her in the hall.”
Because Brendan wasn’t any happier she was alive than these men apparently were. Of course he hadn’t seemed as eager to rectify that as they were.
“Okay, I understand,” said the man holding the phone before he clicked it off and slid it back into his pocket. Then he turned to his co-conspirator and nodded. “We have to eliminate them both.”
A shudder of fear and revulsion rippled through Josie. Thankfully CJ wouldn’t understand what they meant by “eliminate.” But eventually he would figure it out, when he stared down the barrel of a gun.
“I don’t know what you’re getting paid to do this,” she addressed the men as they turned toward her. “But I have money. Lots of money. I can pay you more than you’re getting now.”
The man who’d been on the phone chuckled bitterly. “We were warned you might make that offer. But you forfeited your access to that money when you faked your death, lady.”
They were right. Josie Jessup’s bank accounts and trust fund had closed when she’d died. And JJ Brandt’s salary from the community college was barely enough to cover her rent, utilities and groceries. She had nothing in her savings account to offer them.
“My father would pay you,” she said, “whatever you ask.” But first they would have to prove to him that she was really alive. She hadn’t dared step inside his room. What would happen if gunmen burst inside with her? The shock would surely bring on another heart attack—maybe a fatal one.
The men shared a glance, obviously debating her offer. But then one of them shook his head. “This is about more than money, lady.”
“What is it about?” she asked.
As far she knew, Brendan was the only one with any reason to want her dead. If these men worked for him, they wouldn’t have held him back from boarding the elevator with her. If they worked for him, they wouldn’t have dared to touch him at all. She still couldn’t believe that she had dared to touch him, that she’d dared to go near him even to pursue her story. The police had been unable to determine who had killed his father, the legendary crime boss, so she had vowed to find out if there was any truth to the rumors that Dennis O’Hannigan’s runaway son had killed him out of revenge and greed.
She had found something else entirely. More than the story, she had been attracted to the man—the complex man who had been grieving the death of his estranged father while trying to take over his illicit empire. She had never found evidence proving Brendan was the killer, but he must have been worried that she’d discovered something. Why else would he have tried to kill her?
Just because he’d learned she’d been lying to him about what she really was? Maybe. He’d been furious with her—furious enough to want revenge. But if he wasn’t behind this attempt to eliminate her, had he been behind that bomb planted more than three years ago?
Could she have been wrong about him?
“I have a right to know,” she prodded, wanting the truth. That was her problem—she always wanted the truth. It was what had made her such a great reporter before she’d been forced to give it all up to save her life. But since it was probably her last chance to learn it, she wanted this truth more than she’d ever wanted any other. If not Brendan, who wanted her dead?
“It doesn’t matter what it’s about,” one of the men replied.
She suspected he had no idea, either, that he was just doing what he had been paid to do.
“It’s not going to change the outcome for you and your son,” the fake orderly continued as he reached behind him and drew out his gun.
What about her father? Had he only been attacked to lure her out of hiding? Was he safe now?
If only her son was safe, too …
She covered the side of CJ’s cold, damp face with her hand so that he wouldn’t see the weapon. Then she turned, putting her body between the boy and the men. Her body wouldn’t be enough to protect her son, though. Nothing could protect him now. “Please …”
But if the men wouldn’t respond to bribes, they would have no use for begging, either. So she just closed her eyes and prayed as the first shot rang out.
Chapter Four
Was he too late?
As the elevator doors slid open, a shot rang out. But the bullet ricocheted off the back of the car near his head. Both men faced him with their guns raised. Maybe this had nothing to do with Josie.
Maybe the woman wasn’t even really her and the boy not really even his son. Maybe it had all been an elaborate trap to lure him here—to his death. Plenty of people wanted him dead. That was why he usually had backup within gunshot range. But he hadn’t wanted anyone to be aware of his visit to the bedside of a man he didn’t really know but with whom he’d thought he’d shared a tragedy: Josie’s death.
So nobody had known he was coming here. These men weren’t after him, because the suspects he knew wouldn’t have gone to such extremes to take him out; they wouldn’t have had to. Whenever they dared to try to take him out, as they had his father, they knew where to find him—at O’Hannigan’s. Inside the family tavern was where Josie had found him. He’d thought the little rich girl had just wandered into the wrong place with the wrong clientele, and he’d rescued her before any of his rough customers could accost her.
Just as he had intended to rescue her now. But both times he was the one who wound up needing to be rescued. Maybe he should have had backup even for this uncomfortable visit. With the elevator doors wide open, Brendan was a damn sitting duck, more so even than the woman and the boy. They might be able to escape. Seeing the fear on their faces, pale and stark in the light spilling out of the elevator, it was clear that they were in real danger and they knew it.
“Run!” he yelled at them.
She sprinted away, either in reaction to his command or in fear of him as well as the armed men. With her and the kid out of the line of fire, he raised the gun he’d taken off their co-conspirator.
But the men had divided their attention now. Standing back-to-back, one fired at him while the other turned his gun toward Josie.
The boy clutched tightly in her arms, she ran, disappearing into the shadows before any bullets struck her. But maybe running wasn’t a good thing, given that the farther away she went, the thicker the shadows grew. The light from the elevator illuminated only a small circle of the rooftop around the open doors. The farther she ran, the harder it would be for her to see where the roof ended and the black abyss twenty stories above the ground began.
He ducked back into the elevator and flattened himself against the panel beside the doors. He could have closed those doors to protect himself. But then he couldn’t protect Josie and the child. His son …
These men weren’t just trying to kill the woman who was supposed to already be dead. They were trying to kill a helpless child.
An O’Hannigan.
His father would be turning over in his grave.
Despite his occasional violent behavior toward them, Dennis O’Hannigan had never
