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The McGuires don’t understand that.
“And our sources will keep us posted?”
“They’ve never let me down before.”
“If Mattie has wanted a piece of me since Da passed, I’m surprised it’s taken him this long to make a move.”
Aiden tips his glass back and finishes his drink in a couple of gulps. “Do you want me to call a meeting and have everyone meet at the house?”
Regrouping at the Quinn compound is the strategically sound decision. The place is a fortress and with eight bedrooms and the security system in play, we could hunker down for a year quite comfortably.
But I haven’t been back there since Da died.
“Call a meeting for the morning. We’ll meet at the MC clubhouse and get the Devils involved.”
Aiden knows of my aversion to returning to my childhood home but doesn’t mention it. “Right. I’ll send the message to Sean and set it up.”
I finish my drink and get up to walk him out. “If you need me, I’ll be at the bar. I bet Jimmy has some insight into Madman McGuire.”
Aiden nods. “Aye, no doubt he does.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Laine
Hannah was right about the Jimmy Frances Pub. Coming in the front doors, it appears to be an Irish pub like any other: the polished shine of the brass draught taps, the pitted wooden bar stretching along the side wall, the Celtic soundtrack playing over the speakers, and the rich scents of ale and pub fare thick in the air.
But the fun she mentioned is further back.
From where I’m sitting in the restaurant, I’ve been privy to watch the parade of folks shaking their money-makers to the upbeat music that’s been keeping this place rocking all night.
I don’t know if I have the energy to check out the dance floor tonight, but I’ll be back. If not for dancing, at the very least to try more of their menu and to people-watch.
Since I got here, I’ve devoured my steak boxty, and am looking at the bottom of my second glass of wine—which is delicious and going down way too smoothly.
“Can I get you another?” Ginny gathers my empty plates and waits for my answer.
Normally, I wouldn’t have a third if I wasn’t safely tucked away at home, but I’m here to give Mom an Irish sendoff, so tonight I’m drinking for the both of us. “Sure. I’d love another. Thanks.”
“Comin’ up.” As Ginny passes the bar, I notice a ruggedly handsome man sitting on the stool past the draught taps.
He’s looking my way, and I’m instantly sucked in by piercing green eyes and ebony stubble gracing a square jawline that could’ve been chiseled by one of the masters.
Huzzah! Welcome to Ireland.
I realize I’m staring a moment too late, and he dips his chin and offers me a crooked smile before going back to his conversation with the bartender.
A rush of embarrassment hits. He probably gets ogled all the time by locals and tourists alike.
I catch my reflection in the glass of the picture beside me and groan inwardly. Even after sprucing up, the walk here left me looking like a drowned rat who hasn’t had a shower in the last day and a half.
Oh, right. That’s because I haven’t.
I blame jet lag because normally when I go out, I don’t look like a dumpster fire.
Do my clothes even match? Thankfully, yes.
The thought of being disheveled is both foreign and exhilarating. From the first day I started law school, I left my meager beginnings behind me and dressed the part for high-powered success.
