by Elle Kennedy
Sean’s safe house turned out to be a low-rise brick building, nondescript and slightly run-down. Liam hadn’t expected anything fancy, though—Sean and Oliver Reilly made a living by staying off the radar.
Bailey had called earlier to fill them in about Flannery’s late-night visit and the demands he’d made of Sean, so Liam kept a careful watch as they approached the building. After a quick perimeter sweep, which revealed Flannery hadn’t posted any goons to watch the place, the team entered through the back stairwell as Bailey had instructed.
Liam climbed the steps with Sullivan at his six. The nape of his neck tingled at his teammate’s nearness, but he shoved away the weird sensation.
When they reached Sean’s loft, they found a small gaping hole where the doorknob should have been. Wooden splinters and little chunks of metal littered the floor, making Liam grin. Bailey had warned them about that, too, and he hadn’t been surprised to hear that she’d shot up Sean’s door. Although the woman was calm under pressure, she was also stubborn as hell, and Liam had seen hints of her fiery temper beneath her professional surface. Bailey’s fire was one of the things he liked about her, though. That, and the fact that he could tell her things he didn’t dare tell anyone else. He was friendly with Abby and Noelle’s other women, but he wasn’t close to them, not the way he was with Bailey.
Palming his weapon, Liam entered first, but there was no danger lurking inside the loft. Only hostility.
“I’m not fucking doing that,” Sean was grumbling. “You’re under the impression that this is a covert op, but it’s not. It’s the same low-rent bullshit I grew up with.”
“He won’t believe it unless it looks realistic,” Bailey shot back.
“I’m. Not. Doing. It.”
Well. Looked like nothing had changed between them since they’d last met. Liam had never seen two people argue more than Sean and Bailey. Morgan and Noelle maybe, but those two had become much less hostile after tying the knot.
Then again, Liam couldn’t exactly blame Bailey for being pissed at Reilly. Back in Paris, she’d confessed that Sean had pretended to be Oliver in order to screw her. Which, in Liam’s humble opinion, was a total dick move.
“Are we interrupting?” he said dryly.
Without so much as a hello, Sean looked over with a hard glare. “Yes.”
Bailey, on the other hand, bolted off the couch and sprinted to Liam. “Hey! I’m so happy to see you.”
She threw her arms around him and he hugged her back, ignoring the flare of anger that lit Sean’s eyes. Screw that. Bailey was his friend, and he’d genuinely missed her.
“Happy to see you too, darling.” He kissed the top of her head, Sean be damned. The guy would just have to deal.
“I told her I didn’t need your help,” Sean muttered as he stood up.
“Is that really how you’re going to greet us?” Sullivan demanded. “We’re here to save your ass, mate—you ought to be rolling out a bloody welcome mat.” His gray eyes flickered with resentment. “A little birdie told me you left the team in the lurch.”
“He did,” D confirmed without an ounce of warmth in his tone. Not that he was warm to begin with, but today there was an edge of aggression that surprised Liam. D didn’t usually broadcast his feelings either, but his harsh gaze made it clear that he was pissed at Reilly and not in the mood to hide it.
Truth was, after two years of working for Morgan, Liam still had no idea who D was or what made him tick. All he knew was that the tattoo-covered merc had once worked for a mysterious black ops agency, and Liam wasn’t sure he needed any more details than that. D was scary as hell, which meant his background was probably equally terrifying.
“If you’re waiting for an apology, don’t bother.” Sean met D’s cold gaze head-on. “Ollie was in trouble.”
“You should’ve told Morgan,” Liam hedged. “You know he would’ve helped.”
“I take care of my own problems. I didn’t want to drag anyone else into it.” Sean’s green eyes flickered with displeasure as he focused on Liam’s hand, which was resting lightly on Bailey’s shoulder.
Since the man was already on edge about his brother, Liam gave Bailey’s arm a soft squeeze before releasing her, and Sean’s rigid shoulders instantly relaxed.
“Forget about him,” Bailey told the men. “I’m happy you’re here. I appreciate the backup.”
Sean growled in frustration. “We won’t need backup. You fellas wasted a trip.”
Sullivan shrugged. “We’ll be the judge of that.” He moved deeper into the loft, glancing around. “Nice digs, Irish. Very . . . barren.”
“I don’t spend much time here,” Sean said tightly.
It was obvious he wasn’t the slightest bit thrilled about their presence. Wasn’t very hospitable either. He didn’t offer them a drink or ask about the flight. He simply crossed his arms in a pose of pure belligerence, as if daring them to stay.
Nobody made a move to go.
“So what’s the sitrep?” Ash asked awkwardly.
When Sean didn’t answer, Bailey fielded the question. “Eamon O’Hare got back to us about ten minutes ago. He wants the exchange to happen at his pub. Sean hands over the flash drive, Rabbit hands over Ollie.”
Suspicion creased Liam’s forehead. “You think it’ll be that easy?”
“Rabbit’s a man of his word,” Sean answered, arms still folded over his chest. “He never reneges on a deal.”
“Fine, let’s assume it all goes smoothly,” Liam said. “What then?”
“Then I deal with Flannery.” Sean didn’t offer any more details.
“How?” Sullivan sounded as annoyed as everyone looked.
“Not sure yet.” With a shrug, Sean strode to the couch and sat down.
Liam could tell that his insolent attitude was bugging the shit out of Bailey. Hell, it bugged him, too. The Reilly brothers were secretive as hell, and of the two of them, Sean was the one with the reputation for winging it most of the time. For someone like Bailey, a woman who painstakingly planned out her missions, Sean’s lack of care and preparation probably made her want to tear her hair out.
“Look,” Sean sighed when he saw everyone scowling at him, “my only priority right now is making sure my brother’s okay. After that, I’ll find a way to remove myself from this Flannery bullshit.”
A derisive noise rumbled from Bailey’s mouth. “Flannery admitted to having a mole in Rabbit’s group. We have to assume he’ll be there when we show up tonight.”
“We?” Liam asked.
She spared him a cursory look. “I’m going too.”
“Okay.”
Sean cursed loudly, his head swinging toward Liam. “Okay?” he echoed in disbelief. “You could at least try to talk her out of it, Boston.”
“Why would I? You might be too pigheaded to admit it, but you’ll need backup. And you can’t do any better than her.”
Bailey’s look of gratitude was overshadowed by Sean’s thunderous one. His eyes narrowed as he glanced from Liam to Bailey, but then he shook his head without comment.
“Anyway,” Bailey continued, “if the mole is there, he’ll be expecting you to follow through on Flannery’s request. You’ll need to tell Rabbit you want back in.”
“I know that,” he said grimly.
“You really think your old boss will believe you suddenly want to be his soldier again?” Sullivan looked skeptical as he flopped down on the other end of the couch.
After a beat, Ash moved to the armchair and took a load off, too, but Liam and D remained standing.
“That’s what we were arguing about before you showed up,” Bailey explained. “I know exactly what we need to do to convince Rabbit that Sean is serious about returning to the Irish Dagger.”
Sullivan’s skepticism gave way to curiosity. “Yeah? What?”
“She wants me to hit her!” Sean roared.
The Irishman shot to his feet again and bulldozed his way to the kitchen. He snatched a fifth of Jam
eson off the counter and slugged the alcohol right from the bottle.
Liam and Sullivan exchanged an amused look before turning to Bailey. “How is that going to help?” Liam asked with a grin.
“Rabbit’s known Sean and Ollie since they were kids, which means he knows they’re protective of each other—and the people they care about.” She flashed Sean an irritated look. “If Sean wants to rejoin the crew, he needs to give a reason that Rabbit will buy.” She shrugged. “He needs to tell him about Flannery’s visit.”
Liam raised a brow. “And admit to being threatened into doing Flannery’s bidding?”
“No, just admit to being threatened.” She continued speaking as if Sean wasn’t in the room, though from the guy’s surly expression, it was clear he’d already heard this. “Sean tells Rabbit that Flannery tracked us down and tried to get the flash drive back. We managed to get away, but not before Flannery’s men roughed me up.”
D’s gravelly voice rejoined the mix. “Smart.”
“Smart? Jesus Christ, you people are bloody crazy,” Sean snapped. He took another long swig of whiskey before slamming the bottle down. “Nobody’s laying a hand on you, Bailey.”
She ignored him completely as she outlined the rest of her plan. “I show up on Sean’s arm with a busted-up face, his sweet new girlfriend who was kicked around by Flannery’s goons. Sean offers to help Rabbit take down Flannery in exchange for protection, and Rabbit believes it because he knows Sean would do anything to keep his girl safe. And voilà—Sean’s back in the group, Rabbit thinks Sean needs him, and the mole thinks Sean is playing ball for Flannery.”
Liam couldn’t deny it was a solid plan—aside from the fact that she hadn’t offered an endgame. “And then?”
“Then we go from there.” She scowled at Sean. “How long do you want to play Flannery’s game? Because the smart thing to do is skip town once we get Oliver.”
“I’m not running for the rest of my life,” he said darkly. “Wherever I go, Flannery will find me.”
“So you intend to do his bidding?” she shot back.
“Until I figure out another way to get rid of him? Yes.”
It was hard to ignore the growing tension between them. Or hell, not growing, since the tension had never gone away, never lowered in intensity. It was always there, crackling in the air the same way it had when Morgan and Noelle were in a room together, before they’d finally let go of their hatred and given in to their attraction.
Liam knew Bailey would never capitulate, though. She was secretive about her past, but whatever she’d gone through . . . it had definitely made her leery of reckless alpha men like Sean Reilly.
But that reckless alpha male had staked his claim on Bailey a long time ago, and it was no surprise when he yet again shot down her idea like a deadly sniper.
“You’re not pretending to be my girlfriend,” he said firmly. “I won’t paint a target on your head.”
“God, Sean, there’s always a target on my head. It was there long before I met you.”
Sullivan cleared his throat. “Her plan’s solid, mate. If you want to convince Rabbit you’re legit, he needs to believe you’re out for Flannery’s blood. He won’t buy it if you say it’s to protect Oliver, but he will if he thinks you’re trying to protect the sweet, fragile girl you’re in love with.”
Bailey’s snicker triggered one from Liam. Bailey was the furthest thing from sweet or fragile, but Liam knew she could play that part if she had to. The woman was a master at transforming herself—he’d witnessed it firsthand in Paris when he’d watched her become Morgan’s teenage daughter to serve as a decoy for Cate. Bailey was capable of altering not only her appearance but also her personality and mannerisms to become someone else.
It was several moments before Sean finally saw reason. “You’re right.” His tone was grudging as he looked at Bailey. “But you don’t need to show up with a broken nose or busted lip. We’ll just tell him Flannery threatened you.”
“It’s more effective if we show it.”
He cursed. “Fine, then put on some makeup. You’re good at that.”
“Makeup works from a distance, or for a short conversation,” she argued. “If I’m going to be spending more than five minutes with the man, it needs to be real.”
“I’m not fucking hitting you, damn it!”
Bailey rolled her eyes. “Okay, then I’ll just rough myself up. Easy enough.”
Liam blanched as he pictured Bailey pulling a Fight Club and slamming her face against walls and doors. Christ. The damage could be ten times worse if she pulled a stunt like that.
“No way,” he interjected. “It’ll be safer if you take a strategically placed hit.” Reluctance rose inside him. “I’ll do it.”
Sean’s face turned beet red. “No bloody way, Macgregor. Lay a hand on her and I’ll kill you.” His enraged gaze traveled to D. “Same goes for you, you psycho. You’re not touching her.”
“I guess that leaves me,” Sully said brightly. He was already standing up and cracking his knuckles. “Ready, love?”
“Not you either.” Sean’s teeth visibly clenched as he hooked a thumb at Ash. “Him.”
From his perch on the armchair, the rookie’s head shot up in alarm. “Why me?”
“Because you’re the one I’m least likely to murder,” Sean muttered. “It’s easier to forgive a kid over one of these jackasses.”
“I’m not a kid,” Ash protested. “I’m twenty-three.”
“Don’t worry,” Bailey said helpfully. “I’m certain you can hit like a man.”
Sullivan chuckled softly.
Ash wasn’t as amused. His uncertain gaze shifted from Sean to Bailey. “Fine,” he finally mumbled, getting to his feet. “But only because I agree that this is a solid plan.” His green eyes traveled back to Sean. “But I get a free pass for this, Irish. You’re not allowed to hold it against me.”
“No promises,” Sean grumbled.
With a sigh, Ash approached Bailey and flexed his right hand. “What’ll it be? Black eye? Split lip?”
“Go for the eye,” she advised. “Easier to cover up with makeup if I need to.”
The two of them moved several steps away from the group, Ash’s reluctance clearly etched into his face. He looked as if he’d rather shave his own legs than lay a finger on Bailey, but she flashed an encouraging look and widened her stance as she waited.
A red vein was throbbing in Sean’s forehead. His fists were clenched, like he was two seconds from diving across the room and putting an end to the insanity.
“Ready?” Ash asked, his voice lined with resignation.
Bailey grinned at the younger man. “Do your worst.”
Chapter 11
This was a bloody nightmare. After he’d received the news that Ollie had been nabbed, Sean had left Morgan’s crew for a reason—because he’d wanted to keep his mates out of it. And now he had not only Bailey to worry about, but also the blasted men he’d been trying to protect. Sully. Ash. Hell, even that bastard D.
And Liam. Couldn’t forget Macgregor, now, could he?
Was it wrong to want to strangle one of your closest mates? Because Sean did. So badly his hands ached. He hated the familiarity between Bailey and the movie-star-handsome mercenary. He’d known they’d become close in Paris, but he hadn’t realized they’d kept in touch, damn it. That they e-mailed and texted and hugged—fucking hugged. He’d fought the urge to break every one of Macgregor’s fingers when he’d seen them curled around Bailey’s arm earlier.
Why did Liam get to touch her? Bailey had all but hurled herself into the man’s arms, for Christ’s sake. Why did Liam get that fucking privilege when all Sean got was a stolen kiss before she recoiled from him?
In the passenger side, Bailey was on the phone with—who else?—Liam Macgregor. The conversation was brisk, and then she hung up. “They checked out the perimeter. It’s secure. There’s nobody watching the pub except for Rabbit’s usual sentries. No sign of Flannery
’s men.”
“He doesn’t need to watch the bar. Not when one of his men is inside it.”
Sean made the mistake of glancing over at her and a burst of anger went off in his gut. Her right eye was red and swollen, the faint tinge of purple beginning to form beneath it. Ash had clocked her soundly, but not hard enough for it to swell shut. It still made Sean livid to see it.
“Relax,” she said when she noticed his gloomy expression. “It’s just a shiner. I’ve had worse.”
That just made him angrier. There shouldn’t have been even a lick of violence in her past. She was Bailey. She was smart, ballsy, and beautiful, and he hated the thought of her getting hurt.
He hated even more that he was allowing her to walk into a lion’s den on his arm.
For Oliver, a firm voice reminded him.
Sean’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel. Christ, he wanted to kill Rabbit for putting him in this position, and Flannery for twisting it into something even more fucked-up.
“So your dad and O’Hare were tight, huh?” Bailey spoke up, her tone awkward but curious.
Sean let out a weary breath. “He was Rabbit’s second-in-command. They grew up together, best friends since they were six.”
“Were you and Oliver close with him? Your father, I mean?”
“We worshipped him. He was our bloody hero.”
“And your mom died when you were eight.” It was a statement, not a question. “That must have been tough.”
Her knowledge of his past didn’t surprise him, since Bailey had connections that rivaled his. But it grated a little that she knew about his background when he hadn’t been able to find a damn thing about hers. The file he had contained details about Bailey’s life—after the age of twenty. He knew she’d been recruited by the CIA at eighteen, but not the circumstances that led to it, or anything that had happened to her before that.
“It was tough,” he admitted. “What about your parents? Alive?”
“My mother is.” She didn’t elaborate.
“Where did you grow up?”
“Nice try.”