Page 27 of The Devil's Price

He glances back at me, eyes filled with terror but a spark of determination in them too. "Aye, I'm with ye," he says, gripping his gun tightly in his shaking hand. He has no choice but to trust me.

"On the count of three, we're going to make a run for it. You take the left, I'll take the right. Shoot at anything that moves, understood?"

His eyes are wide. Fear runs down his face in great drops of sweat, but he nods at me as I start the count.

"One… two." At the count of three, we both spring to our feet, guns blazing.

I dive to the right, Sean to the left, and we start plowing through the maze of shattered wood and glass, making our way toward the backdoor. The kitchen door explodes in a hail of bullets as we reach it, but I manage to get my body in front of Sean's just as another volley of fire slams into the house. Laying down cover fire, we dart into the darkness where the Doyles no longer have the advantage. I see my car in the distance but it’s on fire, torched by them so we have no escape.

“Into the woods,” I hiss, and Sean leads the charge now. I have to rely on him, as I know nothing about this property.

Trees whip my face as I stumble after him, bullets whizzing past us like angry hornets.

Sean stumbles over a root and goes down, crashing to the ground with a crunch. I do the same thing to buy us some time, turning and emptying my clip into our pursuers. My heart pounds out of my chest as I eject the clip and reach for another that isn't there. “Run!” I yell at Sean who is clambering to his feet again. He hesitates, eyes filled with fear and indecision. “Go! Fecking run!”

Together, we run along a footpath into the darkness. The noise grows more faint behind us and I hear his labored breathing. He slows, turning toward a bunch of brambles, and grunts, “This way.” I follow him with uncertainty, but as he kneels behind the brambles, for now, we’re camouflaged and safe, but they’re going to come looking.

“The feck were those people?” Sean pants, wedged between two trees as we catch our breath. His breathing is raspy, gurgled even. I use my phone as a flashlight to shine on his face briefly and notice blood coming from his mouth. He’s been shot.

“Mother of God,” I growl as I dial Ronan’s number. He’s our only shot of getting out of this alive—if we can survive ninety minutes for him to drive here.

19

SIOBHAN

Ihaven't spoken to Finn in days. Even Liam seems quiet lately. We've had a few days of hearing testimony from Mr. Quinn's witnesses, but on my side of this case, it's been quiet. It was my choice to hold Finn at arm's length, refusing calls and ignoring the bell when he came to see me. I have no clue what to tell him about the baby. I don't know what I want right now.

He hasn’t been to court, hasn't stopped me on the street or sidewalk. I feel like he's getting the point that I need space but this morning, I woke up to a message from him, something urgent I know I need to speak with Judge Callahan about, and if Finn is right and my mentor is dirty, this news won't shock him at all.

My hands tremble as I smooth the front of my navy skirt, standing outside the judge's chambers. We're set to resume testimony in an hour and hear final arguments after that later this week, but Finn's call changes everything. I'm not even sure how to process what's happening. If Mr. Quinn calls a witnesswho isn't on the list, we'll be forced to recess and vet the new witness.

I suck in a deep breath and with a racing heart I knock on the door. Brendan knows I'm coming. I left a message saying it was urgent that I speak with him, and he told me to come right down. Now I'm not sure whether I'm insane or just afraid. How can my mentor be dirty? I have to know for myself, but the only way to know is to expose myself, let him know I know the truth or at least suspect something. And how dangerous will this get for me then?

"Come in," he calls from the other side of the door. When I walk in he's wearing his robe but it's not zipped. His white button-down shirt is open at the top, tie draped around his shoulders loosely. He looks up over the rim of his glasses and smiles.

"Siobhan, come in," he says kindly, taking off his glasses and gesturing with them to the chair opposite his desk. It's hard to believe Finn has been in here. I know he's a criminal, but it takes guts to break into a courthouse to the judge's chambers and snoop through files. I glance at the file cabinet and sink into the hard leather chair nervously. "What brings you in?"

Callahan folds his glasses and lays them on the desk before folding his fingers together and resting them on a docket in front of himself. He seems calm and put together, like always. Not a care in the world—nothing is wrong. It's his nature, his personality. He is a father, a brother, an uncle, a kind, warm man no one would suspect. Sure, he's not guilty of murder, but if he's dirty, he's guilty of turning a blind eye, looking the other way.

"Sir, I have something to discuss that I feel is very important to this case and I'm not sure Mr. Quinn needs to be here forthis, but if I'm crossing lines, please let me know." Pressing my lips into a firm line, I swallow hard. This room is intimidating now. Bookshelves with books of law stand like badges of honor, judging me for what I’m doing, for who I am—the mother of a future criminal, the lover of a present criminal, a person who doubts the only man she ever truly trusted.

"This is fine, dear. What's the matter?" He opens his hands in a welcoming gesture then folds them together again. I try to relax. This isn't some hardened criminal. He's my mentor, a friend.

"Sir, new evidence has come to light, something that may throw my entire case. A witness has come forward to say they have seen the murder of Aiden Hughes and it wasn't Mick O'Connor." My eyes search his features now, watching for any sign that something is amiss. He's shifting in his seat, eyes tensing but face remaining relaxed. His poker face is good.

"How reliable is this witness? Do we know anything about him?" He stares at me like I'm the one lying, but the way he sits back, presses a finger to his cheek while his thumb props his chin up, I can see how he's instantly fighting internally. He's nervous now.

"Very reliable, sir. He's been hiding in a cabin south of Dublin. Four nights ago, there was a gunfight at his very cabin. They injured him trying to kill him to keep him from testifying. We know the real killer wasn't an O'Connor at all." I hold back what I really know because I don't want to give away too much. I even cut out Liam from this equation. He would only tell me I'm a fool.

"I see…" I've never seen him speechless. He sits staring at me, narrowing his eyes, and asks, "What do you intend to do about this?"

A chill sweeps through me, down to my bones, stirring the morning sickness I've been having. It's been mild, but heightened emotions have made it worse. I have to think about my unborn baby, whom I've decided is not an option. I can't just throw away a life, even if it comes at a cost to me. Even if it inconveniences me. And with the shift in this case, I feel terrified now. My life has always been at risk, but I have a child to think of now too.

"Well, sir, the only thing I can do is the right thing. I have to examine the evidence and move in the right direction. If this witness is credible, I have to drop the charges against Mick O'Connor and go after the man responsible." My insides feel like melting wax under his heated gaze. He's not happy with me and my morals, but I can't put an innocent man in prison for murder, no matter how many other things he's done wrong. It's not right.

"Ms. Gallagher, let me remind you that you are a servant of this court and that you have a duty to uphold." He sits straighter, taking on the tone of my mentor now. The friendly Brendan Callahan is gone, and I’m staring at the Honorable Judge Brendan Callahan with authority behind his name.

"But sir, Mick O'Connor?—"

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