Page 24 of Dublin Beast
This just got even more complicated. Knowing how heavy-handed and indiscreet the McGuire boys are, they’re more likely to spook Siobhan’s security detail and send them deeper into hiding.
“Keep me posted,” Tag says before hanging up.
I stand there for a moment, jaw clenched, staring at the wall. To keep him posted, there will need to be news. I shove my phone into my pocket and head back inside.
Hopefully it’s good news.
* * *
Harper
The moment Bryan leaves to take his call, I crack my knuckles and stare at the mess of tabs open on my screen trying to focus. The Irishman’s voice is deep enough that I hear the rumble of his words through the door, but I get the sense he wouldn’t take kindly to me eavesdropping.
So, I focus on my own problems. I’ve certainly got enough to choose from. Names, addresses, financial transactions—none of them connecting in the way Ineedthem to.
Eddie Mason has a system—he must.
If he’s behind Macie and Chantal’s disappearance, there must be a pattern, a pipeline, or a way to track what he does and where. I just need to find it.
What do I know for sure?
First, he finds the girls.
Then, he verifies their value.
But thenwhat?
The gentleman’s club angle is still stumping me. I expected something more…industrial. A trafficking operation that moves women in bulk, funnels them into brothels, or ships them out of the country like cargo.
Mason’s operation seemsselective. Targeted.
Why involverich men?
I bite my thumbnail, scanning the notes I’ve compiled so far. Maybe he holdsprivate parties. Is this set up like an elite Epstein thing?
If so, maybe these women aren’t just disappearing into the void—maybe they’re beingsold off.
The thought makes my stomach twist. But then, a tiny flicker of something—hope?—flares to life within.
If Macie and Chantal were funneled into aprivate sale, that could mean someoneownsthem. It’s a disgusting thought, but it might bebetterthan the alternative.
And if that’s the case, could they still be alive? They were both fit, beautiful women. If they were chosen and purchased because they stood out, maybe they were being taken care off. Maybe…
I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, groaning.
God, Harper, listen to yourself.
There’s nobetterin this situation. Either way, they were taken. They’re gone. And every day and week I wasted crying at home, waiting to hear from the authorities took them closer to being lost for good.
I exhale hard and push my laptop aside, standing to stretch. My neck aches from the tension and I shake out my arms, needing to move.
I need a break. I need a drink.
Padding over to the high counter, I pour a cup of cucumber water from the pitcher the hotel set out. The condensation drips onto my fingers, a brief, welcome shock against my heated skin.
It doesn’t have the punch that a bar drink would, but it’ll have to do. I lift the cup to my mouth and turn back.
My hip bumps the desk chair Bryan was sitting in earlier and the small jolt shakes the table enough that his laptop fires to life.
