Page 45 of Blood in the Water

He didn’t have time to analyze the relief that flooded his body when he realized they wouldn’t take no for an answer. He didn’t have any siblings, had never quite fit in in Southie or on Beacon Hill. He’d gotten used to going it alone with only Will at his back, but there was no better time for the loyalty of new friends.

Bridget needed all the help she could get.

Once the shock had worn off, it had made sense that Seamus would make a play for Bridget. Now that he knew about her relationship with Nolan, she was the best weapon Seamus had against him. Going after her was the only guaranteed way of flushing Nolan out of the woodwork where he’d been lying low.

He stepped aboard the boat and turned over the engine as the other men climbed onboard. None of them were as well equipped for the situation as Nolan would have liked — it was freezing, and they were going to get soaked to the skin — but there was nothing to be done about it. At least they had plenty of guns, thanks to the staging area in the hotel.

Will threw off the lines and jumped aboard as Nolan pulled away from the pier. About halfway out of the harbor, the lights of a Harbormaster craft shone behind them, its siren barely climbing out from under the bellow of the storm.

“Cops,” Will shouted over the wind.

“Tell everyone to hold on.”Nolan pushed the throttle of the boat all the way forward.

Bridget sat at the kitchen table, her tea cold in front of her. The generator had come on seconds after the power wentout, just like Nolan had promised, but if she’d deciphered his words correctly, the worst was far from over.

Seamus was on his way, and probably Baren and Oz, at minimum.

She stood and walked into the living room where her mother sat with Owen, Maurice, and Bridget’s father. “You need to get in the back bedroom. There’s only one window there.” She looked at Maurice. “You said you saw plywood in the attic when you went to get the radio, right?”

He nodded.

“Bring it down. We can board the window in the back bedroom. There’s a lock on the door, and we can push furniture against it too.”

Maurice started for the hall where the stairs leading to the attic were tucked into the ceiling.

“Maybe you heard Nolan wrong,” her mother said. “The connection…”

“I didn’t hear him wrong,” Bridget said. “We have to be ready.”

“But — ”

“She’s right,” her father said. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

Her mother would strive for normalcy, for calm. It’s what she did in any crisis, and while it was sometimes the right move, it carried with it the danger of denial.

And denial was something they couldn’t afford.

Her father understood. He would be on her side in making preparations.

They heard Maurice’s footsteps in the attic, a blast of cold air making its way into the house from the uninsulated space. Minutes later, Maurice appeared, holding a large sheet of plywood like it was a piece of paper.

“Will this work?”

“That will work.”

“I think I saw an electric screwdriver in the mudroom,” her father said. “Let’s hope it’s charged.”

He started for the back of the house and Bridget turned to her mother. “Gather some water, food, candles, extra blankets, anything you think we might need if we’re holed up for the next few hours, maybe longer.”

Nolan was on his way, but the storm was vicious. She had no idea how long it would take him to get to the island. She didn’t think about the possibility that he wouldn’t make it at all.

Her mother started moving, probably grateful for something to do.

The gun in Bridget’s pocket suddenly seemed a paltry arsenal in the face of Seamus’s IRA crew, and she looked around the living room for other things they could use as weapons. Her gaze landed on Owen, watching her from his chair. The moment stretched between them. She could see in his eyes that he understood what she was about to do.

She broke eye contact and picked the fire poker out of the basket of tools near the hearth, then grabbed the shovel for good measure.

Nolan’s skin had gone numb in the first ten minutes on the water, his hands stiff in the gloves that gripped the boat’s steering wheel. The water lashed at the sides of the boat, the bow tipping perilously toward the sky as it attempted to crest the monstrous waves, then crashing hard into the trenches left behind.