“Man, you don’t know if those missed calls were Ivy,” Wylie added.
“Really? Then who were they?” Dace fired back. “There were four. Four.”
“Wrong number…we’ve been over this,” Luke said.
“You don’t call a wrong number four times – some at odd hours – all from an untraceable number,” Dace defended. “It was her. Who else would have been looking for me that hard? You guys were all at the wedding with me. Everyone who would’ve needed me that bad was at the wedding.”
“Liam said he was still trying to crack whatever was preventing him from tracing it.” Wylie shrugged.
“How the hell do you trace an unknown number?” Rip asked. “I thought it was unknown for a reason.”
“It is,” Dace answered, “unless you’re Liam. That asshole can crack anything.” Liam, his tech genius brother, headed their cyber division. “It’s only regular assholes who can’t get past that unknown thing. Besides, isn’t it odd that she’s missing and there’s someone calling that we can’t nail down? It’s like they’re hiding something.”
“Ivy’s dad was a florist. Not likely she has the kind of resources to hide that well. It could’ve just been one of those prepaid burners…some hungry junky looking for his dealer or something.” Luke shot Dace a steely look. “Still no excuse to flake on Cally, man. She deserves better than a cold shoulder after you two were all fuck me all the way to Tuesday.”
Convinced it was Ivy, and that he’d missed his chance to finally find her, he’d been avoiding Cally. He didn’t blame Cally for the missed calls, but he did believe it was punishment from the universe. Like a strong dose of karma for giving up on Ivy, even if it was a short-term break. His number wasn’t public, and only his brothers and closest associates had it. And Ivy.
“I’m not being a dick. I just can’t talk right now.” Dace pointed at his groin as he lifted the bag of peas and cringed. “I just had my—”
“Yeah, yeah…” Luke broke in. “We get it. But you didn’t pierce your dick yesterday or the day before that.”
“I was on the road,” he defended. “I couldn’t take any calls.”
“You answered my calls,” Wylie corrected.
“That’s different. It was for work.”
Wylie snickered. “If asking if you’ll be back in time for the game is work, then…”
“Look, why haven’t I been able to find her? Sure, she doesn’t have the resources to hide, but we certainly have the means to find anyone, anywhere…and still nothing. Someone with similar resources could have her.” Dace waved his hand to brush off his audience. “Whatever. I’m done talking about this.”
“Bro, that’s exactly why you need to stop punishing yourself. She obviously doesn’t want to be found, and if she found someone to hide her, that’s even more reason to stop all this self-mutilation shit. Move on with your life. Maybe even with Cally even though she’s too good for your ass.”
“Someone needs to get in my chair and get some ink, or you guys need to take this little intervention down the street to the coffee shop to talk feelings.” Rip interjected, patting his chair.
Dace stood, grimacing as he remembered why he was there to begin with. “Seriously. Let’s all get a tat, boys.”
“Hell, no,” Luke said. “I already have one twin, not trying to match all you shits too,” he said, referring to his twin brother, Liam, the only brother who wasn’t there.
“Are you kidding me? You guys owe me!” Dace defended. “After the shamrock incident, when Luke had his meltdown?”
“It wasn’t a meltdown.” Luke grunted.
“Okay. It was a tantrum,” Dace fired back, referring to the night the brothers, sans Dace, got shit-faced at the bar. It was the same night Luke found out he was going to be a dad, and they all wound up at Rip’s shop for matching tattoos.
“We got something symbolic. It was a symbol of unity, celebrating our heritage,” Luke argued. “Solidarity and shit.”
Dace guffawed. “It was a fucking four-leaf clover. It may as well have been a damn leprechaun. It was a symbol of you being a pussy.”
Dace’s phone rang once more, and he again hit decline with a deep sigh that matched the tone of his heavy eye roll.
Luke shook his head, knowing exactly who his brother sent to voicemail, then nodded to the phone in Dace’s hand. “You’re a dick.”
“I’m with Dacey…the clover was lame. How about a company logo or something?” Wylie asked, trying to shift the conversation away from Dace’s problems. As the youngest but biggest O’Reilly, he tended to be the peacemaker.
“Right, and advertise exactly who we are. That should make our coverts pretty effective. Let’s just put targets on our foreheads and make it easy for the bad guys. We’ll start with you, baby brother,” Luke said.
Declan snapped his fingers to grab everyone’s attention and pointed at his phone as he listened. He’d said it was Charlie Tango – also known as C.T. – their friend and oftentimes associate on special cases. He was a lead detective for Portland Police – special crimes unit, specifically – and former military, which made him a local asset for Brother’s Keeper Security.
“Jane Doe,” Declan said, getting their attention again. “Jesus. The alley?”
The silence that handful of words commanded was deafening as they waited for instruction. C.T. didn’t call to talk shop unless he needed the brothers’ help or to send a warning their way.
“Got it. We’ll meet you there.” Dace hung up the phone and tapped vigorously at his screen before he slid it back into his pocket. He then reached for his jacket on a nearby chair. “Seems we have some business to tend to tonight, boys.”
“What’s Charlie Tango got going on? Need us to dig into things a little deeper than he’s allowed to over at PD again?” Wylie asked.
“Not exactly,” Declan said, turning to Dace. “He got called to a scene. A body. A woman’s body.”
Declan’s face went stone cold as he paused. It wasn’t like Declan to hesitate on anything, and this set a new tone that left the room thick with tension. “She’s alive but hurt pretty bad. No ID on her. Only lead is a name wr—”
Dace broke in before his brother could finish. The anxiety that encased his words came out sharp – the closest thing to fear any of the brothers would ever exude. It was like he knew whatever Declan was about to say was solely for him, and he wasn’t going to like it. The walls he often built around himself were fully erect. “What the fuck, Dec? Say it. Just fucking say whatever you’re going to say.”
“She had Dace O’Reilly written on her arm.”
CHAPTER 2
“What are you doing here?” Dace asked, surprised to see his brother Liam waiting for them as he entered the sliding glass doors that led to the hospital emergency department.
“I sent him a message and had him meet us here,” Declan interrupted.