Page 112 of Lesson In Forgiveness

“Far enough he was forced to leave the country to stay alive. Young Phalen picked up a nasty habit of skimming off the top—drugs, cash, weapons. Whatever he was assigned to handle, he’d take a little something here and there to pad out his own nest. He started taking that liberty with the women, which is when things got really serious.” That lilting accent took on a dark, hard edge. “Stupid idiot started flirting with soldiers’ girlfriends and wives, instigated affairs with half a dozen.”

Tabitha almost winced, thinking of the consequences those women must have faced, then shrugged it off. They’d been in relationships with some very dangerous men—men no one in their right mind would cheat on—and made asinine choices. “Popular guy then, by the time he was done.”

“He raped one of the lieutenant’s daughters. She was thirteen.”

Hissing between her teeth, Tabitha stopped pacing and stared blindly out the window. “That’s an instant death sentence. Maybe he fled the country, but he obviously went back. How is he not dead?”

“Sneaky fucking weasel hightailed it over to New York City, made himself indispensable to the US faction of the mafia. At that time, the stateside boss—a right knob by the name of Browne—didn’t hold the mob to the same standards as O’Shea’s father. Browne liked Donaghue’s spunk, nurtured several natural talents, and treated him like his son and heir.”

“Until his own came along?”

“Aye, that’s usually the way of it. Browne got married about a decade after Donaghue landed in the US and didn’t waste any time knocking the lass up. Continually. Five kids in six years according to the records I dug up. No sooner did she pop one out, he was sticking his dick back in and planting another one in her.” The disgust in Aisling’s voice mirrored the sickness in Tabitha’s belly. “Browne ended up with three sons, two daughters. His wife died shortly after the birth of the fifth and final child—supposedly due to complications from a difficult labor.”

Tabby grunted. It happened—women lost their lives in all stages of pregnancy for one reason or another. Some of those reasons were occasionally used to conceal murder.

“Tragedy struck Browne several times after that. One son drowned when he was three, another fell down the stairs during a game of tag with his siblings. The third shot himself accidentally while cleaning the gun his father gave him for his thirteenth birthday. The daughters were kidnapped from their rooms, both aged eleven. Their bodies were recovered a week later; they’d been raped, strangled, and dumped with a red and gold ribbon in what was left of their hair.”

“Whoa, whoa.” Tabitha raised her hand to halt the conversation, even though Aisling couldn’t see it. “That’s a huge red flag there. Red and gold ribbon is the calling card of one of the Chinese mafia offshoots. They don’t kidnap little girls from their rooms—I’ve heard of them taking wives, contacts, even their enemy’s favorite fucking hooker, but they tend to leave children alone.”

“Exactly.” Smug satisfaction leeched through the line. “At this point, Browne is starting to put pieces together. Donaghue submits a request to return to his homeland, asking his mentor for help, claiming he’s homesick and needs to make amends for what he did in the past. Browne, distracted by the chaos erupting under his nose, agreed and made a deal with O’Shea. Vouched for Donaghue, stating he’s a changed man and an asset to any faction of the mob.”

“O’Shea fell for it.”

“O’Shea was in the middle of his own crisis. He was already mourning the loss of one son, about to lose the second. At that time, he needed men and he needed loyalty; he thought he’d get both with Donaghue returning to the fold.” More rapid tapping, a slow inhale of breath. “His return to Ireland didn’t go unnoticed by many. O’Shea assigned him to the lower ranks of the organization, same as he would any new recruit.”

“Donaghue needed to earn his place.”

“Aye. No one steps into the mother chapter at a senior level. No one. He’s spent the last few years making himself indispensable, and now he’s one step away from an immense amount of power. Once he found out about Mitchell, he amended the retrieval order to a hit.”

Tabitha groaned and walked over to the couch, sinking into the soft cushions. “That’s where I come in.”

“Indeed it is.” Cheerfully, Aisling sang the words. “Our intrepid heroine snatches up the contract, willing to risk her entire career to save the hapless victim—”

“Christ, Aisling, you’re reading too many romance novels.”

“Spend all day cooped up in here on my own now, don’t I? Some of these searches take hours to run. Long, lonely hours. The kind you’re used to, aye?”

Not anymore, Tabby thought. Now her long, lonely hours were drastically shorter, filled to the brim with a man who rarely let her go more than a few minutes without some sort of touch to connect them. “Hmmm.”

“I’ll get back to the point. Donaghue knows the value Elias Mitchell holds as heir to O’Shea. He wants the threat eliminated, and you failed to do so. The lowball hit he put out on you was designed to draw in some of his old New York associates; minimal financial cost to him, one huge obstacle out of his way. Luckily, his former running buddies are shit scared of you.”

A smile curved her lips. It was nice to hear her efforts were paying off. “They got my calling card three, maybe four years ago. I picked eight of them off, one at a time, and…” She paused, remembered it was a secure line, and finished with, “left their bodies in various states of dismemberment around their precious compound.”

“That brutal streak of yours is legendary,” Aisling commented absently. The soft snap of a gum bubble popping echoed in Tabby’s ear, followed by a low chuckle. “Some of the crime scene photos the cops believe are your work… beautiful, lass, just beautiful. Precise, artistic, fucking bloody as hell. Perfection.”

It certainly made a change to hear adulation in someone’s voice instead of stark disgust, she thought, taking a moment to bask in professional pride. However, indulging in said pride wasn’t rooting out the data she needed to make her next move. “Thanks. Coming from you, that means a lot.”

Aisling’s laugh rang clearer than the bells on Saint Patrick’s Cathedral. “My tastes are bloodthirsty, but my kink is voyeurism. It works well for me.”

“I’ll send you photos of Donaghue when I’m done with him.”

“Oh God, yes.” The ensuing moan was completely, depravedly sexual. “Fuck, that’ll be like owning a Picasso or a first edition Shakespeare. An original Fairfax, gore and all.”

Aisling was not a friend; Tabitha lacked the social drive required to maintain friendships in the traditional sense. No, the Irish hacker was one of Tabby’s personal assets, one she’d nurtured in case she ever needed a source of information that wasn’t her asshole brother.

“Donaghue, Aisling; where the fuck is he?”

“Oh, aye. Gotta find the weasel before ya can pop him, right? Obviously, he took down the hit on Elias, then you. His pride’s gonna be wounded—your reputation outshines his tenfold, which is reflected in the lack of response to his contract.” Tap, tap, tap. “The slippery bastard landed in New York four days ago. Hopped over to Chicago a day later with a companion in tow. Commercial flights, false passport. He’s traveling under an alias, Trevor Abbott.”

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