Page 115 of The Wrong Man

Moira stares at me for a long moment, reading something in my face that I can’t hide. Whatever she sees there makes her step back and open the door wider.

“You’d better come in.”

The inside of the house is exactly what I expected. Cozy, cluttered with photographs and knick-knacks, smelling faintly of baking and tea. There’s a photo of Dylan on the mantelpiece, younger and smiling, wearing an apron that says “Kiss the Cook.” My chest aches at the sight of it.

Moira leads me to a small sitting room and gestures for me to take a seat. She remains standing, arms crossed, studying me with an intensity that reminds me of being interrogated.

“Start from the beginning,” she says. “And don’t leave anything out. I’ll know if you’re lying.”

So I tell her. Not everything, not the torture or the captivity, but enough. I tell her about Declan stealing the tiara, about the family wanting retribution, about how Dylan got caught up in something that was never his fault. I tell her he’s been staying with me, that we’ve grown close, that Declan took him two days ago and I’ve been tearing the city apart trying to find him.

Moira listens without interrupting. Her expression doesn’t change, but I can see the wheels turning behind those sharp eyes.

When I finish, she’s quiet for a long moment.

“You’re the one, aren’t you?” she says finally. “The Italian ordered to deal with Declan. The one who was given Dylan by mistake.”

My blood runs cold. “How do you know that?”

“I still have contacts, Dante. People who keep me informed about certain... developments.” She tilts her head, studying me. “They told me the Ajello’s butcher had been given someone they thought was Declan. They told me he was probably dead.”

“I didn’t kill him.” My voice comes out fierce, almost desperate. “I would never... I couldn’t...”

“But you did hurt him.” It’s not a question. “In the beginning. Before you realized who he was.”

I can’t deny it and I won’t insult her intelligence by trying.

“Yes,” I say quietly. “I hurt him. And I’ll carry that guilt for the rest of my life. But right now, what matters is getting him back. Declan has him, and Declan is dangerous and desperate and I don’t know what he might do.”

Moira is silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, she sits down in the armchair across from me.

“That boy Declan has always been rotten to the core,” she says grimly. “Even as a child, there was something wrong with him. Cruel to animals, cruel to other children, cruel to Dylan especially. My brother refused to see it, kept making excuses, kept hoping he’d grow out of it.” She shakes her head. “Some people don’t grow out of cruelty. They just get better at hiding it.”

“Can you help me find him?”

“I might be able to.” She fixes me with that piercing stare. “But first, I need to know something. What is Dylan to you? And don’t give me some nonsense about being friends. I saw your face when you talked about him.”

The question cuts right to the heart of everything I’ve been trying not to examine too closely. What is Dylan to me? A mistake that turned into something unexpected. A captive who became a companion. A man I hurt and then couldn’t stop trying to make it up to.

“I love him,” I say, and the words feel like a confession. “I know I have no right to. I know what I’ve done is unforgivable. But I love him, Ms. O’Shea. And I’ll do anything to get him back safe.”

Moira studies me for a long moment. Whatever she sees in my face must satisfy her, because some of the tension leaves her shoulders.

“Alright,” she says. “Then we have work to do.”

She stands and moves to a bookshelf, pulling out what looks like an old address book. When she opens it, I see pages filled with names and numbers in cramped handwriting.

“I may have left that life, but I didn’t leave it entirely unprepared,” she says. “There are people who owe me favors. People who might know where Declan is hiding.” She looks at me over her shoulder. “And there are Dylan’s friends from the bakery. Sean and Teagan. They’ve been going out of their minds with worry. They deserve to know what’s happening, and they might be able to help.”

“Help how?”

“Sean’s brother runs with some rough crowds. Teagan’s family has connections too. And you’d be surprised what ordinary people can accomplish when someone they love is in danger.”

I think of Dylan, ordinary Dylan with his baking and his rambling and his soft heart. He accomplished plenty. He survived me.

“Call them,” I say. “Call everyone you can think of. I don’t care what it takes, I don’t care what favors I have to owe. I just want Dylan back.”

Moira nods, something like approval flickering in her eyes.