Page 17 of Lucky Strike

“What about the missing guns?” Dad leans back in his chair, crossing his legs. “Heard anything about that yet?”

“Not yet.” A punch of anger wallops my chest so hard I feel it in my temples. The robbery of our Mexico shipment back in March remains a massive thorn in my side. Forget the money—we lost three of our best guys that night. “Robbie said there were six or seven guys, and we’ve talked to six of ‘em.” Talked to them, dealt with them—same thing.

“And Marty Price was their contact,” Dad says, rubbing his chin. He seems to think we could’ve gotten more info from that moron.

“Marty, who told me I could rot in hell because the guns they took had already been sold and we’d never find ‘em anyway? That Marty?”

“Ah, fuck it. You did the same thing I would’ve done.”

Of course, we did. “Learned from the best.”

“You sent a message, that’s for damn sure.” He smiles tightly. “That’s the price you pay for fucking around with our shit.”

True, but we paid the price, too. Regret washes over me as I consider Omar, Eddie, and Marcelo. Robbie, recovering at home. He survived, but he’ll be out of commission for months.

Dad reaches across his desk, gesturing for my hand. I give it to him, and he squeezes. “I know it bothers you, Con. It bothers me, too. But it’s the nature of the beast. You gotta move on.”

“My guys don’t get to move on, though, because they’re six fucking feet under,” I mutter, pulling my hand away. “I don’t know how you do this.”

“I do it because I have to. You know how many guys I’ve lost over the years?” He pounds his chest with his fist. “You can't let it consume you, Con. You’ve already dealt with the crew that did this. You and Tristan managed to save part of the shipment, and we’ve since supplied the cartel with what was missing. So, unless we get a lead on the stolen guns, there’s not much else you can do at this point. Let it go.”

I know what he’s saying is logical, but it’s not an easy pill to swallow. Guilt, regret … my guys trusted me. Their families trusted me. We’ll take care of them, the wives and girlfriends and kids, but no amount of money can replace what they lost. “We have to make sure we do our due diligence from here on out. Only a few people need to know what’s going on.”

Dad sits back, taking a long drink of water. He’s trying to keephydrated and healthy these days, trying to go a little easier on his heart. “Next Mexico shipment is in December. We need a new route, since the last one was compromised. I don’t like that Marty knew where to hit. Feels off.”

“Makes me wonder if he had someone on the inside. If we got a leak, we need to find it and plug it. Fast,” I say. “And don’t worry about routes. Tristan’s already worked that out. We’re using different trucks, too. Smaller, subtler. Armored.”

“Excellent.” The phone on his desk rings. He glances down at it, pressing the flashing button. “Go ahead, Patricia.”

“Call on line two, Mr. Kelly. It’s Ms. Clifton again.”

Maeve finally accostsme at the townhouse when she comes to pick up Liam for their ice cream date. She regards me coolly as my kid runs around, looking for his new dinosaur socks.

“Check your room,” she says, giving his butt a little pat.

He takes off, his footsteps near-frantic as he ascends the stairs. My sister leans against the wall, arms folded.

“Go on,” I say, waving my arm. “You clearly have something to say.”

“I never would have sent Bria over here had I known you’d treat her like that.”

“You shouldn’t have sent her over here, period.”

“Con—"

“You overstepped, Maeve. You should have called me and asked, and you know it.” Turning away, I stalk into the kitchen with her hot on my heels. “You know how I feel about this.”

“No, I don’t!” she cries. “You said you needed someone trustworthy to watch Liam, and I found the best possible person alive! If anything, she’soverqualified!”

“This isn’t about her qualifications.”

She shakes her head slowly, searching my eyes. “Did something happen that I don’t know about?”

“Of course not. I haven’t seen Bria in years,” I hiss, glad Nola has stepped out for a bit. I can only handle so much. “Which is a good thing. I never wanted her to get too close.”

“Then don’t let her. She can be just like Nola—an employee,” she says. “She doesn’t even have to live here.”

“The whole point of having an au pair is that they’ll be here when I need them. Things happen.” I pull a fancy-looking can of beer from the fridge that my brother, the beer aficionado, brought over last night. “Delayed flights, middle of the night meetings ... the usual.”

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