Bloodlines

5

M ITCH YEAGER HUNG UP THE PHONE AND EXHALED HARSHLY. HE listened, wondering if the call had awakened Estelle and the baby, but upstairs, all was quiet.

He had expected to feel different somehow. So much waiting and pla

He could be patient.

The thought made him smile.

Loose ends. That was it. He would feel better once he settled everything to his satisfaction.

At least he knew Eric and Ian were home now. He would have to find some way to reward them. Eric, he thought, needed more assurance. He loved his nephews, but neither of them was all that bright. Took after their late mother in the brains department.

Mitch heard the baby cry, but Estelle rushed in to take care of him, and soon he quieted. Mitch wondered if the boy would be smart. Couldn’t really tell yet, of course. If he was, Mitch would teach him to run Yeager Enterprises. Wouldn’t that be something? Yes, that would be perfect.

He moved to his desk and picked up a small, framed photograph-a black-and-white image of Mitch and his brother. Adam, about twenty, his arm around Mitch’s ski

He missed him every day. Every single day.

6

V IEWED FROM THE BACK, THE MAN WHO HAD SPENT THE LAST FEW HOURS keeping a vigil in the hospital room might have been mistaken for a boxer. He was an athletic man in his late twenties: his sturdiness could not be hidden beneath his suit, nor his height disguised by the odd way in which he leaned against the window, both large hands against the glass, one splayed open, the other clenched in a fist; his forehead was bent against the same cold, smooth surface. It was raining, but he seemed unaware of the drops colliding against the other side of the pane, or of his own reflection, the reflection of a man revisiting some too familiar misery.

His hands, their knuckles crosshatched with scars, might have fooled the unobservant into thinking that he made his way in the world with his fists. But a closer look at the right hand, the open one, would reveal black ink stains marring otherwise clean, long fingers.

“O’Co

It was no more than a puzzled whisper, but the younger man’s reverie was instantly broken, and he moved to the bedside of the man who had called his name.

“I’m here, Corrigan,” he said quickly.

“Should have known,” Corrigan murmured, turning his right eye-the one that wasn’t bandaged-toward his visitor. Speaking slowly through stitched and swollen lips, he said, “Can’t the devil wait ’til I’m dead before he sends his minions?”

“It’s worse than that, Jack Corrigan. The bastard made me come here alone, on account of him and the boys below being too busy laying in fuel for the times to come. Claims they’ve never had to build a fire as hot as the one they’ll need for the likes of you.”

“I say we make him wait. I’m going to nobody’s cold hell.”

“Agreed,” O’Co

“What time is it?”

“Nine o’clock. Sunday night.”

“Sunday night…” Corrigan repeated, bewildered.

“You’ve needed the rest. And need more. Don’t worry, just sleep. I’ll be here.”

Corrigan seemed unable to resist the suggestion, and began to fall asleep again, but then as if suddenly recalling something troubling, he looked up at O’Co

O’Co

Corrigan seemed unsure of this, but lost his struggle to stay awake.

O’Co

O’Co

Forty dollars had survived the soaking, so O’Co

A uniformed officer had stopped by to take as much of a report as he could, which wasn’t much of one. O’Co

O’Co

He lay on his side, facing Corrigan, trying to mentally list his enemies. It was a long damned list.

A young nurse came in and shook her head when she saw him, but said nothing.

She took Corrigan’s pulse, made a note on a chart, and said, “His color is better. That’s a good sign.”

“He woke up,” O’Co

“When?” she asked, surprised.

“Just now. Talked to me a bit, then fell back to sleep.”

“You should have come to get me,” she scolded.

“It was me he wanted to talk to,” he said.

She rolled her eyes in exasperation, then caught the look of amusement on his face. “You’re going to get us in trouble, Mr. O’Co

“One of them has come by already,” he said, smiling.

“Look, why don’t you just go home and let us-”

The smile disappeared. “Forget it. Until I know who did this to him, I’m not leaving.”

“I know, I know. You’re going to defend him single-handedly if his attackers make another attempt on his life.”

“Do you think I’m not up to the job?” he asked, throwing his long legs over the edge of the bed, sitting up straight.

“Apparently you don’t think this hospital is.”

“Although the reputation of the Sisters of Mercy is undoubtedly a fierce one,” he said, “and while I’m sure many a man has died of cruel injuries sustained from wimples and rosary beads, playing bodyguard is not really in their line of work, now is it?”