Page 67 of Crown of Smoke

Again, Ash seems to not care one way or another. “It’s the price of being safe. Flint would never forgive himself if something happened to you because of us." He pushes off from the counter. "Try to understand, we can't let anything compromise our chance at justice."

I’m torn between feeling sympathy for their loss and fear of what they're capable of. What Flint is capable of.

"I understand wanting justice. But murder isn't justice."

"Sometimes, it's the only justice we get.”

I arch a brow. “And if others get hurt in the process?”

Ash's shoulders tense, his previously calm demeanor shifting. "If you’re talking about Marshall, he’s no innocent bystander. If you’re talking about you, you’re your own worst enemy. You’re here because of whatyoudid, not Flint.”

“Flint is the one who put me in danger?—”

“Bullshit. It was your idea to help with this mission. Flint didn’t want you anywhere near this. I know he warned you repeatedly to stay away from the Keans. But you couldn't leave it alone, could you? Flint tried to protect you, and you repaid him by putting yourself in more danger. Now we're all exposed because you couldn't take a hint."

The accusation stings, especially because there's truth to it. But I lift my chin defiantly. "He didn't have to get involved. He chose to."

"Yeah, and now I'm starting to wonder whether you're worth all this trouble."

I flinch at the idea that he thinks I’m not worth living.

“You’re one ungrateful woman, you know that? You’d be dead if not for him.” He shakes his head. “You don’t deserve Flint. Despite what you think, he’s a good man. He truly cares for you, the poor sap. So go ahead. Leave. I hope you do because you’re a danger to him in more ways than one.” He looks at me like I’m lower than pond scum. “So take your chances and go home and keep poking around the Keans. See how long you last without Flint there to protect you.” He heads for the door. "I'll check on you tomorrow, assuming you’re still here."

The door clicks shut behind Ash, and I slump against the wall. The room spins slightly as stress catches up with me. My legs feel wobbly, and my stomach churns with acid.

I stumble to the kitchenette, rifling through the bags Ash brought. There's bread, some fruit, and basic supplies. I find an old toaster and pop in a slice of bread, hoping toast will settle my stomach.

I get the jar of peanut butter Ash brought and spread it on the slightly burnt toast. I take a bite, but quickly, a wave of nausea sends me to the bathroom. I barely make it before bringing up what little is in my stomach. Tears stream down my face as I heave, though I'm not sure if they're from being sick or from everything else. Probably both.

I give up and go back to bed, curling up under the covers to block out everything—Ash's accusations, Flint's betrayal, Marshall's death. Maybe if I just rest here a while, the nausea will pass. Maybe if I stay very still, I can pretend none of this is real.

After hours of sleepless wallowing, I decide that while I may be trapped here, I don’t have to be helpless. Rising from bed, I find my bag and spread my research across the small table. It all seems to be there. Surprising, as I’d have expected Ash to sort through and take out anything incriminating about the Ifrinns.

I study the grainy newspaper photo of the burned mansion with new eyes. Knowing Flint lived there, that he lost his family there, makes it feel more real somehow, which I suppose was what he was telling me as he listed the people who died.

Still, I force myself to look at it objectively, like the journalist I am. I can’t get caught up in the emotions.Yeah, right, like not falling for the subject of your article.

I may be stuck here for now, but I can use this time to organize my story. Not just against the Keans, but documenting everything, including what I've witnessed. The violence, the corruption, all of it. And now there’s another big piece. The four missing Ifrinns are no longer missing.

I remember the hurt on Flint’s face when he realized he was right in that despite the traumatic experience with Marshall, I knew I had the story of a lifetime. I try to push down the guilt that comes with adding the news that the Ifrinns are back with a vengeance to my research notes.

The Ifrinns may think they're protecting me by keeping me here, but they've actually given me exactly what I need—time to put all the pieces of this story together. But for the first time, the excitement that comes with knowing I’m about to break open the biggest story in Boston in years is missing. It’s not just that this story can get me killed even before it sees the light of day. It’s knowing that by exposing Flint, I’m betraying him.

I shake my head of the guilt. He’s the one who lied to me. Betrayed me. I’m going to do my job, just as I always told him I’d do.

24

FLINT

Ipace my apartment like a caged animal, muscles twitching with the need to do something. Anything. Preferably, beat the life out of Hampton and Ronan Kean and all their minions.

Staying low has never been my strong suit. That's more Blaise's specialty. I’m going stir crazy hiding at home waiting to find out the aftermath of Marshall’s death. The TV drones in the background as I drop and start cranking out push-ups. The local news anchor's voice catches my attention when she mentions Marshall's name.

"Police Superintendent James Marshall was found dead early this morning in what appears to be a robbery gone wrong."

I pause mid-push-up as I listen intently.

"Sources say Marshall was last seen leaving O'Malley's Pub. Police are reviewing security footage and interviewing witnesses."

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