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Live music blasted from the other room.

Mandy took another nip of her drink. “What are we going to do next?”

“We aren’t going to do anything,” muttered Oliver. “You both head back to the States and take Addison with you.”

What did that mean? “Excuse me?”

“I promise I’ll find your brother and get him to sign whatever you need. But go home with Roman and Mandy, Addy.”

“Absolutely not.” Who did he think he was, dismissing her like that?

Addison turned to Roman and Mandy. “Walk me through everything you know.”

“Kyle arrived in Dublin six months ago,” said Roman. “Got a job at a local pub. Didn’t get along with the manager. Got fired. Bummed around a little. Popped up in a few places, including in Galway, then disappeared three months ago. I tried reaching out to his friend Brendan, the only guy I know in Ireland, but he hasn’t returned my calls.”

Brendan Doyle.

The man from the hospital.

No wonder the name Sean hadn’t rung a bell.

Addison pushed away her beer. She needed something dark and bitter and soothing, like coffee. “Roman, I saw Brendan at a hospital in Westmeath, but he disappeared before I could catch him. He was asking a nurse about Kyle.”

“Wait.” Roman frowned. “Why is Brendan looking for Kyle too?”

Addy wished she knew. “We need to find out. Call him.”

But Roman was already dialing.

When Brendan didn’t pick up, Roman texted him instead.

“Tell him we know he’s looking for Kyle,” said Addison. “Have him meet us somewhere today.”

“In a crowded place,” added Mandy.

It took Brendan four minutes to respond. Addison had ticked away the time in her head.

“He can do tomorrow.” Roman flipped his phone around to show them. “Eight a.m. in front of the Jameson Distillery.”

Chapter 45

Roman and Mandy headed back to their hotel, leaving Addison and Oliver to the noise of the pub.

From the next room, the band slid into a cover of something familiar, sending the crowd—which, Addy assumed, were mostly drunk tourists—to cheer and break into a raucous sing-along.

Oliver had to repeat himself twice before she heard him. “This whole time, I thought Roman had been in that car.”

“He might as well have been. Leaving you like that, lying for Kyle. That’s not like Roman, but he’s responsible. If he had just stepped up—if he said anything—we’d be in a different place today.”

Oliver reached for his half-finished whiskey, but didn’t drink. “You’ve always covered for Kyle. Why do you expect him to act any different?”

Her cheeks burned. “I have done that, yes. It stops now. Roman and I both learned our lessons.”

“Have you?” His hands tightened on the glass. “What’s going to happen after we find him? I have enough evidence to send him to prison, but if the women back out? Refuse to testify? He might walk. Will you cut him out of your life? Cut him out of Netta’s life?”

“I can’t take her father away from her.”

Weariness shadowed his eyes. “Neither one of us will budge on this. You see the good in him, and I can’t.”