Page 18 of Dublin Beast
Ponytail is trouble…and she’sintrouble.
Despite her insistence that she’s got things covered, I have a feeling our paths will cross again.
CHAPTERFIVE
Harper
The walls of my hotel room closed in on me hour after hour until I had no choice but to workout to preserve my sanity. Given my recent fiasco in the streets, I opt not to go for a run. Instead, I make my way downstairs to the hotel gym.
My muscles are twitching with the need to move, to release the tension coiled inside me before I go out of my mind.
The setup isn’t anything overly impressive: there are a couple of treadmills, a couple of elliptical machines, a rowing machine, and a wall of equipment, including some boxing gloves, skipping ropes, stretch bands, and a stand of free weights.
The treadmill works for what I need—mindless, repetitive motion to exhaust my body while my mind is free to work.
With my earbuds in and my settings locked on a pace that will keep my body moving, the steady rhythm of my feet hitting the belt becomes white noise. I let my mind spin in a dozen different directions without reining it in.
When I left the big Irish hulk in the hotel lobby, I went straight to Anton’s room, and laid it all out—the botched plan, the fight in the alley, the lost opportunity.
I didn’t sugarcoat it or make excuses. Our chance to move forward evaporated before my eyes and there was nothing I could do about it.
He didn’t take it well.
Not that I expected him to.
He paced, cursing under his breath, tugging at his hair as his fear and frustration for his sister broke free.
He got angry, and I took it.
He ranted, and I let him vent.
He’s trying to save his sister, and I understand the desperation clawing at him. I feel it, too.
But while Anton is still hoping to find Zhara alive, I’m not so naïve to believe there’s a happy ending in store for me and mine.
Macie and Chantal have been missing for months.
Either they’re dead, or they’ve been drugged and trafficked to some other part of the world, their former identities erased. The odds of me finding them are slim to none. I know this. I’ve accepted this.
That reality settled into my bones months ago.
I don’t have hope—but Idohave determination. If I can’t save the girls who are already gone, maybe I can stop this from happening to someone else.
That was the whole point of coming here, of spending time getting inside Liverpool’s underworld, of finding out who Jamie works for, and of using myself as bait to figure out how deep this operation runs.
I wasso close.
Then the big Irish idiot came storming in with his fists flying, and now Jamie and his boss will be on high alert. Weeks of groundwork lost, gone in an instant because some stranger decided to play hero.
I press my finger against the speed button and click it up a notch. My legs are burning, but I’ve got so much pent-up frustration, I need to burn it off so I can think.
Sweat trickles down my spine, and my lungs start to protest. I push through it. Physical pain is easier to manage than emotional turmoil.
I’ve left Jamie two messages already. The first was a panicked apology with me making a point that I didn’t know who that man was or why he came in fists flying. The second was calmer. I simply asked that he call me when he got a chance.
Not that I expect him to get back to me. I’ve now slipped into the ‘too desperate’ column and he’ll be wary of my motives.
Because, why would any normal tourist walk back into a situation like that?
