Page 6 of His Temptation

“And you want me to find her?” Daragh asked, already knowing the answer.

Callum’s fingers drummed against the table. “No offense, but I don’t give a damn about whatever happened between your family and hers back then. Isolde...” he paused, clearing his throat before continuing, “…wants her safe. She’s known Siobhan for years and thought she was safe… until that photograph showed up.”

Daragh’s lips twisted. Isolde Kavanagh was many things, but sentimental wasn’t one of them. If she wanted Siobhan found, there was a reason beyond friendship.

Con leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “This isn’t just about Callum’s mate. Siobhan’s been running for a long time. I want to know why.”

Daragh understood the unspoken message. Con didn’t believe in coincidences. If Siobhan had reappeared now, after all these years, then it wasn’t by choice. Someone had found her.

Daragh nodded once. “I’ll handle it.”

Con’s gaze locked onto his, the weight of expectation settling between them. “This isn’t a simple missing person case, Daragh.”

It never was.

He took the phone, studying the image one last time. Siobhan Harrington might have been hiding for years, but she had made a mistake. She had allowed herself to be seen. Now they would hunt her.

And if there was one thing Daragh O’Neill excelled at, it was hunting.

Daragh didn’t like being given orders. He took them—because he knew better than to cross Con O’Neill without a damn good reason—but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

And right now, he wasn’t sure what irritated him more. That he was being sent after a ghost or the fact that the ghost in question unsettled him, and called to that dark place deep inside him.

He stared at the grainy photograph Callum Kavanagh had provided, his fingers tapping against the edge of the phone screen. Although the mirror’s reflection was blurry, the woman in the green dress caught his eye.

Siobhan Harrington.

A name buried in whispers. A woman long presumed dead. And yet, here she was, caught in the background of a society gala like she had never disappeared at all.

He exhaled sharply, setting the phone down and glancing up at Callum. "You said Isolde’s known all along?"

Callum’s green eyes were steady. “Yes, but until now, I didn’t know. Like everyone else, I believed she was dead. Or as close to it as a person can be. But someone spotted her... photographed her. And that means others have seen her too.”

Daragh leaned back in his chair, absorbing that information. Siobhan had been careful. If she had stayed hidden for this long, it meant she knew what she was doing. So why had she slipped up?

More importantly, who else had noticed?

By the time he left O’Malley’s, he already had a handful of calls out to his contacts. If Siobhan had resurfaced, there would be ripples. And ripples in his world usually led to blood.

It didn’t take long for the first bit of intel to come through.

At The Clover, a high-end club owned by the O’Neill family, Daragh nursed a whiskey while his informant—a nervous little bastard named Keenan—sat across from him, shifting in his seat like he wanted to be anywhere but here.

“You’re asking about that gallery owner, Harrington,” Keenan said, licking his lips. “Word is, she’s got a price on her head.”

Daragh’s fingers tightened around his glass. “From who?”

Keenan hesitated. “MI5’s got renewed interest. They want her brought in, but they’re keeping it quiet.” He swallowed hard. “The bigger problem is the bounty.”

Daragh arched an eyebrow. “Bounty?”

Keenan nodded, lowering his voice. “Sebastian Wolfe.”

A slow burn spread through Daragh’s gut. Of course. Sebastian had been powerful before. Now? He had the kind of reach that made most men untouchable.

“How much?” Daragh asked.

Keenan’s throat bobbed. “Enough to make dangerous men take notice. And it’s not a dead-or-alive situation, either. He wants her alive.”

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