Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
“Nolan, I’ll give you to the count of three to tell me why.” Her voice cracked. “Why didn’t you tell us about the other children?”
Silence. And then a heavy sigh. “I-I needed someone with pull on my side. Your clan was great to have in my pocket, but neither you nor your husband were gunning for a position in Congress.”
Her bottom lip quivered. “I just told me son I wouldn’t be liable for what I said. For so long, I’ve prayed and then taken vengeance into my own hands. I-I’m speechless.” She slammed up from the table so fast that the back leg of the chair snapped. “You were me friend, Nolan!”
29
LOS ANGELES
Deputy Chief Nolan McGregor
I placed a snifter on the top, mirrored surface of my three-tiered liquor cart, reached down, and uncorked the whisky. As I listened to a woman I once had feelings for, liquid splashed into a beautiful glass, catching the sunlight and dancing against the walls. Her voice no longer captivated me. She sounded … overweight … from bearing too many sons for Big Brody Mackenzie.
“You were me friend, Nolan!” Nan’s voice cracked, full of fury and heartbreak. “How could you be so cruel? So evil? They were just weans. Wee bairns. And me son … we trusted you with our Jamie.”
I took a slow sip, reveling in the rich, smooth, full-bodied whisky. A brand I couldn’t have afforded if I’d stayed in Long Beach. “Listen.” I casually slipped a hand into khaki golf trousers. This was any other day to me. Except, I’d gotten my hand caught in the cookie jar. Needed to explain myself. “You’re angry, love. You have every right to be.”
“I oughta—”
I cut her off, tone flat. “Here’s the truth. Your connections were useful when I was at the LBPD. But you. You were never gonna help me level up.”
I swirled the whisky, listening to the silence on the other end.
“All those kids?” I shrugged, even though she couldn’t see it. “Their parents didn’t care a lick about them. Why should I?”
For a moment, I thought she’d hung up.
Then I heard it—her breathing. Steady. Controlled. Rage held at bay.
Good. “Let’s scale back, Nan,” I said smoothly. “Forget about the past. Emotions make things messy. I suggest we create an agreement—”
“An agree—”
“Just hear me out, lassie. I’ll not bother your clan. Ever again. Of course, I’ll miss your cooking. My wife’s food never had a thing on yours.” I filled the glass again. “See? Neither of us will be left unscathed. You need me to look the other way regarding shipments at the Los Angeles Port. I can’t live without your Dundee cake. Now, do you remember when Jamie had to be 51/50’d by a psychiatrist? I assume he’s with you.” Since I figured they were together, I directed the next question to the man of the hour. “Do you remember your mental breakdown when you were sixteen, son?” As opposed to all the others.
“Don’t call me son.” Jamie MacKenzie’s voice oozed venom through the receiver.
“It was a necessary tactic when redirecting the young, scared critter in you. Suppose I don’t have to redirect you now. When you became obsessed with Camdyn’s little floozy, you murdered a man in cold blood, right?”
“I did.”
My brows rose. This was too simple.
“I’m not proud of murdering the man.”
“True.” I felt obligated to agree since I’d pressed a button to record this call. A smile curved my lips. Jamie gave me leverage. “Let’s keep that between us. No one has to know.”
“You’ll call off your Nazi hacker?”
What? I tossed back the drink. Poured another. How did Jamie know about my confidential informant?
“Oh, é senza parole,” another man said. What language, I did not know. Spanish, Italian? “Speechless.” The man reverted to English. “Not in a good way.” Another chuckle. Pah. Italian.
Jamie laughed too. “Assuming I have the floor, I’ve another question for you. Is your wife at the gym this morning? Or did the lovely Mrs. McGregor stay home?”
“Do not. Go there.” I clutched the glass, almost tripping over the intricate leg of the cherry wood desk in my office as I paced around.
“I only mention it because I made a mistake once—I killed an innocent man. Now, let’s set some rules of engagement for this war you initiated. You made the first move by compromising my location and handing it to Chelomey. Then, you claimed the second strike by unleashing Officer Walsh on me. It’s my turn. Now.”
“What did you do?” I rushed to the window of my study, flicked the blinds shut, then pulled the silk string. The expensive, heavy curtains my wife just had to have fell into place.
“One more question. Are you missing a bottle of Brunello Riserva Biondi Santi? 1983. I told my friend not to take the wine when we visited your home last night.”