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Adam’s expression twisted, silent tearsfalling into his beard. He shook his head. “No, Dane. The personwho meant the most to him is sitting right here beside me. Don’tyou ever fucking doubt that.”
Dane bit his lip, using the pain to focus.Keep some kind of calm. “I don’t know what to do. Our place? All ofhis stuff … the funeral…”
“You don’t do what we do without explicitinstructions. I’ve known your father’s wishes since you were born.Not much has changed.”
“Oh.”Why didn’t we ever talk about that?Seems like he should’ve brought it up.The flash of irritationonly deepened the cut—his dad wouldn’t be there to snap attomorrow. Or any tomorrow.
“Jesus, this is a fuckin’ disaster.” Adamheaved a sigh. “I’ll have a room made up for you tonight. Tomorrow,we’ll get started on arrangements.”
“No, I really should go home. Start goingthrough—”
“Not tonight, son. You don’t do anythingtonight.” Adam stood up. “And that’s an order.”
Dane looked up at him. “I thought youweren’t my boss tonight.”
Adam managed to crack a smile. “Uncles canstill give orders.”
Getting to his feet, Dane shoved his handinto his pocket, his thumb stroking the St. Michael coin. “Yes,sir.”
“Good. Let’s get some drinks.”
Chapter Two
DANE
Chicago, Illinois, August 25
Home bittersweet home. He eased theancient metal door shut, but the latch’s soft click practicallyechoed throughout the apartment. Habit drove his movements:unloading his keys and wallet on the small table to the right,kicking off his shoes, and heading straight into the kitchen, gunand holster set carefully on the counter within reach. He grabbed aGuinness from the refrigerator before he looked around, his gazelanding on a gray sweatshirt that wasn’t his hanging over the blackeasy chair. That also wasn’t his.How does this feel so muchbigger and more cluttered at the same goddamn time?
He hadn’t come home much since everythingwent to hell—for the last five nights, the room at the FitzgeraldMansion, a hotel, or Sawyer’s couch had just been easier. But now,he’d left Sawyer and his other assorted cousins to handle hisextremely drunk Uncle Patrick at the penthouse apartment they’dused to host the post-funeral reception. Dane couldn’t take fivemore minutes of other people’s guilt. But standing in their—oh,fuck, it’s mine—too-big, too-empty apartment, his uncle’soverblown speeches, the Fitzgerald kids’ offers from their hiddenflasks, and his cousins’ bottomless bags of weed didn’t seem soannoying.
Dane stared at the furniture like artifactsfrom someone else’s tomb. Things he’d lived with his whole lifefelt alien. It wasn’t a grand space, unlike the commandeeredpenthouse. This was ahome. Michael Ryan always made thatclear. This was the place you came back to. As such, his dad neverasked him to move out, and Dane never felt like going. Not muchpoint. No girlfriend lasted long enough, and once he’d fully joinedthe firm, it wasn’t like he had much downtime. When he wasn’t gluedto the twins or Caleb, he was hopping the States—and occasionallythe Atlantic Ocean—on Fitzgerald errands. The job never ended. Notto mention the massive amount of time he’d have to sink intofinding somewhere new.
And that’s still gonna be a problem,isn’t it? So get your head out of your ass and handle whatever thefuck is going wrong in your brain.Swearing, he tugged at histie, leaving it to hang around his neck like a half-forgottennoose. All he wanted was sleep. Sleep and alcohol and maybe to gutsomeone. Nice and slow. But he didn’t have a target yet. Once hehad names, he’d go hunting. For now, all he could do waswait.
Dad’s stuff can do the same for anotherweek. Or three.He fell onto the too-soft brown sofa andpropped one foot up on the battered coffee table. He had offered toreplace it, and many other pieces, countless times, but Dad alwayslaughed it off.“That thing got me through bachelorhood, kid!It’ll survive the goddamn nuclear winter someday.He all butheard his father’s gravelly voice and felt the increasinglyfamiliar heartache.
His father had been a tough, mean bastard onthe job, but he’d drawn a hard line on that facade at the frontdoor. Michael Ryan might’ve spent the day teaching his son to breakkneecaps and torch houses or disposing of an enemy one piece at atime. But that didn’t mean they sat around the dinner table talkingshop. He wasn’t a monster lurking around to beat up his kid orterrorize a hooker. Instead, he’d preached violence as a tool andfear as a weapon. And looking at the goddamn ugly table broughtthose lessons back.Fuck. Now I’m never gonna have the balls totossanyof it.
Popping the cap off the beer, Dane glared atthe remote next to his foot. Television would provide noise, but …screw it. He eased further into the cushion, closing hiseyes, and taking a swig.Just drink and relax. Get a nap. Youcan do this. You survive stakeouts all the time. This is justanother kind of wait.
The door rattled with a soft knock.
They’d go away if he didn’t move or make asound. Probably kids selling the old subscription scams. Sometimesthe building’s guard let them up for fun. They knocked again. Hetook another drink and considered whether he’d have to knock theguard’s face into a wall.
“Dane? Dane, I know you’re home. I checkedwith Sawyer!”
His eyes shot open, and his feet hit thetile floor. Three seconds later, he reached the door and swung itopen without checking the peephole. Zara stood in the hall, herblue-and-brown gaze locking with his.Am I hallucinating?Heforgot to breathe. Or speak. Instead, he stepped back, motioningfor her to enter.The fuck am I doing? The fuck isshedoing? Tell her to get the hell out of here. Say it!Just—
“Mrs. MacPherson sent food,” Zara said withdetermined cheerfulness as if she guessed his thoughts. TheFitzgerald’s long-time housekeeper had a rigorous sense ofobligation to all the staff, seeing them as a dysfunctionalextended family.
I should’ve known I wasn’t getting out ofthis without ten tons of cake and cabbage.
“Cathy was going to bring it but, um, Ivolunteered.” She shifted uncomfortably, as if her heels hurt. Daneglanced down, finally able to look away from her cheekbones, tofind Zara’s arms loaded with a large red box like a supersizedpizza delivery. A second tote sat beside her. “I figured you mightnot want a lecture on how to clean the closets right now. Plus,someone had to take the other half to your uncle, and I alreadyknew how to get here.”
“It’s been ages.” His voice sounded thick,emotional. He cleared his throat. “How the hell did youremember?”
Zara sighed. “Honestly? No idea. I forgetwhat I had for dinner yesterday, but not this.” A helpless shrug,and she lifted the box. “I hope you have a freezer. Otherwise, Mrs.Mac might have one delivered.”
