Page 9 of The Irish Redemption

“What?”

“She’s new, from out of state. Transferred three months ago.”

“Whose is she, Italian?”

“No one’s.” Saoirse sighs. “She’s not on any payroll. She’s a hundred percent legit.”

A beat of anger pulses through my chest and I grit my teeth. Anyone else would be happy to have a non-corrupt cop on the case of their brother’s death, but not me. I don’t need the cops to do their jobs. Ineed them to help me and then stay the fuck out of my way. Their law isn’t going to bring justice.

My law will.

“Can we get her?” I snap. “Pay her or use her, I don’t care.”

“We’ve got nothing, at least not yet,” Saoirse replies sharply. “She’s cleaner than a fucking virgin, and she’s not open for business.”

“Fuck!” Tension snaps up my arm and I lash out, slamming my fist into the door. Wood cracks under the force, and Evelyn whimpers behind me.

Saoirse doesn’t flinch.

“What about someone on her team?”

She shakes her head. “She’s pulling in green officers, even someone from out of state. She’s going all out. Other than getting our hands on her, I don’t see a way into this case.”

Sarah Gogs pulling for outside help tells me one thing. She knows exactly whose body is in the morgue and what it will mean for this city. She knows war is coming and is arrogant enough to think she can get ahead of it.

Without someone on the force giving me the info I need, this suddenly became a hundred times more difficult.

Evelyn’s sobs grate through me like chalk on a board, and then suddenly, they’re the most beautiful thing I have ever heard.

The detective isn’t on our payroll and won’t talk to us, but there is one person she will talk to.

One person she won’t ever suspect.

Evelyn.

“Well,” I say, turning toward the cowering woman, “you suddenly have worth.”

4

EVELYN

I’m in hell.

Maybe the sight of the body killed me and this is the eternal punishment I’ve landed in for being up to my eyeballs in debt.

Each breath tears through my raw throat like a razor blade. My heart pounds so fiercely that I can barely discern the individual beats, and my stomach has knotted so tightly from stress that I’m not even sure I can straighten up.

All I wanted was to go home. In a blink, I ended up dragged into a car, and then I woke up to an interrogation by a man as thickly muscular as a brick house. Like the cops, all he cares about is the body and none of my answers seemed to satisfy him. I was so certain he was going to kill me until that woman appeared.

I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but something made him angry enough to punch and damage the door. Then something changed.

I beg for darkness to take me as the huge bulldozer of a man walks back toward me with his gun gripped tightly in his right hand.

“You want to live?” he asks in a voice tinged with an accent I can’t currently place.

My mind races with a plethora of offers he might make, and I think I would say yes to anything if it would get me out of here. I nod rapidly, unable to stop my lower jaw from trembling enough to answer.

“You will do something for me,” he states. “Once you complete it, you will be free to go. Do you agree to these terms?” He adjusts his grip on the gun, and my heart leaps painfully up into my throat.

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