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Everyone in town knew Granny’s Pub received a lot more than kegs in terms of deliveries. Red may get plenty of stolen-treasure traffic, but hot weaponry was unusual. The Treasury Department went after those purloined goods with the intensity of a Leprechaun sprinting to the rainbow’s end before it faded into nothing.
“You’d remember this one.” He sipped the beer, watching her over the foam top. “It was a sharp delivery.”
She smiled. It was sexy as hell, but not even a little bit nice. “Oh, you mean the very expensive delivery?”
His access to money wasn’t infinite, but it was close. Getting the sword, breaking the curse and not turning permanently hairy in twenty-eight days took precedence over a tiny dip on the balance sheet. “Five hundred thousand dollars.”
Now Red laughed, big and bold as she pleased. The lusty sound drew the attention of the other pub patrons, but she shot them a glare and they turned back to their pints. She looked at Liam, a greedy gleam in her eyes. “We both know you can do better than that.”
Could and would. “A million.”
“No hesitation.” She grabbed his pint and took a sip, licking the brown foam off her Ferrari-red lips. “You really want this.”
He did, but negotiating time was over. “One point five and that’s it.”
Nibbling on her lip, Red considered him. Her frank perusal went from his blond hair to the multicolored tattoos peeking out beneath his T-shirt to his mouth. No doubt she was sizing him up; for what, he wasn’t exactly sure, but his stiffening cock had ideas.
She pushed the pint across the shining bar to him. “You seem like a nice guy and I wish I could help you out, but there’s already an interested party. It wouldn’t be fair of me to take your offer without giving him an opportunity to beat it.”
Exactly the worst news Liam could get. It had taken God knew how many hours and bribes to track down the Caladbolg. He’d been damn sure to only share information with a few people, and those few were more than friends—they were family, the only kind he had left. The one thing he’d never gotten the scent of was another possible buyer.
“Who is it?”
Red tsked-tsked and shook her head with false pity. “Honey, you know I’m not at liberty to divulge that. Come back tomorrow and I’ll have your answer.”
Liam pushed away from the bar with equal amounts frustration and determination. Red’s plan to start a bidding war for the Caladbolg sword was about to blow up in her pretty face. He’d be back alright—a lot sooner than she expected. The sword would be in his hands before the last stroke of midnight.
All he had to do was steal it.
Chapter Two
Red wiped down the oak bar and headed to the pub’s back room to grab a fresh keg and a quick convo with her number two, Derry, before the evening rush started. It looked as though she’d be facing that by herself, per usual.
Charming was an hour late for his shift, she noted as she passed the time clock in the hallway leading to the backroom. If his dad didn’t rule over Dublin’s illegal underbelly with such an iron fist, Red would have fired the lazy-ass prince six months ago. As it was, if all it took to keep the king’s fingers out of her fencing business was to employ Charming, she considered herself lucky—especially now that a big fish had jumped in her little pond.
All she had to do was play her cards right and she’d get one Liam MacTíre to pay out the wazoo for the relic. If he’d agreed to more than a million dollars without even breaking a sweat, cooling his heels for the night while she talked to a pretend second buyer might get him as high as three million by breakfast.
Stopping at the floor-to-ceiling mirror bracketed by metal kegs in the backroom, she puffed up her not-quite-an-afro natural curls with their very unnatural blood-red tips, checked her f-bomb lipstick and cracked her knuckles.
“Stranger danger,” she said to the empty room.
The mirror went from solid to gel in an instant and a numeric touchpad appeared in the center. She didn’t even have to look when she put in the code. Zero. Three. Six. Nine. The mirror’s center faded away, revealing a well-lit hallway stocked with treasures ready for delivery to collectors who didn’t let a little thing like the black market stand in their way when it came to getting their hands on their own personal precious.
Derry stood out among the stacks. Of course he did. Seven feet tall and miles thick with muscle, he was the physical embodiment of the oak tree grove he was named after. Personable and ambitious, he was book smart but street stupid, and hungry for more than being her number two. She knew it. He knew it. Neither of them talked about it. Red didn’t do group projects. Some people worked better alone. She sure as hell did. Red embraced it, but she wasn’t above letting folks think she was thinking about changing her mind—if it benefitted her.
“Hey, boss.” Derry gave her a friendly wave with a hand the size of a dinner plate. “We’re all set on the Rumpelstiltskin delivery tomorrow. You’re gonna be here right? That dude gives me the creeps.”
Which is exactly what the pruney little bully wanted. “He gets the job done.” She shrugged. “Speaking of which, I need your help.”
The big man lit up like a super-sized fairy light. “Whatcha got?”
His enthusiasm almos
t made her feel bad. Almost. “Recon. I need to find out everything about Liam MacTíre. Tonight.”
The corners of his mouth shot down in an exaggerated grimace. “That’s a tight deadline.”
“But I know you can do it.” Now to reel him in with implied promises she never intended to keep. Sure she was a bitch, but on the streets where she grew up, you either became the bitch or became someone’s bitch. She’d learned that lesson too well to forget it now. “I’ve been watching you, Derry, and I think you’re ready. What do you think about becoming a partner in this little enterprise?”
