Page 10 of One Love

Stalker: You like my gift?

Me: I don’t take handouts.

Stalker: It’s a gift, not the same thing.

What is this guy’s deal? If he thinks he’s impressing me with his stealth stalker vibes, he’s…well, not completely wrong but I’d burn in the depths of Hell before giving him that satisfaction.

Me: If you want me to take it, give it to me in person.

Stalker: I did.

I frown at my screen. What the fuck is he talking about?

Stalker: You should be more careful with your surroundings.

Racking my brain, I try to remember anything I could have missed out there this morning.

The street, the cars…the van. Was he in there the whole time? How did I miss that?

Me: Stop your fucking games and tell me who you are.

Out of frustration, I do the most useless thing possible in this situation but at least it makes me feel just a little bit more in control. I change his fucking name—again—in my phone because Pain In My Fucking Ass is much more fitting than a plain old stalker.

PIMFA: When the time is just right.

Chapter Four

J

This isn’t where I expected to be when Murphy and Hallie found me in Alma’s diner two months ago. To be honest, I don’t usually plan that far ahead, but I was beginning to see a life forming with them. I could have made it work. Somehow.

“I suppose this is the universe telling me I was stupid to even think I could have some kind of normality with you, Murph. Whatever that is.” I huff a low laugh as I stare at Murphy’s headstone. Fuck, I sound like River’s sister-in-law with all the hippie universe shit.

Sighing heavily, I pull the petals from one of the dead roses sitting across his grave. I need to compartmentalize this whole thing because, in my line of work, stewing over this kind of tragedy will only fuck me up. Make me lose focus. And this is why I allow myself to mourn my parents once a year, so I don’t combust from trying to hold it all in. Guess I’ll be adding another to that list.

Thankfully though, I can remove one name from that list. I no longer have to mourn the loss of my baby girl. I finally get to celebrate her life. But to do that, I need to fix everything first.I may have missed her beginning, but I vow to be there for everything else. Her own personal shadow to keep her safe.

“I swear I’ll get our girl back, Murph. I won’t allow her to lose both of us.”

The only members of the Irish mob my Reapers and I have been able to locate recently are Riley’s sister and his daughter. It’s a fucking shame women and children are off limits because threatening Ronan with them would for sure have him crawling out of his hole—or maybe not. People like him don’t generally give a shit about anyone but themselves.

We’re stretched thinner than usual with the Mr. Wright job on top of the string of dead mafia soldiers to clean up, plus the whole trying to figure out my mystery texter and hunting down the Irish bastards who managed to flee. Meaning nothing seems to be getting our sole attention right now, which isn’t how we usually work.

“Why couldn’t you have just stayed away from me, huh? You’d still be alive, safe…”

Cold droplets of rain begin splashing against the bare skin at the back of my neck, slowly at first, before it starts to get heavier, and I look to the sky. I allow the rain to fall onto my face, washing away the few tears I allowed to escape.

“Okay, I get it, Murph.” I close my eyes and just sit for a few minutes, getting wetter by the second and not giving a shit. “I’ll stop feeling sorry for myself, okay?” As if by some kind of fucked up magic, the rain slows, the quick burst leaving behind a few mud puddles in the surrounding grass, and I shake my head. I don’t believe in any higher power or fate or whatever, but I know for a fact that my boss’s wife would tell me otherwise. And maybe, just this once, I’ll allow myself to believe it was a sign.

My phone vibrates against my chest and I’m thankful it was in my inside pocket where it could stay dry from the quick shower.I pull it out and want to shoot the fucking thing when I see a message from Mr. Stalker.

PIMFA:Mr. W is at the casino if you need a distraction.

Mother fucker.

What is this guy’s deal? Assuming, of course, that it’s even a guy. At this point, I don’t care who it is, I just need them to leave me the hell alone. All they’re doing is raising more questions when what I need are answers.

“Work calls. Catch ya on the other side, Murphy Gallagher.” I kiss the leftover stem of the dead, now petal-less rose and drop it back on top of his grave before walking away with a heavy heart and heading for my bike.

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