Midnight Captive (16 page)

“And, well, you know me,” he said ruefully. “I’ve always been a stubborn son of a bitch. Once I decide something, nobody can talk me out of it. I convinced Ollie that we needed to go off on our own, and so we did.”

“But now you’re back,” Quinn said gruffly. “Why’s that, lad?”

“Because I realized where my roots are. Where I belong—
here
. There’s a reason I still keep a flat in Dublin. It’s my home.”

Quinn’s cheeks hollowed. “Ya? ’Cause I don’t recall you coming
home
all too often these past eight years.”

“I had a job to do, and that job meant traveling the world. It’s how Ollie and I made money. It’s how we got the reputation for being the guys who could get the intel nobody else could. But . . . turns out those are empty accomplishments, y’know? What else have I really achieved other than feeding intel to scumbags and spooks?”

He feigned unhappiness, reaching for an empty beer bottle and absently toying with the label, which had been loosened by condensation. It was so easy to play his part. To play any part, really. Bailey might be the chameleon of the two of them, but he was far from an amateur. An information dealer had to adapt, cozy up to folks to get them to talk, be whoever he needed to be in order to unearth people’s secrets.

“I met my girl in America.” He nodded toward Bailey. “I knew the moment I brought her here that I wanted us to stay in Dublin.”

“This would be a real nice story, lad—if we didn’t know that Rabbit had to twist your arm to come back. Only reason you’re here is ’cause we nabbed Ollie.”

“You’re right.” He met Quinn’s sardonic gaze head-on. “I came for Ollie. I wasn’t planning on rejoining the crew. And then I watched five men I grew up with get shot and killed in front of my eyes.”

The mood at the table immediately went somber. It was Irish tradition that you couldn’t mention the dead without toasting them, and so Sean wasn’t surprised when Finn Doherty abruptly raised his glass.

“Gallagher and the boys,” Doherty murmured.

“Gallagher and the boys,” the others echoed.

As the men drank, Sean waited a moment before speaking again.

“Rabbit has lost sight of the cause.”

Alarmed looks appeared all around him, along with a deeply suspicious glare from Quinn. “You’re talking out of your ass, son.”

“Am I? Because from what I see—no, from what I
know
, Gallagher and the others weren’t in that bank to steal money for the Dagger. They robbed it because of Rabbit’s personal vendetta against an old enemy.”

Sean held his breath as he allowed the information to sink in. He wasn’t sure if Rabbit had told the crew about the real reason for the heist, and he knew he was risking Rabbit’s wrath if the men
didn’t
know, but revealing it was necessary for Sean’s plan.

To his relief, nobody looked surprised.

“Taking down Flannery is good for the cause,” Quinn said tightly.

“How?” Sean challenged. “The man is untouchable. Believe me, I wouldn’t shed a single fucking tear if he dropped dead—the bastard laid a hand on my woman, and one of these days I’m gonna make him pay for that. But Rabbit doesn’t want his old friend dead. He wants to waste his time—
our
time—trying to topple Flannery’s empire. But we should be focusing on the real goal—reclaiming our country.” He looked around the table angrily. “My father died for the Dagger. He
believed
in it. Rabbit used to believe in it too, and that’s why I’m back, to lead him down the right path again.”

His speech resulted in silence.

And then Quinn sighed. “Colin was a good man.”

“Yes, he was.” Sean shook his head in disappointment. “So’s Rabbit, when he’s not playing out revenge fantasies that mean nothing to the rest of us. Gallagher and Paddy and the other boys already died for Rabbit’s vendetta. Well, I’m not gonna let anyone else die in vain. If that means coming back to guide the old man, then I damn well intend to do that.”

“You’ve got some mighty big balls saying all this shite, lad.”

Quinn’s chuckle set off a round of laughter from the others, whose stony expressions had been chipped away by Sean’s passionate appeal.

He glanced at each man again, arching his eyebrows in defiance. “I don’t need any of you to trust me. I’m not asking you to. But you’re all gonna have to suck it up and deal with me being around, because I refuse to stand by and watch Rabbit destroy my father’s legacy.”

There were some murmurs of approval from the neighboring table, which was occupied by some of the younger men who’d been listening in.

It was hard to contain his satisfaction. They’d bought it.

And not only that, but his little diatribe had set Flannery’s plan in motion as well. Sean had just shown them that Rabbit wasn’t the loyal leader he claimed to be. That he’d gotten his own men killed for the wrong reasons.

He hadn’t planted enough seeds of doubt to cause the crew to abandon Rabbit, but it sure as hell was a start.

“Well, then I guess we’ll deal with ya,” Quinn grumbled. “Seeing as we have no choice.” But the redheaded man was smiling, and then he clapped a meaty hand on Sean’s shoulder. “It’s good to have you back, Seansy. Gotta admit, things were getting a wee bit boring around here.”

Sean grinned. “Happy to liven them up, Callie.”

“You gonna introduce us to your lass?”

Shit. This was the part he wished he could avoid. But he’d made his damn bed, and now he had to lie in it.

“Bailey, luv, c’mere and meet the boys.”

She approached the table tentatively. Her fitted jeans and thin sweater showed off her slender curves, and her dark hair was loose and slightly damp from the mist they’d encountered outside earlier. But it was her eyes
that drew everyone’s stares. Those huge gray eyes that dominated her face and lent her a fragile air that softened every hard expression at the table. Sean had seen it happen dozens of times before. Bailey was damn good at using that misleading fragility to disarm the people around her and make them believe she wasn’t a threat.

He patted his lap, and she sank onto it without hesitation.

“It’s nice to meet you all,” Bailey murmured after Sean made the introductions. And then she smiled, and if there’d been a puddle nearby, every man in a five-foot radius would’ve ripped the shirt off his back and laid it on the ground to save her delicate feet from getting wet.

“Lord, you have the smile of an angel,” Quinn breathed, and Sean was amused to find the older man honest-to-God blushing.

“An angel,” Patrick O’Neill chimed in from the other end of the table. “Which raises the question—what are you doing with Seansy?”

The other men guffawed.

“Are you saying Sean’s the devil?” Bailey said with a twinkling laugh.

“Oh, he’s devilish, all right. The lad raised hell the second he was able to walk.” Quinn grinned, then glanced at Sean. “She’s not your usual type.”

Bailey looked curious. “What’s his type, then?”

“Fast and loose,” Doherty piped up, and the men chortled again.

“What was the name of that red-haired bird you were seeing back in the day?” O’Neill asked. “Pearl? Penny?”

Sean stifled a sigh. “Peggy.”

A cacophony of hoots erupted all around him.

“Ah, Peggy,” Quinn drawled. “Lovely girl. Great arse on that one.” He waggled his eyebrows at Bailey. “She drove our boy Sean crazy.”

Bailey smiled. “Yeah?”

“Oh ya. Flirted with anyone with a co—” Quinn stopped as if remembering he was in the presence of a lady. “The lads, ah, she flirted with all the lads. Only did it because she knew it peeved Seansy right off.”

“And he’d beat the piss out of anyone who flirted back,” O’Neill said with a snort.

Sean felt Bailey stiffen in his lap, but he didn’t defend himself against the claim. He knew she thought he was reckless and violent, but hell, what else was a man supposed to do when someone was hitting on his girl? Shake their hand? Colin Reilly had taught his boys to solve their problems with their fists, and that was one Irish tradition Sean didn’t mind upholding every now and then.

“How long were you and Peggy together?” Bailey asked, her body relaxing as laughter continued to echo around them.

Sean shrugged. “Three years, on and off.”

“Really? I can’t imagine you in a long-term relationship.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, luv.” He couldn’t resist leaning in to nuzzle her neck. She didn’t stiffen this time, but he heard her breath hitch. “I’m looking forward to showing you all of it.”

More hoots broke out, turning to catcalls when Sean gave in to temptation and kissed her. As his lips brushed Bailey’s, Quinn poked him in the ribs.

“Get a room, lad. You’re making the rest of us jealous.”

Sean reluctantly withdrew his mouth, but he kept one arm solidly around her waist, stroking her arm as Quinn focused his attention on Bailey.

“So you’re American, eh? Where from?”

“Virginia. But I haven’t lived there in years. My family traveled a lot when I was growing up.”

The revelation put Sean on alert. It was impossible to
know if she was feeding them a story or telling the truth. For all he knew she’d created an entire fictional life to prepare for the role of Sean Reilly’s Submissive Girlfriend, but he’d detected a chord of truth just now.

“Is your family still around?” Quinn asked.

She shook her head. Then corrected herself by nodding. “Well, my mom is. But she’s in a nursing home.”

Her voice quavered, and Sean knew she was thinking about the man Flannery had sent to her mother’s facility. He’d heard her on the phone earlier making arrangements to transfer her mother, but when he’d asked for an update, she’d simply said that it was taking time.

Next to him, Quinn frowned. “How old is your ma? You don’t look nearly old enough to have a mother in a nursing home.”

“Ah, no. She’s not there because she’s old.” Bailey visibly swallowed. “She’s got early-onset Alzheimer’s.”

The mood at the table sobered. “I’m sorry to hear that,” Quinn said gruffly.

“Thank you. It’s been . . . tough.”

She was definitely telling the truth. Sean could see it in her eyes, and he snatched up the meager details she’d offered like a prospector who’d discovered nuggets of gold in a creek bed. It was bloody impossible to pry any details from this woman—in fact, he was kind of insulted that she’d willingly handed them out like business cards to a group of strangers, when he had to work so hard to gain even a glimpse of insight.

The conversation was interrupted when the front door swung open, and every head turned as Rabbit and Cillian entered the pub.

Rabbit greeted his crew with a nod before shifting his brown eyes to Sean. “Seansy,” he barked. “Need to have a word with you.”

“All right.” He gently moved Bailey off his lap,
hesitating as he met her wary gray eyes. “Stay out here, luv. The lads will keep you company.”

He was damn reluctant to leave her, but Quinn shot him a reassuring smile. “I’ll take care of the lass.” The older man pulled Bailey down beside him and threw an arm around her shoulders. “I’ll even make sure O’Neill doesn’t steal her away while you’re gone.”

The butt of Quinn’s joke was quick to protest. “Hey! I
never
poach other men’s girls.”

Quinn snorted. “Ya? ’Cause I know three lads who might disagree with that.”

Sean left the men to their raucous laughter and followed Rabbit and Cillian toward the rear corridor. With Rabbit walking ahead of them, Cillian took the opportunity to give Sean a hard look, and Sean could practically hear the man’s silent order to back him up.

But . . . back him up on what?

What the hell were those two up to?

A minute later, the three of them settled around the table. It reminded Sean of all the times he’d seen his father sitting in this very chair. When he and Ollie were kids, they would hang out at the pool table while the men talked in hushed voices, discussing whatever dangerous plans needed to be discussed. Now he was the one at the table, which felt so bloody wrong and yet so bloody right at the same time. Figure that out.

Rabbit got down to business, his gaze flickering with displeasure. “Cillian here thinks I’ve gone soft.”

Sean hid his surprise, not daring to glance at Flannery’s “trusted observer.” Instead he focused on Rabbit. “Is that so?”

“What do
you
think?” Rabbit’s voice was deceptively calm. “Have I gone soft?”

He took a second to formulate his answer. “Well, I
don’t know about soft, but I do think you might be losing sight of what’s important.”

“What the feck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means five of your men were shot down in a hail of bullets so you could have some leverage over Flannery.” Sean folded his hands on the splintered tabletop. “The way I remember it, your people used to die for Ireland. Not for personal bullshit.”

Rabbit’s nostrils flared. “It’s all connected, son. We get rid of Flannery, we rid ourselves of a threat to our country.” The man waved a dismissive hand, his go-to response when someone disagreed with him. “But we’re not here to discuss my brother-in-law.”

Sean found it interesting that Rabbit still considered Flannery family, even though his sister’s death had effectively severed the link between them. Then again, family ties meant something to the Irish. Even when you hated that family.

“We’re here to discuss the cause. You know, the one you claim I’m neglecting,” Rabbit said scornfully. “Cillian thinks we need to remind our fellow countrymen that the Irish Dagger still wields the same power it always has.”

“And how does Cillian suggest we do that?” He continued to ignore the man next to him, feeling Kelly’s frown boring into his face.

“How else?” Cillian spoke up. “Intimidation. We need to show them that the Dagger is still in control.”

“And who exactly is
them
?” Sean asked dryly.

Rabbit’s voice lowered, as if he was worried someone might overhear. Which was ridiculous because he swept the room for bugs every hour and kept a man posted outside the door. “We’re going to hit a pub near the college.”

Alarm shot through him. “The
college
? As in, civilian targets? Are you insane?” In the decades since the organization’s formation, the Irish Dagger had never targeted innocents, and Sean was horrified to hear they were even entertaining the idea.