Page 102 of Dublin Beast

He disappears out the door, passing the Viking mountain standing sentinel on the porch, leaving me standing alone in the living room with Tag Quinn.

I force a breath into my lungs and motion toward the sitting area. “Please, would you like to sit?”

Tag arches a brow, his gaze unreadable. “Ye do recall this is my house, do ye not?”

Heat rushes to my face. Ihateblushing. “Right. Sorry. I’m just a little nervous.”

He unbuttons the buttons of his suit jacket and takes a seat on the far end of the couch. He sits back, stretches an arm across the back of the couch and pegs me with an assessing gaze.

His posture screamspredator in repose.

I swallow again. “I’m sorry for interrupting your evening by asking you to come see me. I know it’s late. It really could’ve waited until tomorrow.”

He flicks his hand to wave my concern away and shrugs. “No need to apologize. I meant to stop by before now. I’m glad ye reached out.”

He is? Why?I sit deeper in the armchair opposite him, my heart still thudding like a traitor in my chest.

“And ‘late’ is relative in my line of work. Thankfully, it’s quiet tonight. I had the time and the inclination, and here we are. Now, do ye want to tell me why?”

I hesitate, then push forward before I lose my nerve. “I wanted to ask you about Siobhan.”

His face doesn’t change. Not really. But I see the flicker—just behind his eyes.

“What about her?”

“I’m not sure if Bryan mentioned I’m a journalist?”

His gaze hardens. “And if I ask what being a journalist has to do with Siobhan Daley, her death, or my brother, the only acceptable answer ye could give me is‘absolutely nothing, Mr. Quinn’.”

The hostile energy he’s directing at me makes me a little slow to follow his meaning but I get there soon enough.

I raise my hands and shake my head. “Oh, no. I wasn’t suggesting I would write about what happened. I’m sorry. I was only explaining how my brain works.”

He lifts his chin. “Go on.”

I draw an unsteady breath. “I am normally objective and analytical and see things clearly. Today I realized I’ve made assumptions about Bryan based on what we did and what I saw, but that it’s only part of the story.”

My words ring in my head and I wince as I realize I used the wordstory. “Part of the pertinent details—not story. There isnostory. I swear.”

Tag tilts his head to the side, thoughtful. “And ye want me to provide more of those pertinent details to help ye make a more informed impression?”

I nod. “Something like that.”

He watches me for a long moment, the air between us thick and humming with tension. “And why would I do that? Yer morbid curiosity means nothing to me and if yer looking for a way to put the screws to my brother, it won’t end well for ye.”

I swallow. I’m blowing this. I’m muddying the mirky waters here and am about to drown. Still, I’ve never been one to back down from the hard moments.

I run my palms over my thighs and draw a deep breath. “Bryan and I grew…closeduring his search for Siobhan. He told me she betrayed your family and received immunity for her testimony against you, but nothing else.”

He dips his chin but says nothing.

“I was there. I saw what he did. And honestly… I freaked out. I’d read so much about the Quinn Laws and how you all protect women, seeing her there with a broken neck threw me.”

I still have his attention, so I continue. “It’s not morbid curiosity, I swear. Bryan and I… well, we worked well together. We were friends, but more than that we clicked. If I torpedoed a good thing, I need to know, and for that, I need information.”

He seems to be following me, but wow, he’s a hard man to read. “Why not ask him?” he asks.

I let out a long breath. “From the subtext of our conversations, I’m assuming he didn’t feel it was his story to tell. I figured, since you are the head of family, maybe you’re the one I needed to ask.”

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