Blow - Kim Karr Page 0,50

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“The material softens with each wash. And it resists any type of pilling. The sheets are very durable, and extremely breathable. I highly recommend them. Egyptian cotton is known for its ability to create extra-long fibers so they not only feel luxurious on your skin, but they can last for decades.”

My mind was thinking back to episodes of The Sopranos, made men, earners. I just couldn’t see Logan being a part of anything like that. He was cultured, not brutish, although he was brooding. No—still, I didn’t see it. He had to be more like his other grandfather, the one from New York City that he had told me about. Yes, that made sense.

Having talked myself off of the ledge, mention of his name had me thinking about him in other ways. His rough fingers digging into my skin, his soft lips on mine, his hard body pressed to mine. Even if he was a killer’s grandson, that didn’t mean anything. We couldn’t control who we were related to—I knew that all too well.

Voices brought me back.

What the hell was wrong with me? I should stay away from him.

Peyton glared at me while she talked. Although I was only half listening, I was still impressed. She had done her homework. “Isn’t that correct, Elle?” she said, narrowing her eyes at me.

“Yes, it is,” I smiled sweetly, having no idea what I was agreeing to.

“I’ll take them. Do they come in lavender?” the woman asked.

Peyton glanced toward me with a little kinder expression this time. “I’m certain we can order that color for you. Right now we only have them in gray, cream, and light blue.”

“Oh, I didn’t see the light blue,” the woman said.

Peyton rounded the table. “It’s right here.”

“Very nice. I’ll take them.” The woman was practically giddy.

I rang her up and then handed her the beautifully wrapped package, tied with our signature red ribbon and adorned with a red bow.

Once she was gone, I turned to Peyton and shoved Logan’s deliciously deep voice from my mind. “What else do you know about the Blue Hill Gang?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “They swept the streets of Boston in the seventies and focused their efforts on racketeering, loan-sharking, and illegal gambling. Years later they merged with the Dorchester Heights Gang. Lots of rumors as to why, but no one knows for certain. Now some guy named Patrick Flannigan runs the gang and they own most of the strip clubs in Boston. I don’t really know anything else. I’m sure you could Google them.”

Google them!

I didn’t have to. I felt like I knew too much already. I was worried Michael was involved with them, and the thought scared the living shit out of me.

“Hey, who knows, they might not even be related,” she said, brushing past me and making a beeline to the table with the scarves. It was in disarray and her OCD must have kicked in.

Patrick. Logan mentioned him yesterday. Patrick, the head of the Irish Mob, had something to do with my sister.

I felt sick.

As Peyton folded scarves, I thought about what she’d said, but I already knew Logan had to be related to him. It was the only thing that made sense over the past twenty-four hours. I stared at the intricate golden design of the cash register as my thoughts overtook me. This was so much more dangerous than I had thought. What had my sister gotten her family into?

“Elle, it’s Michael.” Peyton held out the phone that was right next to me.

I hadn’t even heard it ring.

I took it. “Hey, Michael, how’s Clementine today?” My voice was shaky.

“She’s fine.”

“Oh, good. I need to—”

“Listen, Elle, there’s been a slight change of plans, though. I had to drop her off at Erin’s house earlier today and I’m in New York.”

“New York?” I asked, leaning back on the counter.

“Client emergency. Do you mind picking her up and staying with her at the house? I should be home tomorrow afternoon, or early evening at the latest.”

Feeling restless, I moved to stand behind the cash register. “Yes, sure, of course. You should have brought her here, though. You know your sister has her hands full with the new baby.”

“It was so last minute that I hated to bother you. After I tried the nanny and she didn’t pick up, I called Erin. I have to run. I’ll be unreachable most of the night. Leave me a message if anything serious comes up.”

I searched for a pen. “Sure thing. Where are you