The tense note that crept into her tone when she said that last name makes me look at her. “What about him?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
“Tell me now.”
She hesitates. “He can’t be trusted, either.”
I’d press her for more details, but we’ve crossed the warehouse and are now standing in front of the group. Kieran stands off to the side with our men.
Relaxed and smiling, Declan says, “Mr. and Mrs. Quinn. Sorry to interrupt your morning.”
I expect Reyna to make a smart remark, but she maintains her composure and simply says, “Good morning, Declan.” Then she greets each of the Italians by name in turn.
She receives respectful murmurs in response.
Declan gestures to the group. “These lads would like a word with you, Reyna.”
He strolls away, lighting a cigarette.
As if it’s the most natural
