Guns 'N' Tulips

Chapter Two

Connor studied Lily’s face. A flash of something passed through her eyes before she blinked and turned away. He hoped to God she remembered the discussion they’d had about trash talk. Shifting his gaze to Rourke, he cocked a brow. “Is this job still on or what?”

“Frank, go with him,” Rourke said before turning to Lily, his eyes traveling the length of her body. “In the meantime, I’m gonna have me a little fun.”

Lily’s chin rose in defiance, and she crossed her arms as if to ward Rourke off. Bile rose in Connor’s throat at the thought of Rourke touching her, but the only outward reaction he allowed himself was to tighten his hands around the gun’s stock. Anything to keep from smashing his fists in Rourke’s lecherous face.

Unable to help and unable to watch, he spun away. The faster he cracked the safe, the sooner he’d be back to distract Rourke from Lily. He’d barely taken two steps when a phone rang. He squeezed his eyes shut and said a quick prayer to St. Patrick. Don’t let it be Rourke’s informant. He just needed a few more minutes.

But St. Patrick was too busy with the parade to listen to his prayers. “Hold it right there, Conman.”

Connor stopped where he was, but turned to gauge Rourke’s reaction as he listened. After a curt, “Got it,” Rourke hung up, his murderous gray eyes stabbing into Connor. “My guy says ‘employees’ are leaving the CitiBank in droves.”

All eyes turned to him.

Make it good, Kavanagh. Looking at the clock on the wall, Connor shrugged. “Must be quitting time.”

“You fucking set us up.”

Time to put Plan B in motion. He cut a glance toward Neil. Maybe he could make this work. The man was huge, but he wasn’t the smartest bear in the woods. “The cops hauled Neil in last week. How do you know he didn’t spill?” They’d been planning this heist for almost a month, so his question wasn’t unreasonable.

Neil turned beet red. “Fuck you, Conman. I ain’t no snitch.”

“Prove it.”

Eyes round and wild, Neil rushed at Connor, his gun held like a baseball bat. “I don’t got to prove nothing.”

Lily screamed and Owen yanked her behind him, cutting her off. Thank God, because Connor suspected she’d been about to scream his name. His real name.

Owen’s help made Connor feel like even more of a shit. His friend wasn’t like the rest of the crew. He had a soft side, was dedicated to helping his family, and loved his girlfriend. Falling in with the Bandits must have felt like a natural progression of what they’d done as teens. Ironically, Connor had always suspected he’d be the one to end up in prison, not Owen. And he would have if Captain Morris hadn’t talked sense into him the last time he’d been arrested. So instead of becoming the gangster he was pretending to be, Connor had become a cop.

He ducked and deflected Neil’s blow, grabbing the weapon at the same time and disarming the man.

Rourke raised his gun, pointing it at Connor’s chest. “Drop the weapons. Both of them.”

“Rourke? What the fuck?” Connor asked.

“The guns.” The man’s flat voice and dead eyes made the skin on the back of Connor’s neck crawl. Plan B had better be damn convincing or he’d be a corpse before the hour was up. Slowly, he lowered Neil’s gun to the tiled floor, then his own MP5 and raised his empty hands.

“Stop dicking around, Conman. I want the other one too.”

Connor reached into his shoulder holster and dropped his pistol on top of the MP5s. At least he still had the security guard’s gun, and his own Glock 27 tucked into his ankle holster. Sweat beaded on his forehead as Rourke ordered Frank to collect the weapons. If Rourke figured out Connor was still armed, it would be game over.