Page 172 of Bad Bishop
I’d been the responsible adult in every relationship I’d ever had. With my father, brother, sister, Alex, the entire Irish operation. I made the calls and decided who lived and who died.
And though I still wanted to strangle her for giving me a heart attack, I couldn’t pretend it didn’t affect me that she risked her own life just to save my ass.
“Are you hurt?” I asked. I was sulking. Another side effect of being in love. Jesus Christ, it was like being plagued with an incurable disease.
She arched an eyebrow, folding her arms over her chest. “Are you done with your tantrum?”
“Almost.” I grabbed her cheeks in my palms. “Need to do this first.”
I leaned down and kissed the living shite out of her. A kiss that put to shame every other kiss in the history of kisses. With tongue and teeth and moans and groans. With adrenaline-soaked urgency only being reminded of what your own mortality could cause.
I took a step back, putting on a ruefully unbothered face. “That’s your official thank-you. Having said that,neverdo it again.”
We both turned and walked toward the lifeless figure that laid beneath the warehouse roof. It was splayed on the concrete, a river of dark blood oozing from the balaclava. A clear shot to the head. My chest nearly burst with pride. She was a good student.
I kneeled down in front of him, turning to her when I spoke.
“You want to see his face?”
She nodded. “I’m glad I was the one to kill him. He killed a part of me all those months ago. He deserved it.”
I ripped the balaclava from his face and squinted at the sight in front of me.
It was…
A fuckingnobody.
Not anyone I recognized, and certainly no one from the Irish, Camorra, or Outfit.
I was confused to say the least.
Lila tugged on my sleeve from behind, and I turned to look at her.
“I know him.” She breathed out, eyes wide. “Roger. He worked on Crimson Key for at least a decade. At my parents’ country club and sometimes in the mansion, when there were big events. I bet he was a member of the staff during Luca’s wedding.”
I said nothing.
“I’m happy it’s done.” She fell into my arms while I was still crouching. “I’m tired, Tiernan. Tired of poking this wound that keeps opening, gushing out. Tired of the violence and misery finding this bastard brought with it. I want to forget he ever existed and move on.”
Stroking her back absentmindedly, I sent her to wait in the car for me while I cleaned any potential evidence from the crime scene. I followed her alertly with my gaze until she climbed in and locked herself inside the Mercedes.
After she was gone, I yanked his wallet from his pants—which I knew I’d find because whoever sent this asshole here wanted me to find it—and called Sam. I wasn’t convinced by what I was seeing.
“Brennan,” he answered.
“Roger Carsodo. Run his name on your system,” I clipped out. I held his driver’s license using the tips of my fingernails. I never left evidence behind, and I wasn’t going to start now only because this case was personal to me.
“Pfft. Forget about it,” Sam confirmed my suspicion. “Family man. Veteran. Kids, wife, pets, a steady job. Landed on CrimsonKey because his daughter has a rare lung disease and the humidity is good for her. I’m sending you his full bio.”
I killed the call and skimmed over the file Sam popped in my unencrypted chat app.
Roger Carsodo didn’t fit the profile.
He was well into his fifties, slim and relatively short.
More importantly, he had a wife and four children at home.
Frail enough not to attack a girl so viciously and violently, old enough not to be hard and ready in the seconds it took him to push her skirt up and violate her.
