Things We Never Said (Hart's Boardwalk 3)

A killer to catch.

That was at least something he knew he could do.

All the rest would have to wait.

For once, she would have to wait for him.

I had a tight grasp on my panic as I parked my old Mini in my parking spot and got out of the car. What a day. It seemed never-ending. Between my morning with Michael, Jessica’s heartbreaking revelations and the much-needed lightning bolt of perspective they’d given me, the encounter with Aengus Sullivan, and then Michael’s dejected anger, I was a mess.

After Jessica’s story, I went home to shower and change. I’d paced my apartment, going back and forth on how I should approach Michael, what I should say, and eventually decided to go to him and tell him I loved him. I’d gone to the station, only to discover Michael had taken a call at Cooper’s. The deputy had muttered something about Michael being popular that day, and it all made sense when I turned up at Coop’s to find Aengus Sullivan berating his

son.

The rage I’d felt.

Oh, man. I’d never wanted to hurt someone the way I wanted to hurt Michael’s father.

How dare he! My blood was still hot from the encounter as I let myself into my apartment block.

And Michael was so mad at me. I didn’t blame him. Even when I wanted to yell at him, I couldn’t. Because I got it. I absolutely understood. When a parent went off like Michael’s dad had, it didn’t matter how old the child was. It stung, and it locked a person inside his own head for a while.

But he’d come out of it. He would.

We’d work this out.

For the first time, I had hope.

Honest.

I wasn’t panicking. I wasn’t—

A muffled shout from my left intruded on my thoughts as I climbed the stairs. Eyebrows drawing together, I turned my head toward Ivy’s apartment and cocked my ears to listen.

A loud shatter followed by the deep baritones of a male voice from inside the apartment sent a chill down my spine.

Ivy.

Goddamn it. This day really was never-ending.

Slipping back down the stairs, I quickly untied the ankle strap on my shoes so I could move without being heard. I winced at the cold tiles underfoot and scurried across the hall to Ivy’s. Pressing my ear to her door, I could hear the muffled voice again. The guy’s words were louder but unclear. Still, there was more than a hint of agitation in his tone.

Thinking it was better to be yelled at for being nosy than to ignore the gut feeling that told me Ivy was in trouble, I tried the door handle and held my breath when it opened with a soft click. Pushing it ever so slightly, the voices came to me loud and clear.

“Stop fucking around,” a male voice whined. “I know you got money. That dead boyfriend of yours must have left you a shitload too.”

Horror filled me.

I knew that voice.

It was Freddie Jackson.

Ivy sounded emotionless as she responded. “Even if I had it, transferring that kind of money doesn’t happen overnight. There’s a ten-grand transfer limit for online banking.”

“Then you must have something I can pawn. Jewelry. Anything. I need money to disappear.”

For a moment, I wondered how someone who had evaded arrest and a subsequent police hunt could be this stupid? Panic and desperation turned people into morons.

The thing was, it also made them dangerous, and Freddie had already killed.