Page 26 of The Devil's Price

And how could he have seen it all along when I saw nothing? Yes, the judge was in my home without my permission, but he's a powerful man. Right? He has his ways because of his stature, not because someone criminal is behind him pulling strings.

I can't think straight until I'm inside my apartment with the doors locked. I set my briefcase down, only just realizing I've gotten vomit on it too. After wiping it off, I take off my shoes and go to pour myself a drink when I remember the pregnancy test. I didn't just vomit because breakfast was off or I was stressed.

My tender boobs, my extra fatigue, sickness… They all add up to something. And my period is late too. I already know what it means and I'm living in denial. I can pour a glass of wine but it won't remove the truth. It will only numb me from feeling it.

I walk into the bathroom and pull out the test. The plastic white wand is light but my heart is heavy. I hear banging on my door, Finn's voice calling my name, but I ignore it as I hike up my skirt and pull down my panties. I squat over the toilet, holding the wand in the stream of my urine.

It says to wait three full minutes, but the test processes almost instantly. Before I'm even done pissing I see two pink lines. I'mfecking pregnant. I'm having a Mafia baby. I'm dirty, stained, soiled. There's no going back. This isn't just undercover work now. I'm joined to them forever and there's nothing I can do about it.

Tears come hot and fast, and I slump down onto the toilet with my panties around my ankles listening to Finn O'Rourke—my baby's father—banging on my door. What have I done?

18

FINN

It's dark, so dark the night seems to absorb even the light from my headlights. I drive along the winding country road into the hills that roll south of Dublin. County Wicklow is almost a ninety-minute drive from the city, a beautiful place with rolling lush green hills. Perfect for hiding away when you don't want to be found. Perfect for a man like Sean McCarty who doesn't have anything to live for if the Doyles find him.

The road I need evades me. It's tough to find the turn off and I don't notice it until I've gone too far. A driveway is my turnaround spot, though I have to wait on a passing car to back out and head the right direction again. Strange, I've been on this long, winding road by myself all evening, so to find another car going my way is sobering. I'm not alone out here as I thought, and neither is Mr. McCarty. I wonder if he knows that.

When I get back on track and find the small cottage nestled deep in a wooded lot, I shut off my lights and let my eyes adjust to the darkness before creeping forward. I can't spook him. If he senses me coming, he'll shoot first and ask questions later. Or he'll run, which in this pitch black will be just as bad. I can't lose him. He'sseen with his own eyes that Mick is innocent. Sean McCarty saw the man who murdered Aiden Hughes.

Parked more than a soccer pitch away from the place, I slip out of the car quietly, dousing the dome light. I pull my weapon as I creep up on the old structure that leans on its foundation. This place is off grid. I can hear the generator running through the woods somewhere, churning out electricity for the house. Lights glow in the windows, and I see a tall, stout man walking around.

I'm alone, no backup with me in case he pitches a fit, but I hope knowing he has the O'Rourke family on his side will persuade him to do what he's been too fearful to do thus far. I can force him, but if Siobhan or that dirty judge either finds out he has a gun to his head, they'll cry coercion and throw his testimony out—or worse. They'll come after me.

I know she doesn't believe me about the judge. She proved that four days ago when she threw up all over the courtroom and then ran out. She hasn't spoken to me since. I can't get near her. That cop friend of hers is always around, and I know if he sees me and we're alone, I don't stand a chance. He'll either gun me down or he'll arrest me on trumped up charges, though God knows there are lots of things he could throw at me that would stick.

The cabin is isolated. I know this man could murder me in cold blood and no one would find me if my GPS in my car weren’t tracking my movement. But I tiptoe up through the brush to the back door, taking my chances. He's a boxer, fights in a ring near the scene of the murder. Ronan's sources says this man was coming out of the club and heard the shots and ran to help Aiden, only to see the killer aim his gun right at him. If he'll testify to that, Mick can go free.

My hand on the knob makes it squeak so I stop and listen. There's noise inside, a radio or television playing. No chance the man heard me, but I have to be careful as I stretch out my hand and try again. As I pull the door open, it creaks a bit, but peeking into the kitchen space, I see him. He stands with his back to me, a bowl of minute noodles in hand as he stares at a television airing a local footie match. It's a rerun. The Rovers are losing. But he's absorbed in it enough that I'm able to walk right in and put the gun to his back without his even hearing.

"Move and I'll have ye dead before yer even to the door," I whisper, and he stands straighter, dropping his bowl. His hands rise in surrender and he sucks in a deep breath.

The man's biceps are bigger than my thighs. No doubt he'd best me in a fist fight. He's a trained athlete, but he's not baring his fists. He's scared.

"Please, don't kill me. I have a wife and a child on the way." He's trembling too, probably ready to piss himself. Not at all the sort of hardened criminals I deal with on a daily basis. I nudge him forward with the nose of my gun and he stumbles a few steps.

"I'm not here to kill you, Sean." I lower my weapon but keep it in my hand as he slowly turns to face me.

"I din't seen nothin'. Please…" He's shaking his head, scared. A man his size has little to fear on most days, but I know why he's running scared. I've got it on good authority now why everything is lining up. The man who killed Aiden was a Doyle, and this man in front of me knows that. He's the only one who can put the pieces together. It's why Callahan has been paid off.

"You saw something and I need to know what you saw. I'm not here to kill you. I'm here to get answers. The men who want to kill you are out there," I say, pointing my gun out the back door.

"I swear, Mister. I din't see nothin'. I just want to live." He's sweating, pale like a sheet. I've caught him off guard, but that's not what he's scared of. They'll kill him if they find him because he's a loose string.

"I need to know what you know." I stalk toward him, but even as I do I hear the crunch of tires on gravel over the roar of the television set. "Feck!" I grunt, spinning around to see headlights pouring in the back door. "They followed me. Get down," I order as gunfire erupts. He drops to the floor blubbering like an eejit as I open fire and cover us.

"Oh feck, oh feck!" His whines are a sign of weakness I don't have in me. Whoever is out there wants him dead, and I have to fight to stay alive and keep him alive too. Mick's life depends on it.

More gunshots pepper the decaying structure as I reach into my boot and pull out my spare gun. I drop it on the ground and kick it over to him, grunting, "If you want to live, fight with me. Else they'll kill us both."

Sean lifts his head and takes the gun. He’s smart enough to know I’m not his enemy here. The moment the shooters pause, he rolls across the floor and takes cover behind an old beat-up couch. I take the chance to join him, breathing hard.

A black SUV barrels through the front of the cottage, blocking any escape. The car blows tires and shots continue to fly our way. I take a moment under the kitchen counter to assess the situation. We're trapped. Going out the backdoor is suicide withwho knows how many gunmen outside. And now our only exit is blocked by flames and twisted metal.

"We've got company," Sean hisses from where he's huddled under the breakfast nook table, trying to make himself as small a target as possible. I curse under my breath, heart pounding in my ears loudly. The only way out is through them, and we both know it. The question is do we go out fighting or willingly let them put bullets in our backs?

"Sean," I whisper hoarsely, "we've got one shot at this. You with me?"

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