Chapter 25
Lillian
“I can’t believe we’re in Dublin.” Leaning over the white marble sink, I apply mascara. After, I paint my lips with Rouge Dior. “Hurry up, Sean.”
Water streaming down his defined abs, my partner shakes like a puppy as he steps out of the shower.
Biting the back of my neck, he cups my bare breasts. “What do you say? Arrive late?”
When I hesitate, his fingers dip lower, his voice dropping into a seductive murmur. “It’s not like anyone will miss us. We’re literally crashing the party.”
Why not pretend we’re on our honeymoon? The Parkhaven mystery can wait. As the heat ignites between us, his phone chimes. Picking it up, he rolls his eyes.
“Dante ordered a limo. It’ll be out front in twenty.” Towel low on his hips, he rushes from the bathroom while I remove the Tom Ford halter dress from the hanger.
As I tug the material over my hips, he returns with two miniature devices. Dropping one in his ear, he hands the other to me.
A quick comm check later, Daed restates his earlier warning. “If you lose contact, evacuate.”
Running in these Jimmy Choos? Not likely.
“Understood. Over.” Ogling me, Sean slips into a starched white shirt. As he steps into his Armani suit, I press my thighs together. From his silk tie to his Gucci loafers, he’s every woman’s wet dream.
Once we’re dressed, his hands slide down my sides. “You keep looking at me like that, and we’re never making it to the party.”
What seemed like such a great plan in New York has my stomach revolting. “Maybe we should. Miss it, I mean. Jeff is never going to let us in.”
“Nah. He won’t make a scene. Not in front of money. Trust me.” Confident and every inch the son of a multimillionaire, he takes my arm. “Ready?”
“Yup.” My ankles wobble in the four-inch heels, but by the time we reach the elevator, I’ve found my stride.
“Get the deets on Rehabo and go.” I recite my mantra as we descend.
Halfway down, Sean catches my worried gaze. “It’s a party, not a jungle, babe.”
The elevator pings at the mezzanine level, and when the doors open, I still have qualms. “You do realize we’re throwing stones at a hornet’s nest, expecting not to get stung.”
“With enough speed… won’t happen.” When he chuckles, Dante and Daed join in over the comms.
Men. Can’t live with them, and it’s illegal to shoot them.
In the limo, the city fades into the suburbs, where sheep dot the moonlit fields. I use the time to fall into character—the arm-candy assistant to the son of a successful investor.
The brightly lit estate on a rolling hill is the exception. Like something out of a Regency romance, the stone structure looms large and imposing. Instead of horse-drawn carriages, well-dressed attendees exit limos or expensive sports cars, similar to those in my father’s garage.
A man in a black suit coat, no doubt hiding his holster, greets us at the front door. “Names, please.”
“Sean Clark. Lillian Fisher Boyle.” My date glances up at the security camera where facial recognition verifies our identities.
“I don’t see you on the list.” When the guard pretends to search his old-fashioned clipboard, a predatory grin spreads across Sean’s face.
“Call your boss. Believe me. We’re invited.” Voice threatening, his hand hovers near where he’d normally have a weapon holstered.
Dante, who’s been quiet for a while, speaks over the comms. “Let’s see if our gamble paid off.”
In a James Bond moment, Pearson, now playing the evil nemesis, opens the front door. He says something to his subordinate, who nods and lets us pass.
Holding onto Sean’s steady arm, I manage to climb six stairs without falling on my ass. By then, our host has disappeared into the crowd.
Above us, candles light the centuries-old ballroom, casting dancing shadows over the hundred-plus guests.
The caterers wear eighteenth-century livery. The investors wear suits, boobalicious young women at their sides. There are a few suited matrons, who converse in tight circles.
Sean’s eyes dart everywhere as he speaks under his breath. “East side, all windows. Exits to the north and south.”
Leaving logistics to him, I saunter to the bar and order two martinis. By the time they arrive, Sean is at my side.
Clinking my glass to his, I mutter, “Lots of legit fund managers… and some less scrupulous ones… Oh, shit.”
Before I can explain, a gray-haired man wearing a Rolex and a custom-fit Italian suit offers his hand.
Plastering a fake smile on my face, I take it. “Why, James Fitzpatrick. What a surprise. Let me introduce you to my fiancé, Sean Clark.”
The Irishman lowers his gaze to my cleavage, his accent thick. “What game is your father up to now?”
Apparently, he hasn’t heard about the jungle incident. With any luck, I can use his ignorance to my advantage.
“Just checking out the competition… for Dad.” Leaning in, I whisper, “Investing in Rehabo? Hardly sounds… profitable.”
Sean shakes his head, his voice cold and condescending. “Anything AI, dear, is pure gold.”
My perfectly manicured nails flick in his direction. “Unless they can make my breakfast, pour my coffee, and drive me to work, robots hold no appeal. I can’t imagine why the Russians want in.”
“Not just them, but the Iranians and North Koreans.” Fitzpatrick winks. “We’re all gonna make a load of dough. You might want to tell your father ta invest.”
My smile stays in place, but my fingers tighten around the stem of my martini glass. Information like that is exactly why we’re here. Now I just need him to keep talking.
“Come on now, we both know the numbers don’t add up. What is Rehabo really manufacturing?”
Grinning, he leans in. “Drones.”
Holy fuck. “Okaaay.” Face masked, body language controlled, every inch my father’s daughter, I nod. “I’ll call him… later.”
Leaning in, he studies my face. “Why not just meet up with him later tonight?”
Sucking in a breath, my jaw drops. Not a huge tell, but enough for a guy like Fitzpatrick to notice. “Ya didn’t know yer father was here? How is that, now?”
Dammit. He pulls a gun. “Feck! What are ya up ta, now?”
“Get out of—” Dante’s voice disappears mid-sentence.
Sensing danger, my brain snaps into focus, slowing down every detail necessary for survival.
Candles flicker in a breeze of fresh air.
Sean swivels in my direction.
Jeff, near the north door, grins.
Fitzpatrick’s men reach inside their oversized jackets.
Oh shit. Worst-case scenario. Wobbling on high heels, I vault over the bar, sending crystal flying. While it crashes to the floor, I push the bartender aside and bolt toward the wall of open windows.
My foot hits the nearest sill, and I gasp at the drop. Not much, but I’ll need to roll. One misstep, and I could break a leg.
When arms wrap around me, I resist the urge to fight.
It’s Sean. Legs bent, he launches through the screen and into the darkness below, absorbing the impact with his knees.
No time to ask about his stitches, I fling off my Jimmy Choos and race him across the lawn.
Once we reach the hedge maze, I shout into my chest mic. “Dante, please tell me you’re back.”
“Copy. Drone has eyes on you. Two guards approaching from the building. Sniper on the balcony.”
With no other choice, we crawl into the maze, scramble to our feet, then bolt. Left. Right. Left again. Behind us, men close in, their voices growing louder as they shout to each other.
We keep running and turning until their voices fade. In the quiet, Sean stops and pulls me into the tall bushes. Heart thumping, I lean against him, gasping for breath. Unlike mine, his remains steady.
A former Marine, he’s seen combat. As the spoiled daughter of a successful crime lord, I’ve seen my share of violence, too.
One thing is certain. People in situations like ours?
They die.
When a nearby branch cracks, we turn toward a red LED. It has to be attached to one of our pursuers.
Sean jumps from our hiding place. My pulse pounds over the sounds of hand-to-hand combat and the horrible gurgle of death.
Urine, blood, and sweat waft up from the ground.
Sean?
Dammit. Where is he?
I almost scream when a familiar hand grabs mine. “It’s me, babe. On my six.”
“K.” Still shaking, I clutch Sean’s belt and follow him into the darkness.
It takes an eternity for Dante to return to the comms. “Three lefts, skip two, then a right. When you exit, stay on the hedge line. Wait for my signal.”
With cool mud squishing between my toes, we move forward. A few corners later, the clouds shift. Under a faint silver light, we exit the maze.
“Stay close.” The whites of his dark eyes shining, Sean taps my arm.
A sudden volley of gunfire makes me cringe, but I keep moving. From the direction of the roof, a man screams, followed by what I assume is his body thumping onto the ground.
Hope surges. We may live through this after all.
Reaching the end of the trees, we jog along a line of parked cars. Guards wearing night-vision goggles burst from the estate, firing randomly in our direction. None seem concerned about putting bullet holes in the vintage cars.
As Dante shouts in our ears, Sean grabs my hand. “Faster, Lil.”
Hiking my dress to my knees, ignoring the stones biting into my soles, I sprint toward the gated entrance.
Before the guard can raise his weapon, Sean takes him out. In the same instant, two black Land Rovers squeal around the curve.
The back one slows, it’s door opens, and Dante grabs my hand. As he pulls me in, Sean jumps in behind me.
I knew those Jimmy Choos were a mistake.