SWNOVELS Vicious Hearts: Chapter 37
“New York City is reeling today from a mechanical failure at a midtown construction site that left bystanders shaken and one luxury sports car flattened under a wrecking ball. FBI New York City Regional Director Shane Dorsey has released a statement that, while the Bureau is looking into reports of an explosion that may have sent the nine-ton ball crashing down onto Central Park South, he does not believe this is an act of terrorism. Director Dorsey also mentioned in his statement that while the accident did occur in close proximity to the home of the notorious Drakos family, the Bureau is considering this an isolated event unconnected to that particular family or its alleged criminal connections. Director Dorsey went on to assure New Yorkers that the crane failure that caused the wrecking ball cable to sever was the result of poorly maintained machinery, and nothing more. No one and nothing, except the luxury car, was hurt during the event.”
I switch off the TV with a jab of my thumb on the remote, my jaw grinding. The important thing is, no one was hurt. Or at least, not badly. Castle’s going to find it difficult to bend down for a bit with the hit he took to his back against that cab. But he’ll be fine. Callie is fine, too. Everyone is.
Honestly, not to discount Castle’s fucking Captain America super-speed and situational hyper awareness, it’s a miracle no one got hurt.
Especially because there’s no goddamn way that was an accident.
The crane was far too over-extended, jutting all the way out over the street so it could be right over that corner. There was a popping sound, like a small explosion, that obviously severed the cable and the safeties.
And the ball was much too precise in landing directly onto Neve’s car.
For all those reasons, I’m seeing fucking red. Yes, everyone’s okay. But I’m done waiting around to see who gets hurt next.
In my office, I turn to Dorsey. It’s good to have friends in high places, I’ll say that.
“Thank you.”
He nods. “Don’t mention it.”
That was my “nice” card. Now comes the harder one.
“Who the fuck is coming after my family, Jack.”
He exhales slowly. “I don’t know. But I’ve got a team—”
“Is it him.”
He holds my cold look. “Cillian, I’m telling you. Seamus is fucking dea—”
The door to the office opens abruptly, and Hades stomps in.
I glare at him. “Can I help you?” I hiss icily through clenched teeth.
“Yeah,” he snaps. “That was my fucking sister who almost just got turned into a fucking pancake. So yeah, Cillian, you can help me find the motherfucker who’s responsible for it, so I can rip his fucking head off.”
I smile darkly and nod at a vacant spot on one of the couches. “Have a seat, God of Hell.”
When he does, I turn back to Dorsey. “You were saying?”
He sighs. “Cillian, Seamus is dead.”
“Then who the FUCK is trying to kill my fucking family!!!” I roar, slamming my fist down on the edge of the desk so hard that the bottles on the bar cart across the room jangle. “That was Neve’s car. She was the target. Just like she was the target at the reception, when that fucking O’Conor-themed cake with the blood red frosting, and—in case you’ve forgotten—a replica of his goddamn tattoo blew up in her face. And today, this violence almost got Callie killed, possibly Castle too.”
“Look,” Dorsey grunts. “We’re aware that Seamus had followers and groupies—both before and while he was incarcerated. Fans. Women who wanted to fuck him. I mean, we’re talking some serious Charles fucking Manson shit. But, guys,” he growls, giving each of us a hard look in turn. “Facts are facts. The guy’s as dead as dead gets.”
Hades drums his fingers on the side of the couch, grinding his teeth. “Then who the fuck did Una hear on the phone?”
Dorsey shakes his head. It’s a ghost, kid. He’s fucking dead and buried—”
“Then let’s dig the fucker up and make sure.”
Both Dorsey and I turn to Hades. Dorsey looks confused and maybe a little worried. I’m just smiling, because, well, I’m a psychopath, aren’t I?
“You’re not serious.”
Dorsey turns to look at me, expecting me to be on his side with this. Instead, I just shrug.
“You heard the God of Hell. Where’s this fucking grave?”
On the outskirts of ritzy Montclair, in New Jersey, Dorsey is shaking his head as we all stand in the pristine white medical examination office of the FBI facility. We’re staring at the metallic box on the autopsy table in front of us containing the remains of Seamus O’Conor.
Or at least it fucking better be containing his remains.
All we saw inside were mottled remains that were mostly bones—which was curious, considering Seamus has only been in the ground a few months. Bodies don’t decompose that fast.
But then Dorsey explained that although a burial is FBI policy, it’s not exactly a nice burial. The metal coffins have slits in the sides, and the bodies are wrapped in cloth soaked in a chemical acid—both of which are meant to speed up the rate of decomposition.
“How much longer?”
Dorsey turns to me and then checks his watch. “Not long.” He nods through a glass wall to where two technicians, in all white lab gear, are running some DNA tests on samples they just took from this box.
As if on cue, a light turns green in the other room. The technicians walk over to the machine and start poring over a data printout.
“See?” Dorsey nods. “Dead as a fucking—”
One of the technicians suddenly hurries over and opens the door between the exam room and the lab. He pulls his biohazard mask off, his face flushed. His brows are furrowed in confusion.
“How’re we looking?” Dorsey grunts.
The man frowns. “I’m sorry, Director, but I think there must be some mistake.”
My pulse begins to thud. My jaw clenches.
Dorsey arches a brow. “Excuse me?”
“Are we sure we have the right casket, Director?”
Jack glances at me nervously before turning back to his technician. “Of course we fucking do.” He jabs a finger at the metal box, which has both Seamus’ full name and his burial plot number stenciled on the side of it. “See?”
“Doctor Lee,” Dorsey frowns. “I’m confused what—”
“What the fuck did your fucking test say?”
The doctor glances at me nervously, then at Dorsey, who swallows and nods quickly. Dr. Lee clears his throat.
“Well, I don’t know what to tell you, but this isn’t Seamus O’Conor.”
The floor drops out.
Oh fuck.
“It’s not even a male cadaver.”
So where the fuck is Seamus O’Conor?