Her gratitude lands warm and steady, like a delicate touch on my wrist.
When the line clicks, I return to my computer screen. For such an obscure entrance, Declan’s side path gets a lot of foot traffic. And though I know it’s an upscale neighborhood, I’m pretty sure landscapers don’t wear Italian leather loafers.
No activity at Brody’s since our morning outing to the port.
By the afternoon, New York’s tracked the manifest number I sent from the docks. Rory texts a photo of a peeled anchor logo. The one here has the wrong lines.
Not Irish Kings. Pretenders.
Brody’s circling a false flag, and Declan’s entertaining some interesting guests. Not enough info yet to route up the chain, though, so I wait to collect further intel.
Evening arrives before I’m ready. I ride the elevator to ground level, where the doors open to a sea of reds and oranges seeping in through the hotel glass. The lobby performs its daily aria of suitcases, laughter, and stifled conversation. Outside, people tilt cell phones at the sunset in worship.
I bask for a while myself, long enough to feel human, then stroll down to the pier to grab a burger and a beer.
Maeve’s comment to her friend pops into my head.
He’s dangerous.
Her friend asked what sort of danger. Maeve never answered.
But she still agreed to join me for breakfast, so maybe I fall somewhere between good dangerous and bad dangerous.
That works for me.
When I venture back up to my suite near midnight, my phone lights up with a confirmation.
Venice Cafe, 7:30.
Succinct and direct. Not even an emoji. Even as a text, confidence looks good on her.
I set three alarms and shave. I want to walk in smelling like soap instead of docks.
I lay out a starched white shirt with a jacket that hopefully plays up agood dangerousvibe.
The 9mm will stay behind.
With visions of red lips and chocolate brown eyes, I sprawl out on the bed and wait for dawn to drift in.
Chapter 14
Maeve
I shove the soft down duvet to my waist, disappointed the fluffy new comforter didn’t perform as promised. I maybe got four hours of sleep last night, tops.
Absolutely ridiculous for a room engineered for quality slumber. Plush navy carpeting that cushions my feet every morning. Soothing, soft, cloud gray walls. Cream-colored blackout curtains for those rare days I snooze past sunrise.
A luxurious queen-sized bed with a brand-spanking-new duvet.
Despite my exhaustion, I still spent an embarrassing amount of time replaying last night’s phone call with Kellin. Along with every other word we’ve exchanged since his arrival.
And stewing on the sizzling, impossible to ignore sexual tension between us.
The brief kiss the night before last that boiled my blood.
Honestly, I’m not sure I slept much that night either.
“…I’d rather spend this time on more enjoyable pursuits.”
