Page 65 of Dublin Beast

Kieran scoffs and claps a hand on my shoulder. “It’s over an hour each way. I’ll verify the product, get the banking info, and call you to transfer funds once I’ve got eyes on the gear. I’ll be back here in time to order burgers for dinner.”

Okay, so maybe he’s right and I’m bored as shit and jonesing for something to do. Kieran can take care of himself. I have no doubts about that.

I move aside with a grunt. “Fine. Call me with the transfer info. I’ll be waiting.”

He nods and opens the door. “And keep your eyes on that feed. If Siobhan pokes her head out, we’ll have what we need to make tonight that much more exciting.”

“Wouldn’t that be grand?”

“It would.”

Kieran is out the door and I latch the deadbolt behind him. Bringing the laptop to the table, I sink down on the bench seat and stare at the farmhouse.

I watch the wind stir the trees, the birds scatter from the chimney, and the armed mercs walking the porch, the yard, and the perimeter.

Come on, Siobhan. Show your face.

I dare you.

* * *

Harper

Victory tastes like danger—and maple bacon.

The former is from the list of names and dates I got from the ever-so-helpful Ms. Greaves. The latter? Well, that came from a very successful morning grocery run.

One that also included wine, lube, and a three-pack of condoms that practically leapt into my basket the second I saw them.

I save the contact sheet in the folder for now and push back from the little desk. Normally, I don’t take breaks mid-day when I’m in full investigative mode, but I’ve got other plans for the next couple of hours.

Big, broody Irish plans.

I heard Kieran leave a few minutes ago, saying he’ll be gone for a few hours. And like my dad always says…

Make hay while the sun shines.

I strip off my clothes, slide my arms into the leather straps of Bryan’s shoulder holster, and adjust the rig so his gun rests snug against my left side boob.

I’m not afraid of guns. I’ve been to the practice range enough times with my father and brothers that I’m capable, if not competent.

Not that the gun is the point—at all.

This is a visual meant for him—my girls are framed by the worn leather he always wears. Enough to tease, and hopefully entice.

I glance one last time in the mirror, then grab one of the condom boxes and strut out of the bedroom like I own the bloody place.

Bryan is at the table, his head down, his focus on the screen of the laptop. He glances up as I enter.

His eyes widen.

Laptop forgotten.

His mouth fall opens—then shuts again with a visible swallow. Perfect. That is exactly the reaction I was hoping for.

I grin like the cat who brought her own cream and hold up the box of ‘for her pleasure’ condoms. “I got more than bacon when I went shopping this morning.”

He blinks once. Then chuckles, the sound low and appreciative. “What happened to two or three boxes?”

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