I stuffed the receipts back into their file and flipped to the last folder at the back of the drawer. There was one sheet of paper inside, and my sore cheeks had to endure another broad smile when I read what was written across the top in block print: PASSWORDS. A string of numbers and letters followed. Some were labeled, “electric, water, gas, bank, bank2, bank3,” and it occurred to me this sheet of paper might come in very handy if Pop decided he wanted his five hundred Gs back after all. Near the bottom, a handful of four- and six-digit codes were written, and I moved to the safe, intent on trying each one.

I punched in the first code, and the display flashed. Same for the next two. Damn.

I moved on to the six-digit codes, and the safe gave an angry chirp when I hit the fifth number. Apparently, these last few codes were too long to be the right ones, which left me with one last option. I took a deep breath and punched it in. Flash.

“Fuck!” I smashed my hand against the keypad, eliciting another angry chirp.

“Those things can be a real pain in the ass to break into, huh?”

The scrap of paper fell from my hand as I swiveled around to see Tommy. I hadn’t heard him come in and honestly had no idea how long he’d been there watching me struggle with his safe. Oddly, he looked more amused than angry, which was far more unnerving.

“Yeah, I’d say you’re getting your money’s worth.” I tried sounding casual, like there was nothing at all weird about your girlfriend’s father catching you trying to get into his wall safe.

“I’m surprised you didn’t try Spencer’s birthday,” he said, still firmly rooted on his side of the room.

“I did. That was the first thing I tried when I was in here the other night.” Why bother lying now? I’d been caught. It was time to change tact. A Traveler’s greatest asset was an ability to think on his feet, right?

“Trust me. You could’ve had free reign of this office for a week, and you probably still wouldn’t have guessed the combination. Which is funny since it’s a number you’re pretty familiar with.”

I quirked an eyebrow, but Tommy didn’t seem to be in the mood to share more.

“So Michael finally sent someone to get his book back?”

It was strange hearing anyone other than Maggie calling Pop by his given name. “You did a pretty good job of hiding for the last twenty years, but it’s a little harder to stay under the radar when you buy a multimillion dollar house and stay there.”

“It still took him over a year,” Tommy said and crossed his thick arms over his chest in his default intimidating-businessman posture. It reminded me a little of my brother when he was working the strong, silent angle.

“I guess he had other priorities. It’s just a book after all.”

Tommy gave a loud, barking laugh. “I think we both know that’s bullshit, Shay.”

I was so distracted by thoughts of what the hell could be written in the damn book that Pop would go to all this trouble that it took me a second to realize he hadn’t used my fake name.

“You know who I am.” It wasn’t a question.

“A transfer student from Loyola?”

I’d worried Spencer’s disclosure during dinner had cast some suspicion my way, but there had to be something else, too. Not even “Saint Thomas” was that sharp. “Is that so out of the ordinary?”

“You have Maggie’s eyes,” he said.

I stiffened. “I imagine those eyes have been haunting you the last twenty years, considering you killed her husband and left her with two kids to raise all on her own.”

“Does telling yourself that help you sleep at night after what you’ve done to Spencer?”

My chest burned like I’d swallowed an ice cube. My mouth opened, but no words came out.

“Leave Spencer out of this,” I said, allowing far too much emotion to seep into my voice. I needed to focus on what was important, but that was difficult when Spencer became involved.

“What’s this? You almost sound like you care about her. Not that I don’t understand why. She’s really special, isn’t she? You do realize she’ll never forgive you when she finds out you used her to get to me. That everything you ever told her was a lie.”

Not everything. “Do you think she’ll forgive you?” I spat out once I found my voice again. “For your lies?” The idea of Spencer’s reaction when she found out I’d betrayed her had kept me awake at night, but there was nothing I could do. I had a duty to my clan, to my family, to my da. “What do you think will happen when she finds out about your old life? The fact that you murdered a man so you could steal his share of the score and take off?” I asked, recounting the details Judd filled me in on a few nights ago.

“That’s not how it happened, but even if it was, she’ll never find out about it—any of it. You can’t say the same thing, can you? Once you got what you came for, you were going to crawl back to that cesspool you call home, and she’d be left here wondering how she could’ve been stupid enough to trust you.”

“She’ll find out about you if I tell her,” I said, my panic making me desperate.

Tommy laughed again. “And why would she ever believe anything you say? You go ahead and tell her. It’ll just prove you’re every bit the con artist that you are.”

The stiffness in my shoulders disappeared, and they slumped like deflating balloons. “You’re going to tell her.”

“Of course I am. The first chance I get. Now get the hell out of my house.” Tommy finally budged from his spot by the door. He stood to the side and opened it so I could do as instructed.

“At least let me say goodbye, give her some excuse about why I have to leave.”

“Not a chance. She’ll know exactly why you left when I tell her why you came.” He tipped his head toward the door. “Are you leaving, or am I throwing you out? I don’t want to make a scene in front of all these people, but I will if I have to.”

* * *

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit.” I pounded out the number of the carriage house’s landline and paced back and forth on the train platform, waiting for him to answer. “Shit.”

He picked up after two rings. “Yeah?”

“Judd? It’s Shay.”

“You get the book?” he asked without any further niceties.

I paused, apparently long enough to give away the answer without saying a word. “Goddamn it!” he roared, and I was pretty sure I heard something shatter in the background. “I knew you’d fuck this up. I knew it.”

There was nothing I could say to defend myself. I had fucked it up. I’d fucked up the job, and more than that, I’d fucked up things with Spencer. Once Tommy told her who I was, I’d never get a chance to make it right. Thanks to my stupidity, I had no book and no girl. I wasn’t even sure I’d have a home anymore, which meant I’d probably screwed Maggie and Jimmy Boy, too. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for the family of someone who’d been dragged to take just as much grief in the end.

But even if there was nothing I could do for myself, there was still something I could do for Spencer. I felt so defeated when I left Tommy’s house, I hadn’t given a thought to Judd’s reaction. But now that I had him on the phone, I knew what his next moves would be. No matter what Tommy had done to my father, it wasn’t worth risking Spencer’s life.

“Listen, Judd. Tommy’s on to me—on to us. We need to get gone and do it fast. He knows where I’m staying, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the police are already on their way.” It was a gross exaggeration. I didn’t really believe Tommy would call the police and he didn’t have any idea where I was staying, but I’d say whatever it took to keep Judd from going after Tommy or Spencer himself.

“You really are nothing more than a useless buffer,” Judd hissed into my ear. “I knew as soon as Pop opened his mouth to tell you about this job that it would all go to shit in the end. I knew it.”

“Well, it looks like you were right,” I said, my jaw tight. “If you clear out now, you can beat me back to the Village and have everyone set to run me out on a rail as soon as I get back.”

“Don’t you worry about that, Buffer,” Judd said. “Everyone’s been set to do that for years. This’ll just give ‘em the excuse.”

The line went dead, and the words “Call Ended” flashed on my phone’s screen. I shoved it back in my pocket and stared down the tracks, glad to see the lights of an approaching train. If I were lucky, Judd would be gone by the time the train pulled up to the station in Balanova.

CHAPTER TWENTY

THE SHRIEK OF the teakettle startled me as it filled the tiny carriage house. I turned the burner off and poured the steaming water into the mug I’d already prepared. I’d been lost in thought, staring through the window above the sink that looked out over a line of trees separating my landlord’s property from its neighbors. I’d never quite understood why country people always insisted on cutting themselves off from one another when being part of a community offered so many comforts.

Comforts like Maggie’s tea. I smiled to myself as I took a sip, but even the connection to her wasn’t enough to lift my spirits for long. I sighed and carried the mug to the table. A matchbook from some two-bit motel was still on the tabletop, apparently abandoned by Judd in his rush to clear out last night. I swiped it aside and set my mug down, then flopped onto the chair to continue my wallowing in relative comfort.

I’d fallen in love with Spencer, lost her, and still managed to screw up a con twenty years in the making. Things couldn’t possibly have gone worse. My chest felt heavy as I allowed a moment for that bitter reality to sink in.

This con would’ve meant finally gaining the status I’d always wanted. It would’ve meant a whole new life for me and for my family. But now we’d be worse off than we’d been before. I’d be lucky if I could even go back after Judd got done running his mouth. But it was the thought of Spencer that really killed me. By now, Tommy would’ve told her everything, and she’d never forgive me.

I’d been up most of the night, and it was Spencer my thoughts kept returning to over and over. I was afraid of what Pop might do when I got home, of how I’d be treated by the rest of the clan, but none of it seemed to matter when the image of Spencer’s face appeared. I sighed heavily and pushed back from the table again. I took the mug to the sink and poured out most of the tea.

I glanced at the clock. Ten in the morning. My bus home didn’t leave until tonight, but I was already packed, thanks to a sleepless night, and the bustle of 30th Street Station might be enough to take my mind off the mess I’d gotten myself into. At least for a while.

I pulled a hooded sweatshirt over my head and sat down to put my sneakers on. As I laced them, my phone started to dance across the coffee table. I jogged across the room to answer it before the buzzing stopped. It was probably Judd calling to yell at me again now that he was halfway home and clear of any potential run-in with the law. The phone’s display glowed, and the buzzing persisted as I fumbled to answer it before he hung up. Travelers, as a rule, didn’t use cell phones because they were too easy to trace, but I had to admit they did come in handy for this job, particularly when you were trying to blend in with a bunch of college students.

I didn’t recognize the number on the phone’s display. Only a handful of people had my number, and this call wasn’t coming from any of them. Jimmy Boy and I had both gotten burner phones before I left. He was even more opposed to the idea than I’d been, but he’d promised to keep his phone with him day or night in case I needed to get a hold of him fast. But this wasn’t his number.

I pressed the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

Tommy’s stony voice came through the speaker. “I need to speak with you.”

“I’m listening,” I said.

“Not on the phone,” Tommy answered. “Can you meet me in the city?”

I thought for a long time before answering. What could Tommy possibly want to meet me for after last night? He must’ve gotten my number from Spencer, which meant this was about her. If it was, did I want to hear what he had to say? In the end, curiosity and the fleeting hope I might be able to salvage the situation—whether with Spencer or Tommy—got the better of me. “Name the place.”

* * *

Tír na nÓg had heavy oak doors that creaked as I pushed through them. I glanced around and squinted in the dim light. It was fairly crowded considering it was a bit early for the lunch rush, but there were still plenty of empty seats. The bar—a mammoth construction of deeply stained wood and gleaming brass fixtures—dominated the room. I scanned the patrons scattered around its edge. Two young women talked animatedly to one another over their salads. They ignored a second pair of well-dressed businessmen across the bar who appeared to be long past their first drinks of the day. The men waved and winked at the girls, who, in turn, erupted into stifled giggles but otherwise pretended not to have noticed. An old man, who looked as if he’d been in the same spot for so long he’d begun to grow roots, nursed a pint of thick, brown liquid and grumbled occasionally at one of the televisions mounted above the bar.