Chapter 8: Story Time

"They want you off her," Linscott said.

We were in a parking garage in Quincy at seven on Friday morning.

We stood around the hood of his car with three paper cups of coffee.

Declan had not slept.

I could tell, because he had stopped bothering to hide it.

"Who wants me off her?"

"The deputy director, as of last night," Linscott said. "Your history with Ms. Corrigan is a conflict."

He sipped his coffee.

"And you got angry on a recorder at the dinner table."

"I didn't get angry."

"You said 'Don't do it again' to her in a voice I'll be hearing in my sleep."

"He stays," I said.

They both looked at me.

I had my bandaged hand wrapped around the coffee, and my voice came out steadier than I felt.

"If he goes, Tommy knows something changed," I said. "My father offered him money at dinner."

I looked at Linscott.

"If I show up alone tomorrow, Dad asks why."

"That's a good point," Linscott said slowly.

"I'm not finished." I looked at Declan. "You stay, but I run what I do inside that house."

"Not you. Me."

"I'm the daughter who forgave him. Dad wants that more than anything."

"I give it to him, and I get closer."

"No," Declan said.

"It's what Agent Linscott needs."

"It's what Corrigan needs. You'd be handing him your face for free."

"He's had my face for twenty-nine years."

Linscott rubbed the bridge of his nose and looked at the ceiling of the garage.

"I'll buy it for a week," he said. "On one condition. You never go anywhere alone."

"I'll try."

"Don't try. Do it."

That lasted until Saturday morning.

I went to the grocery store on Dorchester Avenue.