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Hayden shoots a bullet point-blank into O’Brien’s head, then as my colleagues fall into action, wipes away the spray of blood with the bleedin’ towel.

And me?

I sit back and watch. Because, after a long day—months—on the job, sometimes a man needs to kick back and appreciate the culmination of his hard work.

* * *

“Everything accounted for?” Hayden addresses us, as he places a box filled with O’Brien’s paperwork into the back of a lorry.

“Yes, Boss.”

Hard to say if Hayden is pleased or not. He should be doing a jig with what O’Brien’s left behind. The mob boss was old-school in his bookkeeping. Kept handwritten ledgers on all transactions. Names, numbers, addresses. Important information that can be used in tracking down the buyers so we can terminate the lot of them.

But my job in Europe is at an end. Time to head back to the States, before the CIA close in on Finn McDuff.

The name Michael has a nice ring to it.

“Rambo. You coming?” My colleague, the comedian, snickers as he approaches.

I’ve been called worse.

“Keys.” I hold out my palm, claiming the right to drive. Easier this way, because I can tuck my duffle bag—with Clarissa’s camcorder—beneath the seat. Later, I’ll take a gander at what’s there. There will be time to figure out what military-grade, encrypted drive she’s using and if it’s as inaccessible as she believes. Because I’ve a good idea what password she might be using.

“In the back.”

I stop in me tracks and narrow eyes at Hayden. “Me?”

His silence is answer enough.

With a shrug of me shoulders, I climb into the flatbed. Hayden has valid reasons for me being tucked away and out of sight.

It’s when he climbs in beside me that I get the sense I’m in trouble.

He signals the other drivers and the lorries pull out.

Our vehicle ... idles.

I lean back, stretch out me legs, fold me arms across my chest, and wait the Bastard out.

Until it becomes unbearable.

I arch an eyebrow. “You wanted a private word with me?”

He watches me like he knows I was the lad who stole the last cookie from the jar. Jaysus. Might as well toss him a bone in good faith. “Found out where the mine is.”

“Where?”

“Somewhere north of Malawi.”

“You certain?”

I study him. Not a hair out of place, not a single hint about what he’s truly thinking. Yet we both know this particular location is important, as is the lucky colleen living there.

Women flock to Hayden like bees to a honeypot. But there’s never been mention of his taking an interest in anyone special. One more reason everyone calls him the Bastard behind his back. A hardened, ruthless man, if I ever met one.

“Jaxson. Kylie. Declan. Even Diego. So many secrets being kept.”

Aw, feck. He knows about Diego and Aubrey.