Page 10 of Taken By the Mobster

Declan held his tongue, sighed, and set the tray of food on the bedside table. “I told you; I don’t know.” He took a step back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Any other questions?”

Olivia shook her head and took a deep breath before she spoke. “If you let me go, I swear I won’t tell anyone who you are. I won’t tell them what you look like or who is with you. I won’t even tell them about Clyde.”

Declan narrowed his eyes and took a step closer to her. “What did you say?”

Realization dawned in Olivia’s eyes. She put her hands over her mouth and took a step back.

He had never mentioned Clyde’s name to Olivia; none of them had. But somehow, she knew who he was.

“How do you know Clyde Braniff?” he asked.

Olivia dropped her hands from her mouth and clenched them in front of her, twisting them together. “I don’t,” she whispered.

“You’re lying,” Declan snapped.

Olivia swallowed, opened her mouth, and closed it again. She shook her head.

Declan crossed the room in two quick strides, grabbed Olivia by her shoulders, and shoved her against the wall. He held her there with one hand on her throat and the other braced on the wall by her head. He leaned over her.

“How the hell do you know Clyde Braniff?” he repeated.

Olivia gasped, her eyes going to the window, the floor, then back to him. “Let me go.”

“Answer the question, Olivia. Tell me how you know Clyde.”

Olivia’s tongue darted out, wetting her lips. She closed her eyes. “I’m … uh, I’m from the Boston area. You can’t live there and not know the Muldoons.” She shifted uneasily. “Or the O’Reilly family.”

Declan leaned over her. A low growl came from his throat. “Who are you?” he asked.

“Nobody,” Olivia mumbled. “I’m just a nobody.”

“I don’t believe you.” He released her, spun around, and walked back to yank open the door. He turned back to look at her.

“You’re lying. I don’t know why, but you are.” He slammed the door and locked it.

Walsh was in his face as soon as he turned back around. His voice was low, quiet, and angry. “What the hell was that, Deck?”

Declan glared at him. “What are you talking about?”

“What is she lying about?” Walsh asked. “And why do we care?”

“It’s not important,” Declan muttered.

“It sounds like it is,” Walsh said. “Maybe you should stop treating her like you’re going to let her live.”

“What makes you think I’m not going to kill her?” Declan took a step toward Walsh, who wisely backed up.

“You have no choice,” Walsh said. He pointed at the door, punctuating each word with a jab of his finger toward the bedroom. “That woman has seen our faces; she knows our names, and she is in our safe house, which means it is no longer safe. Clyde already thinks she is dead. What happens when he finds out you let a witness live?”

Declan lunged at Walsh, grabbed the front of his shirt, and jerked him close, bringing them nose to nose. “How would he find out?”

Walsh shrugged, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Someone might tell him. You never know.”

Declan shoved Walsh into the wall next to the door, his arm poised to hit the smug bastard in the face, but before he could, Conor pushed himself between them and put his hand on Declan’s chest.

“Talk a walk, Walsh,” Conor ordered, pointing at the front door. “Go cool off somewhere else before I let Declan kick your ass.”

Walsh snorted, but he did as he was told. He grabbed his jacket and stomped out the door. Conor looked at Murphy and tipped his head. Murphy got up without a word and took his coffee to the back of the house.

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