Page 78 of Dublin Beast

By the time I’m closing in on the Range Rover sitting in the shadows under the tree, the hair on the back of my neck prickles.

Harper and Kieran are arguing.

I slide into the back seat next to Harper and close the door behind me. “What’s going on?”

Harper crosses her arms, glaring at Kieran. “You need to ID the person in that hotel room before backup arrives or they recover enough from their injuries to get moving, right?”

“Aye, that’s the gist of things.”

“Well, the fastest way to ID her is for me to knock on the door and look inside.”

I blink, my hands balling into fists. “Not going to fucking happen.”

Her jaw tightens, and I see her holding back the words she wants to fling at me. I know that look. She hates being shut down. Hates being underestimated.

“No,” I repeat as sternly.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, check the screen—Brendan. I sigh and leave the truck, stepping back into the shadows under the tree. “Again, so soon. Do you miss me, brother?”

My twin snorts on the other end of the call. “Like a bad habit. Nah. We saw the compound go up on the camera feed you sent us and haven’t heard from you.”

Ah, right. “Been a busy night. We followed the two men left standing after the firefight. We’re outside a roadside inn, about to confirm the target they secured.”

There’s a pause on the other end. “Siobhan?”

“Unconfirmed, but if it is, this will be over tonight.”

“Safe home, brother. Keep us posted. And if shit goes sideways, call in backup.”

I hang up and tuck the phone away, sliding back into the SUV. Only…Harper’s not here.

Every muscle in my body snaps tight. “Where the fuck is she?”

He glances up from his phone, brows raised. “Went into the lobby. Said she needed the toilet.”

“And you believed her?”

“Fuck you, Bryan. I’m not her fucking babysitter. She said she needed to piss. I watched her go into the lobby. End of story.”

But I already know that’s not the end of it.

Because as I scowl toward the lobby entrance, I see her walking along the front of the building, a stack of folded towels in her arms like she’s on staff.

Her chin is up, her gait is smooth, and she walks straight up to the room our mercenary kidnappers disappeared into like she fucking belongs there.

“Fucking hell.”

* * *

Harper

I lift my hand and knock twice.

The towels are warm in my arms, fresh from the dryer, with a white, metal first aid kit perched on top. My heart’s thudding so hard I feel it behind my eyes, but I keep my face blank, my spine straight.

I’m just a hotel employee dropping off supplies.

The door creaks open and a brute of a man—late thirties, thick neck, close-cropped hair—fills the space, blocking my view of the room behind him. He stands, shoulders squared and eyes me up like I’m a threat and an inconvenience all at once.

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