Page 96 of Her Irish Savage

Alix Key says, “Of course I remember you, Mr. Moran. I hope you and Ms. Ingram are both doing well.”

“We are,” I say, because it could take me a lifetime to explain the truth. I’ve already wasted a week, planning to call her, getting distracted, convincing myself I should make another plan instead of trusting a stranger.

There isn’t a better way. I need to take the feckin’ leap.

I say, “I hope you can help me get in touch with one of your clients.”

Alix’s voice cools noticeably. “And who would that be?”

“He’s been working with my…colleague, Braiden Kelly.” I barely stumble overcolleague. I don’t know what Kelly and I are anymore. “I understand this man’s a computer expert. His name is Wolf?”

Alix says, “For privacy reasons, I can neither confirm nor deny that Mr. Wolf is a client of Diamond Freeport. I’m sure you understand.”

“Yes,” I say, like I’m reciting lines in a play. “Of course. Well, thank you very much for your time.”

“My pleasure,” Alix says.

I end the call, and the brain squirrels immediately start their burrowing. I spin my fidget ring, but that doesn’t begin to take the edge off. I drop and pump out a quick twenty pushups. Twenty more. Twenty after that.

It’s pissing down rain outside, and the thought of lacing up my runners and hitting the road makes my soul shrivel. But that’s what I think it will take to buy myself a little peace.

I get one shoe on, and then I remember the search I ran on my phone before I called Alix. I’m spending a feckin’ fortune on this hotel. I could rent a three-bedroom house in the Philly suburbs for what I’m spending on this one room.

Telling the feckin’ squirrels to roast in hell, I try to concentrate on the listings. All I have to do is visit a few rentals. Sign a lease and settle down.

My foot is cold. I find my other runner and lace it up. Three miles might be enough to help me to focus. If not, four should do the job. Maybe five?—

My phone rings.

It’s a blocked number, which is exactly what I expect. Alix Key works quickly, even if the squirrels made it seem like hours.

“Moran,” I answer.

“I understand you’re looking for someone to handle some computer work.”

“Mr. Wolf, I presume?”

“Diamond Freeport gave me your number. Alix Key vouched for you.”

Alix Key doesn’t know me, not really. But she knows Kelly. And that means I owe another debt to my old boss. They’re piling up.

I stretch the truth a little. “And Braiden Kelly’s vouched for you.”

“What sort of job do you have in mind?” Wolf’s voice thawsas we complete our verbal handshake, but he’s still pure business. I appreciate a man who doesn’t waste my time.

“I need a full investigation on a man in Boston.” There’s no reason to mince words. If Wolf’s going to get scared off, I need to know now. “Someone highly placed in the Old Colony Crew. In the Boston mob.”

“I have some limited familiarity with the Crew. But you need to understand—I’m not a private investigator.”

“I’m not looking for a PI. I want to get into this man’s phones. Into his computers. I need proof that he’s doing business with a certain party.”

“Most men working for organizations like the Crew are sensitive to surveillance. Who’s yourcertain party?It might be easier to get into their records.”

“The FBI.”

Fifteen seconds of silence is a lot longer in the real world than people imagine it will be. I don’t know if Wolf is second-guessing targeting the mob, or if he wants to steer clear of the federal government, or maybe he’s realizing Alix Key might not be his best source for new business.

But he finally says, “Let’s work things from that angle, then. Who’s the contact at the FBI? And what’s your target’s name?”

---