Devil: The Doyles, A Boston Irish Mafia Romance Page 3

  Time to play my ace.

  “The local cops know about it. They’re in on it.” I finish off one entire half of the patty melt in three bites.

  Corrupt cops. Nothing’s going to be more pissed off about that shit than Ruby.

  She jerks like she’s been slapped. After that business with her father, she’s been on the statewide anti-corruption task force. You don’t need a warrant to check out corruption.

  “Where?” she says. “Doyle. I won’t do it unless you tell me where.”

  If I tell her where, she won’t need me along for the ride. And I need to be there. To let the O’Dooleys know they’re not welcome in my city. “Can’t give you that information,” I say, finishing the other half of the patty melt. This time I take it down in two. I make quick work of the large pile of fries, too. She’s too focused on me to get anywhere with her food now.

  That doesn’t mean I can’t show her a bit a proof. I slide an unmarked envelope across the table.

  Once she she’s what’s in there, she’ll follow.

  The intense look on her face is not helping my erection any. I grab my wallet and throw a fifty on the table. That should take care of the food plus a giant tip.

  “Think about it, Ruby.” I ease carefully from behind the table.

  Turning my back to her, I walk out the front door.

  She’ll chase after me.

  I know she will.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  I count off the seconds, feeling like a smug asshole.

  Trying not to grin.

  The door creaks when she throws it open.

  “Doyle, you can’t just leave like that.”

  The sound of her voice disappears as an explosion rips through the neighborhood, hot white light followed by ten seconds of eerie silence.

  4

  Ruby

  My ears ring as I shake my head to clear it. A huge, bulky body is shoved up against mine, pressing me into the side of the diner.

  Ronan Doyle.

  He’s covering me. Protecting me. Trying to keep me safe.

  Can’t think about that right now.

  I need to get to the source of that explosion. I push against his massive chest.

  “Ronan, move,” I scream.

  Maybe he can’t hear me. I can’t see up past his wide shoulders. A brick wall on one side, a black Irish wall on the other. Squirming against him, I try to break free. He finally moves away from me, but I’m still trapped between his tree trunk arms.

  He’s looking at me hard, eyes tracking up and down my body in a way that’s assessing.

  Looking for damage.

  Maybe just a little possessive. I shake that last thought away.

  “Are you okay?” He must be shouting, but I can barely hear it through the ringing.

  “I’m fine,” I shout back. “I have to call this in.”

  He scans me carefully.

  “Stay here with Rhonda.”

  One look at his face tells me what he thinks of that.

  No one tells Ronan Doyle what to do.

  He furrows his brow in disbelief. The motion causes a large stream of blood to drip down his face.

  “Doyle, you’re bleeding,” I don’t have my medical kit on me. I look back toward where I’d left my vehicle.

  Jesus fuck. It’s Ian’s building.

  Or what’s left of it.

  “No!” I scream, dipping under Ronan’s arms and running toward the scene. If he was hit with shrapnel from this far away, there are no survivors in the building.

  But still, I have to try.

  Those two sisters on the first floor. Mrs. Ligon, my English teacher who was absolutely insane, but made me realize how much I loved reading.

  Her sister.

  The triple decker had been reduced to a pile of flaming rubble.

  The houses on either side are beginning to go up, too. The acrid smell of ozone burns my nostrils, and I hear the shriek of distant sirens as I run up to the first of the abutting houses. Several residents have already poured out onto the stoop in front, staring incredulously at the scene.

  That’s the most common thing about this kind of devastation. You never quite believe it’s actually happening to you.

  “Sir,” I yell, grabbing the man closest to me. “Is everyone out?”

  He’s obviously in shock.

  I shake him. “Sir.”

  A woman with a toddler in a death grip answers for him. “Everyone’s out,” she says, pointing to the people on the stoop.

  I nod.

  “I’m going to need you all to get on the other side of the street,” My voice conveys a calm I’m not feeling. “There could be residual explosions. Can you do that for me?”

  No one can herd people like a toddler’s mother. Soot and embers swirl around us as she wrangles her fellow residents and shepherds them out of danger. I ignore the sobbing, terrified faces. Feeling fear right now isn’t going to help me do my job.

  The scream of sirens intensifies.

  Firefighters arrive on scene, and I’m booking it to the house to the right of the explosion. The firefighters hook up to a hydrant, moving with a quick grace that seems impossible in all that gear.

  The residents from the second house are in a similar state, staring slack-jawed as their lives go up in flames. One woman is doubled over, crying, a teenaged boy holding onto her.

  “Is there anyone inside?”

  “My grandma,” the boy says. “She’s disabled. The stairs take a long time.”

  “What floor?” I ask, turning to run in.

  “The man went after her already.” His voice shakes. He’s trying not to cry. To be strong for his mom.

  “What floor?” I ask again.

  Time is a luxury we don’t have here.

  A horde of firefighters swarms around us before he can answer. They’re dragging the residents away, checking for injuries, getting the same information I’ve been trying to drag out of them.

  One listens intently to the teenage boy and nods before running back toward the front door. Flames engulf the left side of the house, where it abutted Ian’s. The firefighter is out seconds later.

  Is it too hot to go in? Or is it structural? I shove down my panicked animal brain, which immediately wants to picture that poor old woman drowning in smoke. At least it was quick for Mrs. Ligon.

  A hulking figure fills the doorway behind the firefighter. He has someone slung over his shoulders, and he’s gripping something else in his other hand I can’t make out.

  Ronan.

  The firefighter signals rapidly to the EMS team that waits a safe distance away.

  As he steps from the smoke, there’s a long second where I just take him in.

  Huge.

  In motion.

  Unafraid.

  It seems so at odds with the assumptions I make about this man. Have to make about this man, I remind myself, to keep him at an appropriate distance.

  Ronan carries the old woman all the way to the ambulance, where her crying family rushes to meet him.

  I follow.

  She’s alive.

  He hands something to the teenager before gently placing the old woman on the gurney. The EMTs slide an oxygen mask over her face. Ronan sags down on the sidewalk, waving off help.

  He breathes hard, staring straight ahead as he finds his composure.

  We sit there silently as the original group of firefighters, joined by several more companies, attack the flames. I should head back to the station, but my vehicle’s been damaged by the explosion.

  I’m not ready to deal with that mess yet.

  The curious looks from some of my fellow officers as they close off the scene are irritating enough.

  Small particles of soot float around us like depressing fireflies. The silence between Ronan and me is too much.

  “What were you carrying?”

  The sound of my voice shakes him out of something.

  “Huh?
”

  He’s covered in grime, sweat, and blood.

  I won’t tell him to let the EMTs help him.

  I know better.

  “You gave something to the kid.”

  He smiles, wincing when the pain hits him. “Her fucking cat.”

  “What?”

  He laughs quietly. “I ran up to the third floor to get grandma, and she won’t leave until I find her cat. Almost died rescuing that fucking cat. Don’t even like cats.”

  “How did you find it?”

  “Seamus’s lady has a cat. Goddamn thing always goes under the bed when I drop by. Same with this cat, I guess. Unlike at Seamus’s though I could just flip the bed over.” He shrugs. “Worked out.”

  Once the flames have been mostly extinguished, one of the company captains comes over to us.

  “Ronan, I swear to God if you don’t get cleaned up I’m going to sick Molly on you.”

  I guess the Doyles really do know everyone in this city. Is Molly a girlfriend? I push that thought away and the strange stab of emotion that comes with it.

  Ronan grabs the captain’s outstretched hand and gets to his feet. They’re both massive men. I stand up as well, but it doesn’t help me feel less small.

  That’s a strange feeling, because I’m not a tiny woman.

  “Owen might be scared of your sister, but I’m sure as hell not.”

  Owen. Right, it’s his brother’s girlfriend.

  “Bullshit,” the firefighter responds.

  Ronan barks a laugh and then suddenly remembers I’m here. “Declan O’Brien, Detective Ruby Williams.”

  “Detective Williams. I’ve heard a lot about you.” The firefighter’s handsome in an open, friendly way that seems to pale next to Ronan’s intensity.

  His smile makes me wonder exactly what he’s heard. “Captain,” I say, offering him a handshake that’s a little firmer than strictly necessary. Boys club bullshit. “Thanks for your work here.”

  It sounds flat. A “thank you for your service” that can’t possibly capture the complexities of the job.

  “Meth lab?” He releases my hand and pulls his helmet off.

  Ronan’s face is like stone, with just a hint of something pulling at the corners of his mouth.

  “Possibly,” he grinds out.

  Or the O’Dooley’s eliminating some competition.

  I think about that envelope, what I’d seen written on the paper inside, before I’d come running out of the diner.

  Enough to know there’s a real problem.

  And cops were enabling this. Enabling the deaths of innocent people and massive disruption in the lives of others. Maybe it’s time to take Ronan up on his offer.

  5

  Ronan

  Loud pounding on my door rips me from a deep sleep. Normally I’m a light sleeper. You have to be in my business. But when I finally got home after the explosion and clean myself up it was nearly dawn.

  The pounding continues.

  Whoever is behind that door better have a good goddamn reason. I’m so tired that I’m not sure a good reason will be enough to save them.

  Easing out of bed, I glance at the clock. Noon. My face feels tight from whatever hit me and tore a big gash in my forehead.

  I’d taped the cut up with some steristrips after disinfecting it. Hurt like a bitch, but I’ve had worse. My shoulders feel like one giant knot as I make my way to the front door.

  More fucking pounding.

  “What?” I bark, throwing back the door so hard it slams into the wall. I don’t bother with the peephole.

  Right now, I just want the infernal pounding to stop.

  Ruby.

  Ruby raises an eyebrow, taking in my mostly naked form. I have boxer briefs on, but they don’t hide anything. I’m a big guy all over.

  “Can I help you, detective?”

  Her eyes linger on my junk. Could help her out with that if she wanted.

  She thrusts a pizza into my hands.

  “You paid for dinner, Doyle. I’ve got lunch.” She pushes past me, and I take the opportunity to stare at her ass as she walks by.

  She’s usually in work clothes, and those don’t hug her curves in the same way that she’s dressed today. I get it: bulkier clothes make it easier for a gorgeous woman to play a man’s game.

  But now? She’s got a tight pair of jeans on, accentuating her luscious curves, and a leather jacket tossed over a pink tank top.

  Hell yes.

  Didn’t peg Ruby to be the kind of woman who wore pink. It looks good on her. Now I wonder if she’s the kind of woman who matches her bra and panties. Christ, I just went from generic morning boner to a full on Redwood.

  Time to close the door and get some pants on before I’m getting charged with indecent exposure.

  “Plates are in the kitchen,” I call out, heading into my bedroom. Thankfully the place is clean. Pulling on a pair of jeans, I adjust myself once. Then again. It’s uncomfortable but this woman does that to me.

  And it’s clear this hard-on’s not going anywhere.

  Heading back into the living room, I slip a t-shirt over my head, careful to avoid the cut.

  I don’t get a chance to wonder if she’ll appreciate the view.

  “Nice abs, Doyle,” Ruby snorts, totally unflustered. She runs a hand over my sofa and it’s an effort to yank my eyes away as her fingers trace over it. “Leather. Is this a requirement in the bachelor handbook?”

  Her sassy mouth is doing nothing to shift my cock into low gear.

  I sit next to her, flipping back the lid of the pizza box. Meat lovers. Goddamn, this woman is an angel.

  “So what brings you to my bachelor pad, detective?” I rip into a slice of pizza.

  “Nice manners there,” She picks a pepperoni off a slice and pops it into her mouth.

  “What, you want me to eat it with a knife and fork?”

  She takes a few small bites of her slice, her head tilted to one side as she regards me thoughtfully.

  “Not the look for you, I suppose.” Her eyes darken as she takes in my face. She puts down the slice and sweeps some crumbs off her hands onto the plate and then nods at my cut. “You get that checked out?”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Any burns?”

  “You would’ve seen them if I had.”

  Her cheeks redden.

  Goddamn. Never seen that before. It looks good on her.

  “Just some muscle strain.”

  A peace offering.

  “Probably should get a tetanus shot.”

  “Who knows what the fuck was in that house,” I agree.

  “Five people.”

  Her voice is so quiet I nearly miss it.

  Shit.

  “Ruby.”

  “Five people, Ronan.”

  Her eyes shine, like she might cry. Jesus Christ, I don’t know what I’ll do if she cries.

  Her anger is easy, fun.

  This? Not so much.

  “Are they sure?” Did they find the remains, is what I’m trying to ask.

  An awkward thing, talking about dead bodies in such plain terms to a woman.

  Even a woman like Ruby.

  She nods. “Two sisters—old women, on the first floor. Second floor was Ian. Didn’t find anything there.”

  I start to interrupt.

  “The fens, I know,” she says, picking at the crust of her pizza. “There was a family of three on the third floor. The kid was only six. Six years old, Ronan. Fuck.”

  She kicks the table and the pizza box slides dangerously to the edge. I nudge it back to safety.

  Neither of us are naive. Shit like this happens, but it never gets easier, especially not when kids are involved.

  “I’m sorry, Ruby.” I put my hand on her knee, half expecting her to flinch or to punch me. But she doesn’t. She doesn’t cry, either.

  She bites back her tears and fixes me with blazing eyes.

  Relief pulls at my gut.

  Anger I can handle
. Back on safer ground.

  “I want to destroy them, Ronan. I want them gone. Dismantled, unable to find two goddamn nickels to rub together. The O’Dooleys and whatever system is propping those child-killing motherfuckers up.”

  The heat from her body sears me like no other flames could. I reluctantly withdraw my hand.

  “You’ll come with me?”

  “Yes. I read what was in that file. But I swear to God, Ronan, if for a second I sense anything shady at play here I’ll shoot you on sight.”

  I hold my hands up. “I’d expect nothing less, detective.”

  She nods. “Okay, so you won’t tell me where, but what details can you give me?”

  “I’ve had eyes on the O’Dooleys’ operations for a long time now.”

  My cousin. Ruby knows. It passes between us unsaid.

  “They’ve clustered their main intake to one location. Not the best idea, but it does consolidate resources. Close to a small airport and major highways. Out in Western Massachusetts.”

  Makes sense. Plenty of space. Fewer people. But an easy two-hour drive from Boston, and not far from other hubs.

  “And the DEA?”

  “One of the O’Dooleys is definitely under federal protection. There’s some multi-level shit happening there. But I doubt the feds know exactly how big the operation is since they’ve left it to the local cops to keep them informed.”

  “It should be the state cops,” Ruby says, picking apart a second piece of pizza. She eats the meat first, then the cheese, leaving the naked crust behind.

  “They have a liaison with the staties, too. What do you have against the crust? Murph always said eating it would make your hair curly.” Hers is thick and looks like it’d feel like silk.

  No curls, though.

  “My dad said it’d put hair on your chest.”

  Bad dad jokes all around, I guess.

  “I can see why that’d make it unappealing.”

  “Not the only thing he lied about,” she replies, her voice bitter. “Okay. So we go out to this town in western Mass and then what?”

  “We learn everything there is to know about running a craft brewery.”

  She tosses me an annoyed look. I shouldn’t bait her, but she’s sexy when she’s pissed.