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“Whatever you do,” Foxx growled, “don’t lose him.”
“I don’t plan on it, boys. Buckle up.”
Over the next several minutes, Declan exceeded the speed limit as he drove, turning corners as if he had a racecar. In truth, and in comparison to some of the other vehicles I’d seen, he did. The Charger was fairly new, a powerful muscle car. What was a rigger doing with that kind of money? Maybe I’d check out his family in case.
He headed into a nicer part of the city where the businesses were quaint and upscale. When he pulled into a parking lot, I drove by, finding a space on the street. The last thing I wanted was for him to know we were checking him out.
Declan jumped out quickly, acting cagey as fuck as he scanned the area around him before taking long strides onto the sidewalk. We climbed out, cautiously following him. When he went inside a restaurant, all three of us stopped in our tracks.
“Hungry, boys?” I asked.
“I could eat,” Jack stated.
“Who are you kidding? You could always eat,” Foxx chortled.
“My treat.” I headed the pack toward the restaurant, my curiosity piqued.
“Where did you suddenly get money?” Jack grilled as he flanked my side.
“Unlike the two of you, I’ve put money into investments.” Which was true, something my father had instilled in me from the beginning. Now I was thankful I had. My plans were to purchase that nice house when I returned. This was the last fucking rig I wanted to go on for the rest of my life.
We strolled inside and immediately it became obvious we were fucking underdressed. The customers all appeared as if they’d come from a yachting club or maybe a cool men’s magazine.
“Table for three,” I told the hostess.
“Yes, sir.” The girl was sweet but looked down at our well-worn jeans and polo shirts as if we were going to rob the place.
“What would a rogue like Declan be doing in a fancy restaurant like this?” Jack huffed from behind me.
“That’s the question. Let’s see who he’s meeting,” Foxx didn’t push past me, but I sensed the tension, maybe in all of us. Whoever was attempting to sabotage the O’Rourke rig might be right here in this swanky location.
As we were led to a table, there wasn’t a single person inside who wasn’t checking us out. The hostess put down menus on a table near a set of windows and almost immediately, I noticed Declan sitting at a table located on a higher elevation, the three steps leading to the more private section of the restaurant creating a hint of amusement. There were five tables on the elevated plateau, the private space having a perfect view of the ocean waters.
“Nice digs,” Jack said under his breath.
“Very much so.” Foxx sat down first, glaring at Declan just like I’d already done. The dude had changed from when I’d seen him, now in trousers and a nicer shirt, his attire more appropriate than what we were wearing. Why did I have the feeling the change in his clothes had been forced on him?
He was having a drink with a man who appeared to be like a king, his perch capable of seeing everyone in the main dining room.
“I’ve seen that guy before,” Foxx said under his breath.
“From where?” I asked.
“That’s just it. I’m unsure. But I’m going to find out.” When he held up his phone, taking a picture, I wasn’t surprised. Foxx fashioned himself to be a computer geek, the apps he had on his phone far superior to what most people used on a daily basis. However, I was the real geek of the three of us, which I’d hoped would come in handy. I’d done some research on Declan, finding nothing of real value.
Or damning for that matter.
But my gut continued to tell me the man was up to something.
“Welcome to Arthur’s Place. What can I bring you to drink?” the young waitress asked.
“Whiskey. All three of us. I’m curious. Who’s that man over there?” I asked, trying to remain subtle as I pointed out the man Declan was with.
She turned her head and immediately she tensed. I noticed body language. “Someone you don’t want to mess with. Madden Byrne. He owns half of Ireland. I’ll be right back with your drinks.”
As she scurried off, I could tell Foxx had a bulb of light go on over his head. “The bastard is Irish mafia.”
“You’re sure?” Jack asked.
