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51
SAVANNAH
THAT SAME EVENING
"Why arewe going to Florida and not Hawaii?" Aidan asked around a yawn as he dragged off his necktie and settled back in the bucket seat.
"Dad said he didn't want to put Mom through a longer flight."
"Makes sense." He grimaced. "I’d have preferred Hawaii."
"Why? Because you want to see me in a grass skirt?"
He snorted. "Always. But no, got three agents we’re trying to turn in Florida."
"Three?" I asked, brow puckered.
"Unfortunately. Florida, California, New York, and Chicago—they’re the states where we’re targeting high-ranking Sparrows."
"You never told me that."
"Telling you now, aren’t I? When it becomes pertinent, that’s when I loop you in."
"Such a cop out," I said with a sniff. "You cut it close getting here."
Aidan had just headed from his first meeting with the ECD to the airport so we could take off in time for Thanksgiving.
"The joy of chartering your own jet," he countered, "is that you can leave whenever you fucking want."
I didn’t bother arguing. "What happened at the meeting?"
"Keegan didn't tell them what was going on until I stepped into the room. They just thought it was a regular meeting."
My eyes flared wide in surprise. "What was their reaction to you becoming the leader?"
"They were bricking themselves. But Keegan had no idea I knew how manycheileswere Five Pointers. At least I had that over the smug bastard," he muttered, nodding his thanks at the flight attendant who poured him a couple fingers of whiskey.
I knew the meeting must have been rough for him to have ordered whiskey.
When he took a deep sip and sighed, I asked, "Were there any problems?"
"No more than anticipated."
He surprised me by placing his glass down and unbuttoning his shirt. I wasn’t going to complain, but he looked too tired to get his next words out, never mind to make us permanent members of the Mile High Club.
Frowning, I asked, "Were there many members who weren't Five Pointers?"
"Couple dozen. There were around eighty men there." He dipped one arm out of his shirt and dragged the silk away from his chest. "You got your wish."
I gasped as I saw the initial layout of a tattoo that would eventually be beautiful. Right above his heart, it looked like a tear in his chest, as if a knife had sliced him open, and beneath it, there was a harp in the center, around which the wordsÉire le chéile go deoencircled it.
"This is the leader’s ink."
"It’s beautiful." Even half-complete, it oozed talent. "Who did it?"
"Acheile."
It made sense that they’d have a tattoo artist in the ranks. "When will you have it completed?"
