“Let’s see if we can get into the VIP area,” Brantley said before heading for the stairs leading up to the second level.
Reese followed, checking out the space. He would admit it was impressive. Sleek and modern, with an over-the-top vibe to it. He figured that was due to the black velvet squares that covered the walls, crisscrossed by stainless steel. The geometric designs were the accent that drew the eye up to the two levels above the lowest level. There were at least two bars from what Reese could tell. One on the bottom floor and another on what looked to be the main level. The bottom floor was dedicated to congregating around two-top tables, although the music pumping through the speakers made it nearly impossible to think, much less talk. High above, lights flashed purple, pink, and blue, reflecting off a mirrored octagon dangling from the ceiling.
The second floor seemed to be where all the action was. There was an enormous dance floor, and above it, on what looked to be a third level, were stacked rows of seating, some with tables, others merely curved booths, that provided a birds-eye view of the dancers. Either he was stoned from the distinct aroma of weed he’d detected outside, or the seating area was moving in a circular motion around the dance floor. It was slow but noticeable.
“Any chance Mr. O’Rourke’s here tonight?” Brantley asked one of the waitresses as she squeezed past.
She stopped and glanced up at the third level. “I believe he is.”
“Would you mind lettin’ him know I’d like to speak with him?”
“And your name?”
“He won’t recognize it, so it won’t matter. Let him know it’s in reference to the Kavanaghs.”
She nodded and slipped away.
“You think he’ll talk to you?” Reese asked as they found an empty booth on the third level.
“Hopefully, I’ve intrigued him enough.”
Yeah. Hopefully.
Two hours later, they learned they had, in fact, intrigued the mysterious Kieran O’Rourke. He emerged from what appeared to be an office on the third floor and made his way toward them, stopping to greet others along the way.
He approached each person as though he’d known them his entire life. He was quick to smile, his chiseled face lighting up with pleasant interest. He reminded Reese a lot of Ronan Kavanagh, only taller and with a roguish air. He wore charcoal gray slacks and a black button-down shirt with the top button unhooked, and his sleeves rolled up. His dark brown hair was styled with more product than Reese probably owned.
“You summoned,” he said with a smile as he approached their table. “Kieran O’Rourke. Nice to meet you.”
His accent was as thick as Ronan’s when Ronan had allowed himself a moment to breathe. It looked as though Kieran embraced who he was a bit more than Ronan Kavanagh.
Reese was on his feet when Brantley was, holding out his hand to shake Kieran’s.
“Brantley Walker and my partner Reese Tavoularis. We work for Sniper 1 Security. We’re here lookin’ for a friend of ours.”
Kieran gestured for them to sit, and he did the same. “I received a call from Ronan this afternoon.”
That didn’t surprise Reese. Birds of a feather and all that shit. Ronan had mentioned that Kieran was a good friend of the family. Made sense that he would warn him.
“We’re lookin’ for Decker Bromwell,” Brantley explained. “He’s a private security consultant. We were under the impression he was here on assignment.”
“Here as in New York? Or here as in…” Kieran gestured to the room around them.
“New York,” Brantley clarified.”
“But you no longer think that is true?”
Reese honestly didn’t know what to think at this point, but he didn’t intend to share that with Kieran. Or anyone else, for that matter.
“Do you recognize him?” Reese prompted, showing him a photo of Decker on his phone screen.
Kieran surprised him when he took the phone and gave it more than a cursory glance.
“He does look familiar,” Kieran said, returning the phone. “I’ve seen him in here once or twice.”
“With Saoirse?”
“Yes. Part of her entourage, I guess you could say.”
