Chapter 20 - The Ferry Terminal
The old ferry terminal had once welcomed fathers home from work.
That was what the faded mural said above the ticket windows: Boston Comes Home By Water.
Now the place smelled like salt, mold, and betrayal.
Renick stood beneath broken rafters while rain leaked through the roof in steady drops. Eli was somewhere in the shadows. Ortiz’s agents were outside the perimeter. Belle could see only what the body camera saw, and that made everything worse. The image jerked with each breath. Darkness swallowed corners. Every sound seemed closer than it should.
Cormac Kavanaugh emerged from the old ticket office carrying Belle’s cedar chest.
He was thinner than Belle expected. Older. White-haired, elegant, with the posture of a retired judge and the eyes of a man who had never once mistaken cruelty for failure.
Behind him stood two men.
Between them was a woman.
Belle heard Rosa gasp.
Not Maribel.
Another woman.
Her hair was gray-streaked. Her face hollow. Her body fragile beneath a wool coat two sizes too large.
Renick stopped breathing.
The camera shook.
Cormac smiled. “Hello, nephew.”
Renick’s voice came out ruined.
“Aisling.”
Belle’s hand flew to her mouth.
Brinley leaned toward the screen.
“Mommy?”
The woman lifted her head slightly.
Even through the grainy feed, Belle saw her eyes.
Gray.
Like Brinley’s.
Renick took one step forward.
Cormac raised a gun.
“Careful.”
Renick stopped.
Aisling tried to speak, but one of the men tightened his grip.
Cormac sighed. “You see why I preferred everyone believing she was dead? Much cleaner. Widowers are easier to manage than husbands.”
Renick’s voice was barely human. “What did you do to her?”
“Kept her alive. Mostly.”
Belle felt Micah flinch beside her.
She pulled both children closer, but Brinley was staring at the screen as if her small soul had left her body and gone running toward that broken woman.
Cormac looked at the envelope in Renick’s hand.
“The drive.”
Renick held it out.
“The chest first.”
Cormac chuckled. “Still negotiating like your father.”
“My father was weak.”
“Your father understood legacy.”
“My father let you turn children into currency.”
Cormac’s face hardened.
“Do you know what your problem is, Renick? You inherited power but not appetite.”
“And you inherited rot and called it tradition.”
Cormac’s nostrils flared.
Good, Belle thought. Make him angry. Angry men get careless.
Renick placed the envelope on the floor and slid it forward.
Cormac nodded to one of his men.
The man dragged Aisling with him to retrieve it.
She stumbled.
Renick moved instinctively.
Cormac cocked the gun.
“Ah.”
Renick froze again, every muscle fighting itself.
Aisling looked at him then.
Really looked.
And smiled.
Not fully. Not happily. But enough.
Belle saw Renick break and rebuild himself in the space of one breath.
The man grabbed the envelope. As he stood, something small fell from the taped underside.
A paper crane.
Cormac stared.
“What is that?”
The crane’s hidden tracker began transmitting at full strength.
Ortiz’s voice snapped through Belle’s speaker. “Signal confirmed. Move.”
The terminal exploded into action.
Federal agents stormed through side doors. Eli dropped from the balcony above like judgment. Gunfire cracked. Belle covered the children’s ears, but Brinley fought her, screaming, “Mommy!”
On the screen, Renick lunged.
Not for Cormac.
For Aisling.
He reached her just as the man holding her turned with a knife. Renick took the blade across his forearm and drove the man backward into the ticket counter. Aisling collapsed into his arms.
For one second, amid chaos, he held his wife.
Then Cormac fired.
The sound ripped through the kitchen speaker.
Renick jerked.
Belle screamed.
The camera swung wildly. Agents shouted. Someone tackled Cormac. Another shot went into the rafters. Wood splintered.
When the image steadied, Renick was on one knee, one arm wrapped around Aisling, blood spreading across his shoulder.
Alive.
Belle sobbed once in relief, then hated herself for it.
Beside her, Brinley whispered, “Daddy got Mommy.”
Micah took her hand.
On screen, Ortiz walked into frame, gun drawn, face like stone.
Cormac Kavanaugh lay pinned beneath two agents, still laughing.
“You think this ends with me?” he shouted. “You think Boston lets you expose itself?”
May you like
Ortiz crouched beside him.
“No,” she said. “I think Boston watches the morning news.”
