Page 44 of Sins of Innocence

And McLaren finishes, "Or he learned his lesson and didn't want you telling anyone he's not as loyal to the underboss as he should be."

I nod my agreement to that.

The crew calls Ellie, one of the best hackers on the dark web, McLaren because her fingers move across the keyboard faster than a McLaren Speedtail.

"A lot of the players go to O'Mally's after we're done playing," Noah says. "I don't usually go because there's a lot of shit talk about me not having fake I.D. so I can drink a beer with them. Or them having to sit in the dining area instead of at the bar because I'm with them."

Dagda smacks Noah's shoulder. "Don't let it get to you, boyo. O'Mally would kill you dead if he caught you using fake I.D. in his bar and he knows our boys well enough to know who's of age and who isn't."

"Yeah, I got a lot of ribbing about that shit too before I turned twenty-one." Thomas rolls his eyes. "But maami would have done worse than kill me if I got caught drinking at O'Mally's."

"Being sober while the others are downing shots and pitchers of beer might work for you though," Dagda says musingly. "You could even drop some talk juice in the pitcher. Enough to loosen tongues, not knock anyone out."

Talk juice is what we call the special benzo compound developed by a Chinese triad we do business with. They've improved on it over the years, but it's essentially the same stuff Mick used on me back in the day.

We don't use it on our own men.

Which is what Thomas says with his next breath.

Dagda narrows his eyes. "We've got a cancer growing in our ranks. We use whatever we need to eradicate it."

"Better that than the Shaughnessy Mob going to war with itself," Ethan adds quietly.

"True dat," Torch agrees.

I nod, telling my team that I approve the use of the talk juice for this assignment.

Brice recruited Ethan into the mob ten years ago after Ethan won a string of off-the-books sharp shooting competitions sponsored by the mob. Ethan would be considered one of the world's top snipers if he had ever been in the military.

As it is, he's not on any government or law enforcement database but he's known on the dark web as Raptor and he's made millions for the mob as an assassin.

He's also damn good at surveillance. Which is the assignment I give him. "Work with McLaren to set up digital surveillance too."

Both Ethan and McLaren nod their acquiescence.

"If he knew the feds pulled Áine in for an interview, maybe he's working with one of them already," McLaren says with disgust. "Do we know the names of the agents that told her about her husband's connection to the mob?"

There's a quality to McLaren's voice I don't get. It's like she's pissed off personally about what happened to Áine. She doesn't usually stir herself on behalf of others.

"I'll have her text them to you," I say. I should have gotten it from her yesterday.

McLaren puts something into her phone and then mine dings with a notification. She sent me a reminder text. I don't bother bitching about not needing one.

That's just McLaren.

For every word I don't speak, she says ten. When she's not on her computer. Then, she barely talks and doesn't listen at all. You can have a conversation with her and she won't remember a word of it later.

Better to just leave her to it when her hands are on the keyboard.

"I'll cross reference phone records and locations services for the cell phones involved," she tells me.

But I bet that's in the text too.

Once she meets my crew, Áine is going to love McLaren's excessive reminders and tendency to over explain.

The rest of them brainstorm additional mission maneuvers while I search for a flight to Vegas for me and my new family.

"That okay with you, Wraith?" Thomas asks.