by Elle Kennedy
He wondered if his time theory applied to the you-kissed-your-best-friend-and-now-he-wants-to-fuck-you debacle Sullivan found himself in.
A groan escaped his mouth but was quickly carried away by the crisp morning wind rolling off the ocean. A bluish light blinked in the inky black sky—Morgan’s jet, making its descent. Sullivan peered up at it, his breath floating out in a white wisp. Shit, it was chilly out. He zipped up his Windbreaker as the breeze picked up, cursing his teammates for scheduling the rendezvous at the crack of dawn.
The small airfield was dark and silent, not a soul around except for Sullivan and the airport owner, who was puttering around in the hangar. Sully had been killing time outside for more than an hour, wishing he had a pack of cigs or a cup of coffee—anything that would stop his eyelids from drooping in fatigue.
It had been a total bitch getting here. He’d sailed right into a squall, nearly lost a jib to the sudden and violent gusts that had repeatedly struck his boat. But Evangeline was a trooper. She could weather anything, and she’d gotten him to port in one piece, as she always did.
He’d docked her at a marina outside Porto, and as he stared up at the sky, he found himself longing for her. Gleaming decks and pristine white sails, a forty-five-foot slice of pure freedom.
Maybe it made him a total pussy, but he missed his boat when he wasn’t on her. His entire life he’d obeyed orders, followed routines. First at the orphanage, then in the army. But there was no routine on the open sea. He never knew what to expect when he was out there.
Eventually he’d live on the water full-time. He’d do it now if he could, but that relentless itch for action always crept in sooner or later. Working for Morgan helped scratch that itch, though Sully certainly hadn’t expected to land a best mate out of the deal. His friendship with Liam had crept up on him too. Who would’ve thunk it—the brash Australian and the reserved DEA agent hitting it off, becoming closer than frickin’ brothers.
And idiot that he was, Sully had nearly destroyed the friendship with his impetuous actions.
The light in the sky grew brighter as the small jet sliced through the darkness. Lower and lower. Closer and closer.
Liam was on that jet. D and Ash too. But Sullivan wasn’t tied up in knots waiting for those other two. He hadn’t kissed either of them.
Christ almighty. What had he been thinking? Was he bloody mental?
He stood in silence, watching the sleek aircraft’s descent. Sam, Morgan’s pilot, was a pro. He landed the bird with ease, smoothly rolling down the dirt runway before coming to a stop a hundred yards from the hangar. There was no need to refuel, so Sullivan grabbed his go bag and headed for the plane.
He was two steps away when the door opened with a mechanical whir. Ash, the team’s dark-haired rookie, appeared in the doorway, his green eyes alert and playful despite the fact that it was the middle of the night. Or morning, rather. Christ, it was early.
Ash flashed his trademark lopsided grin as he stuck out his hand. “Hey, Sully.”
“Rookie.” He grinned back and grabbed the outstretched hand, allowing the younger man to haul him on board.
“How was the vacay?” Ash asked as Sully’s boots connected with the cabin floor.
“Good. Hit a couple storms, but mostly it was smooth sailing.”
They moved deeper into the cabin, and Sullivan spotted D first. The tattooed mercenary was sitting in one of the plush seats with his eyes closed, but they snapped open when Sully took a step forward. Those coal black depths flickered with acknowledgment. There was a nod of greeting, and then D’s eyelids snapped shut again.
Sullivan hadn’t expected anything more. Derek “D” Pratt was the scariest bastard he’d ever met, and not exactly a chatter mouth.
He strode forward, discomfort tightening his chest when he saw Liam at the far end of the aisle.
“Boston,” he called in greeting.
“Aussie,” Liam called back, a faint grin on his face.
Sullivan stashed his bag in one of the overhead compartments and made his way across the cabin, where the two men exchanged a quick side hug that was fraught with tension that only Sullivan could feel. Or maybe Liam did too, because when he drew back, there were a hundred unspoken questions lurking in his vivid blue eyes.
Which only made Sully feel like a total shit, because he’d purposely been keeping his distance since they’d left Paris. But what the hell else was he supposed to do? Sully hadn’t expected to be attracted to his friend, and he absolutely hadn’t expected Liam to feel it too, but no way was he going there. Their friendship was too important to destroy over a case of misplaced lust, and he’d wanted to give Liam time to get over what had happened, to put it behind him.
“You look like a beach bum,” Liam remarked.
He dragged a hand over the full growth of beard on his face. “Yeah, well, you know I don’t shave when I’m with Evangeline. She likes me au naturel.”
His teammate snickered. “Uh-huh. I bet she does.”
The tension faded as they settled in seats opposite each other. Sully rested his hands on the table that was screwed into the floor between them. “Any word from Bailey?”
Liam shook his head. “Nothing since her last text. All we know is that she and Sean made it out of the bank and now they’re holed up in one of his safe houses. Oh, and apparently she didn’t tell Sean we’re on our way. He’s insisting he doesn’t want any backup.”
“Tough shit, because he’s getting it.”
Sullivan was kind of pissed that Reilly hadn’t made contact with any of them yet. He’d liked the cocky Irishman from the moment he’d met him in Monte Carlo on an op a couple of years back, and he’d thought the two of them were chums. He didn’t know what Reilly was tangled up in, but there was no bloody way he was letting the man fend for himself.
“Noelle thinks he’s back in the IRA,” Liam said grimly.
Both men buckled up as Sam called back into the cabin that they were ready to take off.
Liam continued as if they hadn’t been interrupted. “One of her contacts reported seeing Sean at O’Hare’s Pub in Dublin.”
“Eamon O’Hare, right? The Irish Dagger bloke?”
Liam nodded.
“I remember Reilly saying he goes by Rabbit. Pansy-ass nickname if you ask me.” He pursed his lips. “We both know Sean doesn’t give a bloody hoot about politics. There’s no way he’d willingly join up with the Dagger again.”
“I agree. So does Bailey, which is why she wants our help.”
Liam raked a hand through his hair, drawing Sullivan’s attention to those thick black waves. The guy had great hair. Great everything, in fact. The hair, the piercing blue eyes, the male-model face that Sullivan had seen too many women go apeshit for.
The operative word? Women. Because Liam Macgregor was as straight as they came.
Except Sullivan had recognized the wild streak running through his friend from day one. He’d seen a man who was dying to let go, and Sullivan had helped him do that. He’d encouraged Liam to unleash his dirty side, to revel in it, turning him from a well-mannered gentleman to a filthy playboy who was willing to try anything.
But somehow he’d lured his friend to an even darker place, a place he knew Liam would regret venturing into. The man came from a big Catholic clan, for fuck’s sake. He was supposed to marry a sweet, docile female who’d pop out his kids and have dinner waiting for him on the table when he got home—not get involved with his best friend, a man who didn’t even know the meaning of monogamy.
“You’re not listening to me.”
Liam’s dry voice made Sullivan jump. “Sorry.” He rubbed his beard, tired of thinking in circles. Pissed at himself for not being able to let it go, when it was the one thing he was trying to get Liam to do. “I spaced. What were you saying?”
“Just that we should try to figure out what Sean’s involved in ahead of time, if we can. I think I’ll contact Paige.”
Sully nodded. “I’m sure Bailey
already has, but it wouldn’t hurt to call her.”
A note of unhappiness entered Liam’s voice. “I really wish Holden would come back.”
The reminder of their former teammate and technological wizard brought a twinge of sorrow to Sullivan’s stomach. Holden McCall had disappeared off the face of the earth after he’d lost his wife during an ambush on the team’s compound a while back, and after more than a year of radio silence, Sully had given up on hearing from the grief-stricken man.
“He’s gone, mate,” Sullivan said roughly. “And I don’t think he’s coming back. Fuck, even Morgan has stopped hoping for that.”
“It’s that easy for you, huh? Just accepting that he’s not coming back?”
Sullivan meant to keep his tone casual, but it came out gruff and thick with meaning. “I’m very good at putting the past behind me.”
And they both knew he wasn’t talking about Holden anymore.
* * *
Dublin
Bailey watched in amazement as Sean’s fingers moved over the keyboard. She was no computer expert, but from where she was standing it looked like he was actually unlocking the door remotely to grant Ronan Flannery entrance to the building.
“You’re letting him in?” she exclaimed.
He glanced over as if she’d just asked him if the sky was blue. “I don’t have a lot of other moves.”
“We can get the hell out of here, for one.”
He brushed past her and went over to the overstuffed chair next to the futon, where he grabbed a threadbare T-shirt with the Manchester United logo on it and threw it on. The shirt, gray sweatpants, and bare feet made him look like he’d just rolled out of bed, and he seemed completely unperturbed that a criminal kingpin was on his way upstairs.
He caught her expression and sighed. “Bailey. If you honestly think he doesn’t have his goons surrounding the place, then you need a refresher course in gangster etiquette. We wouldn’t be able to get out of here without one or both of us getting killed.”
“What the hell is your plan, then?”
“Don’t have one. We’ll play it by ear.” He strode back to her, a rogue grin lifting his lips. “So . . . seeing as these might be our last few minutes on earth, how about a kiss good-bye?”
She clenched her fists to stop herself from decking him. God, his cavalier attitude drove her up the fucking wall. She wasn’t used to working with someone who didn’t think five moves ahead.
She, on the other hand, could find a way out with her eyes closed. She already had a car parked around the corner, courtesy of Rafe, along with the strategically placed explosives he’d planted around the building. One phone call and Rafe would set off the charges, creating a big enough distraction that she could slip away unseen.
But the determined look in Sean’s eyes told her he wasn’t going anywhere, and damn it, she wasn’t leaving without him.
As if reading her mind, Sean chuckled softly. “I’m sure you have several escape plans in motion. Feel free to use them.”
“I’m not going without you,” she snapped.
“And I’m not running.” He gave a careless shrug. “Look, I might as well deal with Flannery right here and now. I don’t have time to be chased around by that thug—I need to get Ollie.”
“Which is gonna be hard to do when you’re dead.”
He didn’t get a chance to respond, because the front door swung open and then Ronan Flannery strode inside.
Bailey’s fingers tightened around her weapon as the man lingered in the doorway, his tall, stocky body clad in a tailored suit. Who wore a suit at three in the morning?
“You should really get that door fixed,” Flannery said politely. His voice was deep, his brogue deeper.
He took a few steps forward, flanked by four black-clad men armed with assault rifles.
“AKs? Really?” Sean sounded amused. “Don’t you think that’s a tad much?”
Bailey’s lips puckered when Sean swiftly stepped in front of her, shielding her from the thugs. Like she was a damsel in need of protecting.
“One can never be too prepared,” Flannery answered with a chuckle.
Sean approached their visitor with cautious strides, pausing when five feet separated them. He slanted his head as he studied the older man. “So. I don’t mean to insult you, mate, but who are you and why did you show up on my doorstep in the middle of the night?”
He was playing dumb. Interesting. Bailey wasn’t sure it was the way to go, but the ploy didn’t succeed anyway. Sean’s stab at ignorance simply summoned a hearty laugh from Flannery.
“You know exactly who I am, lad.”
Flannery nodded at his bodyguards, who stepped back at the unspoken command. Two of them moved toward the door, while the remaining two stuck close to their boss but still allowed him some space. All four were somber faced and silent. They weren’t body-builder types—only one was as tall and built as Sean—but their guns were big enough to make up for their size.
“And I know exactly who you are.” Flannery eyed Sean. Up and down, side to side. “You look like your father.”
To anyone else, it might seem like Sean was unaffected by the remark, but Bailey didn’t miss the tic in his jaw.
“Colin was a good man,” Flannery went on. “A loyal man.” He shrugged. “Bloody shame his loyalty was misplaced.”
When Sean didn’t answer, Flannery’s gaze shifted to Bailey. “Pretty bird you’ve got there, lad. Hello, sweetness. I don’t remember you scowling like that when you were inside the bank, but security footage doesn’t always provide the best picture.”
Bailey wondered how he’d gotten his hands on the bank footage so fast, until she remembered he was a filthy-rich criminal who not only had members of law enforcement on his payroll, but apparently every important person in Europe under his thumb too.
“Put that gun down,” Flannery told her. “You’re only going to hurt yourself if you try to use it.” He glanced back at Sean. “And good for you, finding a woman to settle down with. I remember you being a ladies’ man. Nice to see you’ve grown up.”
Sean looked like he was grinding his teeth together. “What do you want?” he said flatly.
“What do I want?” That inspired another laugh. “You’ve got some big balls, barking out demands like that. You stole something very important from me tonight.” Flannery tipped his head to the side. “I assume you’ve seen the contents of the drive?”
“So what if I have?” Sean shrugged. “And so what if you knew my father? You don’t know me, Flannery. You have no idea what I’m capable of.”
The man smirked. “Actually, I do. Did you think I haven’t kept tabs on you and your brother over the years? Think again, lad. I keep track of anyone who is or has ever associated with my old friend Eamon.”
“Good for you.” Sean crossed his arms. “But that also means you know if someone tells me to jump, I don’t ask ‘how high?’”
Flannery’s features hardened to stone. “You stole from me, you little shit.”
“Yeah, I did. Are you expecting an apology?”
Sean’s reckless tone put Bailey on edge. God, the man had zero concern for his own well-being. He was telling off a criminal kingpin like it was something he did every day, and it only emphasized how irresponsible he could be.
“Yes,” Flannery bit out. “I do.”
“Well, I’m afraid you won’t be getting one.” Sean edged toward the couch, chuckling when all four bodyguards whipped up their weapons. “Relax, boys, I’m just taking a load off.” He propped himself on the arm of the couch, meeting Flannery’s irritable gaze. “You claim you’ve kept tabs on me and my brother.”
“I have.”
“Then you must know where my brother is at the moment.”
“Indeed I do.” A ghost of a smile crossed the man’s mouth. “Is that how Eamon strong-armed you back into the organization? He threatened your brother?”
“We just talked about loyalty, did we not? You said my fa
ther was loyal. Well, so am I. But not to Rabbit’s cause. I’m loyal to only one person, mate. My brother. And the rest of the world can go to hell.”
Flannery stepped forward, nodding at Bailey. “And your sweet bird? She can go to hell too?”
Sean didn’t even spare her a look. “Yes.”
The dismissal stung, even though Bailey knew Sean was playing a game. Except . . . was he? At the moment, she had no frickin’ clue what he was up to.
“It’s late, so why don’t we get right to the point?” Sean slid off the couch, like a lazy cat with no care in the world. “I’m not apologizing for breaking into your safe-deposit box. I had my reasons and I stand by them.” He smiled. “I’m also not going to return your property.”
Flannery’s answering smile was indulgent, genuine even. “Is that so?”
“Oh, that is so. Very, very so.” Sean marched up to one of the bodyguards, and with lightning-fast speed, he grabbed the guy’s rifle.
He didn’t disarm him, though. Bailey’s breath hitched when Sean brought the muzzle of the gun to his own forehead.
“Go ahead and order your man to shoot.” Sean was speaking to Flannery, but his gaze remained locked on the eyes of the man with the gun.
Sweet Jesus.
Sean Reilly was insane.
Next-level, cuckoo-crazy insane. Bailey fought to control the fear racing through her bloodstream as she watched the standoff in total astonishment. The bodyguard was as confused as she was, his gaze darting to his boss as if to say, What the fuck do I do?
“Come on,” Sean coaxed in a low, soothing voice. “Do it. Tell him to pull the trigger. You’re not going to get what you want from me, so why waste everyone’s time?” He pressed his forehead into the gun barrel. Calm, defiant. “What are you waiting for? Kill me.”
Chapter 9
Sean was so tired of playing games. He knew damn well that Flannery hadn’t come here to kill him. It was the reason he hadn’t run when Bailey had suggested it. If they’d fled, Flannery would have just tracked them down again, and then they’d be facing off the same way they were now.