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"My pleasure. They didn’t get through, but I’m surprised they even tried."
"You must have some information on the wrong people," Brennan intoned, sounding calmer now Star had shared that piece of news. "Who’s left on your shit list, Savannah?"
"Andrew Litten, Laurence Ozarc, James Lindenstein—" I listed the next ten Sparrows who were scheduled and ready to be published. I’d already written those exposés.
Conor wheezed, "You mean to tell me the Speaker of the fucking House, two of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and the Head of Homeland Security are Sparrows?"
I shrugged. "Well, yeah."
"Why the fuck didn’t you start with them?" Conor snapped, for the first time losing his composure. "Jesus, talk about burying the lede!"
"I wrote what I was fed," I shouted back, unafraid to get in his face. "In the order Star gave them to me. It’s not my fault if she gave them to me ass backwards."
"Why would you even do that?" Conor demanded of Star.
"Because I picked them in order of how much I hate them."
Despite myself, I had to snicker.
That was such a Star thing to say.
"Your arch-nemeses, huh?"
"Exactly," the woman who was almost a sister retorted, a shrug to her voice.
"When are you due to publish those names?" Brennan asked, and I was surprised by how pleasant he sounded now we were supposedly out of danger.
"Within the week. I was supposed to space them out over the next month, but we decided to flood the news over Christmas."
Declan remarked, "Maybe now’s the time to start hitting ‘publish?’"
A knock sounded at the door and I heard Eoghan slip away. When there was no gunfire, I assumed it was Dead To Me, because though she came in with the muzzle of Eoghan’s sniper rifle buried in her neck, she swayed in like she was striding down a catwalk.
I eyed her with envy because she totally owned the room at that moment, somehow giving her outfit of all black a panache that’d have made me look like a trash bag.
With an oversized sweater over some slimline sweatpants, she wore Doc Martens’ shitkickers and an asymmetric kind of woolen poncho that made her look stylish.
"Star? Can you ask this fucker to take his gun out of my neck?"
"Eoghan O’Donnelly! How could you be so rude? She saved your asses!"
Conor cleared his throat. "She has a point, baby bro."
"How the fuck do we know she is who she says she is?"
"Duh, because I said so," Star groused.
Eoghan sniped, "Do you have a picture? I’m not about to let her loose with my family unless I see some ID."
Star heaved an impatient sigh, but Conor’s cell pinged. He scrolled it open, then shone the flashlight in Eoghan’s direction, letting it scan the woman’s features.
"That’s her," I confirmed before he could. Instantly, Eoghan retreated, moving away and back to the window so he could peer out of it once more. "See, Brennan, Eoghan trusts me."
"You’d have to be a dumbass or a Gestapo double agent to lie when Conor was looking at the screen too," was Eoghan’s cool retort.
My lips curved despite the seriousness of the situation. "Not just a double agent, but in the Gestapo too?"
"Eoghan’s always had a thing about WW2. He cries whenever there’s a documentary on TV," Conor informed me.
