A/N : If you thought the cliffy on Chapter 23 was harsh, I've got a doozy in store for you here...warm thoughts of Reedus love wrapped in Flanery arms for everyone (especially pitbullsrok!).
They must have sat in the bar for two hours. Dark, corner table, strong beer for both of them, glass of water for Wren.
"What the fuck happened up there?" Donahue muttered, staring back over his shoulder at the relatively empty bar.
"You tell me," Wren muttered. Something definitely wasn't right. She'd felt it last night but hadn't thought that the reason for her uneasiness would be due to another hit on the same person at the same time. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw it, the scene unfolding like one from a bad action movie. There was no way that was planned; those two idiots had pure, dumb luck on their side. It pissed her off; they weren't professionals by any stretch, and yet they'd barged in on her territory.
"I'm going to the bathroom." She began to walk away from the table but at the last moment turned and shouldered the rifle case.
"Run into a lot of trouble in public bathrooms?" Donahue joked.
Wren said nothing, merely shot him a wry smile, and headed into the washroom.
As the door closed behind Wren, Donahue reached for his beer, and choked on his breath as a heavy hand landed on his shoulder.
"Ryan Donahue?" A Boston PD badge was flipped open under his nose.
He slowly looked up, finding he was flanked by two plain-clothed officers. "I might be," he answered slowly.
The cop with his badge out grinned and stowed the badge in his jacket pocket. "Someone downtown wants to have a word with you."
Donahue glanced about the bar, his eyes cutting to the hallway where the washrooms were located. He caught a quick glimpse of Wren and had enough time to shake his head imperceptibly. It wouldn't do them any good if both of them were hauled downtown. He shrugged the hand off of his shoulder and stood, snagging his jacket. "You wanna tell me what this is about?"
"Please, Mr. Donahue, if you'll just come with us, we'll explain in due time."
Wren's heart was in her throat. She'd been about to walk back into the bar when she'd noticed two men hanging around the table she was sharing with Donahue. One of them was holding something out in his palm for Donahue to see. Wren had been in the presence of enough cops over the years to know a badge flash when she saw one. She had frozen, and only when Ryan had given a small shake of his head did she step back into the bathroom. She counted to sixty and re-entered the bar. Donahue was gone, and so was his jacket, and she moved quickly to the exit. There was no sign of him on the street. According to the plan, they were supposed to head back to Monaghan's home in Waltham after the hit, report, and await further details from the second team who would be monitoring the police bandwidth.
She'd never been one to follow rules. Donahue was in custody; Monaghan and the rest of the Black Irish would know soon enough. But Wren could disappear for a while and call it self-preservation. She doubted that Donahue could be kept long; he probably had only a few black marks on his record, if that. He still had his cell phone; she would wait for him to contact her that way. She wandered two streets over, slinging the rifle over her shoulder, and hailed a cab. She instructed the driver to take her to Southie.
Ryan Donahue sat in Interrogation Room Seven, staring at the clock. He'd been in there for the better part of an hour and still no one had come in to ask him any questions. He stood and paced the floor, pausing at what he knew to be a two-way mirror, and made a few faces for the boys behind it. Finally, after another twenty minutes, the door opened and a man in his mid-forties stepped in. He certainly wasn't dressed like the other detectives he'd seen in the station on his way through. The man before him wore an expensive suit, had fancy shoes, and ran a hand over his coiffed hair.
"I'm Special Agent Paul Smecker. Organized Crime." Smecker sat down and opened the folder he was carrying and gestured to the seat across from him. "Please, have a seat." He read from the file for a few more moments. "Want to tell me what Colm Gareghty's head of security was doing down town tonight?"
"I was having a drink with a friend."
"Hmm," Smecker replied, disinterested. "And are you aware of the happenings at CopelyPlaza earlier this evening?"
Donahue narrowed his gaze at Smecker. "What do you think?"
Smecker tossed the file aside and leaned forward, sizing Donahue up. He stood then and wandered to the mirror, dropping the blind and turning off the camera. He looked back to Donahue. "I think that the boys back in Washington should have told me that one of their own was working the Irish from the inside, Agent Donahue."
"What, and blow my cover?" Donahue asked with a grin.
Smecker smiled and shook his head. "Jesus, this gets better and better. How long have you been working under them?"
"Going on two years now."
"Impressive," Smecker commented. "Now tell me really: what were you doing downtown tonight?"
Donahue shrugged. "I had a job to do."
"And did that job involve a high-powered, long distance rifle that was fired from, oh, I don't know, the Westin Copely?"
Again, Donahue shrugged. "I'm not about to give everything up just because some fruitcake from Organized Crime prances in and starts asking questions."
"Excuse me?" Smecker snapped.
"You heard me." Donahue held up his cuffed hands. "You wanna take these off?"
"I'm not sure I do," Smecker admitted.
"Look. I've hit a goldmine, as it were. I'm going to have enough evidence to put Gareghty and Monaghan away for a very long time, and I'm close to bringing down someone we thought disappeared from radar almost five years ago."
Smecker looked Donahue up and down. "Well, I don't want to be the one who sabotaged an undercover job for a fellow agent." He tossed Donahue the handcuff keys. "But I am interested in this third party you mentioned."
"Aren't we all? I'm not saying anything else. There's too much at stake. I'll make you a deal: you can have Gareghty and Monaghan for your scrapbook, but I'm taking the bird down myself."