Page 97 of Lucky Strike

“Hey.” I rub Liam’s back. “We’re gonna have so much fun, and get so much candy, that by the time your dad catches up to us, he’s going to have to give you another bag to carry it all.”

Beacon Hill isone of Boston’s most beloved when it comes to trick-or-treating. Pumpkins and stringed orange lights glow from windows, while skeletons and ghosts loom menacingly from doorways and gates. We thread slowly through the crowds, surrounded by princesses, pirates, mermaids, and action heroes. A quartet of dinosaurs has Liam second-guessing his own choices, but then we run into another skeleton, and all is well. I take dozens of pictures, wanting to document this for Lucky, who should be meeting us at Boston Common around eight.

Terry and Mitch remain a few paces behind us, a little closer than usual in all of the costumed chaos. They did not, needless to say, dress up, but we make sure to keep them supplied with sweets.

By 7:30, Liam is starting to lag. By 7:45, I’m carrying his pumpkin, which is full to the brim, and Maeve is carrying him. “I don’t wanna go home,” he protests through a yawn when he sees we’ve turned around.

“We’re not,” Maeve says, kissing his head. “We’re going to meet Daddy and have hot chocolate, remember?”

“Oh, yeah!” he says, brightening. He wiggles until Maeve puts him down and takes off down the sidewalk, renewed.

Giggling, she gives chase. I take another picture of the two of them, laughing when she grabs him. Up ahead, a small crowd has amassed at Boston Common, aglow with paper lanterns and twinkle lights. Lucky’s standing at our appointed meeting spot across the street, watching as wetrundle up the sidewalk. Liam shouts when he sees him, dragging Auntie Maeve across the street.

Lucky seems distracted, his eyes glazed over as Liam chatters about his candy haul. I lean in once we start walking, touching his hand. “How’d your meeting go?”

A line appears between his eyes as he frowns. “Strange.”

“Why, what happened?” All I know is that it has something to do with a potential new client. For Saoirse. Which is probably why the meeting was at night.

We start across Boston Common, to where the vendors are set up. “They were late, for one thing. We were about to leave when they finally showed up.”

“And?”

“And when they did, they seemed nervous.” He gazes ahead, squinting as if he’s watching the scene replay in his head. “It could’ve been that this was their first time setting something like this up, but I have pretty good instincts when it comes to reading people, and something was off.”

It’s true, about his instincts. I wonder how well he’s readmeover the years. “Did you go through with the deal?”

He shakes his head. “We told them we’d think about it.”

I raise an eyebrow, knowing he and Tristan drove all the way to Providence for this. “You turned them down? After going through all that trouble?”

“Better safe than sorry.” He gives me a small smile as we reach the vendors. “Besides, that’s not how we do business. We’re not selling dime bags in an alleyway, know what I mean?”

“That’s true.” I smile a bit at his snark. “There’s a lot more at risk.”

“Right, and I’d rather not do business with someone I can’t trust.” We sidestep a couple with an enormous double stroller. “Not yet, anyway. Tristan and I debriefed on the way home, but I want to talk to Dad, see what he thinks. Do a little more background on these people.”

“Do you think it could be a setup?”

“I don’t know, maybe.” He shrugs. “Or I’m just paranoid.”

Lucky carries Liam while we browse the stands. I can sense that he’s still thinking about the strange meeting, though, and I can’t blame him. The arms business isn’t for the faint of heart, and from what I’ve piecedtogether, there are plenty of ways for things to go sideways. The Feds, the Bratva, rivals, ‘clients’ setting them up as a means of getting away with their purchases scot-free … Lucky might still defer to his dad’s advice, but the buck stops with him now that he’s in charge.

Still, it’s nice to be out, surrounded by people, the air nostalgic with the smell of cotton candy and popcorn. Hot cocoa in hand, we stroll back to the house. Save a few excited shouts and bursts of laughter, the streets have started to quiet, still alight with flickering jack-o-lanterns that cast eerie shadows across the cobblestone sidewalks. Liam sags in his dad’s arms, yawning every few seconds.

Lucky falters as we approach the front door. “Fuck.”

“Oooooh, you said a bad word.” Liam giggles, slap-happy from sugar and sleepiness.

At first, I think it’s because the porch light has blown. But Lucky quickly hands Liam to me and slips his gun from his holster. He motions back to Terry and Mitch, who hurry up from the sidewalk, reaching beneath their jackets as they flank him. Panic spears my heart, and I take an involuntary step back, right into Maeve.

The front door is slightly open, the lock a complete mess. I glance around at the street that was, up until maybe a half hour ago, full of revelers. The bowl of candy I left by the door with a “please take one or two!” sign is empty, so I know there were plenty of people coming and going. Come to think of it, a perfect time for someone to break in—no one would find it strange to see a random person at the door. “Stay here,” calls Lucky, slipping deeper into the house with Terry and Mitch.

“I’m cold!” Liam kicks his legs. “I wanna go inside.”

“We will, we just gotta make sure Shelby didn’t poop on the floor,” I lie, blurting the first thing that comes to mind.

He giggles at the word poop, kicking his legs again. “Daddy has to clean it up,” he sings, his mouth ringed in leftover cocoa. We roll with that, singing silly songs and making dumb jokes to keep him distracted, but my mind’s going a mile-a-minute. What if someone’s still in there? And where are the dogs? Why didn’t they meet us at the door the way they usually do?

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