Page 3 of No Going Back

Jabba licked his face again, and Sean nodded. “Okay, Jabba. Glad you’re a Star Wars fan. You’re free, but I can’t get the chain off your neck without risking hurting you. Let’s find a vet and see if they can help us.”

Jabba followed him to the truck and jumped right into the passenger seat. “I think you had a family at one time, Jabba. Maybe someone’s looking for you.”

By the time Sean reached his seat, the dog was face deep in the bag containing the muffins. Laughing, Sean reached in to pull off the papers before the mutt ate those, too.

His phone showed the nearest vet with emergency hours was thirty minutes away. “Hold on, Jabba. And don’t eat the seats.”

* * *

Branna O’Dea wondered if the grief would swallow her whole and reduce her to nothing but dust. Her dad was dead. Run over by a car. Murdered.

The police officer she’d spoken to had blown her off, but she knew her dad had been deliberately killed. She had a recording to prove the threat, but Detective Lewis had dismissed it as nothing more than a misunderstanding. And then he’d dismissed her.

She squeezed her phone and forced herself to think. She had arrangements to make. People to call. And she was the only one who could do it because she was alone.

How was she supposed to call Sean and tell him her dad was dead? That the two of them were the only ones remaining of their respective families? They’d grown up together. He and Charlie had been best friends, but Branna’s brother was gone, too.

After she called Sean, she had to call the funeral home and make arrangements, but that was too final. Too real. She needed a bucketful of courage to make those calls and her bucket had run dry.

With a deep breath, she let her gaze roam the snug and remember the good times their families had enjoyed here. According to her dad, every good Irish pub needed a snug, even if that Irish pub was in Florida.

The small room was a private booth directly behind the bar. The tradition dated back centuries when it hadn’t been acceptable for women to drink in public. Of course, that hadn’t stopped the Irishwomen.

Snugs had become very popular, with their entrances out of sight of the main bar. Every snug boasted a pass-through where the barkeep could pass the drinks without the room at large seeing the people within. Like this snug, many also had a hidden closet, where the patron could hide from even the bartender’s view. Apparently, this had been popular with people having secret meetings and liaisons.

Seamus O’Dea had insisted his pub with its snug was the most authentic in the country. Or at least the neighborhood. Her dad had also declared that every neighborhood was in need of a good pub. He hadn’t been wrong. Until the gangs had taken an interest in this tiny neighborhood, business had been good.

Now, he was gone. Murdered. And she was going to prove it. But first, she needed to call Sean. She hadn’t seen him since Charlie’s funeral. He’d been granted leave from the Army to bring Charlie’s remains home and stay for the funeral.

Miami held hard memories for him, and he hadn’t been back. She missed him. Probably more than she should, but Sean Falcone had always stirred big emotions in her.

He’s too old for you, Branna. Charlie’s voice echoed in her head and she swiped away more tears. Enough crying. Time to suck it up and call her friend.

Outside in the pub, a loud crash caused Branna to jerk and drop her phone. She snatched it back up off the ground as another crash sounded.

A few cheers followed the crash. Harsh, male cheers. It had to be that jerk Prince Hawley, who acted like he was a real prince, and the neighborhood was his actual kingdom. In reality, the cocky thug suffered from delusions of grandeur.

“Branna O’Dea. It’s time for you to pay.”

Branna shuddered, and for a moment, considered heading out into the pub, and confronting the jerk who’d had her father killed. But Prince never traveled anywhere without his herd of thugs, and she wouldn’t stand a chance. Especially if he was high, his usual state.

“Come on out, Branna. I know you’re here. You can’t hide from me.”

Wanna bet? Branna slid off the bench that ran along the back of the snug and slipped into the hidden closet. She didn’t think anyone outside of her family and Sean knew about its existence. As soon as she closed the door behind her, she activated the camera on her phone. The video would be useless, but maybe this time Hawley would say something stupid and the police would believe her.

“Did you hear me? It’s time to pay. Your old man was too stupid to pay, and you saw what happened to him. Didn’t even manage to cross the street on his own.”

Laughter followed his pronouncement, and Branna had to close her eyes against the tears. Not only because she didn’t want them to find her but because she didn’t want to clog up the recording with her sobs.

Here was confirmation they’d killed her dad. They’d snuffed out the bright light that was Seamus O’Dea by deliberately running him over.

She’d suspected it, but now she had proof. Would the police think this was enough?

“We can work out a payment plan, Branna. I’m sure that sexy mouth of yours knows ways to make a man happy. You can work off some of your old man’s debts with me. And when I’m done, some of my guys will want a turn.”

Branna’s stomach roiled, and she slapped a hand over her mouth to keep in the terror. She slumped against the wall and slid to the floor, arms wrapped around her knees. The walls touched her on all sides of the tiny closet, but her legs wouldn’t hold her.

Prince’s voice rang out. “Search the place. Bring her to me. It’ll be easier on you if you come out on your own, Branna.”