Sean Callahan’s growl.

“You never should have involved them.” Rory again, waving his index finger at the old man.

The old man pointed to Ian. “Get him out of here.”

A hand grabbed him roughly. Callahan looked down at him with eyes as cold as dead flesh.

“GENTLY.” His mother’s voice at last. Callahan’s hand loosened instantly.

Then he was staring at a door, shut tight before him, and hearing the click of a lock.

Ian moaned. The moan rose until it was a cry. He banged on the door, though he knew he couldn’t batter through.

She was all alone, with them in there.

He had to get through.

———

“Ian, wake up, dear. Wake up.”

His eyes opened to see his mother’s face. He looked around, startled.

He was in his old room, on his old bed. A wave of relief shot through him at seeing her there. It was only a dream, he repeated to himself. Another dream.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“You must’ve been having a nightmare,” she said. “You used to get them as a little boy, do you remember? I thought you’d outgrown them. I hope that being back in your room didn’t bring them up.”

Ian shook his head as he sat up. “No. It’s probably just stress from work. What time is it?”

“After four in the afternoon. I slept in myself. I didn’t even know you were here until I heard you call out. Your car isn’t in the driveway.”

“I’ve been parking it in the garage.” His mind was clearing. He had to call Callahan about dropping the case. He’d do it from the office. “I’ve really got to get going.”

“Of course. Oh, but dear, I almost forgot. Happy birthday.”

4:19 P.M.
WELLS & HOY LAW OFFICE
DOWNTOWN MINNEAPOLIS

Katie stared at the screen, feeling her stomach rumble like it always did when she got upset. It’d been rumbling all afternoon, though it just got worse.

It was no mistake. She’d checked it three times. Gotten onto the website. Input the password. Gotten out again only to do it all over.

Somehow the firm had a new bank account. And there was over nine million dollars in it.

What in the name of everything holy was going on?

She’d gotten waylaid by Dennis for a project right after Brook left. Agitated as he already was about the malpractice lawsuit, thank goodness Dennis hadn’t come out of his office while the prosecutor was still there. But as soon as Katie could manage it after Brook’s visit, she’d sat down to her computer to check the Wells Fargo account.

And found this unbelievable sum of money deposited into a new account.

She picked up her cell again. Punched in Ian’s number again. Nothing, again.

She’d tried calling Martha’s house once, but no one answered. She was probably out in the garden. But she had to reach Ian to warn him about Brook. And now to find out what this bank account and cash meant.

Wait. What if her cellphone was tapped by Brook’s office? Could they even do that? Or what if the office phone was tapped? She knew they could do that.

She set down her phone.

Even if she couldn’t call him, she still had to find Ian. If he wasn’t home, maybe he was with that new client.

She grabbed her keys and headed for the door.

5:07 P.M.
SUMMIT AVENUE, ST. PAUL

Katie drove slowly by the large house on Summit Avenue with the big picture window. She’d half expected Ian’s Camry to be parked out front. Even if he wasn’t here, on the drive over she convinced herself she’d knock on the door and find out about this new bank account from the client. After all, the money had to be related to the trust. And once she was looking him in the eye, she’d also tell this Callahan he had no business giving stolen money to Ian, no business messin’ with her boss. If she had to, she’d drag him around the block until he confessed.

She was still imagining what she’d do as the house retreated in her rearview mirror for the fourth time.

Sean Callahan’s home wasn’t how she’d pictured it, she brooded. More shoddy. Less sinister. The place looked unworthy of Connor. She felt betrayed to even imagine Connor sneaking to the place to create the James Doyle Trust without telling her.

Except Connor was better than that. He had some reason for what he’d done. She just hadn’t figured it out yet.

She’d left a note for Ian at the office, but that was almost an hour ago. Her inability to reach him was beginning to leave her unsteady with helplessness. It was a sensation that had been a second skin growing up, starting the day her mama had told her that Daddy was gone. Until she woke up on the first-year anniversary of her job at Wells & Hoy really believing something good was going to stick.

She was rounding the block again. This time she was going up to the door. Katie accelerated hard toward the middle of the block to park.

A black flash startled her. She slammed on the brakes and turned the wheel to the curb as a car veered past and pulled to a stop in front of Callahan’s house. Before she could touch the gas again, a gangly man got out and marched up the steps she’d planned to take.

The man knocked on the door. A moment later, it swung open and he disappeared inside.

Katie let out a sigh of frustration and relief. Whatever she was hoping to accomplish, it wouldn’t work now. Gripping the wheel angrily at her own weakness, she turned the car around.

Fine. Then she’d drive to Martha’s house.

She had to do something.

“Sean, that car went by again,” Aaron said, picking at the Marine Corps tattoo on his neck as he looked through a gap in the front window shades.

Sean Callahan nodded without looking up from the book in his lap. “See who it is?”

“No. A woman driving. Maybe she’s lost.”

“If she goes by again, get the license.”

Aaron grunted. “Wait. Another car’s pulling up and parking. There’s a guy getting out. It’s Rory. I didn’t even know he owned a car.”

Callahan dropped the paper. “Rory call ahead, did he?”

“Nope, boss. I’d have told you. You want me to get rid of him?”

Callahan shook his head. “This was going to happen sooner or later. Bring him in when he gets here.”

Minutes later, Rory was staring at Callahan, seated in the orange chair by the fireplace, twisting the ring on his finger.

“You look even leaner than the last time I saw you,” Callahan said. “Pick up some bad habits?”

“You sent him to Ahmetti, didn’t you?” Rory declared.

Callahan shrugged. “Okay, let’s back up a bit. I sent who to Ahmetti?”

“Stop it. You know I’m talking about the lawyer. Ian Wells.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“Somebody told me Wells met with Ahmetti at Doggy’s last night. Somebody who was there.”

Callahan looked to the cold fireplace for a moment before answering. “Then to answer your question, no. I can honestly say I didn’t send Wells to Ahmetti—though he told me after he’d gone. But what have you got to worry about? You told me you qualify for the trust money, that you’ve stayed out of crime. So why care who the lawyer talks to?”

“Because Ahmetti’s a liar and you know it.”

“Well, you used to work for him, so you’d know better than me.”

Rory slid forward in his chair, gripping the arms. “I may have, but I stopped working for him after Mom died.”

Callahan nodded. “Yeah, your da worked that first part out at the funeral, ya may recall,” he said, sliding into his Irish inflection. “It was pretty disappointing as I recall, him finding out you were payin’ for the car and the clothes by being a punky little burglar and sellin’ pills on the side. That’s why we’re dealing with this trust business in the first place. But at least that last part’s good, isn’t it? You going the life of ‘straight and narrow’ after Christina’s death? Because that’s all that Jimmy asked of you. ‘No more criminal activity,’ he said, didn’t he? ‘For the protection of us all,’ he said. Put it right there in the trust. So you should be in good shape, eh, Rory?”

“You know I didn’t do any of that before,” Rory said. “Dad didn’t even let me into his business before the job. I’d never held a gun before that night. It was the job that changed me.”

Callahan shook his head. “Ohhh, it changed me,” he sneered. “You weak little snot. And you call yourself Jimmy Doyle’s son.”

Rory’s hand grabbed the lamp at his elbow. In a single motion, he threw it into the fireplace and rose to his feet. Callahan straightened at the crash, reaching toward the edge of the seat cushion.

Behind him, Aaron came stomping into the room from the hallway, his footsteps halting behind Callahan’s chair.

“It’s okay, Aaron,” Callahan said, raising a hand and holding the thin form of Rory in a glare. “Our friend was makin’ a last point before takin’ his leave.”

Rory stared. “I don’t care what you think of me. I’m having what’s mine and my family’s.”

Aaron’s weapon was still in his pocket, Callahan saw with satisfaction. Good. The last thing they needed was something bloody at the house.

Rory looked at each of them a final time, then rounded past both as he headed toward the hallway.

Aaron followed him out. There was the slamming of a door. The Marine returned and pointed to the fireplace. “I’ll clean that up, boss.”

“No hurry.”

“It seems Rory is upset,” Aaron chuckled.

“Aye,” Sean said. “And unfortunately that means the man may not be rational when the inevitable comes to pass.”