by Elle Kennedy
As always, Bailey saw right through him. “Not in the slightest. I want to know what he has on you.”
Bloody hell. The woman was too smart for her own good.
“That’s none of your concern,” he said tersely.
Triumph lit her gaze. “But he does have something.”
“Obviously, Bailey.” Sarcasm crept into his tone, along with a weight of fatigue that pressed into his chest. “I don’t go around robbing banks for the hell of it, okay?”
“What’s he holding over your head?”
Ignoring her, Sean peered out the window, then barked a command at their silent driver. “Turn left on the next street. There’s a stretch of warehouses coming up to your right.”
“Damn it, Sean,” Bailey grumbled. “Tell me.”
“No.” His jaw tightened. “It’s time for us to go our separate ways. I appreciate that you came all this way to save my ass, but it didn’t need saving.”
“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on.”
“Why?” he shot back. “Why do you even bloody care? We’re not friends, remember? You made that pretty fucking clear in Paris this summer.”
Bailey’s expression flickered with unhappiness. She faltered, her hands curling into fists. “I care about—Oliver,” she mumbled. Stuttering on the last word, as if she didn’t want to speak Ollie’s name in front of Sean. “I don’t want to see him suffer when you get yourself killed.”
Pain sliced into his chest as her motives became clear. Of course she’d come for Oliver. He’d known that the second she’d dropped out of the ceiling back in the bank, but hearing her admit it was . . . torture.
“And I don’t get why O’Hare needed you for a low-rent bank job,” she went on, oblivious to the hot agony seizing Sean’s throat. “It makes no sense. And even less sense that you agreed.”
He pushed away the bitterness, deciding to give her another morsel of the truth. “Look, Rabbit thinks there’s a rat on his crew who’s feeding information to his rivals. He didn’t trust his men to do the job alone, so he wanted me there to make sure he got what he needed from the bank.”
“Uh-huh. All that sweet, sweet cash, right?” she said sarcastically.
Sighing, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the flash drive. “He wanted this, okay? And I got it for him. So you see? There’s no reason for you to be here. I’m going to give this to Rabbit, the two of us will be square, and then I’m done with him.”
Bailey went quiet for a beat. “What aren’t you telling me?”
She was like a shark with a taste of blood. Sean knew she wouldn’t let up, but fortunately, the car stopped before he was forced to lie to her. As Rafe pulled up at the curb, Sean tapped the back of the man’s seat and said, “Thanks for the ride, mate.”
He was out of the car before Rafe could respond, slamming the door to stop Bailey from following. But the blasted woman just jumped out of the other door, her boots snapping against the pavement as she angrily rounded the vehicle.
“Get back in the car,” he said sternly.
She glared at him. “No.” Shoulders rigid, she turned toward the open passenger window and addressed her colleague. “Thanks for the assist today. I owe you one.”
Then, to Sean’s dismay, she tapped the window frame to signal Rafe to drive, and the tight-lipped bastard actually did, leaving the smell of oil and car exhaust in his wake.
“Damn it,” Sean burst out. “Get the fuck out of here, Bailey. I don’t need you.”
“Yes, you do.” She folded her arms, anger coloring her tone. “You’re still playing games, but I know something is wrong. I know you.”
The volatile emotions bubbling inside him spilled over like a volcanic eruption. “What, you think because you’ve had my cock inside you that it means you know me? Think again, luv.”
His crude words brought a flush to her cheeks, and her expression went stricken. He knew she was thinking about their night together. The way he’d filled her. Fucked her. And now he was thinking about it too, the sheer perfection of her hot pussy clamped around him, her nails raking down his back as she moaned in abandon.
Sean’s gaze dropped to her mouth, those pale pink lips that had so eagerly kissed him that night.
But of course she’d been eager. She’d thought she was kissing Oliver, for Christ’s sake. He’d been making love to Bailey that night, but she sure as hell hadn’t been making love to him.
“You don’t know me,” he said flatly. “You were never interested in knowing me, and I don’t want you here.”
“Well, too bad, because I’m not going anywhere.”
Sean struggled to control his frustration. He’d known she was stubborn, but seeing that muleheadedness firsthand made him want to strangle her.
“I’m serious. Starting now, I’m your fucking shadow, Sean. I won’t—”
“He has Ollie.”
Bailey froze. “Rabbit?”
Sean pressed his fists against his sides, pissed off that he’d caved. No, that she’d broken him.
Without another word, he stalked toward his building, breathing in the crisp autumn air. Figured that it wasn’t raining tonight. The whole bloody country was wet and misty ninety percent of the year, and the one night he could have used some fog to disappear into, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.
“What do you mean, he has Ollie?” Bailey stayed hot on his heels, following him to the key panel on the building’s outer wall.
Sean sighed. “Rabbit phoned me and Ollie about a month ago, demanding we rejoin the crew. Like I said, he’s gotten paranoid. He thinks he’s dealing with a traitor, and he turned to us because he trusts us. Because he trusted our father.”
“Did you and Ollie turn him down?”
“Of course. We’re not daft. We had no interest in working for him again.”
Sean tapped a series of numbers into the keypad to unlock the front door, but he didn’t make a move toward the entrance. He wasn’t worried that anyone would overhear them. Not only did he own the entire building, but the place was completely off the books. Sean kept two other flats in the city—the first one easy to find, the second requiring a shit ton of digging to locate, which he knew Rabbit had done. But this third loft was his safe house, where he and his brother stored the backups for all the intel they’d acquired over the years. Nobody but him and Oliver knew it existed.
And he needed to get upstairs right fucking now. He had to examine the contents of the flash drive and figure out what he was working with here.
But first, he had to ditch Bailey.
“Ollie and I said thanks but no thanks. Rabbit wasn’t happy, so he decided to force our hand by sending a couple of men to nab Ollie in London.”
“Why Ollie?”
Sean shrugged. “Probably because he was closer. But Rabbit knew that whichever one of us he grabbed, the other would do anything Rabbit asked to save him. And the role of savior landed on me.” He took a step toward the door, keeping his body language casual.
“Rabbit threatened to kill Ollie if you didn’t rob a bank?” Bailey said warily.
“Yup.” He reached for the door handle. “So I robbed the bank, and I got what he wanted, and now Ollie is safe.” Sean’s fingers curled over the door handle. “So there you go, luv. I don’t need your help. Good seeing you again, though.”
He ducked inside so fast she had no time to respond, slamming the door and effectively locking Bailey out. The look on her face from the other side of the glass was almost comical. Shocked. Amazed. Outraged.
“You son of a bitch!” Her voice was muffled thanks to the barrier between them, but when she pounded her fist against the glass, the whole door shook in its frame as if an earthquake had hit the building. “Open the door! I mean it, Sean! If Ollie’s in danger, then I’m damn well going to help you!”
Sean’s heart squeezed as he stared at her. He knew she loved his brother, but goddamn it, didn’t she realize that Oliver would want to keep her s
afe? Shutting her out wasn’t just about sparing himself the pain and humiliation of being around a woman who couldn’t stand him. Sean knew his twin would kill him if he allowed Bailey to put herself in harm’s way.
“I’m sorry,” he said gruffly, moving away from the door.
“Sean! For fuck’s sake, come back here!”
With the regretful shake of his head, he turned on his heel and walked away.
* * *
Bailey stared at Sean’s retreating back in disbelief. The son of a bitch had locked her out. She’d come all the way to Dublin to save his ass, and rather than show even a smidgen of appreciation, he’d locked her out.
Well, screw that. Screw his alpha male bullshit and his arrogance and his damn games. He always treated her like she was a fragile flower that would wilt and fall over from the slightest gust of wind. But she wasn’t. She was an undercover operative who could kill with her eyes closed and take down men twice her size without breaking a sweat.
And he thought a measly door was going to keep her out?
Bailey stared at the lock, tempted to pull out her gun and shoot her way in. But she was in a residential area at nine o’clock at night, and she knew better than to draw attention to herself or Sean.
She walked over to the keypad instead, gritting her teeth as she yanked the plastic cover off. She was fully aware of the security camera pointing directly at her, but she didn’t give a shit. In fact, she hoped Sean was already upstairs, watching her on some monitor so he could see that she hadn’t slunk away like he’d intended for her to do. Just in case he was, she flipped her middle finger at the camera, then got to work.
It was easy to find the correct wires. Easy to rub them together and short-circuit the unit. The moment the system was down, the lock released with a loud buzz, and Bailey stormed inside the building. She had no idea which apartment belonged to Sean, but any soldier worth his salt would stick to high ground if he could do so. Quicker access to the roof, clearer visuals of the neighborhood.
She hurried into the stairwell and ran up four flights, bursting through the metal door in the landing onto a corridor with weathered hardwood floors. The hall was deserted, but she knew Sean had been there. She could smell the faint trace of his aftershave in the air, that familiar scent of spice and sandalwood, the heady, masculine fragrance she’d breathed in when he’d moved inside her. When he’d thrust into her, over and over again, summoning pleasure she’d hated herself for feeling.
There was only one door in the hall, all the way at the other end. She raced toward it, but the door was locked when she turned the knob.
Fuck that.
She didn’t bother reaching into her pocket for a hairpin to pick the lock. This time she used her gun. Aimed the silenced pistol at the doorknob and blew the motherfucker right off.
When she stalked into the loft, she found Sean leaning against an exposed beam near the door, a resigned look in his eyes.
“Screw you,” she said darkly. “Did you really think you’d get rid of me that easily?”
“It was worth a try.” His displeased gaze shifted to the door. “Did you really have to shoot it?”
“Damn right I did. It was either the doorknob or you, and we need you alive if we’re going to rescue Oliver.”
At the thought of Oliver, Bailey’s entire body clenched with unhappiness. God, why was he the Reilly brother Eamon O’Hare had decided to abduct? Sean was the pain in the ass.
She definitely didn’t buy Sean’s assertion that his former boss had chosen Ollie out of convenience. If O’Hare knew the Reilly brothers half as well as Bailey did, then he was well aware that Sean Reilly was the deadlier of the twins. The one with a higher tolerance for bloodshed and deception, the one who’d undertake any mission, no matter how dangerous.
Well, there was no way she was allowing Sean’s recklessness to lead to some Irish gangster killing Oliver.
From what Bailey knew about O’Hare, the man wouldn’t hesitate to harm Ollie. Although O’Hare’s group was officially called the New Republicans, its unofficial Irish Dagger moniker apparently stemmed from Rabbit’s penchant for gutting his enemies with a blade.
“You know, you’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever met,” Sean grumbled.
“Damn straight. And I’m not going anywhere, so deal with it.” She scowled. “What’s on the flash drive?”
He shrugged. “No clue.”
“You haven’t checked it yet?”
“I was just about to before you shot up my door,” he said pointedly.
But he didn’t seem concerned that anyone could walk in now, and Bailey understood why when she noticed the security monitors on the wall behind him. More than a dozen of them, displaying both the interior and exterior of the building. Sean had been able to watch her coming up, step by step, from the lobby to the stairwell to his door. Beneath the screens was a row of file cabinets spanning the entire back wall of the loft.
Bailey gave the rest of the place a cursory examination. Small kitchen, unmade futon bed across the room, leather sofa in the center, and a heavy punching bag dangling from the ceiling in the corner. Then she glanced back at the file cabinets, cocking her head at Sean. “Well, aren’t you old-school.”
“Ollie and I keep hard copies of every piece of intelligence we gather. We have dossiers on thousands of people.” He waved an absent hand at the cabinets as he strode toward the adjacent wall, which featured a computer setup that rivaled Paige’s.
Bailey studied the array of laptops and equipment on the long desk, then shifted her gaze to the numerous world and city maps pasted on the wall. Red and green thumbtacks marked various areas on the maps, but she didn’t ask what the colors stood for. People, she assumed. Operatives, spooks, criminals. Sean and Oliver knew a lot of people—and a lot of dirty secrets. They were intelligence magicians, producing data out of thin air, and Bailey had no trouble seeing why even the most secretive sorts were so willing to spill their guts to the Reilly brothers. They used their charm to lure information from unsuspecting marks, and if they ever needed to apply some pressure, the twins had the good cop/bad cop routine mastered.
Her gaze flicked back to the file cabinets. “Is there a dossier on me in there?” she asked, but she already knew the answer to that. For years Sean had been bragging about having a file on her.
“Yes sirree. I dare you to try and get it.” He flashed a cocky smile.
Curiosity had her wandering over to the nearest cabinet, and she examined it closely as Sean settled on his leather desk chair and booted up one of the computers.
To Bailey’s annoyance, the file cabinets were locked. And couldn’t be unlocked, not with a key anyway. Opening them required both a security code and a fingerprint on the electronic panel.
“Asshole,” she muttered.
Sean glanced over with another grin. “I’ll open it for you myself,” he offered mockingly. “If you fill in the blanks in the file. I couldn’t find a lick of intel on you before the age of eighteen.”
Inwardly, she felt relief—the Reilly brothers were good at their jobs, and a part of her had always worried they might have uncovered her past. Outwardly, she gave him a saccharine-sweet smile. “That’s because there is no intel. I’m a ghost, remember? I didn’t exist then, and I don’t exist now.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Bailey isn’t your real name.”
“Give the man a gold star.”
His irritation only seemed to grow, but the computer screen came to life at that moment, distracting him from grilling her further. He slipped the flash drive into the USB port, waited, then clicked the track pad.
Her dossier all but forgotten, Bailey quickly joined him at the desk. Sean’s shoulders tensed when she came up behind him, but he didn’t turn around. His handsome profile revealed intense concentration as he stared at the screen.
“All right, let’s see what we’re dealing with here.”
“We?” she said, unable to contain her triumphant tone. “Ha
! I see you’ve accepted that we’re working together.”
“Not one bloody bit,” he said cheerfully. “But I’ll get rid of you soon enough.”
“Dream on. I’m helping you get Oliver back whether you want me to or not.”
“Right. You’re here to rescue Oliver.”
She couldn’t decipher the odd note in his tone. Not sarcasm, not even anger. Envy, maybe? But that didn’t make any sense to her. He had no reason to be jealous of Oliver. He’d all but torpedoed their friendship by what he’d done.
“Because you’d do anything for my twin, won’t you, luv?” Sean taunted.
“Yes.”
“Well, so would I, and I know Oliver wouldn’t want you involved in—” Sean hissed out a breath when a folder popped open on the screen.
Bailey leaned over his shoulder to get a better look, her pulse speeding up when she inhaled his masculine scent. She ignored it, focusing on the computer monitor instead.
Dozens of icons appeared in the folder, subfolders that were organized alphabetically. Bailey furrowed her brow. She recognized several of the names and she’d barely made it halfway through the A section. How many other significant people were on this drive?
Cursing, Sean clicked on the most recognizable A name on the list—Georges Amirault.
The prime minister of France.
“Bloody hell,” Sean mumbled.
Amirault’s folder contained rows and rows of photographs, along with several videos. Sean clicked on a photo, and Bailey’s eyebrows soared when an obscene image filled the screen. The picture showed Amirault stretched out on a canopy bed, his face visible and his features contorted with passion as a woman performed fellatio on him.
A woman that was most definitely not his wife, Lena, whose philanthropy and environmental activism had made her beloved in France.
“I guess we’ve found someone’s little black book of filth,” Sean said flatly.
He closed the Amirault file and opened another one, this one belonging to a prominent US senator. The video Sean clicked on was less than a minute long—and it showed the right-wing, Bible-thumping senator having sex with a man.