About Face. Amy Lee Burgess
my spine. Four years ago Murphy placed him in a janitorial job at the lab where Murphy’s bond mate, Sorcha, worked nights. Grandfather Mick repaid the generosity by arranging her death in the name of the conspiracy. Once his cover had been blown and his role in the conspiracy revealed, Mick Shaughnessy disappeared. Murphy was chasing him down? That was so dangerous I wanted to scream.
“Murphy’s not running around Dublin spouting off about the conspiracy, is he?” I was scared. I knew Murphy when he had his mind set on something. He was single-minded and relentless. He threw his personal safety to the wayside.
“Not quite yet, thankfully.” Jason gave my arm a squeeze and sat back. He cast a hungry look at his omelet, and I pushed the salt and pepper shakers toward him.
“Eat. Do you want ketchup?” At his horrified look, I let go of the bottle and then decided my eggs needed more and dumped a red blob of it onto my scrambled eggs. They were cold but still delicious.
Jason tore into his omelet with the appetite of someone who had spent the previous evening occupied with strenuous exercise. I didn’t really want to think about him and my mother thrashing around passionately between the sheets, so I forced my attention back to my plate.
We ate in silence for a moment, and the less I thought about Jason and Wren, the more Murphy crowded into my thoughts. What if the asshole did something stupid? Fatally stupid? The conspiracy already tried to take him out with an overdose of narcotics. Would they hesitate to act again if Murphy threatened them? I didn’t think so.
“Someone told Grandfather Mick the Council knew he’d been involved in Sorcha’s death,” I said when my plate was empty. Jason’s was, too, except for a few lone breakfast potatoes. “Someone in Mac Tire?”
“Presumably.” Jason set down his fork and gave me his full attention. “The problem with Mac Tire is that it’s a very large pack and is not confined to simply Ireland and Northern Ireland. England, Scotland and Wales have to be considered as well. Mick’s obviously taken refuge somewhere, and he’s nowhere to be found in Dublin. At least not yet. Liam doesn’t believe he’s there.”
“So you two are in contact? You authorized his search efforts?” My coffee mug was lukewarm between the palms of my hands. Outside the diner, the rain had intensified, the sun blocked by a raft of ominous dark clouds. Heavy droplets spattered against the window and combined to smear the glass so I could barely make out the wavering shapes of the cars in the parking lot. Maybe the hunt would be a wet one tonight, but it seemed more and more likely with every passing moment I wouldn’t be there to find out.
“We’re in contact,” Jason confirmed, but frowned. “But the colder the trail, the hotter his pursuit. Maybe you could distract him.”
Murphy had been focused on finding Sorcha’s killer for nearly four months. Would I be a distraction he would brush off easily? I’d never been able to compete with Sorcha, even four years into her grave, why in the world would I be able to start now?
But I had to do something.
Chapter 4
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” A bulky shadow detached from the brickwork near the green door of the pub and resolved itself into the shape of a very tall, extremely muscular man.
The glow of the streetlights illuminated his green eyes and bright red hair. His expression was not exactly welcoming.
The sign above the pub doors read An Puca, and I was pretty sure I was in the right place. Although, after a hellish twelve-hour delay in Philadelphia due to some damn mechanical malfunction in one of the plane’s engines, I wasn’t even sure what frigging day it was anymore.
Instead of arriving in Dublin at just before eight in the morning with time to find a hotel and get my bearings before setting out to find Mac Tire’s pub, the plane landed just after eight PM, and I’d taken a cab straight from the airport to the pub.
My eyes were scratchy and dry, my throat ached and my stomach rumbled. I was sleep and food-deprived and pretty damn close to a meltdown. Whether it would be a temper tantrum or tears I wasn’t exactly sure, but I’d had enough.
Now this goddamn red-haired giant couldn’t even be civil?
“This is a pub, right? Don’t pubs want people to drink in them?” I curled my lip sarcastically which only made the red- haired giant angry. Good one, Stanzie.
“Can you not read the wee sign in the window that says Private party tonight, maybe? Or do they not teach reading in American schools these days?”
“Your big, goddamn hulking shoulders blocked the wee sign in the window,” I muttered rebelliously.
The red-haired giant cracked his knuckles.
“Excuse me?” I tilted my head to the side and regarded him with growing incredulity. He was not going to threaten to beat me up, was he? I wished I’d worn my six-inch spiked heels with the steel-tipped toes, but all I had were a comfortable pair of leather boots. “Look, I don’t know your name but I do know you’re Pack. And so am I. And if the private party tonight is for members of Mac Tire, well, then, here’s a funny thing—I’m a member of Mac Tire. So can I go in now? I’m fucking tired and I want a drink.”
Meltdown verged in the direction of temper tantrum. That was interesting. Most times it was tears.
“Well, I can smell too, can’t I now?” The giant sneered. “But, if you knew the first thing about Mac Tire, which I’m almost positive you don’t, you’d know we have pack jewelry, which, incidentally, I’m not seeing on you. And I’ll betcha my left nut you don’t have the jewelry because you’re not Mac Tire. Because if you were, you’d never take it off. Brilliant, isn’t it?”
Yeah. Brilliant. Of course I didn’t wear the damn ring. It was a lie. Paddy had put it on my finger and told me I was family and it was a fucking lie.
“I’m going to lose my temper,” I announced. The giant might be bigger than me, but I knew I could scream louder.
“I don’t give a fuck.” The giant crossed his beefy arms over his chest and smirked.
I cursed the fact I hadn’t let Jason alert Paddy or Murphy I was coming to Dublin. In my irrational fear of everything, I’d thought maybe they wouldn’t have let me come, but they could hardly object once I was already there.
I’d come armed with the name and address of the pack’s pub. That was all I’d let Jason give me.
Damn the man, why hadn’t he gone behind my back and called anyway? Of all the times to let me have my way, why now? Bastard.
“Look, I have the damn ring. It’s in my luggage. I am Mac Tire, I swear.” It galled to say that because I did not feel remotely as if I belonged to the pack, but I needed to get into the pub. I was tired, hungry, miserable and about to collapse.
“Doubtful.” The giant made no move to move aside and let me in.
“Do you want me to tear apart my suitcase? Jesus, I don’t believe this. I think you get off on hassling people.” I began to unzip my suitcase.
He guffawed, but did not uncross his arms. “What’s your name, woman? But I have to tell you, we don’t have Americans in Mac Tire.”
“Ha,” I crowed. “That’s just a goddamn lie. Because you do have one. Me. My name is Constance Newcastle.”
I don’t know what I expected. Maybe not that he’d break down into abject apologies, sweep open the door and personally escort me in, but at least some glimmer of recognition.
“Doesn’t ring a bell. Why don’t you fuck off? Right now I’m bored, but I’m edging toward irritated and there’s a thing you don’t want to see, I promise you.”
“How about Liam Murphy? You know him?” I spat out his name and hated myself for sinking so goddamn low.
One