Page 33 of The Devil's Price

I walk back toward the courtroom feeling a bit flustered. I was previously overwhelmed by what's happening and how to handleit all, but now I'm scared again. If Liam knows something is going on, it means someone somewhere is watching me. Someone who is pulling strings I can't even see.

Finn walks up to me, but I have to dismiss him. Everything in me wants to jump into his arms and run away to never deal with this again, but I can't do that. Mick may not be innocent, but the more things that happen, the more I realize maybe he really didn't kill Aiden Hughes. Maybe I’m a pawn in a game I don't want to be playing and if I concede, a man will be wrongly convicted.

"Sib," Finn says, but I look away, knowing Liam is watching. I fix my eyes on the guards behind him, leaning against the courtroom doors.

"Not now, Finn," I hiss at him and keep walking. If I tuck into his chest I may never come out again. I may never find the courage to fight these men whose lives I've made it my goal to destroy. I'm so confused by it all, numbed by it. If this case doesn't even involve getting to the root of who killed my cousin and I'm running scared, how will I find his killer and take them down? Especially if men like Callahan surround me and hedge me in on all sides.

One of my bodyguards nods at me and I walk past them. I hear them following. They sit in the first bench behind me. They can't join me at my table. Even if they could, I wouldn't feel any safer. When Callahan looks at me, I feel the devil staring at me. But the price he's asking me to pay is far too high for someone like me.

Put a man into prison who may well be innocent of the charges? How can I do that and still live with myself? Yes, Mick O'Connor has done wretched things and probably things worthyof jailtime, but I'm being more and more convinced on the daily that he has nothing to do with Aiden's murder.

The gavel bangs and everyone rises as the judge takes his position again. I can't even look at him now. That interaction with Liam has me shaken. He knows something and I need to know how he knows. I want to know how Callahan got into my penthouse. Why he was there really? And who were the men pulling strings to make all of this happen? Finn says it's the Doyles, but I don't see the ties to them in any of this.

"Mr. Quinn, call your next witness, please." Callahan's voice sounds far away, like he's in a tomb, echoing off the walls.

I rub my forehead and stare at the notes on my legal pad. The bright yellow paper contrasts with my dark red pen, making the letters stand out. I've not made one single note about Quinn's witnesses or any rebuttal I may have. The only reason I objected to his questioning of that shop owner was because I wanted to cool my face off. Otherwise, I'd let him drone on for days. It would buy me time to figure this thing out. As it is, we have a few days at best to make something happen or Callahan wins, and this entire city may as well go up in flames. If our justice system is infiltrated by criminals, what hope do any of us have left for a moral life?

The notes in front of me aren't organized. They're just bullet points and chicken scratches of what I know to be true. The evidence, the suspicions about Callahan. I add to them a suspicion about Liam—his name in all caps, boxed in with a thick, heavy line and a large question mark.

Then something catches my eye. It's a slip of pink paper, the corner of which is peeking from under my legal binder. I narrow my eyes at it as I glance around. I don't use pink paper foranything, not a note pad, not even a Post-It. Someone has put this here when I was away, and I'm curious to see what it is.

The hairs on the back of my neck rise to stand on end as I pull it out and instantly recognize the handwriting. Callahan's penmanship is unmistakable. I'd recognize it anywhere. The small note must've come from him somehow, though he was in his chambers, so I don't see how he could’ve put this here, which means he also has a court official on his side too.

When I look up at him, he's staring at Quinn, but his eyes flick to meet mine. The same dark, inky gaze that terrified me more than a week ago in his office locks on me for a split second and I almost piss myself. When my eyes peer back at the paper, I have to blink a few times to force them to focus.

The note reads,O'Connor is guilty. Convict him, or you'll be sentencing yourself. No appeals. No second chances. It makes a chill creep down my spine, pooling in my gut, stirring up my nerves. I shake as I read it again, and my body feels like I've been plunged into ice water. But I'm sweating.

Before I can stop it, I'm dry heaving, rising to lean over the edge of the table where bile and stomach acid comes up and pours onto the floor. The pitcher of water on my table spills, toppling over the edge, and I gasp for air.

Never in a million years did I think trying a case like this would put me in this position, but I know better now. I know I need help. I need Finn, and McVeigh, and anyone else who will be in my corner, because the forces I’m up against aren't going to stop unless they suck me into the vortex with them.

24

FINN

The car rolls to a stop outside Mick's farmhouse. I can see instantly the pain on Isla’s face. Her father isn't here to meet his new grandchild. She's hurting as much as I expect Brennan and Rebecca are. I'm here with Declan and his family to do as I promised Mick I would. I have to speak with Brennan and help her understand her cheating husband and his foolish ways. He might be a scoundrel of a man, but he's no murderer—not Aiden, anyway.

"You okay?" Declan, my older brother, asks his wife.

Isla nods but sniffles as she unbuckles the baby's car seat and begins to pull it out of the car. I climb out and suck in a deep breath of country air. We're south of the city, not quite halfway to County Wicklow but still in beautiful country. Mick chose his operations to run from this place and it was perfect for a time. For long enough, in fact, that neither of his daughters knew a single thing about his life of crime. He kept it all under wraps by running this massive farm.

"Go on in," I tell them, taking a few minutes to collect my thoughts.

Declan ushers Isla indoors with the baby while I stand in the misty fog. It's cool against my skin, moist. I sense movement in the barn but hear the flapping of wings and see a bird launch into the air. Not much is happening here now since the Garda raided the place. Mick's men have all taken jobs within the O'Rourke organization for the time being. I doubt any work will happen in this place again except for genuine farming.

I hear a horse whinny, more birds' wings flapping, and sigh. I'm on edge even when things are peaceful. I'm sure Brennan feels the same way with her husband on trial. She has to be distraught from it all. The idea of facing the future without Mick is just an annoyance, a setback to us. But to her, it's losing her life partner.

With my sails adjusted, I walk into the house. The atmosphere is heavy. It feels like someone died, not like Mick is just on trial. The curtains are drawn. Dust hangs in the air. A single lamp in the corner is on, and Brennan sits in an old wooden rocker with a lap blanket draped over her legs. There's a cup of tea next to her, tea bag still draped over the edge, but Rebecca, Isla, and the baby are nowhere in sight. Only Declan sits with the matriarch of this broken family.

I stick a finger in my collar and loosen my tie, having no hat to hold in my hand. Brennan looks up at me with forlorn eyes and nods. She looks tired, hair a frazzled mess around her head and shoulders.

"Sorry I don't have any tea for ye." Even her voice sounds hampered by sorrow and fatigue.

I sit down in the chair nearest her and allow my eyes to adjust to how dim it is in here. The faint chatter of women in the other room meets my ears and I wonder why Brennan would send Islaaway with her new grandchild. Why wouldn't she want to hold the little one?

"How is he?" she asks me, and I shrug before sucking in a deep breath.

"He's a rugged old man, Brennan. He'll do fine if he knows his one true love is fighting for him." I search her expression as she frowns and looks away, into the light of the old Cranberry glass lamp. Like the woman in front of me, the lamp has untold value to the right person. "He needs you there fighting for him."

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