Innocence is rarely rewarded. No fight is ever truly fair. I taught Carina how to shoot so she’d feel safer, so she’d be prepared if she was ever around a gun, not because I thought she’d have to discharge a weapon the next day.
I’m mad at myself for putting her in a situation where doing so became necessary. And I’m worried because the pale woman in the passenger seat isn’t someone I recognize. I’ve known many versions of Carina, but I’ve never seen her sit so still or her expression be so blank.
I should have insisted she stay in the car.
Seamus swore repeatedly that he hadn’t shared any details about Carina’s new identity, only that she was in Ireland, but I can’t trust he told the truth. I didn’t have the time or the tools to interrogate him properly, not with Carina in the same room. I’ve repeatedly checked the car mirrors, and we don’t appear tohave a tail, but that doesn’t mean they’re far behind. She needs to leave the country as soon as possible, but I can’t drop her off at the airport in a catatonic state.
So, I’m driving to the one place in Dublin where I know I’ll have support if necessary. I park on a side street, replacing the partial clip in my Glock with a full one before slipping the handgun back into its hidden holster.
Carina remains silent. She doesn’t ask where we are or why we didn’t return to the hotel. She mirrors my movements, climbing out of the car once I do.
I don’t have to remind her to bring the gun. She tucks it into her jeans, letting her T-shirt cover the waistband so it hides the weapon.
What I said to her earlier about Maksim? I always knew the day would come when I couldn’t shelter him. I simply delayed it as long as possible. But I would have killed a hundred men earlier to ensure she didn’t have to pull the trigger once.
Tigh Mòr looks the same as the last time I was here two, maybe three, years ago. Ivy crawls across the gray stone exterior of the building, partially obscuring the wooden sign that swings merrily in the summer breeze. A few clusters of patrons are smoking at the tables outside, chattering over the ambient street noise and the up-tempo music spilling out from inside the bar.
Inside is busier than the pub where we ate dinner.
I guide Carina over to the counter. She’s still quiet but alert, glancing around, a little color returning to her face in response to the liveliness.
I lean closer, ensuring she can hear me over the music and chatter. “I thought you could use a drink.”
Her eyes drift from our surroundings to me. She blinks a few times, finally focusing. “Make it a double.”
I nod, relieved, then motion over the nearest bartender.
She hurries this way, bracing her palms on the wooden surface beside a stack of coasters. Tattoos snake down and around her arms. “What can I get ye?”
Before I can reply, another voice interjects. “I’ve got this one, Saoirse.” Cillian Walsh appears, wiping his hands on a towel that he tosses over one shoulder. His dark eyes gleam as he studies me. “Lev.”
“Cillian,” I return.
“Did I miss a message?”
I shake my head. “I’m not here on business.”
Cillian’s eyebrows rise. “You’re always here on business.”
“Not tonight. All I want is your best whiskey. A double.”
He stays surprised. On the few occasions we’ve drunk together, I’ve always imbibed vodka. Cillian looks left, noticing Carina half behind me for the first time. His gaze bounces back to me, and then he whistles. Long and low.
Fuck. He recognizes her.
He leans forward, resting his forearms as he lounges against the counter. “Is it finally my turn?”
“Only if you feel like taking a one-way trip to the Liffey.”
Cillian grins in response to the threat, holding a hand out to Carina. “Nice to see ye again.”
She glances at me before cautiously shaking his palm. “We’ve met before?”
That question does more to defuse my aggravation than any apology Cillian could have shared. Not that he attempted one.
“Lake Forest,” Cillian tells her. “About”—he pauses, probably counting—“ten years ago?”
“Eleven.” Carina and I speak simultaneously.
