“Exactly what I’m asking, Finlin. You men are ten years older than her, do crazy, dangerous shit, and live on the edge. You don’t date, don’t do commitments of any kind, and if this is going to be a problem with Thylane working at this restaurant, then I need to pull you. I can call Spartan and have him and John assign someone else.”
“No. I wouldn’t let you do that. There’s no one better than me to do this and to be sure that Thylane is safe. If something was to go down, at least I could do my best to get her to safety.”
“I don’t like this. It has the recipe for disaster.”
“What has the recipe for disaster is if anyone loses focus on our main goal. Catching Yorkshire. That’s what this is all about. Capturing a terrorist murderer and bringing down his organization. I’ll do my part. I’m heading to the restaurant now. Although Yorkshire hasn’t been there for a few days, maybe he’ll show today.”
Cesar exhaled.
“All right. Keep me posted, and if you think your cover is blown, get the hell out of there and contact me. I’ll send in who you need and so will Spartan.”
“Got it.”
* * * *
The agents were getting into their cars and headed back to their temporary setup at a local business.
“What do you think, Ferrow?” Roth asked him as they drove.
“I think we need to ensure that Finlin’s priorities are in order. Send in McCormick. Have him float around and keep watch, see what he can get from Foley’s and monitor who Yorkshire meets there. Who he shows interest in and talks to. Also keep eyes on Finlin. I don’t trust him or his loyalty to the Foleys over a federal investigation. You never know if these men could be working both sides, even men like Finlin.”
“My thoughts exactly. I’ll let him know now,” Roth said, and then Plankin cleared his throat.
“You think it’s going to be a problem that Finlin’s friend Pisces is related to these Foley men?” he asked.
“Not a problem, a potential solution. If Mitchim Foley or his men aid Yorkshire, then the deal they made with the government years ago will be non-existent and we’ll have captured and sentenced both of them. Pretty fucking impressive if you ask me,” Ferrow stated.
“The Foley family hasn’t been involved in anything that we can tell,” Roth added.
“Doesn’t mean their old crimes are forgotten. They’re a waste of space too, so if they go down as casualties to this, then they go down. Not my worry. Like I said, an additional bonus.”
Chapter Five
“Say that again,” Yorkshire said to Franco when Franco spoke with him by the corner of the bar away from the crowds.
“Looks like she’s single, twenty-four, lives alone, and there’s a connection between her and Merritt Hopper,” Franco told him.
“What connection?” he asked, and Franco told him what he’d found out about some sort of business deal with Thylane’s uncle and then how she and her cousin, the uncle’s daughter, were abducted and held hostage for a week. Charges were filed against Merritt but were then dropped because of lack of evidence. “He had other people doing the dirty work, and those people showed up dead. The case was dropped.”
“Does Merritt still have interest in her or her father and family with business?”
“Not sure. I suppose if he did he would have done something by now.”
“Not necessarily, but I really don’t care about that. When does she get off tonight?” he asked.
“Not sure. So are you going to accept the time and location for that meeting with Hopper?”
“Yes. Confirm it. In the meantime, while I wait, I know exactly how to entertain my interests.” He stared at Thylane as she painted the mural, which was nearly complete.
She placed her brush down then stood back and looked at the painting. That was when Yorkshire saw the guy with the beard approach her. She turned, looked up, her expression serious, and then smiled. He said something to her. She laughed, shyly looked down and then ran her hands over her hair as if concerned about how it may look after painting for hours. He reached out and stroked her cheek, pretending maybe to wipe away paint? Yorkshire wasn’t sure, but the jealous, angry feeling filled his gut, and a plan began to form in his mind. He knew about that hostage situation. He thought that everyone had died. That was what he’d heard when he was overseas. He would need more information, and he knew exactly who to talk to. He took a sip of his beer and kept eyes on Thylane.
* * * *
Thylane laughed at something Scott said. She couldn’t help but feel attracted to the guy. He had stunning blue eyes, which somehow seemed familiar, yet she didn’t know too many men with blue eyes like his. They almost looked like colored contacts, but she didn’t want to ask. It was strange, but he felt familiar, especially as he placed an arm around her chair and they shared an appetizer of Irish egg rolls before she needed to head out.
He wasn’t pushy with any flirtatious actions. Instead, he eased close here and there, maybe nudged her arm, and she was surprised that she wanted more of that. She didn’t even know this guy Scott, but from her first week on, he always seemed to show up and watch her. It didn’t give her the creeps like that Donnelly guy did. He was here tonight. His expression was blank, yet it gave her the chills. Perhaps he was angry that she was talking to Scott and spending her last hour with him and not Donnelly. Well, that just added to the creepy sensations, so she didn’t look back that way at all.
“So what’s next after you finish this painting?” he asked her, and she took a deep breath and exhaled.
“Not sure. I have my regular job, working for my dad’s company in promotions and advertising, but I have been trying to find time to paint and get enough finished canvases to be ready in case I can get into the gallery.”
“You mean the Saggamore, down the block from here?” he asked, squinting at her. He was easy to talk to, too, which she liked.
“That’s impressive.” He reached forward and wiped something from her lip. “A piece of crumb from the egg roll.”
“Oh, thank you,” she whispered with their eyes locked, and suddenly, she wanted Scott to kiss her, hell, ask her out on a date.
“What about you? Where do you work?”
“For a construction company.”
“Oh, that explains why you head out so early.”
“You keeping track of my time spent here?” he asked, teasing her. She felt her cheeks warm. “Well, I noticed, that’s all.”
“I’m glad you did.”
They stared at one another. Thank God she hadn’t blurted out how she could tell he had big muscles and what appeared to be a fabulous body and probably from all that hard construction work. Yikes, she really wasn’t good at flirting. Why hadn’t he asked her out yet? Maybe he was dating someone? Maybe he was married? She squinted at him, and he looked at her strangely.
“What’s wrong?”
“Are you married?” she asked him, and he laughed.
“No.”
“Have a girlfriend, a significant other?” she asked, raising both eyebrows up.
He laughed deeper. “Absolutely not. Why do you ask in such an accusatory tone?”
“I don’t mean to sound accusatory. It’s just that you’re very attractive, have a great personality, and aren’t pushy. I’m trying to figure out what’s wrong with you.”
He looked serious. He leaned closer and placed his hand on her shoulder then under her hair, their faces inches apart. “Had some bad experiences with men?” he asked.
“I…uhm” She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t have any experiences with men. She only knew what Lauren had gone through, with abuse and then Logan and Connor turning on her for money.
He squinted at her, and she stared at him. His eyes, despite the contacts, drew her in and made her squint like she knew him. But how could she?
“Thylane.” She turned to look up at Donnelly, who glanced at Scott.
“Sorry to interrupt. I was hoping to make plans with you, for di
nner on Friday night when you’re all finished up here with your painting.”
“Oh, I, um…”
“She has plans with me. Perhaps some other time, lad,” Scott said, and Donnelly looked at him, squinting.
“Then Saturday it is. We’ll meet here at one. Have a good night.” He walked away.
Thylane was shocked, but as she turned to look at Scott, he was watching Donnelly like a hawk, and then something seemed to catch his eye. As she turned to look, he gripped her shoulders, and when she looked at him, he cupped her jaw and pressed a light kiss to her lips. It was soft, quick but just enough to make her know she wanted more.
“Scott?”
“So Friday night, you and I, dinner, and not here. We’ll take a stroll down the block to the little Italian restaurant, okay?”
She smiled.
“Okay.”
He seemed a little unfocused, so she decided to end the night and head home. He walked her to her car and stood there waiting for her to leave.
* * * *
Finlin was fucking furious and worried. It seemed that Yorkshire took a definite interest in Thylane, and she didn’t have a clue as to who he was. Hell, she didn’t know who Finlin was either in this disguise, but the conversation they’d shared was real. The attraction, the honesty as he spoke. She was amazingly beautiful, and every time she squinted at his eyes it was like she recognized him and thought he was familiar. This was going to cause problems, and what they were he wasn’t sure. What he did know was that he spotted the undercover agent in the bar and wondered what the hell the feds were doing. So he headed down the road to the bus stop, being sure to remain in his disguise, playing his role.
As he got to the stop and glanced at his watch, he knew it was perfect timing. The bus was due any moment, so when he turned and saw a young guy walking down the street just as the bus came to a stop, he didn’t give him a second glance, until the guy got on the bus, too. What he hadn’t expected was to see a guy he’d spotted in the bar in the corner. Every instinct told him he was being followed.
He knew that he had two choices. Take this bus for another two stops and wind up nowhere near his car or get off and see what this dick wanted. Was it going to be a threat, or was the asshole going to try and kill him? As his adrenaline began to pump, his body, his military training preparing him for the next event, he calmed his breathing and checked his weapons without looking. He felt the gun under his shirt and against his back then the knife in a sheath on his ankle and another small gun on the other ankle. He was good to go.
So as the bus stopped, he got off. When he walked toward the parking lot, he glanced back, noticing the guy from the bar got off. It was on, and Finlin was ready. He acted like he didn’t really notice and waited for the guy to make his move. Finlin was getting closer and closer to his car, heard the sound of footsteps coming closer and faster, and he waited until right before the guy went to grab him and he struck him in the throat. The guy fell to his back, and Finlin gripped his shirt, pressed his knee over his arms so the guy couldn’t pull anything on him, and he placed a gun to his head. “Who the fuck are you, asshole?”
The guy was coughing, and Finlin looked around them to make sure no one was around or that he didn’t have company.
“Talk,” he demanded.
“Fuck!”
“Mitchim wasn’t kidding that you’re fucking crazy and fast,” the guy said, and Finlin squinted and then gave him a little shove but didn’t let go.
“Who is Mitchim?”
“He sent me to follow you and warn you.”
“Warm me, huh?”
“He said stay clear of the painter. She’s his.”
Finlin felt his temper flare.
“The hell she is. Where is that asshole Mitchim? Couldn’t come face to face with me to talk?” He released the guy, and the guy just lay there and rubbed his throat.
“He gave me this.” The kid went to reach into his pocket.
He pointed the gun at his head.
“It’s a fucking note, man.”
He watched him pull it out, and then he took it from the guy.
“Get out of here.”
The guy got up slowly, still rubbing his neck and then his back.
“This is the last time I bring a message to someone for Mitchim.” The guy took off, looking at Finlin over his shoulder. Finlin looked around, and no one was in sight. He opened the note.
Clover Street, the old barber shop in back, ten minutes.
Finlin got into his car and headed out of the parking lot, being sure that no one followed him. As he made it to the location ten minutes later, it was dark out, the only light from a post near the front of the building. There were a few people walking around the neighborhood, but it was pretty much dead around the old storefronts. He pulled his car into the back and spotted the black pickup truck with the metallic green clover on the back of the truck. He smirked. Crazy freaking Irishman.
He got out and was greeted by the door by Mitchim Foley himself, Pisces’s cousin.
“The painter is mine,” he stated.
“Bull fucking shit,” Finlin replied, and Mitchim shook his head.
“My cousin and the rest of the crew feel the same way about her?” he asked in that thick Irish brogue.
“It’s complicated, but she needs protection.”
“Sure as farkin’ shit she does, and I’m not surprised about the farking complicated. What don’t the four of you arseholes do that isn’t complicated?”
Finlin chuckled. “Care to say that to your cousin?”
“If the fucker ever came to visit the family. Come on in here. We got shit to discuss.”
Finlin followed Mitchim into the old barbershop. When they walked through the front room it was run-down and seemed abandoned. Then he unlocked a door and turned on the lights. When they illuminated the place, it was set up like a makeshift casino, with slot machines, poker tables, and a large fully loaded bar.
“Doing a little business on the side I see.”
“You know a man has to make money to afford the luxuries of life.”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
“It’s not completely illegal, Mitchim said with a smirk.
“Really?” Finlin asked, and Mitchim chuckled.
“Hey, any time you wanna come by and try your hand at some slots, ya let me know. Maybe wear that crappy disguise you got going on.”
Finlin rubbed his beard. “I thought it looked pretty authentic.”
“Brother, I picked you out a week ago. Figured you were working some kind of assignment, so I made sure Pat didn’t say hello.”
Finlin cleared his throat. “How about your buddy Franco?”
“Not a chance in hell. He don’t know we’re related. I saw him talking to the psycho fucking Yorkshire. His disguise is just as fucking corny as yours.”
Finlin snickered.
“What do you know about him coming around Foley’s?”
“It’s got to be bad shit. I heard he got involved with some crazy business guy, a banker or something, and wound up knocking off a bunch of federal agents and cops. Not good at all. Especially his love of torturing people and cutting them up.”
“So you know what he did? Got any idea what he’s looking for around here?”
“Pat overheard some bits and pieces. Looks like Yorkshire is trying to set a meeting with the business guy and confirm shipments of ammunition and whatever to his friends in Ireland and collect money owed to him for a job. Maybe the one where he took out those agents. IRA bullshit, some kind of liberation army he’s developing I’m sure. You know I’ve been out of that shit for a while.”
“You and your cousins made a nice deal with the feds. I don’t want to see that get fucked up here.”
“I’m not worried. Tell me about Thylane and what you know. Where my cousin stands.”
Finlin rolled his tongue along his teeth under his lip deciding how much he should tell Mitchim. Pisces hadn’t spoken to this part of
his family for a couple of years.
“Listen, Finlin, my cousin is family, hell, we all think of you, Stack, and Rusty as family, too. Yorkshire has got his eyes on Thylane. That isn’t a good thing at ‘tall. He’s a sick bastard. Now something is brewing, don’t know much of what it is, but Thylane is a sweet, gorgeous woman, shy, young, and sexy as damn hell. So if you all aren’t involved with her, then I’ll be making a move, to not only protect her from the likes of Yorkshire but to indulge in her beauty, if ya know what I mean.” He raised his eyebrows up and down.
Finlin was jealous. More jealous than he expected as he clenched his teeth and thought for a moment.
Mitchim kept his eyes glued to him.
“You’re as wild and uninterested in commitment as my team and I are. So what’s this sudden talk of staking a claim and making a commitment?” Finlin asked.
“I didn’t say nothing about commitment and staking a claim. I get her in my bed and with my brothers and cousins and she’ll be well protected until Yorkshire disappears. It’s a sacrifice I’m more than willing to make. She’s a sweetie.”
“Stay clear of Thylane. I’ll take care of this.”
Mitchim’s cell phone rang. He glanced at the caller and then answered it.
“Yeah? What? When?”
Then Finlin’s cell phone rang, and he saw it was Agent Ferrow’s number.
“That agent at the bar tonight? He was found dead down the block in his car,” Mitchim told him as he covered the phone.
Finlin answered his phone.
“You’re okay?”
“Yes, what’s going on?”
“He killed one of our agents.”
“Who and where?”
“Yorkshire. Had to be, it was a block from the pub.”
“You sent in another agent? Why?”
“To ensure that you remained focused. We know that your team has family there.”
“Yeah, well, you just cost one of your men their life, and I won’t be able to go back in there under cover. Yorkshire is suspicious.”
“The agent’s phone was missing. He had pictures of you and that woman Thylane as well as Yorkshire and Thylane plus Franco.”
Sons of Justice 6: A Painter Walks into an Irish Pub (Siren Publishing LoveXtreme Forever) Page 8
