Page 64 of Dublin Beast

“Uh, are my people in trouble?”

“Not at all. I simply need a full account of who was working the event and how the unexpected violence may have impacted them. I’m sure you can understand why we want to clarify the terms of their non-disclosure agreements and, of course, compensate your people if any undo hardship has occurred as a result of the breach in security.”

“Compensate?”

“That’s right. Now, what I’ll need first is a list of the staff you had on site and their contact information. Everyone who attended signed their NDAs, correct?”

“Of course. Mr. Mason is very strict about that.”

“Good, and were any of the serving staff new or had everyone worked other events?”

“We had a new bartender, but everyone else has worked one of the Aigburth events before.”

“Excellent. If you could include the previous events worked going back six months that would be very helpful.”

“Helpful how? Why do you need to know that?”

“Because, Ms. Greaves, we’ve recently learned that certain, shall we say... delicate details of Mr. Mason’s private events have leaked into the public. I’ve been tasked with assessing the catering staff and cross referencing the dates they worked to see if anything stands out.”

“Oh, Miss Martin, I’m sure it wasn’t one of my people. My staff are very discreet.”

“I’m sure that’s true. And once I have those names and dates, I’ll be able to lay this to rest. Between you and me, my money is on the auctioneer. That man runs off at the mouth for a living.”

As Ms. Greaves starts rhyming off names, my fingers buzz over the keys, catching every single word.

CHAPTERSEVENTEEN

Bryan

The hum of the refrigerator is louder than it should be.

That’s what I’ve come to realize after sitting in this damn hotel suite for the last two hours, listening to it kick on and off while Kieran and I pretend to be productive. The truth is, we’ve been running the same hamster wheel all morning—checking the farmhouse security feeds, scrolling through our phones, checking the farmhouse security feeds….

The two agents who rolled up to the farmhouse this morning left. No Siobhan. No activity. Just two tight-faced suits stepping into a black sedan and driving off.

I got the plates—zoomed in and cleaned up the image on the laptop before sending it off to Finn. If there’s something to find, he’ll find it.

But other than that, it’s been crickets.

Kieran sits slouched on the couch watching his laptop, boots propped on the coffee table, a bag of crisps in his hand. He’s been unusually quiet, only breaking the silence with the occasional “for fuck’s sake” when the monotony gets to be too much.

I’m about to say something to kill the silence when his burner buzzes on the table.

He snatches it up in one smooth motion and scans the caller ID. “About fucking time. Mick says our order has arrived and is quality checked and ready to go.”

I peg Kieran with a look. “Where and how does your arms dealer quality check RPGs? Seems to me that would be raising red flags and drawing attention.”

Kieran chuckles. “Mick’s day job is as a demolitions expert. He does ‘controlled construction takedowns’ of old buildings and structures. He preps a condemned structure, fires the RPG, and follows up with other explosives to mask the blast signature. The man is paranoid AF but he’s a genius.”

That actually is really smart. “Grand, then let’s go get our firepower.”

Kieran grabs his keys, shaking his head. “Not we, bossman. Me. First off, you need to keep an eye on the cameras and watch for Siobhan. Secondly, Mick’s not a trusting bloke. He’s liable to spook and ghost me if I don’t show up alone.”

I narrow my eyes. “I don’t like it.”

Kieran snorts, shrugging into his leather jacket. “You don’t like being left out of the firepower fun. Don’t worry. You can inspect the product when we go out tonight with the drone after dark.”

I grunt. “I don’t like it.”

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