Free The 8th Circle by Sarah Cain Page B

depths. Her mouth had begun to sear his, her impatient hands ripped at the studs on his tuxedo. They hadn’t cared about anything but that moment. It was always that way, a dangerous dance.
    Danny ran his hand over the sand-colored leather. He should have driven his Jeep. He only drove the Mercedes because he knew it peeved Kevin.
    Mass was over, and he watched the people pour out of Immaculate Heart of Mary and head to their cars. Danny opened the door and stepped out when he saw Kevin, Jean, and their four kids walking toward the parking lot.
    Kevin looked bigger in the year since he’d seen him, though he was always the meatiest of the three Ryan boys. These days hisbelly jutted over the waistband of his black trousers, and his massive shoulders stretched the fabric of his checked sports jacket. He had more gray in his light hair, and his ruddy complexion had the broken veins and capillaries of an accomplished drinker.
    “Kevin,” Danny said, and Kevin stopped short. Danny watched his eyes shift to the Mercedes and back.
    “Jesus Christ,” Kevin said. When Jean gave a tiny whimper of distress, he glanced at her. “Take the kids and get in the car, honey.”
    “How are you, Jean?” Danny thought Kevin might backhand him.
    “Oh, just fine, Danny. Great, in fact. Just terrific. Happy holidays. We have to run.” Jean licked her lips and settled her small hands on the shoulders of her six-year-old son. “Come on, Tommy.”
    The boy stared up at Danny with wide blue eyes, but his mother dragged him away before Danny could speak. Thirteen-year-old Kelly gave her father a defiant glare and then ran over to give him a quick hug. She pulled back with a whispered, “Miss you.” She grabbed her ten-year-old twin brothers and marched them to the car.
    Danny had to grip the car door and grind it against his hand.
    “What are you doing here, Danny? I didn’t think we had anything to say to each other.” Kevin stepped close until he was about a foot from Danny. He stood with his legs spread and his hands fisted at his sides. Four inches taller and at least a hundred pounds heavier, Kevin always was an expert at using his size and bulk to intimidate.
    Danny held his ground. “I need to talk to you.”
    “About what? The last time we were together, you threw me out of your house.”
    “The last time we were together was at the funeral where you told me I was going to hell for burying my son in a Protestant cemetery.”
    “If you came for an apology, you’re wasting your time.”
    “Apology?” Danny held up his hands in mock horror. After all this time, they weren’t going to become best buds and hang at the neighborhood tappies. “God forbid. I thought I’d pop by to keep your spirits bright.”
    “Why can’t you be normal and just celebrate Christmas like the rest of us?”
    “I stopped celebrating Christmas last year.”
    Kevin looked him up and down another few seconds and stepped back. His hands relaxed. “What do you really want?”
    “I need to talk to you about a murder investigation.”
    Kevin’s eyes narrowed, and he shifted from one foot to the other. Cars whizzed past. Christmas music drifted on the wind. God rest you merry, gentlemen, Let nothing you dismay . Not in his family.
    Kevin rubbed his chin. “What case?”
    “Michael Cohen’s.”

16
    “I t’s out of my jurisdiction,” Kevin said.
    They sat in a booth at the Ridge Avenue Diner. Danny sipped his coffee and stared at the gold tinsel that hung around the window. A piece had pulled away and drooped over the red plastic candle on the sill. In the background, Elvis crooned “Blue Christmas.” Danny shifted on the red vinyl seat.
    Kevin ordered home fries, two eggs sunny-side up, and a double order of sausage links to go with his short stack. “Don’t you want something besides scrambled eggs? What’s the matter with you? I’m not kidding, Danny, you look like hell. You must have lost fifteen pounds. Eat some fucking