“Not really. I love they’re off just the two of them without the pressures of mob life. Enjoying each other and exploring in ways Summer never got to while growing up. Besides it’s just a boat.”
Grayson cracks a lopsided smile. “Obviously.”
We walk, the wind near the water merciless and wet, carrying the sting of salt. The water itself is dark and almost sullen, like a mirror of the sky, and … Grayson’s eyes. Why I think that I’m not sure, only there’s something in them that makes me sad.
A few seagulls cry in the ghosting of the docks, and Grayson points to a yacht out in the water. “That one has a helo on it.” He says it with genuine surprise and awe; I can’t help but find it endearing.
We search until one yacht in particular looks out of place. There’s a man on the upper deck, his movement rather methodical, like he’s keeping watch. I elbow Grayson. “They aren’t going to be friendly toward you. Follow my lead.”
“And what makes you think they’ll be friendly toward you?”
I bat my lashes. “I don’t.”
I move forward, ready for answers, for Finn, but Grayson snags my arm. “Do we need backup?”
“You’ll be fine.”
He holds my gaze. “What about you?”
“Aw. Worried about me?” I ask.
He lets go of my arm but doesn’t say anything further. I turn and approach the side ramp. Light lines the railings of the yacht, colder and more sterile than party-like. I listen for voices, but the only sound is the soft slap of waves against the hull. My heels click up the ramp, and I palm the gun in my waistband.
I make it halfway up with Grayson behind me when two guards break forward—black jeans, black jackets, hands twitching at their own waistbands.
“This is private property, and you haven’t been invited,” one says, accent thick.
I pause, one foot on the gangway and lift my chin. “Not sure I need an invitation.”
The taller one reaches for his radio, and I take another step. The heat of Grayson’s body hovering so close to mine is distracting, yet the comfort of it seeps into my words. “I’m here to talk to your boss. You can tell him the Irish don’t knock.”
The taller guard steps away, speaks into his radio, and then returns seconds later. “Welcome aboard, Miss O’Donnell.”
CHAPTER 5
GRAYSON
Idon’t like it. The boat is eerie, and the rocking waves churn my empty stomach. I think I’m more of a land person, too.
“This way.” The skinny guard escorts us inside. He ushers us to a meeting room that looks like it belongs at the top of a skyscraper rather than on water. Dark mahogany walls gleam under the recessed lighting, catching the polish of the long glass table anchored to the center of the room. Sleek high-backed leather chairs are bolted to the floor through the thick patterned carpet around the table.
The man gestures to the seats, and I follow Aoife’s lead when she sits. He exits, locking the door behind him. I focus on the click of the lock, while Aoife focuses on spinning in her chair.
“These are nice,” she says.
“Yeah, irreplaceable,” I deadpan. “They locked the door.”
She nods, then stands. “Standard. They can’t afford us creeping around here.” She pokes along the bar lining the far wall, lifting the crystal stoppers from the decanters one by one and sniffing the liquor inside. Her fingers trail over several boxes of cigars beside the drinks, pausing long enough to tap the embossed decals before moving on. There aren’t any windows in here, but Aoife drifts along toward the paneled walls. Her headtilts as she studies the paintings of ocean scenes framed as if though they were portholes. Then she abandons them in favor of peeking into a cut-glass bowl brimming with wrapped candy and plucks one, tucking it into her jacket pocket.
I drum my fingers on the glass tabletop, pretending to stare at the paintings while watching her touch and test out of the corner of my eye. It’s disarming, seeing her canvas the room like it was a puzzle laid out for her.
“Nervous?” Aoife whispers in my ear while she moves to sit back down.
“No.”
Muffled footsteps sound outside the door, and it opens. A man with dark hair cut close to his scalp, with gray flecks at his temples, walks in. His eyes are a pale gray like mine, and he doesn’t blink. His gaze lingers over me, then moves to Aoife. He rubs his beard between his thumb and forefinger.
“What do I owe for the pleasure of the Irish Princess?” His voice is low and unhurried, dripping with an accent. The two guards behind him shut the door and take up guard on either side of it.
