Page 12 of Dublin Debacle

He wasn’t there to get a story. Well, not a story that he’d print in a magazine.

He’d been sent by the Brotherhood Protectors International to find the source of some damning online propaganda being spread throughout the Emerald Isle and the United Kingdom. That propaganda was effectively stirring up old hatreds that had been put to bed with the signing of the Good Friday Agreement, which brought to an end the Troubles that had plagued Ireland and claimed more than three thousand five hundred Irish lives.

From what Emily had said about disappearances and accidents, propaganda wasn’t the only problem growing on the Emerald Isle.

Suddenly, a little sleuthing to find the source of online flamethrowing was expanding into something more dangerous, possibly out of his depth and what the Brotherhood Protectors could quietly bring under control.

He’d have to get his team to weigh in on the possibilities. And now that he’d interfered in a hazing, he could become a target or have his cover blown.

“So, Jack Collins,” Emily set her teacup down, leaned her elbows on the table and pinned him with her gaze. “What’s your real story?”

His pulse quickened. Was his face that transparent? Had she guessed he wasn’t what he’d claimed? “What do you mean?” he asked calmly, lifting his cup from the saucer, hoping the movement would deflect her gaze.

Emily shook her head. “I’m usually a pretty good judge of character. Based on how you handled those men in the alley behind the pub and then spotted our tail, there’s no way you’re just a journalist looking for a story. You have the bearing and strength of a man in the military. What are you, really? And how did you just happen to be in my pub on the night my uncle was attacked? And is Jack Collins your real name?”

Confronted by her piercing gray-blue eyes, Jack’s hand froze with his teacup halfway to his mouth, wishing it contained whisky.

Busted.

CHAPTER3

Emily studied Jack’s face,hoping to see a range of expressions indicating something, anything that would reveal the true identity of the man who’d saved her life.

She was sorely disappointed when Jack maintained a poker face that could easily win him millions in Vegas. She should have expected as much. He had to be highly trained in the physical as well as mental tools of whatever trade he was engaged in.

Eventually, his lips quirked as if he found her questions funny.

Emily’s hackles rose, and her eyes narrowed to slits. “Are you some kind of special operations guy? Do you have a squad of peers lurking in the shadows, preparing for a subversive coup or a VIP extraction?”

His mouth spread in a wide grin. “Dr. Kelly needs to screen you for a concussion.”

Emily crossed her arms over her chest. “Your journalist’s cover doesn’t ring true. You don’t look like the kind of guy who’d write an article about Irish folklore. Are you an assassin, sent to take out a political figure, thus altering the outcome of a vote or election?” She sighed. “Look, I’m not interested in outing you. But by saving me, you gave me a life debt. I’m now responsible for protecting you.”

“There is no such thing as a life debt,” Jack said.

Emily tilted her head to one side. “You might not believe in it, but I do. Therefore, I have a life debt with you, and I need to know everything about you so I can anticipate and neutralize danger that might befall you.”

Jack chuckled. “That sounds stalkerish to me.”

“Oh, it is most definitely that,” she said. “And if I’m to protect you, I need to know all your deepest, darkest secrets.”

“I don’t need you to protect me.” He waved his hand like a king making a proclamation. “I release you from any real or perceived obligation.”

“Sorry, mate,” she said with a shrug. “You can’tunsaveme. You’re stuck with me. So, spill.” She propped her chin on her fists and focused all her attention on Jack.

His brow wrinkled. “Are you sureyou’renot the special ops type, undercover as a mild-mannered bartender?”

She snorted. “I’ve been accused of many things, but mild-mannered is not one of them.”

The man laughed out loud. “Having known you for,” he glanced down at his wristwatch, “all of maybe two hours, I have no doubt you’re anything but mild-mannered. I wish I’d been there to see you attack the men hurting your uncle.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she sat up straighter. “I wish I’d at least knocked one of them out. Then we might have been able to identify them. I want to know who they are and who sent them to hurt an old man.”

“You say your family is related to the Irish Travellers. I’d like to know more about them. Could they have sent the thugs to rough up your uncle? Could your father’s automobile accident have had something to do with the same people who tried to hurt your uncle tonight?”

She lifted her chin and stared down her nose at Jack. Those same thoughts had already occurred to Emily. “You’re avoiding my question. Who are you?”

He waved a hand. “Jack Collins.”

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