Page 120 of The Wrong Man

Maps spread across every surface. Photos of Declan’s Richmond property pinned to a corkboard that appeared from somewhere. Lists of names, guard rotations, entry points. It looks professional, except the people gathered around the coffee table are the most unlikely strike team I’ve ever seen.

Carlo looks the part as he stands by the window, arms crossed, radiating the quiet competence I’ve come to rely on over the years. Ginni perches on the arm of his chair, practically vibrating with barely contained excitement. The boy might dress unconventionally, but there is no mistaking crime is in his blood.

Nicolo leans against the wall, phone in hand, coordinating with contacts across the city. Exuding ruthless efficiency.

But then there are Dylan’s people. Incongruous next to mine.

Sean and Teagan are sitting on the sofa, looking terrified but determined. They’re so far out of their depth it’s almost painful to watch, but neither of them has backed down. When I told them this could be dangerous, Sean just squared his shoulders and said, “Dylan would do it for us.”

He’s right. Dylan would.

Moira is presiding over all of it like a general commanding her troops, a woman who somehow manages to have one foot in each world. She fits in with both the criminals and the civilians in this room. While quite possibly being the most dangerous person here.

Earlier, she walked into the room with a shotgun slung over her shoulder, which she set in the corner with a casual “just in case” that made Carlo raise his eyebrows. The more time I spend with this woman, the more I understand where Dylan gets his steel.

“Right,” she says, spreading a hand-drawn map of the Richmond property across the table. “Let’s go over this one more time. The house has three floors, with guards on rotating shifts. Two on the perimeter at all times, sometimes three. They’re not professionals. Hired muscle, mostly. Bored and sloppy.”

“How do you know all this?” Sean asks, looking slightly awed.

“I called in some favors.” Moira’s smile is thin and sharp. “I’m still an O’Shea. Information flows if you know how to ask for it.”

I catch Carlo’s eye. He looks impressed despite himself. Whatever Moira’s past involved, she clearly hasn’t lost her touch.

“The main challenge is getting close without alerting them,” Moira continues. “The street is residential. Quiet. A van full of armed Italians would stick out like a sore thumb.”

“Which is where we come in,” Teagan says, and there’s a fierce determination in her voice that reminds me of Dylan. “Sean and I can approach the house without raising suspicion. Two idiots with car trouble, yelling for help because the engine is on fire. It’s exciting enough to get their attention. Plus, they won’t want the fire spreading to the house.”

“You’ll be putting yourselves at risk,” I say. “If something goes wrong...”

“We know.” Sean meets my gaze steadily. “But Dylan’s in there. And if we can help get him out, that’s worth the risk.”

These people. These ordinary, civilian people who have no business being involved in something like this. They’re willing to walk into danger for Dylan, simply because they love him.

I understand the feeling.

“The distraction won’t last long,” Carlo says, studying the map. “Five minutes, maybe ten, before they realize something’s wrong. That’s not much time.”

“It’s enough.” I tap a spot on the map. “While Sean and Teagan draw the guards to the front, I go in through the back. The garden wall is climbable. Once I’m inside...”

“You find Dylan and get him out,” Moira finishes. “Whatever it takes.”

Whatever it takes. I nod.

The door opens, and Liam slips into the room. Nicolo’s fiance is quiet and watchful, carrying a medical kit that he sets down near the door. He catches my eye and nods.

“Whatever happens,” he says softly, “I’ll be ready.”

He means if Dylan is hurt. If Declan has done something to him in the days since he was taken. The thought makes my blood run cold, but I force myself to focus. I can’t think about that now. I can only think about getting Dylan out.

“Liam’s the best medic I know,” Nicolo says, and there’s pride in his voice. “If anyone can help Dylan, it’s him.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Moira says grimly. “But it’s good to be prepared.”

“What about the rest of Declan’s men?” Nicolo asks. “The ones who don’t come to the front?”

“That’s where you and I come in,” Carlo says. “Anyone who isn’t Dylan gets dealt with.”

“Non-lethally,” I add, and everyone turns to look at me. “If possible. Dylan wouldn’t want a bloodbath on his conscience.”