Chapter 14
CHAPTER 14
Emily scrubbed the bar at the Tap we should be angry with the person who hired the mercenaries.”
“I think I see one of the mercenaries near the east end of the stage,” a staticky voice said into Emily’s ear. She glanced toward Jack.
He frowned and looked around. A moment later, he touched Emily’s arm but spoke into the radio. “I just saw a guy who looks like the one with the scar through his eyebrow. He’s in the front of the crowd, standing near center stage. I’m going to work my way through the crowd toward him.”
“Be careful,” a voice said. “He might be armed.”
Jack glanced down at Emily. “Stay here. Duck if you hear gunfire.”
Emily started to follow Jack, but the crowd closed around him before she’d gone two steps.
When she lost sight of the back of his head in the crowd, she turned back to the stage.
Rory faced the crowd that was demanding to know who would manipulate them. A scowl descended on the Traveller’s forehead.
Emily held her breath. He was about to reveal the identity of the Flamethrower—the man behind the attacks.
“My source traced the mercenaries’ payments to campaign funding,” he turned toward Cormac Faherty with a dramatic wave, “for Cormac Faherty.”
The crowd roared.
Movement behind Cormac Faherty caught Emily’s attention.
Amanda Faherty’s hand rose to her mouth, her eyes widening.
Cormac’s eyes grew wide. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I would never do such a thing.”
“Then how do you explain the money sent from your campaign funds to the mercenaries’ accounts?”
Cormac held up his hands. “I have people who manage the funds. I don’t even know the account number.” The man looked completely surprised. Either that or he was a good actor.
Behind Cormac, his sister, Orla, raised a hand to her mouth much like his wife had, though the sister’s eyes didn’t widen. They narrowed. On the back of her hand was a dark smudge. At least, from a distance, it appeared to be a dark smudge, very much like the fuzzy image of the person on the video footage, leaving the alley on game night.
The night the Flamethrower had been in the Tap & Tavern.
Emily’s pulse slammed through her veins. She turned toward Jack only to remember he’d gone after one of the mercenaries. In her ear, she heard Jack say, “This guy is armed. I’m taking him down.”
Again, movement on the stage made Emily look back to see Orla Faherty moving toward the steps at the rear. As she reached them, a man dressed in black, much like the Garda, but not quite, stepped forward to help her down the stairs.
Not wanting to disturb Jack while he was taking down an armed mercenary, Emily pushed her way through the crowd to the edge.
As she emerged on the side, she saw the man in black rush Orla toward a black limousine.
Emily ran toward them, shouting, “Stop her! She’s the one! She hired the mercenaries!”
Another man in black appeared at Emily’s side.
“Stop that car!” Emily shouted.
The man didn’t stop the car. He flung Emily over his shoulder and ran toward the limousine.
The back door opened, Emily was tossed into the vehicle, and the door closed behind her. Before she could rise, a man pointed a gun at her face.
“If you move, he’ll shoot you,” Orla said, seated on the leather upholstery.
Emily glared at the woman. “You’re the Flamethrower.”
The woman stared down her nose at Emily. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“It wasn’t your brother. It was you,” Emily said. “You hired the mercenaries. You had them kill the leaders of the Radicals and the Travellers. You were the one sending the hate messages.”
The woman’s mouth quirked on the corners. “Yes, and my brother will take all the blame.”