The uniform laughed like he hated the motherfucker sitting at the steel table almost as much as I did. Gave me hope that Tommy’s stay would be anything but pleasant despite any connections his father might have.
The door opened into the small room. All the furniture was bolted to the floor, the overhead light had a cage around it, and security cameras were in every corner. A malfunction with the sound couldn’t be helped, but courtesy of Miles there would be lots of pictures. Lots of proof that Tommy Flannigan was turning against his father, against the Blue Hill Gang. Or at least that was how it was going to look before I finished with him. First a visit from me, then one from the Attorney General’s office, on a Sunday nonetheless, the big favor Miles had arranged, should do the job. No doubt Tommy wouldn’t say anything to either of us, but no one else had to know that.
Dressed in his prison uniform and shackled in chains, I found myself hesitating for a moment before stepping into the same room as Tommy Flannigan. Old instincts died hard. Last time I saw him our face-to-face wasn’t so civilized. But this time, I reminded myself, it would be. It had to be.
“Just knock on the door if you need anything,” the corrections officer told me.
I gave him a nod. “Will do.”
Tommy was positioned directly in the middle of the table with his cuffed hands on its surface. He didn’t look up when the door closed or at the sound of my feet on the linoleum floor. Instead, his eyes were trained on the tabletop.
With steady strides, I eased toward him, taking my time, rehearsing my words in my head. My nerves were locked down deep inside me. To anyone on the outside I looked rock solid. The fabric of my slacks hid the quivering in my legs. Just before I reached the table, I forced my knees to steady.
My shadow loomed large over his small body as I strode toward him. When I came to a halt, his head snapped up and lifeless eyes stared back at me in a suddenly expressionless face. Something had shifted in the sixty seconds since he glared at me through the window.
I placed my palms on the table, leaned down, and stared back at him, my expression just as flat as his. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”
His lips twitched into a dangerous smile. “McPherson.” And then, there it was, the hatred. The one thing no one can keep locked inside.
My hands stayed steady on the table as I leaned down. “Flannigan.”
“I knew you’d come see me.”
Every muscle in my body went taut. “I want to kill you with my bare hands.”
“Come on. You don’t really mean that, do you? I saved your ass by never telling my old man Emily was pregnant. You owe me.”
My teeth clenched. “I don’t owe you shit.”
Fire seemed to light in his eyes. “It wasn’t for you anyway. I wasn’t sure if it was yours and if my old man looked into it, he might not like what he found out.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Had to protect my boys.”
I didn’t believe him for a minute. He’d never let anyone touch his sister. She was the only thing he ever cared about.
Ignoring his poor attempt to goad me, I leered at him. I was here to make it look like he was turning against the Blue Hill Gang. My way of protecting Elle. I had to remember that. I had to keep my shit together.
“Sit down.” He motioned with his chin to the only other chair in the room. “We have a lot to discuss.”
Controlling my urge to fling myself over the table and choke the life out of him, I remained where I was. “I think I’ll stand.”
He shrugged. “Then I think this visit is over. And here I was hoping to have a heart-to-heart about your girl. Elle, isn’t it?”
My fingers pressed the table so hard my knuckles were turning white. Still, I knew I couldn’t give him the upper hand. If I did, he’d see through my real reason for this visit. That it was a show. A picture to present to the world. A lie. A well-thought-out lie. He’d asked me here. Had something he needed to tell me. Why me? Who else did he have to turn to that wasn’t on Patrick’s payroll? I was fucking perfect. Thoughts back in the game, without a word, I slid backward and started for the door, hoping his need to taunt me would far surpass his need to flex any control he thought he might have over me.
“Hey,” he called, the quiver in his voice giving him away.
Triumphant, I turned around.
He was sitting up straighter and that smile had slipped from his lips. “Come back here. You’re going to want to hear what I have to tell you.”
My lips twisted. “What exactly do you think you have to say that I want to hear?” My tone was light, breezy. Very I don’t give a shit because I really didn’t give a shit.
“I know things you’re going to want to hear.”
“I doubt it.”
“About Elle’s sister.”
“Like what?” I practically spit.
“Like who killed her.”
That got my attention, and in three strides I was back at the table. “What are you talking about?”
Those hard eyes narrowed on me and then toward the chair.
Not playing, truly curious, I lowered myself into the seat. “Explain to me what you’re talking about.”