Page 56 of Dark Secrets

Philly’s streets gave way to suburbs as night fell, and James whipped past shopping malls and chain restaurants. A text from his father let him know the Irish in New York were more than happy to slap the Russians back into place and even happier to have the promise of Callahan firepower to do so.

When the road signs signaled he was close, James called Maguire and put him on speaker. “I’m almost right on you, and backup is about five minutes behind me. You good?”

“Yeah, they’re idiots if they haven’t realized I’m drawing them out.”

“Let’s hope they’re idiots then,” James replied. “How do I get to you?”

“If you’re in the town, take a left at the sign for the park and follow that road. We’re about two miles up.”

“Make sure it’s nice and secluded. None of them leave alive.”

“Perfect,” Maguire said.

Headlights flashed in James’s rearview as he sat in the turn lane, and he honked his horn once. As soon as he turned onto this road, he knew they wouldn't have any trouble here. These Russians either thought it was their lucky day isolating the caravan or they’d made them. Either way, bullets would fly, and the Bratva assholes would never see home again.

The longer he drove, the denser the trees became, and James spotted the taillights from the caravan when he crested a hill. He sent a single-word text to Maguire and sped up.Go.

The lead car turned first and then the truck. Another car came from the opposite direction, flashing its lights, and James recognized the SUV as one of theirs. The two cars riding at the rear turned with the truck along with the two silver SUVs.

James kicked up gravel when he swerved onto the narrow road and lurched to a stop behind the SUVs. Syndicate men poured out of the cover cars at the same time the Russians did, and he ducked down against his Porsche when shots rang out. Popping up, he took aim over the hood and fired, watching the Russian closest to him drop to the ground.

In less than five minutes, all ten Bratva soldiers were dead at their feet, and not a single syndicate man had so much as a graze wound. James jogged over to the bodies, irritation warring with satisfaction in his chest.

“Load them back into their SUVs and drive them to McGee’s,” James ordered, stepping back when his men swarmed the vehicles. “You”—he gestured to the original team—“get back on the road. My father is expecting you. You shouldn’t have any more problems, but if you do, he’s your first call.”

James stood in the dark while the men rushed to follow his orders. When it was finally quiet, he slipped his gun into the holster at his back and retrieved a small shovel from the trunk of his car, using it to cover up the blood soaking into the gravel from where the bodies had dropped.

Dousing the shovel with bleach and wrapping it in an old towel, he set it back in the trunk of his car and dialed Declan.

“Threat neutralized. Our men are back on the road. Based on what I’m hearing from Dad, we shouldn’t have any more issues with the Bratva.”

“I’m hearing the same. Good work today, James.”

Tossing his phone onto the passenger seat, he drove home. He wanted a shower, a cold beer, and Delaney. In that order. Shit. Delaney. He looked down at his shirt, his hands. He wasn't covered in blood—this time—but he was dirty from digging, and since it was her day off, she wasn't likely to be out, allowing him to sneak in and store his gun in the safe before he saw her.

She didn’t normally push him for information. She hadn’t asked a single thing about the late nights he’d been keeping lately even though he could tell she wanted to. Still, this one would be hard to explain if she asked.

The light over the stove was on when he let himself into the apartment, but he didn’t hear the TV, and the rest of the first floor was dark. It was unusual for her to be here and not have all the lights on. It was late, and her car was in the parking lot, but maybe she’d gone out with Addy or Clara to a movie or something.

He climbed the stairs, eager for that shower, but his gratitude for the privacy was short-lived when he saw the light spilling out from her room into the hallway. She must have heard him coming up because she met him at the doorway, her eyes traveling up and down his body.

She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Finally she dragged her gaze up to his face, but her body was in shadow from the light haloed behind her. He desperately wanted to know what she was thinking.

“Rough day?”

He barked out a laugh before he could stop himself. “You could say that.”

She nodded slowly as if trying to piece together his long absence with his disheveled appearance. Or maybe she was listing out all the reasons staying here with him was a terrible idea. He could hardly blame her for that.

“I made some pasta for dinner. Why don’t you take a shower, and I’ll bring you a plate?”

“That sounds great.

When she pushed onto her tiptoes, careful not to touch him as she pressed a kiss to his lips, he held his breath.

“Are you hurt?”

“No,” he whispered.

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