Page 14 of Home Team Advantage
Jake’s Irish Pub hadn’t changed much since the last time he’d been there, but that was the way it was with buildings that were hundreds of years old. It was still warm and welcoming, a popular gathering spot for generations of the predominantly Irish community. It didn’t matter what day of the week it was; the place did good business.
“Hey, Matt,” greeted Taryn, Jake’s wife, when he walked in. She hadn’t changed much either. Her blonde hair had a few streaks of white, which looked pretty badass with her black heavy metal T-shirt and the slim leather cuffs she wore around her wrists.
Her unusual violet eyes widened when she got a good look at him. She whistled softly. “Wow. You look … different.”
He did, compared to the last time she’d seen him. He grinned. “And you haven’t changed a bit.”
“Liar,” she said, but she was grinning, too, and the momentary surprise turned to mischief. “You know, if I were twenty years younger?—”
“You’d still be singularly obsessed with Jake,” Ian finished with a smile, appearing from the back with a case of longnecks.
“True,” she agreed, winking at Matt. “It is fun to make him blush though.”
Him? Blush? He’d lost that ability a long time ago. “Not cool, Aunt Tar. Where is Uncle Jake anyway?”
“Taking care of some business,” Ian said vaguely. He pulled the Macallan from the top shelf and poured two fingers each into two glasses.
“You remembered,” Matt said.
Ian scoffed. “Of course I remembered. A good bartender always remembers, and I am a most excellent bartender.”
Taryn rolled her eyes.
Ian lifted his glass and clinked it to Matt’s. “Welcome home. Sláinte.”
“Sláinte.”
The smooth whiskey slid down his throat like warm silk.
Matt asked about their kids. Ian’s son, Patrick, was the oldest of the next generation with Taryn’s daughter, Riley, right behind him. Both were finishing college. He got updates on their other kids as well while Ian and Taryn took turns serving people at the bar.
Ian’s eyes kept shifting to two men sitting at a table. Matt followed his gaze.
“Are you expecting trouble or something?” Matt asked quietly.
“Or something,” Ian murmured. “See that guy in the blue shirt? He’s with the PRPD.”
The guy looked like a cop. Close-cropped hair, permanent frown, the soft paunch of a guy who spent a lot of time behind a desk.
“So?”
“So, he likes to supplement his income from time to time by moonlighting as a PI under the table. He uses his badge to obtain information that’s not readily accessible to the general public.”
“Sounds shady.”
“It is. But he’s not a bad option if you’re looking for information on the QT and want to stay under the radar. You know, catching cheating spouses, surveillance, background checks, locating hidden assets, that kind of thing.”
Matt sipped his whiskey. Catching a little under the table side action for profit was in the realm of morally gray, but it wasn’t unusual. “Who’s the guy with him?”
“Eddie Campbell.”
“Elsa Campbell’s grandson?” Matt asked, looking closer.
The guy looked like he’d been through some rough times since Matt had last seen him, but, yeah, it was him.
“The one and the same. You know him?”
“We’ve met. I didn’t think he lived around here.”
