Liam: Branded Brothers (15 page)

She slipped the phone back in her purse. Just as she was
about to walk out of the bedroom, her eyes caught a familiar face in a frame.
Jack.
It was the picture of Jack and Helen she’d given Liam at the cottage. She
picked up the picture and ran her finger along the edges.

“What are you hiding, Jack?” she whispered before setting it
back down and leaving the bedroom. A plate of eggs and fresh fruit were waiting
for her at the empty spot at the table. Liam looked up from the stack of papers
he was sifting through as she pulled out the chair.

“That shirt looks good on you.” He glanced up from the
papers, looking amused. His eyes moved back down as he added quietly, “Although
it’d look better on the ground.”

“Already starting this morning, huh?” she said, sliding into
the chair. “I guess I can’t complain though. This is the second meal in a row
you’ve cooked for me.”

“And won’t be the last,” he added without looking up.

Charla smiled and grabbed the mug. She didn’t doubt Liam
could talk his way into anything. She took a sip of coffee and then noticed the
yellow envelope beneath the papers. “So who does Jerry have you scheming over
so early this morning?”

“You really want to know?” he asked, meeting her eyes.

“Sure, why not?” She grabbed a fork and put a mouthful of
fluffy eggs in her mouth.
Damn, this guy is good.

“You know if I tell you, I’m going to have to kill you,” he
said with a serious face.

She chewed her eggs slowly and swallowed hard, then pointed
the fork at him. “Not if I don’t get to you first. You and Jerry spend too much
time together.”

He cracked a smile. “Now that’s the Charla Taylor I met last
night.” He slid the papers to her. “Mickey McGrath. There’s not much more
information here than what Jerry told us last night, other than he might be
hanging around The Blarney Stone.”

“Isn’t this the kind of information the FBI should know?”
She flipped through the photos. Mickey McGrath definitely fit the part of mafia
drug lord. He was in his early sixties, she guessed, with a face that looked to
kill. He had a mane of slicked red hair and wide, deep-set eyes. “Wouldn’t they
be better at catching some guy like this? Bring in a whole team?”

“Not always,” Liam said, leaning back in his chair. “The FBI
has been looking for him for ten years. They haven’t caught him yet. Plus, if
we do it ourselves, it’s a big pay day.”

“So what makes you think you can catch him?” she asked,
sliding the papers back to him. She tried to push Jack’s final words out of her
mind. Maybe he wasn’t as crazy as she thought. She tried to find the right
words to ease into the conversation with Liam. She had to tell him.

“Because I’m good at what I do,” he answered quickly. “Plus,
we have the element of surprise. I don’t want to go in with a huge team. I want
to go in with a few guys. Go in quietly, exit quietly.”

“I doubt Mickey is ever by himself. I’m sure he has a group
of guys with him almost all the time,” she replied, taking a bite of a
strawberry.
Like errand boys.

“Almost is the key. We’ve got to get him alone,” he said,
looking through the papers again as he nodded his head in calculation. She
could see the wheels turning in his head. “That will be the only way.”

Charla cleared her throat. It was now or never. She needed
to get this off her chest, and more than anything, she wanted Liam to know
about the dangers of dealing with the mafia. “So, I don’t know how exactly to
say this…”

He looked up and grabbed his mug of coffee. “Say what? Say
that you don’t want me to do this? Tell me how dangerous it is?”

“Well…” She put down her fork and exhaled. “Not exactly. Sort
of.”

He furrowed his eyebrows and then set down the papers. His
voice became serious. “What is it?”

“I didn’t want to tell you at first because I didn’t believe
it myself,” she started. “Patients with Alzheimer’s say a lot of crazy things.
I mean, a lot of crazy things. I talked to one of my instructors from nursing
school, and she said it was totally normal to have delusional patients who
can’t discern between reality and fantasy. Pair that with a patient on his
deathbed who is trying to make peace before he passes on, and well, you have a
shit storm of crazy.”

“What’s a shit storm of crazy?” he asked, his voice suddenly
changing.

“Some of it doesn’t even make any sense…” She felt a bead of
sweat drip down her back. Her face suddenly flushed, and she stuttered trying
to find the words. “I don’t think I believe it now, but it just seems a little
strange. You know, Jack dying. Me delivering the note. You coming back to the
house. Jerry delivering the note about the mafia guy.” She waved her hands back
and forth, trying to make sense of it all. Was it possible Mickey McGrath had
something to do with Jack? If Jack was in seclusion, how did he know about his
death?

“Charla, what doesn’t make sense? Did Jack tell you
something?” He leaned in toward her and grabbed her hand. “If he told you
something, you have to tell me. I need to know everything.”

“It’s not much,” she started, finally making eye contact
with him. She swallowed hard one last time, wondering how crazy it would sound
finally coming out. “Jack said he used to be an errand boy for the mafia.”

Liam’s face pinched into a look of confusion and disbelief.
He opened his mouth, but didn’t speak at first. It sounded just as crazy
speaking the words as it did in her head, but she had gotten closer to Jack, asking
him to repeat what he said. He must have said it at least three more times
after that. Several seconds went by before Liam spoke. “Errand boy?”

She nodded her head. “That’s what he said.”

“For the mafia?” He let go of her hand and slowly pulled his
own back across the table. He propped his elbows against the table and leaned
into his hands. “The mafia? You sure you heard him right?”

She nodded her head again, this time slowly, as she wrung
her hands in her lap. She knew she was just the messenger, but she felt a wave
of guilt she hadn’t told him sooner. “Yeah, he said it a couple times.”

“And this was the first time he said anything like it?”

“First time. He never mentioned anything even remotely close
to it before. He never did anything to tip me off that he had a bad past, other
than the fact that Helen had died,” she replied. “He never mentioned he had any
sons. He never mentioned any other family or friends. Said he worked as a
woodworker for the last twenty years.”

“Where was his shop?”

“When I met him, he said he had already cleared out the shop
and sold everything because he couldn’t keep up with business,” she replied.

“Did he have any of his work in the cottage?” he asked,
taking his elbows off the table. He ran a hand through his hair. “Don’t tell me
he didn’t have anything in the cottage…”

Charla closed her eyes. She hadn’t thought much about what
he made because she believed him. She figured he must have sold as much as he
could to be able to afford her salary. “Just salt and pepper shakers and a
baseball bat…”

“That’s it?” Liam’s voice strained.

“Yeah, that’s it,” she said defiantly. “I figured he sold
all his assets to afford living at home. Not many people can hire an in-home
care provider. Most people go to a facility.”

He shook his head, trying to make sense of it all like
Charla had. The problem was that it
didn’t
make sense. “What else did he
say?”

“He said that Helen was murdered because of him,” she
continued. “He said over and over how sorry he was and that he didn’t mean for
it to happen. He said he saw something he wasn’t supposed to see…” She closed
her eyes, trying to remember his exact words.

“Charla?”

“He said he saw some Jimmy guy get murdered in Boston,” she
replied. “He said one of his own guys shot him in a back alley somewhere. Some
restaurant or something. I couldn’t understand what he was saying. Then he said
that they were after him when they shot Helen.”

“Jesus,” Liam whispered.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” she replied, exhaling as relief
spread through her body. A weight lifted off her chest. “I still don’t want to
believe it, though. There’s no way. I couldn’t imagine Jack hanging around the
mafia. He was a loner, living on a lake in the Midwest. There’s no way he spent
time hanging around the mafia in Boston. No way…”

He cocked his head and stared at her.

“I get your point,” she replied, nodding her head at the
realization that Mud Lake was a great place for people to hide. There wasn’t
much of anything around the cottage.

“He brought us all here,” Liam said, standing up. He started
pacing around the kitchen. “But he was too afraid to keep us so he put us up
for adoption to safeguard us.”

“Liam, I …” she started.

He put his hand up to interrupt her as he thought. “He gave
us the tattoos so we would know we belonged together. It was a way for us to
find each other one day.”

Charla bit her lip. Even though she didn’t want to believe
it, Liam’s train of thought and enthusiasm were convincing her. “Maybe this
whole mafia thing isn’t the best thing to do. I mean, you can see how it tore
apart your own family.”

“So, you believe everything he said?” He stopped pacing and
came back to the table. He wrapped his hands on the back and leaned toward her.

“I don’t know…I mean…” she stuttered and then made eye
contact with him. She couldn’t mistake the conviction in his eyes, as if he
knew something she didn’t. “You’re making me believe it’s true.”
The
envelope.
Charla’s mind replayed the moment when Liam dropped the letter
into the water. She’d never seen what was in the letter and now she wondered if
she’d made a mistake. “Is there something you know that I should know?”

“No,” he replied, pushing himself off the chair. He started
pacing the kitchen again. “But you’re right about Mickey being back in town.
Seems like too much of a coincidence. Jack dies and suddenly there’s a mafia
drug lord coming to Blackwell.”

“Exactly the reason why you should stay out of all this,”
she said. “It’s too dangerous. There’s no way Mickey knows who you are and you
should do everything you can to keep it that way. Wait it out. Jerry said
himself he’d be out of town in a few days, headed back down to Mexico. Let
someone else go after him.”

“But what if he’s the one responsible for killing my
mother?” he asked. “I can’t let that slide. I need to know. Wouldn’t you want
to know if someone was responsible for killing your father? Wouldn’t you want
to know?”

A burn passed through Charla’s body. “No, I wouldn’t want to
know.”

“Well, that makes us two different people, then,” he said.
“I want to know what happened to Helen. I want to find Brody. And I want to
know if Jack is who he said he was. They’re my family for Christ’s sake. It’s
my past. It’s who I am. It’s where I came from. I have a right to know.”

She clamped her lips together, fighting the urge to tell him
where you come from isn’t always exactly what it’s cracked up to be. She pushed
the plate of half-eaten eggs away from her and stood up. “Well, you’re going to
have to go at this one alone. There’s no way I’m getting involved with the mafia.”
She paused, letting the words soak in. “God, you know how crazy that sounds,
Liam? The mafia?”

“I know,” he said, taking a few steps toward her. “I know
it’s crazy, but I don’t have a choice. I have to do this.”

“I get it, you have to do this,” she repeated, trying to
convince herself. He took her hands and held them in front of his face. Then he
kissed each of them lightly. “Don’t make this any harder to walk away.”

“You’re not walking away for good,” he said, pulling her
into him. “Just for a few days until I get this straightened out. But I’m going
to ask you for one favor. I don’t want you stay at the cottage anymore.”

Charla raised her eyebrows. “Why?”

“Just in case,” he said. “I don’t know if any of this is
related, but if it is, I don’t want you anywhere near the cottage. Do have some
place else you can stay? I don’t know if you should stay with me, even though
you don’t know how bad I want to wake up to this face every morning.” He ran
his finger along her cheek, sending a surge of warmth through her body. “And
this.” He lightly cupped her right butt cheek. “And these lips.” Then he
sweetly pressed his lips against hers.

She pulled back, breathing heavily. “You sure you need to do
this?”

“It’ll only be a few days.” He kissed her again. “I promise.”

“I’ll stay with my friend,” she replied. “I’ll pick up a few
things this afternoon and then head there. Aaron will love it.”

“Your friend’s a guy?” he asked with surprise. “On second
thought, I think it would be fine if you stayed here.”

She smiled, amused with the jealousy. “Aaron is Jill’s
fiancé. They live together.”

“Good.” He kissed her again, this time longer. He finally
pulled away and looked into her eyes. “Just a few days.”

Chapter 9

As the Dirty Leprechaun vanished in Charla’s
rear view mirror, she slid on her sunglasses to block the glare of the morning
sun. The breeze filtered through the window as she picked up speed, whipping
her hair in streams behind her. She leaned forward to dig in her back pocket,
retrieving the folded checklist. She held it against the steering wheel, taking
short glances at it.

1. Pack rest of boxes.

2. Search for an apartment.

3. Call realtor.

4. Go to Dirty Leprechaun and tell Liam about Jack.

4. Stay out of Liam’s business with Jack.

5. Don’t fall in love with Liam Murphy.

She’d accomplish none of the items on the list in the last
twenty-four hours. As for number four, she’d clearly crossed that line with the
search for Ronan and the admission about Jack’s claim to his involvement with the
mafia. It’s like no line even existed at all. And number five, she wasn’t in
love with Liam Murphy. Yet. But she was could feel herself tumbling closer to
him and fast. He was definitely making it hard
not
to fall for him. Even
though she’d seen the only two people in the world she loathed more than
anything, he somehow managed to make it the best twenty-four hours she’d had in
a long time.