“I’m going to have to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“And if you fail?”
He smiled suddenly. It was fatalistic, ironic, and absolutely devastating. Holly just stared at him, momentarily besotted. “Then you, dear lady, are going to have to kill him for me.”
“This sounds like a fascinating conversation,” Randall drawled from the open doorway. “Are we allowed to interrupt?”
“Maggie!” Holly leapt off the couch and flew across the room, enfolding her sister in an enthusiastic embrace. “What the hell took you so long? Ian and I nearly murdered each other.”
“Don’t!” Maggie said, shuddering.
Holly drew back, her beringed hands still clasping Maggie’s shoulders beneath the thick green cape, and her eyes were searching. “What happened? You look like holy hell. Did you find Flynn?”
Randall reached over and removed Holly’s hands, so deftly that she barely noticed. “Why don’t you get your sister a drink? It’s been a long, cold night and she could use one. We both could.”
Holly hesitated, torn. Then she nodded, turning toward the much-depleted Irish whiskey and splashing a generous amount in two glasses. She presented them without a word, noting with concern that Maggie used two hands to hold her own gla
ss.
“So?” Ian said finally. “Did you see O’Banion?”
“Maybe. Or maybe we found Flynn himself,” Randall said. “What does O’Banion look like?”
Ian’s cursing was sharp and fluent. “Damn his soul to hell. Rory O’Banion’s a great bear of a man, six and a half feet tall, red hair, red beard, black eyes.”
“And Flynn?”
“Medium height, medium build, reddish hair,” Ian supplied.
“A charming smile?” Maggie questioned. “Blue eyes that would put Paul Newman to shame?”
“That’s Flynn!” Ian said. “Where is he now?” Andrews was already halfway to the door.
“On his way to Beirut,” Randall said.
Maggie took another healthy swallow, and a trace of color returned to her pale face. “He set us up, the bastard. He knew exactly who we were, and he had us walking right into a trap.”
“What sort of trap?”
“A group of them opened fire on a pub that catered to British soldiers. We were supposed to be in there too, waiting for O’Banion, or Flynn, or whoever he was,” Maggie said. “They didn’t bother to check, but no one was left alive. They were very thorough.” She shuddered and drained her glass.
“Who were they?” Ian demanded, his voice cold and hard.
“IRA, I presume. They were working with Flynn, whoever they were. There were six or seven of them, including a woman.”
“Woman?” Ian echoed hoarsely.
“The leader called her Maeve.”
“I don’t believe it,” Holly said.
“Believe it,” Ian said bitterly. “Women can be very deadly, and Maeve O’Connor is one of the worst. Flynn saw to that.”
The three of them turned to stare at him. “You want to explain that, Andrews?” Randall inquired suddenly, his voice deceptively gentle.
“If I thought it would be of any use I would,” he replied. “But it won’t help you in the least, and it’s my business. So we’re heading for Beirut, are we? The whole bloody bunch of us?”
“The whole bloody bunch of us,” Holly verified. “Got any objections?”