Devil: The Doyles, A Boston Irish Mafia Romance Page 2

  If only she knew. No fucking idea how to manage everything. Thirty-eight years old, and still feel like I’m running from fire to fire, barely extinguishing one before something else ignites.

  “You’re going to have big trouble with the O’Dooleys.” A statement, not a question.

  “Yup.” One more thing to look forward to.

  What more is there to say? One mess at a time, Ronan. That’s all you can do.

  2

  Ruby

  Three weeks later…

  My head lolls back against the headrest, and my hand almost drops the scalding coffee.

  Shit.

  I’ve been on this stakeout for two days, watching a triple decker where I know there’s a meth lab. My CI gave me excellent intel, and I’ve seen enough of these cases to know the signs. But my bosses in blue? Yeah.

  That’s great, Ruby. Get us more. We need more before we can get you a warrant.

  Hopefully those asshats won’t blow up the whole block before I get what I need to bring them down.

  The reality of community policing: Too much drug activity. Too few resources.

  Out of the corner of my eye I see motion, at exactly the moment the front door of the house I’ve been watching swings open.

  Fuckers on the move.

  I drop my Styrofoam cup into the holder and lean forward, grabbing the binoculars I’m using to watch the place, when motion on the other side of my car shifts again. That’s followed by a hand—a huge hand—banging on the passenger side door of my car.

  Locked, of course.

  Before I can make sense of it, a familiar voice booms, “Ruby.

  “Come on, Ruby, open the goddamned door.”

  Ronan Doyle.

  Are you shitting me?

  My eyes are back on the triple decker. Whoever exited the house doesn’t seem to have noticed me, but is out of sight. Did they get into a car? Take off on foot? Circle around the house? Anger settles into my bones. I need to follow, but I can’t get caught.

  Move the car? Pursue on foot?

  Checking my holster before I open my door, I step into the street. One look at Ronan’s face and I can tell he’s ready to start talking.

  “Not now!” I growl take off at a run.

  Behind me, I hear Doyle’s voice.

  “Williams? Hey, what the fuck? Where you going?”

  He’s talking way too loud. Not shouting, just naturally loud because everything this man does is too loud.

  I haven’t seen him since the morning he called about Emily O’Dooley’s overdose in his family’s bar.

  Sad situation. I can still hear her mother’s sobs when I arrived to deliver the news.

  But that case was the tipping point that ended up giving me a break into this case. A drug ring with meth, heroin, opioids, everything.

  That guy Ronan mentioned in connection with Emily O’Dooley—Ian Nolan? He is up to more than fixing cars. Frankly I’m surprised the O’Dooley’s haven’t come by yet to teach him a lesson, sadly more for cutting into their business than for the death of one of their own.

  I want to know who that shady fucker coming in and out of Ian’s place is, but I hear the sound of huge feet clad in steel toed boots pounds the sidewalk behind me, and I realize I’m fucked. If I cross the street, head over to that house, I’m going to blow my cover. If it hasn’t been blown already.

  Who am I kidding?

  Of course it’s blown. I just ran down the middle of the street, clearly out of place.

  Damnit.

  My heart hammers in my chest, a flush creeping up my cheeks. Ronan catches up with me, and a giant hand grabs me by the shoulder to turn me around.

  A guy his size, living his life. You’d expect him to have an iron grip. In reality, it’s a light touch that shows a surprising amount of restraint, not something I associate with him.

  “Ruby, look at me.”

  My body pivots, my hand instinctively going to my gun.

  Doyle sees it all, his eyes registering everything before I even make a move. His hand drops away, down to his side, and then both hands go up in front of him in a peace move.

  He takes a big step back, giving me my space but holding his ground.

  “What the fuck, Ronan?”

  The mild concern and confusion that was on his face clouds in an instant, melting away to the familiar neutral scowl of Ronan Doyle.

  If I didn’t know better, I’d think this mobster wants to protect me, which is ridiculous.

  My eyes look back in the direction where my suspect headed.

  I’m not the one that’ll need protection.

  Finally, I look back at Ronan, just standing there waiting.

  I’ve tailed Doyle for four years, arrested him twice, and I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen anything other than exactly what he wanted me to see.

  Interesting.

  My stomach plummets, and I shove a hand into my ponytail, frustrated. Scrubbing one over my face, I set off in his direction, walking past him, and then I stop. What I’m about to do is stupid.

  It doesn’t matter why he tracked me down. What he wants. The only thing I need to pay attention to now is my work. And not getting caught up in whatever mess landed at his doorstep.

  Still, I ask over my shoulder, “You coming?”

  “Where?”

  “Diner.”

  With that, I start walking again. He knows where I’m headed. I’ve gone thirty-seven hours with nothing but homemade sandwiches and fast-food coffee. It’s time to eat something, wash my face, and regroup. I check my watch.

  Shit.

  I’ve got a shift in eleven hours. There goes my weekend. I’m going to have to clock some shut-eye before I have to work a double today. Tomorrow. Whatever.

  The big man falling into step next to me lets me know he’s decided to join me. I’m not sure if I’m thrilled or pissed, which just leaves me feeling angrier.

  “You blowing my goddamn stakeouts now, Doyle?” My voice is tight with fury and lack of sleep.

  I hate that these drug-dealing assholes are endangering people and selling drugs to kids. Two elderly sisters live on the first floor of that building, and one of them was my middle school English teacher. At least I’m confident that Doyle’s not a drug dealer.

  “Damnit.”

  He’s silent for long enough that I look up at him, and his dark blue eyes are on my face. Ronan has the most unusual eyes I’ve ever seen.

  He’s the epitome of black Irish, with midnight hair and the kind of testosterone fueled beard that looks like it grows in five minutes after he shaves. But his eyes, while technically blue, are so dark they seem almost like they’re black in just the right light.

  Fuck. I will not think about his eyes.

  This man is off limits and the only reason I’m spending any time with him is purely professional.

  I cut mine straight ahead, eye on the prize of the diner.

  “You asking me out on a date, detective?”

  He’s goading me. I won’t let him know he rattles me, even though he does.

  “Nope. Can’t afford to feed a big guy like you on a public servant’s salary, Doyle. But if you want something you’ve got thirty minutes while I eat, and then I’ve got places to be.”

  Don’t stop walking, Ruby.

  Places to be, like in my shower and in bed to see if I can manage to sleep five hours before I start this whole adventure again.

  “You want to go out, just say the word, Ruby. You don’t have to stake out my neighborhood just to get a face-to-face with me.”

  His voice is deep, but there’s an almost playful note there.

  Yeah, playful – just like the devil, right?

  Color flares in my cheeks, but I won’t give in.

  “Though it’s been what, a year or maybe two since I found you lurking around here hoping we’d run into each other.”

  I can’t hold back anymore. My head whips in his direction. “There’s crimes of int
erest other than your bullshit, Doyle, believe it or not.”

  He smiles, a wolfish grin that lets me know how pleased he is to have made me snap. He’s lucky I’m hell-bent on food or I’d be going for my gun again.

  It’d be worth the extra paperwork.

  “Besides,” I toss out, “even if I were to lose complete control of my faculties and date a Doyle, it sure as hell wouldn’t be the ugly one.”

  He laughs, a low, deep rumble that does things to my body I’d rather not dwell on. We’ve reached the diner, an old subway car turned greasy spoon called Roxy’s House of Wieners.

  Most people just call it Roxy’s.

  But I’ve always felt the wieners were key.

  I sense Ronan, gentleman that he is, trying to cut in front of me to open the door, and I grab the handle before he can, holding it open for the big man. “After you, Doyle.”

  His scowl drops back into place.

  Victory.

  3

  Ronan

  The fluorescent lights of the diner hum unpleasantly over the booth Ruby slides into. I barely manage to squeeze in across from her. She’s already grabbed one of the laminated menus, and I’m trying to keep my cool.

  I don’t like being ignored.

  I don’t like being kept waiting.

  I don’t like that I’m not getting her attention.

  Finally, I clear my throat.

  “Menus are in the condiment holder,” she says without looking up. “Let me know if you can’t find it.”

  Fuck.

  I close my eyes, summoning as much calm as I can with a shitty chrome table digging into my thighs. As much as I hate to admit it, I need Ruby’s help. That’s the reality, and when I lean into it, I feel the rage ease down to a simmer and reach for one of the stained menus.

  There’s at least a point to the waiting.

  A point other than enjoying the detective’s sparkling company.

  It’s classic diner fare. Lots of shit that will give you heartburn. I’ve read the menu a dozen times before the server finally makes it over.

  Ruby’s face lights up.

  Damn. Just like that she goes from hard-ass cop to beautiful, soft, warm woman.

  “Rhonda,” she says, “You working here too? Or did you finally quit Gus’s?”

  “Detective Ruby.” Rhonda sticks her pen into her rather large hair. “Honey, it’s good to see you. I left that old codger. He wouldn’t hire enough staff to run the joint and I’m too old for that nonsense. You want the usual? Better here than it was at Gus’s.”

  Ruby nods, dropping the menu back in its slot.

  “Gotcha.” Rhonda seems to finally notice I’m there. Again, not something I’m used to. “My word.”

  She pulls her glasses up—they’re hanging around her neck by an honest-to-god chain — and looks me up and down with frank, slow appraisal. I’m used to being stared at, but the ogling this woman gives me would make a lesser man blush.

  “What’ll it be, Paul Bunyan?”

  “Patty melt, please, Miss.” I flash her my most devastating smile.

  “Watch out, Ruby. This one’s a devil.” She swats me with her notebook and turns to send our orders to the kitchen.

  “Don’t I know it,” she grumbles. “What is it, Doyle? Any reason why you’re banging on a cop car window this time of night?”

  Ruby’s always saying something without saying it. It’s fucking stupid to startle someone with a gun. But I don’t have time for patience. I do feel bad about blowing her cover though.

  Don’t want her to get hurt on my account.

  Don’t want her to get hurt at all.

  Just the thought makes something start to boil.

  It’s a stupid thought. Ruby’s a cop, one of the best, and tougher than half the men I know.

  Doesn’t need my protection.

  Of course, that doesn’t mean I don’t get the urge to protect her.

  Complicated shit.

  And not something that’s under my control, though.

  “It’s my neighborhood, Ruby.”

  She picks up a saltshaker and starts to fiddle with it. “I see, neighborhood watch then? On the lookout for criminals?” She smirks and starts batting the salt shaker between her hands.

  Her nails are painted bright red.

  Wonder if her toes match.

  Enough distractions: I can’t be distracted right now.

  Need to get her attention.

  Really get her attention.

  I capture her hands between mine, swallowing both of them and that fucking saltshaker up.

  “Cold hands,” I murmur.

  So much for not being distracted.

  She watches me suspiciously, with good reason. Sighing, I reluctantly let go of her hands and lean back as far as I can in that tiny fucking booth.

  Not exactly feeling compelling to put space between us.

  “You’re staking out Ian’s?”

  She’s staring at that goddamn saltshaker.

  “You’re a good cop, Williams. I figured you’d take that lead for all it’s worth.”

  She makes a noise, a little gasp of surprise.

  “It’s bigger than just that shitdick Ian,” I continue. “And, I’m sure you know that too. The O’Dooleys knew Ian was involved in a rival drug ring.”

  Ruby nods.

  “They threw Emily to him like bait. Used her to get information on the competition.”

  “How the fuck do you know that?” she snaps.

  She’s pissed, but not at me.

  No, I can tell when she’s pissed at me by the way my cock gets hard. Her anger throws pheromones I can pick up on the other side of the city.

  Again, complicated shit.

  And a little fucked up even for a guy like me.

  “The friend you graciously did a favor for by hiring Emily?” Ruby crosses her arms over those incredible breasts.

  Focus.

  I snatch the saltshaker and drop it in the holder.

  It’s either that or throw it through the plate glass window.

  And that’d be destruction of property, at least.

  “We both have sources, Ruby. I wouldn’t give a fuck if the O’Dooleys and these new assholes destroy each other, but that’s not what’s going to happen.”

  She sighs, obviously exhausted. I’d rather not drag her into this, but it’s not like I can pour all this shit out down at the station.

  Proper channels, and all that bullshit.

  “No,” she says. “The O’Dooleys are going to kill everyone involved and take over the operation.”

  “They threw that poor kid to the wolves, Ruby. Their own fucking family.” My fist smacks into the table and she flinches.

  “So what do you want me to do about it, Doyle? I was trying to stake that place out when you so rudely interrupted.”

  Timing has never been my strong suit.

  “You can stake that place out for years and you’ll get jack shit. By the time you get enough dirt to get a warrant the O’Dooleys will have taken care of things. Bet you haven’t seen Ian come in and out of there?”

  She flicks her eyes up at me.

  Big, dark eyes.

  Like pure chocolate and bitter coffee and strong whiskey. All the good stuff.

  “Do you know something, Doyle, because I swear to God if you don’t get to the point…”

  “Ruby, you know he’s floating in the goddamn fens by now. They just haven’t found the body yet. It’s time for you to focus on a bigger stakeout. Not some fucking mom and pop operation the O’Dooleys will swallow up. We need to close them down at their source.”

  She leans forward. “And I suppose you know where that is?”

  She’s trying to act calm, but the way she licks her lips says otherwise. Says excitement. Says predator. My gaze lingers on her wet lips.

  “I do.” Destroying the O’Dooleys has been a side project of mine since they hurt my cousin. I’ve had a lot of years to collect this information and I
’ll happily deliver it on a platter to Ruby.

  If it helps her.

  And if it helps her help me.

  If you think about the Doyle’s enemies, such as they are these days, the O’Dooleys are the first operation that comes to mind.

  The Carneys have been the more obvious, direct threat to my family, and only an idiot would believe the animosity has diminished since my brother Kieran started dating Siobhan Carney.

  But while we’ve been trying to stomp out the Carneys’ shady dealings like fucking whack-a-mole, the O’Dooleys have been growing their drug trade.

  And they think I don’t know.

  I fucking know everything that goes on in my city.

  “Well?” she says, waving a hand expectantly.

  “I can’t tell you until we get there.”

  Rhonda is suddenly at the table, dropping off two glasses of water. “Be back with your patty melts in a few minutes, kids,” she says.

  We ordered the same thing?

  Fucking cute.

  “Do you think I’m stupid?” she asks, laughing as she strips the paper off her straw and dips it into the water. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  “Scared?”

  “Of you? Not likely.”

  I’m not sure how I feel about that.

  “Then what, Williams? I’m ready to hand you the biggest bust of the fucking decade and you’re opting out because, what? You’re afraid it’s out of your jurisdiction?”

  She raises one eyebrow.

  “Ask your brother Seamus about entering evidence without a proper warrant. Do you want these monsters to walk?”

  Rhonda is back with the patty melts, dropping identical dishes in front of us. It smells incredible.

  Ruby picks up one half of the sandwich, grease dripping between her slender fingers as she takes a bite.

  I love a woman that eats, really eats.

  All I can think about is Ruby taking a bit out of me just like she attacked that sandwich.

  “Damn that’s good,” she says, leaning back, eyes closed. She licks the grease from between her fingers before sucking one into her mouth.

  My cock twitches and strains against my jeans in response. I’ve got to finish this conversation and get the fuck out of here.