Blow (30 page)

Pulling his shirt over his head, he paused before tugging it all the way down. “Are you all right?”

I snapped out of my daze and started dressing. Not really. I didn’t know what I was, but what else could I say? “Yes. I just feel ridiculous about this whole missing-garage-door-opener thing. I doubt it’s in my other purse. You’re probably wasting your time.”

He zipped up his sweatshirt and picked up his keys and mine. I thought he’d head toward the door, but instead he strode over to me. When he was standing right in front of me he said, “No, I’m not. Just because a few hours quietly passed doesn’t mean anything has changed. O’Shea is in a load of shit and there will be consequences if things don’t go the way Patrick wants them to go. That’s why we need to get ahead of this.” He put his hands on my upper arms. “You need to find out what O’Shea has promised to deliver.”

I nodded. “I’ll talk to him tonight.”

Seemingly satisfied with my response, his expression changed. Logan was now looking at me in a new and different way. It was that way men look at women when they know they have a hold on them—half boyish charm, half devilish mischief. “Then we’ll talk even later tonight.”

I got the look then.

And I was more than up to a late-night “chat.”

“I’d better go,” he said.

I nodded. “Wait,” I called.

He froze at the door.

Not certain what he thought I wanted, I tossed out, “Don’t you want your hat and sunglasses?”

“No, I’m good.”

And then he was gone—out the door without a single glance back.

Again, I felt disappointed.

What did I want from him?

Nothing, I told myself.

But I knew it was a lie.

LOGAN

I
was like a junkie.

I knew I should stop, but I just couldn’t seem to get enough. She was a drug and I was hooked. Withdrawal was going to be a bitch when this was over. She’d gotten under my skin. In my head. It was a fact I couldn’t ignore. It was a fact I needed to be mindful of.

I sniffed and cleared my mind of all thoughts of her—for now.

Pulling out my phone, I looked at the three missed calls and called my father.

“Logan?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“I’ve been calling you.”

“Sorry. I was kind of tied up.”

“We need to talk.”

“I know. Look, I’m sorry about yesterday. I shouldn’t have stormed out like that.”

There was a closing of a door. “Don’t worry about it. Listen, I just got back from Brighton Place. Killian was a little wound up.”

I held my breath, hoping my father hadn’t told him what we discussed. “Really? Why?”

“I don’t know. He seemed restless. The nurses said he’d been put on a new medication and that could be why.”

Phew.
I took the turn a little too fast and had to lay on the brakes. “Are you going to be in the office in the morning?”

I could hear the sound of bags rustling through the line. “Yes, I have a nine
A.M.
meeting.”

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I just went grocery shopping. I figured you’d be in town all week and hoped you’d come for dinner a few of the nights. How about we start with tomorrow night.”

Guilt nagged me. I shouldn’t have taken off on him yesterday. “I’ll try, but listen, we need to discuss O’Shea. I’ll be by in the morning after your appointment.”

“Okay, Logan, but nothing has changed.”

Traffic was light and I got to Charles Street fast. “Let’s talk then. ’Bye, Pop.”

“Goodbye, son.” He sounded worried. I hated that he did, but I also knew it wasn’t going to get any better anytime soon.

What we had to do wasn’t going to be easy.

Most shops at this end of Charles Street were closed on Sunday, so the area was pretty deserted. As soon as I put the SUV in park and glanced up, I saw movement inside Elle’s boutique.

Gun ready, I crept down the empty street until I got to the window where a sign read, closed. Peering in, I rolled my eyes and relaxed. Peyton was hunched over the counter, staring into a box.

Relieved, I tucked my gun back inside my waistband and rapped on the door. She didn’t look up and I noticed a pair of earphones in her ears. The door was unlocked, so I walked in.

“Peyton,” I called casually. I didn’t want to frighten her, but she was so absorbed in her work, she still hadn’t looked my way.

She had a yellow pad of paper to her side and a pencil tucked behind her ear. She glanced up and practically jumped. Realizing it was me, she pulled her earphones from her ears and placed a hand over her heart. “Logan, you scared the living shit out of me.”

Feeling bad, I raised my hands to ease her fears. “Sorry about that. I knocked.”

She took off her red-framed glasses and set them down. “What are you doing here?”

“Elle asked me to stop by and grab her purse. She left it here and needed something from it.”

Peyton pulled her lip into her mouth and mischief glimmered in her eyes. “Did she now?”

The diamond chip in her nose sparkled. I had to give it to her—she was a spunky little thing. She couldn’t be any taller than five foot three nor could she weigh more than a hundred pounds, but her presence wasn’t one anyone would look past. With a grin, I answered. “Yes, she did.”

She raised her brows in suggestively, practically wiggling them in a way that let me know she was assuming that we’d got it on and was happy about it.

I wasn’t a kiss-and-tell kind of guy, so I gave her nothing more.

Still, she waited until it was clear there would be no further information, then sighed and circled the counter to open a drawer. Setting the black bag in front of her, she smirked. “Look at that—it appears she did leave it here.”

Feeling validated that she believed me, I walked toward her.

The pencil that was behind her ear was now tapping the counter. “Since you’re here, could you help me with something before you leave?”

With a slight hesitation, I answered, “I can try.”

An elastic band was around her wrist and she snapped it off to pull her curly dark hair back, revealing a rainbow of colors at her nape I hadn’t noticed.

She was bit of a wild child.

Giving direction, she bobbed her head toward a couple of large boxes over on the floor near the stairs. “Those boxes were delivered here yesterday by mistake. They’re for the coffee shop just down the street. Do you mind helping me take them there? I’m pretty sure they’re open until four.”

I glanced at my watch and then inside a fairly large open box to see dozens and dozens of sugar packets. They were probably too heavy for her to carry. “Sure, lead the way,” I said, stacking one on top of the other and hoisting them both.

“I can get one,” she laughed.

I threw over my shoulder, “I got them.”

“I really appreciate this. I’m a little OCD and can’t stand to have things lying around unnecessarily.”

I tried not to laugh at her. “No problem, Peyton.”

“And besides, they might need them,” she rationalized.

I shook my head. “You never know.”

She grabbed Elle’s red hat and put it on her head.

I gave her a sideways look.

“What? My hair’s a mess.”

Soon, we were walking on the sidewalk, heading north, up the hill. We crossed the first block, then the second, then the third. We passed store after store. We passed bikers and joggers, most of whom were headed toward the bottom of the hill, not up it.

Peyton was the chatty type. “How long have you lived in Boston?” she asked.

“On and off my whole life,” I answered. “You?” I added, feeling like I should return the question.

She gave me a quick glance. “We moved to Somerville when I was ten for my father’s job. He’s a Harvard professor.”

Raising a brow, I said, “Impressive.”

The sky had turned overcast, but every now and then the sun peeked through. She wrapped her arms around herself and I thought she was cold until she said, “Not really. He’s an ass.”

Not knowing how to respond to that I said, “Yeah, sometimes family sucks.”

“He fell in love with one of his students the first year we moved here and left my mother and me.”

“Like I said, sometimes family sucks.”

Wasn’t it the truth?

We paused at the corner to wait for the light. I was carrying around forty pounds, so it wasn’t that the boxes were heavy, but seeing over them wasn’t easy. I had to peer around the sides, and there were more and more people on the sidewalk the farther north we went. I turned my head. “I thought you said it was right up the street.”

She shrugged. “Sorry. I’ve never actually walked. When I drive it is, but we’re almost there, promise.”

I didn’t complain but wondered why we just didn’t drive.

“It’s right there,” she said, pointing across the street.

My heart started to pound in my chest. “When did Mulligan’s Cup move from Dorchester to Beacon Hill?” I asked, taking a deep, nervous breath.

Mulligan’s Cup was a family-owned coffee shop that, once upon a time, had been Mulligan’s Bakery. In the eighties, when coffee shops became the thing, they changed names and direction. That wasn’t what was causing alarm bells to go off in my head, though. It was the fact that the owner’s son ran with Tommy’s crowd. It was the fact that he was the one who’d waited in the car while Tommy attacked Kayla and me that night more than five years ago. And it was the fact that he was a punk I never wanted to see again.

“I don’t think they moved. I think they expanded,” she said, interrupting my dark thoughts.

I took a minute to calm myself down as we waited for the light to turn. Expansion, that was a good thing, and it didn’t mean Declan would be there. Either way, I went on instant alert.

When we walked in, I quickly glanced around for a place to set down these fucking boxes. I wanted to get the hell out of there. It looked like the coffee bar was the only open space. The place was extremely crowded, and I had difficulty navigating through the tables and chairs to get to it.

Peyton was in front of me. “Declan,” she called. “These are for you—they were delivered to the boutique by accident.”

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
Nearly out of my mind, I considered dropping the boxes right where I stood, but that would only make a scene.

Someone lifted the top one from my grasp. Not just someone. Declan Mulligan. He still looked like the punk he was. Even at twenty-seven, his jeans were still baggy and cinched with a black leather belt complete with small spikes. He wore a short-sleeved T-shirt, and I could see all the new ink he’d gotten since I’d last seen him not long enough ago. He had the same multiple piercings in his ears and lip, and it looked like in his nipples now, too.

Shock registered on his face and he looked anxious. “Logan,” he gasped in a voice that spoke of way too many cigarettes.

I might have sneered at him. I really don’t know.

He looked down at the box in his arms.

He
should
be fucking anxious. He was lucky I never went after him. He was lucky I didn’t kill him the day I ran into him a few years ago when I saw him with his old man at a funeral. He was lucky word on the street said he was no longer involved with Tommy.

Panic and fear in his eyes, he twisted toward Peyton. “You could have just called down here and I would have sent someone to get the boxes.”

She waved her hand in a flirtatious way. “I’ve been in and out all day and I wanted to make sure you had them in case you needed them.”

She’d used me in a ploy to see him.

She’d fucking used me.

The bastard actually smiled at her. “That was nice of you.”

I dropped the box I was holding on top of the one in his arms and then turned to Peyton. “Come on, let’s go.”

My voice was tight and she gave me an odd look. “Go ahead.” Her tone clearly said I was an asshole.

Great.

She hurried to Declan’s aid but he didn’t accept her help. “I got it, Peyton. Look, it’s really busy in here—let’s talk later.”

I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose, willing patience. Then I took a deep breath and opened my eyes. “Peyton,” I said.

She turned toward me with a scowl on her face.

“I need to get back inside the boutique and get that black bag.”

Her eyes went back to Declan and she was clearly distracted. “Right, El—”

I cut her off. “I’m sorry, but I’m in a hurry,” I said as calmly as I could considering I felt like my skin was about to bust open with the hatred that rushed through me. I also didn’t want her to even breathe Elle’s name near Declan.

It wasn’t until Declan was in the backroom that she finally started for the door.

I really didn’t have time for this shit.

Hustling, I caught up with her. “Sorry about that, but I really am in a hurry.”

Angered, she stopped and turned to look at me. “I had the wrong idea about you. I thought you were someone nice.”

Ouch.

Feeling like I had to somehow explain, I said, “Declan Mulligan and I have a history. And not a good one.” A pang nudged my ribs. What if Declan told Peyton everything and she in turn, told Elle? I didn’t want Elle to know that side of me. To pity me. Or hate me. To look at me differently. However, I was pretty certain he wouldn’t tell anyone about that night. It didn’t make him look good. Deciding to cling to that argument made me feel only slightly better.