Page 68 of Dirty Eoin

“He’ll appreciate that. Thank you. Also, this shindig of Rod’s.”

“What about it?”

“Dyl and I have abstained, as have Cill and Sarah. Eoin is taking Molly as far as I’m aware, or that’s what she says. It’s all a bit…”

“That’s fine with me,” I interject.

“Are you taking a plus one?”

“Maybe.”

“Dropping any names?”

“Nope.”

“Spoilsport.” She huffs.

“That’s me. Now, have you finished your interrogation? Because last I heard, it’s me that’s the lawyer and not you.”

She snickers. “There’s just one final thing. Eoin has the signed paperwork for Rod with him today. He’s asked if you can drop by and collect it personally.”

“From HQ?”

“Nope. I have no clue where from. He’s asked if he can send a driver. I’m guessing what with you currently earmarked as the next Ma Duster that he’d like for you to be chauffeur-driven around these days. Shall I approve the car?”

I stare at my reflection in the elevator mirror. To the naked eye, I look quite the business professional. Like a mobster’s moll rather than a biker’s old lady.

“Yes.”

I press the button for the ground floor. Did he think I’d turn him down?

The Docks, Hudson Yards

“What’s your name?”

“Liam.”

“Thank you for picking me up, Liam.”

I make eye contact with the bald driver in the rear-view mirror of the now stationary black SUV. The Dusters probably have a fleet of identical vehicles. With the blacked-out windows, no one can tell who the passenger is or indeed if there are any.

It’s my thinking Liam has worked for the Dusters for a long time. He spoke only once, and that was in acknowledgment of who I am. He also kept his eyes trained on me the entire journey.

Well, as much as it was safe for him to do so.

The only words that left his mouth were ‘Mrs. O’Connell’.

I didn’t correct him, but I won’t be changing my name.

I wasn’t a Steele. I won’t be an O’Connell either.

I will always be Jaine Jones.

His two spoken words were accompanied by a single head nod. Since news of Eoin and my nuptials has yet to be publicly announced and Liam’s been furnished with that currently classified piece of intel, I reckon he’s a toy soldier of the highest-ranking variety. With his advanced years it’s also my guess he reports directly to either Fergal or Roisin.

He waits for the plethora of locks to unravel before alighting the vehicle. Maybe I should be more concerned given that we’ve pulled up at the docks. That perhaps there’s a custom-made pair of concrete shoes with my name on waiting for me to slip my feet into.

There’s no point in trying to second guess. The way I see it, if the O’Connells want me dead, then there’s not much I can do about that.

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