Page 23 of The Irish Redemption

None of that made me feel better, so by the time I got back in the car and Hank confirmed that Evelyn had found nothing, I was back to square one.

The call ends and Hank places his hand briefly on my arm. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“Dude.”

“What?”

“Don’t bullshit me. You need a minute?”

I tightly shake my head. “I’m fine.”

“You look like you’re about to explode. Got the same look on your face that Brenden got that time the Russians snatched you off the street, you remember?”

“Aye.” I sigh deeply. “They were sore fucking losers.”

“Made the mistake of taking Brenden’s favorite sibling.” Hank snorts. “Now that was a bloodbath if ever I’ve seen one.”

“Why was he here, Hank?” I mutter, staring out through the dark windows to the peeling paint covering the shabby walls of this shit hole. “What on Earth would bring him to a place like this?”

“I don’t know,” Hank replies. “But I know it must have been important.”

I grumble in agreement as my phone rings, and an unexpected tiny part of me hopes to see Evelyn’s number. Instead, it’s Cian, so I answer immediately. “What is it?”

“The bugs are good,” Cian says. “We’ve listened in on a few calls from Detective Gogs but she hasn’t discussed anything concrete.”

“What about her computer?”

“Saoirse is working on that now. At a glance, it doesn’t look like she has any leads. She’s mostly been digging into us and you.”

“Me?”

“Aye. Maybe she suspects you got tired of being second in command and wanted a fast track to the top.” Cian snorts. “Either way, she’s got nothing but bullshit.”

“Alright. Keep a close eye.”

“Will do. Anything at the motel?” There’s such hope in Cian’s voice that I want to lie and tell him we found something just so I don’t break his heart further, but we have nothing.

“No,” I reply shortly. “Not a fucking thing.”

“Shit.” Cian hangs up.

My head throbs. Closing my eyes, I pinch the bridge of my nose and massage in small circles. “Cops are as clueless as we are. Which isn’t a fucking surprise, but what the fuck am I supposed to do now?”

“There’s something out there,” Hank says, trying to be as encouraging as possible. “I know it. We just have to find it.”

“Aye, well, it’s fucking impossible to see what it is. I want Brenden’s accounts. I want to know where he was and what he was doing every second this past month, understand? Every dollar spent, every mile driven, I want it all. An entire fucking map of his life.”

“Understood.” Hank busies himself with his phone, and I glance at the clock.

Evelyn should have been back by now. The motel is right there.

Did she run? Did she finally decide she was sick of this and leg it out of here?

I call her, but there’s no answer. It rings out long enough that Hank glances up from his phone and frowns deeply. “Evelyn?”

“Aye.” I’m out of the car by the time the robotic AI voice tells me to leave a voicemail.

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