Read Online Nothing To Lose: A Grey Justice Novel by Christy Reece - Free Book Online
Authors: Christy Reece
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the one who concerned him. The one he was most scared of would make Satan himself wary.
“I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.”
“You damn well better. I don’t have to tell you what’s at stake.”
“It’s as good as done. I’ll call you when it’s over.”
“I’ll look forward to the call.”
He dropped the phone on the seat beside him and blew out a breath. He’d been taking care of the Slaters’ problems for more than a quarter of a century, had done things for them that would make a normal man puke. He rarely thought about it anymore…the job was what it was. In a way, the Slaters were his family—not by blood but by loyalty. Still, this particular case was beyond distasteful. Nevertheless, it was his job to get done.
Ignoring the knowledge that he was adding another stamp to his one-way ticket to hell, Cyrus followed Kennedy O’Connell’s silver Ford Taurus as it headed downtown. He didn’t worry about being spotted. His older model Chevy van was an innocuous navy blue, blending in seamlessly with the heavy work traffic.
They had known for some time that incriminating evidence had been leaked. The “who” had been discovered several days ago, but the “what” was still in question. He had a feeling the “where” was about to be answered.
During O’Connell’s funeral, his people had combed every inch of that damn house and found nothing. Even though he had been positive the place had been clean, he’d been around the block too often to take chances and had ordered cameras to be placed in some strategic areas. Once again, his experience had paid off.
He hadn’t yet figured out how this would go down. Fortunately, he was good at improvising. By the end of the night, two things would happen: He’d have whatever incriminating information Thomas O’Connell had been hiding, and the man’s lovely widow would join her husband in the afterlife.
Thinking about that gave him chills. He felt a softness for the woman he didn’t usually feel for people. While his men had been searching O’Connell’s house, he’d gone to the graveside service. The young widow had held up like a stoic soldier. When she’d leaned over the coffin and caressed it lovingly, he’d seen her lips move. She had been saying one last goodbye to her husband. Despite his own cold, dead heart, a lump had developed in his throat.
Thomas O’Connell’s death had been unfortunate but necessary. Using the discretionary funds for jobs such as this, Cyrus had paid for the hit with only a small amount of regret. O’Connell had messed with the wrong people. It was as simple as that. The man had known enough about the Slaters to realize that you tangled with them at your own risk.
Killing O’Connell’s widow was a different matter. It wasn’t because she was a woman. Lord knew he’d arranged for more than a few females to disappear over the years. No, what Cyrus was having trouble with was her very innocence. Never had he taken anyone out who hadn’t been either dirty or a threat to his employer.
Unfortunately, by association, the O’Connell woman was now a threat. Hell, after what she’d been through, maybe she’d be happy to join her husband. When he thought of it like that, killing her would actually be a gift.
Working like hell to focus on the report in front of him, it took two tries before he heard someone yelling, “Hey! Yo, Gallagher!”
Nick lifted his head. “Yeah?”
“Some guy’s on the phone, asking for you. Says it’s urgent. I’m sending it over.”
Nick barely grunted an acknowledgment. Phone to his ear, he growled, “Gallagher.”
“Uh…this Nick Gallagher?
“Yes. Who’s this?”
He heard what sounded like a nervous swallow, then, “Thomas O’Connell’s friend?”
Nick stiffened, his attention now fully on the caller. “That’s right.”
“Um, I got some information.”
“Information about what?”
“I can’t say over the
“I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.”
“You damn well better. I don’t have to tell you what’s at stake.”
“It’s as good as done. I’ll call you when it’s over.”
“I’ll look forward to the call.”
He dropped the phone on the seat beside him and blew out a breath. He’d been taking care of the Slaters’ problems for more than a quarter of a century, had done things for them that would make a normal man puke. He rarely thought about it anymore…the job was what it was. In a way, the Slaters were his family—not by blood but by loyalty. Still, this particular case was beyond distasteful. Nevertheless, it was his job to get done.
Ignoring the knowledge that he was adding another stamp to his one-way ticket to hell, Cyrus followed Kennedy O’Connell’s silver Ford Taurus as it headed downtown. He didn’t worry about being spotted. His older model Chevy van was an innocuous navy blue, blending in seamlessly with the heavy work traffic.
They had known for some time that incriminating evidence had been leaked. The “who” had been discovered several days ago, but the “what” was still in question. He had a feeling the “where” was about to be answered.
During O’Connell’s funeral, his people had combed every inch of that damn house and found nothing. Even though he had been positive the place had been clean, he’d been around the block too often to take chances and had ordered cameras to be placed in some strategic areas. Once again, his experience had paid off.
He hadn’t yet figured out how this would go down. Fortunately, he was good at improvising. By the end of the night, two things would happen: He’d have whatever incriminating information Thomas O’Connell had been hiding, and the man’s lovely widow would join her husband in the afterlife.
Thinking about that gave him chills. He felt a softness for the woman he didn’t usually feel for people. While his men had been searching O’Connell’s house, he’d gone to the graveside service. The young widow had held up like a stoic soldier. When she’d leaned over the coffin and caressed it lovingly, he’d seen her lips move. She had been saying one last goodbye to her husband. Despite his own cold, dead heart, a lump had developed in his throat.
Thomas O’Connell’s death had been unfortunate but necessary. Using the discretionary funds for jobs such as this, Cyrus had paid for the hit with only a small amount of regret. O’Connell had messed with the wrong people. It was as simple as that. The man had known enough about the Slaters to realize that you tangled with them at your own risk.
Killing O’Connell’s widow was a different matter. It wasn’t because she was a woman. Lord knew he’d arranged for more than a few females to disappear over the years. No, what Cyrus was having trouble with was her very innocence. Never had he taken anyone out who hadn’t been either dirty or a threat to his employer.
Unfortunately, by association, the O’Connell woman was now a threat. Hell, after what she’d been through, maybe she’d be happy to join her husband. When he thought of it like that, killing her would actually be a gift.
Working like hell to focus on the report in front of him, it took two tries before he heard someone yelling, “Hey! Yo, Gallagher!”
Nick lifted his head. “Yeah?”
“Some guy’s on the phone, asking for you. Says it’s urgent. I’m sending it over.”
Nick barely grunted an acknowledgment. Phone to his ear, he growled, “Gallagher.”
“Uh…this Nick Gallagher?
“Yes. Who’s this?”
He heard what sounded like a nervous swallow, then, “Thomas O’Connell’s friend?”
Nick stiffened, his attention now fully on the caller. “That’s right.”
“Um, I got some information.”
“Information about what?”
“I can’t say over the
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