Free Shiver of Fear by Roxanne St. Claire Page B

That’s how I work. That’s how I’ve always worked.”
    “Obviously, I—
we—
need cash in order to reinvigoratethe political forces and win the Republican cause we never should have… lost.” He stumbled over the words, backpedaling under
     her gaze.
    “Shut up,” she said simply. “You’re pushing drugs, girls, and guns to make money. And now you want to dig into some deep and
     dark pockets to get more.” She added a little pressure on his hand. “Don’t bullshit me, Mr. Baird, and I won’t bullshit you.
     I’m not interested in the Republican cause or your mafioso schemes.”
    “What are you interested in, Dr. Greenberg?”
    She’d wanted it for so long, there wasn’t even a word in her head to describe the feeling. Revenge. Payback. Destruction.
     “What I want should be obvious by now. And since I’ve passed your stupid little test today, the second payment should be made
     to my account.”
    He withdrew his hand. “It’ll be made when you do what we hired you to do.”
    “If there isn’t two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in my account by noon tomorrow, then I will not take one more step
     to help you.”
    He deliberately moved to show the Walther on his hip. “I think I’m the one calling the shots in this organization, Doctor.
     You are here as my guest.”
    She laughed softly. “Brains trump guns, my friend. And you know that or I wouldn’t be here. What will your client say if the
     delivery is late? Or worse, if it’s ineffective?” She arched a brow. “You’ll be dead long before I will.”
    He smiled at her, barely hiding his fear at how very right she was. “You’re shrewd and heartless. If you were twenty-five
     years younger, I’d be in love with you.”
    “If I were twenty-five years younger, you’d be uselessto me.” She turned her body, shifting her attention to the coastline outside. “As it is, you’re beginning to annoy me.”
    “Danny,” Baird said softly. “Take care of the girl.”
    “Will do, sir.”
    Sharon didn’t want to
think
about what that meant. But she knew.
    Emotion clutched her again, and she tamped it down.
    She needed someone on the outside to help. Someone she could trust. Someone Devyn Sterling would trust—and then Sharon would
     have to do the unthinkable. She’d have to contact Devyn and convince her to leave.
    But she’d have to be very, very creative.
    It wouldn’t do any good to grill Devyn on the way home. She was visibly shaken by what had happened at Carrick-a-Rede. So
     Marc mentally reviewed what he already knew.
    Her mother—the one who had raised her, at least—was definitely in Newton, Massachusetts. While Devyn stopped in the bathroom
     after they reached the bottom of the hill, he’d texted Vivi with a request to confirm that, and while they were driving back
     to Belfast, the answer came in.
    So this “mother” in Northern Ireland was her biological mother? Devyn must have more information than what was in the FBI
     files, then.
    Next to him, she quietly watched the scenery pass along the coastal road, obviously not ready or willing to reveal more than
     she already had: She thought the woman she saw on the hillside was her mother, and she’d been looking for her. She didn’t
     say if that was who she expected tomeet later that week, but he was going to assume it was. He didn’t press for more.
    The best thing to do with a woman wound this tightly was to just let her uncoil on her own. He could think of a dozen quite
     pleasurable ways to help that process along, but pushing too hard would lose him all the ground he’d made today.
    But he did have to know one thing—would seeing her mother make Devyn more determined to stay in Belfast or more amenable to
     his secret agenda to get her out of there?
    No, he had to know something else as well. Did her mother have anything to do with why ASAC Lang wanted her out of there?
    “I guess I kind of killed the mood,” she finally said as they made their way into