I needed to know who I was going to have to kill if they were doing what it sounded like they were doing. Liam caught me before I got to the truck. “Where are you going?”
Shaking off his grip, I gave the kid an even look. Something was tearing him up and there were more bruises in his eyes than on his face. “To take care of something and to get some information. Sort out Freddie’s ID. If that place has that much security, they’re going to be looking for trouble.”
“They’re going to be looking for us,” Liam said abruptly. “The men investigating all of us—the pictures.”
“Pictures?”
I almost wished I hadn’t asked. The brief explanation left a thousand questions, not to mention a fire-fueled rage that wanted out. “The fucker blackmailed her?”
Liam nodded once. The hell in his eyes. He blamed himself. Fine. I could blame him too. Or the others. Mostly—I just blamed myself. Little Bit would have called me if I hadn’t pushed her away. If I hadn’t—
“Go figure out Freddie,” I ordered. “And keep an eye on him. This is going to be harder on him than he thinks.”
“Wait...you want him to go through with that plan?” Kellan asked from a couple of steps away. “Doc, that’s a terrible idea.”
“In a terrible situation, sometimes it’s the worst idea that gets you out. Square things away here. Getting him in might be tough—getting them out will be tougher.” And they’d need a plan.
A dozen plans turned over in my head as I got in my truck and left the warehouse. I didn’t go far. Just three blocks, before I turned off the street and parked on the far side of the apartment buildings. One whole wall featured more of Rome’s art. It was colors muted by shadows. As though the people in the shadows couldn’t leave the dark, even for the beauty that waited for them.
Fucking poet.
Flipping open the glovebox, I pulled out a phone that I kept there. It was better to not carry this one all the time. But I couldn’t bring myself to leave it somewhere I wasn’t. The guys rarely called me. All of once in the last three years, and it was for an emergency bullet extraction.
I’d taken care of it. Cleaned it out, stitched him up and gave him antibiotics. They were gone within hours of arrival. Coming and going like ghosts. The only reason I saw them was, I was one of the few they trusted.
Because I’d been one of them.
Phone in hand, I called the number I had memorized and then waited for the options to leave a message. It was an anonymous voicemail. Accessible from anywhere they were. Though, there was a damn good chance they would be too busy to answer immediately. I had to trust the system.
“Situation red. Status important. I need to break a bow. Information required.” I added the date and time to the message and then hung up. Leaning back in the seat, I stared out over the port. Shipping containers stacked high. Large slips. Cranes. The whole area was a warren of equipment, storage, and transportation.
Like any warren, it held its secrets in a tight grip.
The phone rang five minutes later. “Hey Doc,” Alphabet’s voice was both familiar and welcome, even if he sounded more than a little smug. “Long time, no see.”
“Yeah well, we’ve all been busy.”
“True—but you only call when you want something.” The remark struck true.
“And you only call when you need me to save one of your lives.”
“Touché, man, touché.” The humor in his voice dried up. “What’s wrong?”
“Pinetree Psychiatric. It’s located in upstate New York. Do you know it?”
“Not personally,” the man said. “Need information on it?”
“I need everything, doctors, patients, location, schematics—everything.”
“Give me twelve hours,” he said. A crash came from somewhere behind him and he sighed, and the next words were muffled as if he was talking away from the phone. “Gracey, feel free to take his head off, but do it somewhere else. I’m working in here.”
Another crash exploded against the wall and he laughed.
Lunatic.
“Should I ask?”
“No.” Laughter turned to deadly quiet. “No, you shouldn’t.”
Understood. “Twelve hours.”
“Hang on to the phone.” Then he cut the call and it was just me, the phone, and the truck. Twelve hours to do a little digging of my own. I wasn’t going back to the warehouse without answers and a plan. They were all on edge, but they’d wait.
The next number I called on my regular phone. My sister answered on the second ring, she sounded a little breathless. “Mickey, hey—it’s almost dinnertime, you on the way?”
Fuck. Family dinner was tonight. “No, Steph, sorry. Something came up.”
“Fine, I’ll just put all the extra tortellini and breadsticks into Tupperware and take it to work with me tomorrow.”
“You are a cruel sister.”
“Uh huh.” She puffed out a breath. “What’s wrong, Mickey?”
“Nothing.” The lie flowed right off my tongue, but it didn’t sit right with me. So, before she could call me on the crap, I just said, “Nothing you can help me with. I gotta do this. A friend needs me.”
“You’re always a good friend.”
Thinking back to the betrayal in Little Bit’s eyes in that bathroom, after feeling her come all over my fingers, I didn’t think so. I’d turned out to be a pretty lousy fucking friend. “Yeah, well, I screwed up and someone else might be paying for that.”
“You’ll fix it.” Absolute confidence.
“Steph, you always say that.”
“And I’m always right. You made mistakes, Mickey. But you paid for them. You fixed it. You became a better person.” The crispness of her words pulled a reluctant smile from me.
“You’ve always seen the best in me.”
“No, I’ve always seen you. The good. The bad. The indifferent. You made mistakes. You made—big mistakes. Some of them forgivable. But you also took ownership and you’ve done what you could. Unfortunately, not every mistake can be fixed or even undone. The past is done, Mickey. We can mourn it, curse it, and even regret it. But we can’t change it. The only thing we can do is make amends, plan to be better, and repair the future.”
The words were exactly what I needed to hear. At the same time— “What if a decision I made drove someone else to make an even worse decision?”
“We all make choices. You can’t take responsibility for theirs, only your own.”
“But if I…”
“Michael James, you cannot, and are not, capable of making another person’s decisions for them and if you think they made them purely for you, then I would suggest you slap yourself upside that arrogant head of yours.”
Ouch.
But she had a point… Little Bit was hardly a pushover.
“Love you, Sis.”
“I love you, too. Look after my boys and don’t do anything stupid.”
We didn’t linger on the phone after that, which was good, because I didn’t have to tell her too late. I’d already done a lot of stupid things. Head back against the seat, I waited. Back here was as good a place as any.