Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Bryan
S team curls around me as I pat my face with a towel and shove my damp hair back off my forehead. The bathroom mirror is fogged over, a blurry version of me staring back. I look the same. Feel different.
Everything feels different lately.
My phone buzzes on the edge of the sink, and I swipe it up and check the screen. “Hey, ugly. Alright?”
“Can’t complain.” Brendan’s voice rumbles off the hard tiles and glass walls of the shower. “How’s things? Doing anything I wouldn’t?”
I roll my eyes. “Is there anything you wouldn’t do?”
He snorts. “Not really, no. So, where are you on finding our redheaded bitch?”
I lean back against the counter, towel slung low on my hips, phone to my ear. “We’re sitting on a farmhouse. Did Tag tell you about that?”
“He did. Said it was a right fortress.”
“It is.”
“So, what’s your play?”
“Well, last night we got some cameras up and are watching it through the day from here and if nothing interesting happens, we’ll go back tonight with the drone.”
“The drone? That was Kieran’s idea, I take it.”
“It was, but it’s a good one. We’re waiting on a few other new toys, too.”
“You don’t say? And what might they be?”
“Nothing but a couple of RPG 26s.”
He whistles through his teeth. “Och, cruel. I have half a mind to hop on a plane and join the fun.”
“And leave your girl alone in that big bed of yours? Now who’s being cruel?”
He laughs and something inside me clicks back into place. It’s not like Brenny and I are joined at the hip or anything, but being away from my twin, our home, and Dublin for the past week has been hard.
“And what about your girl, bro? The one who clocked you in the face?”
I smirk. “Enjoying that, are you?”
“More than I can say. So, spill.”
There’s no sidetracking Brendan when he gets like this. It’s better to feed his curiosity and wait for the next thing to catch his attention. “Her name’s Harper. She’s Canadian. And yeah, she clocked me. She’s fucking fit and has skills.”
“Skills? Do tell.”
I scratch at the scruff on my jaw, staring at the streaks of condensation sliding down the mirror. Skills doesn’t seem to do her justice. The blowjob Harper gave me a few hours ago was next level.
I swear I came so hard I nearly blacked out. She said she likes giving head, but holy shit.
“It’s complicated.”
Brendan is quiet on the other end. “Now that’s telling. Usually you give me a recount in graphic fucking detail how a woman screamed your name.”
I huff a laugh, but it doesn’t quite reach my chest. “This one’s not like that.”
“No?” His voice softens. “Then tell me what she is like.”
I hesitate. Not because I don’t know—because I do. Harper is warm and sharp and stubborn as hell. She says the most unexpected shit at the most unexpected times, and she doesn’t back down. She’s tougher than she looks and smarter than she lets on.
“She’s…solid. She makes things feel less dark.” The words stick in my throat like glass.
Brendan doesn’t tease me. Doesn’t fill the silence with his usual cracks. Instead, he exhales slow and measured. “Listen, Bry. I’m the one person who knows the truth of exactly what Yasmine meant to you and how much it devastated you when she died.”
My stomach knots, but I don’t stop him.
“I also know Yas wanted you to move forward. Find happiness. You’ve stayed buried in grief long enough. I don’t blame you—not for a second—but if this girl makes you happy—even if it’s temporary—enjoy it.”
I don’t answer right away because I know the danger of what he’s suggesting.
The second I let myself enjoy it, I’m fucked.
I’m already too close and if I don’t put the brakes on soon, I’ll take a header straight off the cliff.
There’s a long silence while I sift through the tangle of my thoughts. When I don’t come up with anything to say about that, I change the subject. “I’ll have Kieran send you boys the link to the camera feed for the farmhouse. If anyone has any inspirational thoughts, feel free to ring me back.”
When I step out of the bathroom a minute later, I stare at the empty bed. I tried to keep it simple by staying on top of the covers.
The woman knows her mind, I’ll give her that.
I pull on my clothes for the day and force myself upright, my spine crackling like an old man’s. There’s a low murmur of voices coming from outside the bedroom—Harper’s soft cadence mixed with Kieran’s gruff bite—and I head out to face the day.
Maybe today’s the day we find Siobhan.
Maybe it’s the day this whole revenge mission finally shifts forward, and I end my father’s killer.
I wrap that happy thought around me and manifest the fuck out of it.
Harper is standing in front of the stove in tight blue stretch pants and a hoodie that swallows her frame. She’s flipping something in the frying pan, her soft, raspberry hair twisted into a messy knot at the back of her head.
Domestic bliss, with a side of deadly vendetta—my kinda girl.
At the table, Kieran’s already halfway through a ham and cheese western stacked so high it looks engineered. His laptop is open, a live feed of the farmhouse flickering across the screen.
“Anything new?” I ask, crossing the room.
He doesn’t look up. “Actually, maybe. A black sedan with tinted windows pulled up about twenty minutes ago. Two agents got out and went inside. Haven’t come back out.”
“Did you get a look at them?”
“I did.” He taps the keys, flipping to a still frame. “Snapped a few photos and sent them to Sean. Told him to run them through his guy with access to the ID filters. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
“Maybe,” I mutter, though I don’t quite believe in luck anymore.
Still... it’s something.
“Have you sent them the cloud link so they can keep tabs on the farmhouse, too?”
“Aye, about an hour ago.”
“And the other items you ordered from your guy?”
“I’m heading over this afternoon—around two.”
Grand. Then we’re all set.
“Coffee’s hot.” Harper gestures to the pot with the spatula in her hand.
I pour myself a cup and she spins to face me with a plate in her hand. “For the growing boy.”
I huff a laugh and take it. “Feeling better, I see.”
“Back to normal.” She shrugs, like the whole thing’s no big deal. “Other than the scabby horror-show happening around my wrists, I’m back to one hundred percent.”
I sit beside Kieran and dig into the sandwich, taking one massive bite before groaning. “Jesus. What did you do to the bacon?”
Harper grins as she grabs her own plate and joins us. “I brushed it with maple syrup and baked it. You don’t have maple bacon here, which is a crying shame.”
I snort. “You Canucks have maple bacon?”
She levels a smug look my way. “We have maple everything . Bacon, cookies, candies, beans, popcorn, chips, cakes. It’s a major industry in Canada. Have you never heard of the Maple Syrup Mafia?”
Kieran barks a laugh. “That can’t be a real thing.”
“Oh, it’s real. About ten years ago, someone pulled off one of the biggest heists in Canadian history. Stole nearly twenty million dollars’ worth of maple syrup from the national reserve and almost got away with it. There’s a Netflix movie and everything.”
Kieran shakes his head, chewing slowly. “I love that the most notable Canadian crime wave involves pancakes.”
Harper shrugs. “Don’t downplay it. People take their syrup seriously where I come from.”
I glance down at the bacon and take another bite. Fucking hell, it’s good.
Domestic bliss , I think again. Only this time, the thought isn’t quite as distant. Not quite as abstract.
Not wanting to look at that too closely, I put my head down and dig in.
* * *
Harper
It’s crazy how people take getting up and feeling like themselves for granted. I never really considered it until it was taken away from me. But, with the last traces of grogginess from the drugs and the weakness in my limbs gone, I feel like taking on the world.
After breakfast, Kieran and Bryan want to talk about private Quinn business, so I leave them to the cleanup and treat myself to a little TLC.
After turning on the water, I give it time to heat up and then step under the spray. I do some of my best thinking in the shower, so by the time I’m dry and dressed, I have a plan.
Being kidnapped was terrible, but it taught me a lot. It also gave me a location—a physical place to focus on to peel back the layers of Mason’s business.
Settling at the little desk in the corner of the bedroom, I crack my knuckles and open the research file I have on Mason’s private parties.
If that estate is where he hosts his auctions, then maybe I can track other events he’s held there.
If I have any chance at finding Zhara, Macie, or Chantal, I’ll need something to go on: attendee guest lists, dates of the events, or emails for party set up.
Yeah, that’s it. Bryan said everything about that auction screamed elegant affair, from the themed décor to the scantily clad servers to the catering staff.
And that’s my way in—the party staff.
If the catering company is legit, there will be a paper trail. There will also be chatter about a mafia war gun fight blasting through their event.
I open an incognito browser and start searching.
When I find nothing about Eddie Mason’s mansion getting shot up by two masked thugs, I assume the catering company is either being silenced or isn’t as legit as I had hoped.
Opening the list of Mason company holdings, I find one that offers potential—Windsor Catering.
My pulse kicks up as I sit back, drumming my fingers against the table, thinking through how I want to approach this.
When I’ve got it figured out, I dial the number, switching my phone to speaker as I open a blank document, fingers poised over the keyboard.
The line connects, and a woman’s voice answers.
“Windsor Catering, Emmaline Greaves speaking. How can I assist you?”
I clear my throat. “Hello, Ms. Greaves, this is Amanda Martin. I work with the legal department of Mason Enterprises and given the nature of what transpired at the Aigburth estate private event the other night, I want to clarify a few things with you regarding your staff who were there. Do you have a moment?”
“Uh, are my people in trouble?”
“Not at all. I simply need a full account of who was working the event and how the unexpected violence may have impacted them. I’m sure you can understand why we want to clarify the terms of their non-disclosure agreements and, of course, compensate your people if any undo hardship has occurred as a result of the breach in security.”
“Compensate?”
“That’s right. Now, what I’ll need first is a list of the staff you had on site and their contact information. Everyone who attended signed their NDAs, correct?”
“Of course. Mr. Mason is very strict about that.”
“Good, and were any of the serving staff new or had everyone worked other events?”
“We had a new bartender, but everyone else has worked one of the Aigburth events before.”
“Excellent. If you could include the previous events worked going back six months that would be very helpful.”
“Helpful how? Why do you need to know that?”
“Because, Ms. Greaves, we’ve recently learned that certain, shall we say... delicate details of Mr. Mason’s private events have leaked into the public. I’ve been tasked with assessing the catering staff and cross referencing the dates they worked to see if anything stands out.”
“Oh, Miss Martin, I’m sure it wasn’t one of my people. My staff are very discreet.”
“I’m sure that’s true. And once I have those names and dates, I’ll be able to lay this to rest. Between you and me, my money is on the auctioneer. That man runs off at the mouth for a living.”
As Ms. Greaves starts rhyming off names, my fingers buzz over the keys, catching every single word.