brittle fingers. Everything had been on track, damn it. He’d been moments away from leaving the bank with his skin intact, and now Bailey had thrown a wrench in his plans. He wasn’t stepping foot outside the building without her.
Damn you, Ollie. She came here for you.
The hot agony that ripped through him nearly knocked him off his feet. Bailey might claim she’d come here for him, but he knew the truth. With the intel at her disposal, she must have figured out that Rabbit had nabbed Ollie. She must have known that helping Sean was the equivalent of saving Oliver.
It stung like hell. But he had no right to be hurt. Of course she loved his brother. Why wouldn’t she? Oliver was the best man Sean had ever known. Hell, he was a bloody
saint
. Sean had once watched his brother run into a burning building to save a low-life meth cooker they’d been hitting up for intel.
And he couldn’t even count the number of times Ollie had swooped in to rescue
him
. The guy was perfect. Perfect son, perfect brother, perfect fucking man for a woman like Bailey.
Sean was nothing more than the speed bump that had disrupted their relationship, the asshole who’d given in to his selfish urges and taken what Bailey had been offering to his brother.
But he couldn’t think about that now. Bailey might not belong to him, but at the moment, she was
his
responsibility, and he was going to bring her back to Oliver safe and sound.
Even if he died trying.
* * *
Bailey didn’t struggle as Sean’s cohort dragged her down the hall as if she were a piece of luggage. The masked man grumbled in Gaelic the entire time, and although she didn’t know the dialect well, she suspected there were a lot of colorful curses being aimed her way. A few seconds later, he pushed her into the lobby, where every pair of eyes immediately flew in her direction.
She noted the line of terrified-looking people on the white-tile floor. She averted her gaze, heeding her captor’s threat that she’d better keep to herself, but she was relieved to see that the hostages were safe. For now anyway.
“We found your little mate hiding in the back room,” her captor snapped at the stocky man sitting at the end of the line.
Bailey quickly masked her alarm, forcing herself to meet the eyes of the man who’d been spoken to. He wore a gray business suit and a name tag publicizing that he was the bank manager. Shit. Sean had told his IRA buddy that Bailey was a teller.
She implored the manager with her eyes, silently begging him not to reveal that they were total strangers. He must have heard the unspoken plea, because he kept his mouth shut, his lips tightening in a thin line.
Her captor shoved her to her knees beside the bank manager. “Sit down and shut up,” he said curtly.
She did both, and the masked man stalked off, leaving her with the group of fifteen ashen-faced hostages. The second he was gone, she assessed her surroundings and pinpointed the threats. Three gunmen remained in the lobby, two on opposite ends of the plate-glass window, one near the teller counter. All masked and armed with sawed-off shotguns.
The bulge at the small of her back was reassuring ashell, as were the two knives tucked inside her boots. But the fact that Sean had let her keep her gun meant he thought she might need to use it—and
that
was not at all reassuring.
God, he’d looked so ravaged back there. Tired and pale, as if this was the last thing he wanted to be doing tonight. And that told her she’d been right. Sean wasn’t a criminal. Somehow he’d been coerced into carrying out this heist.
“Who are you?”
The barely audible inquiry came from the manager beside her.
Bailey kept her gaze straight head, speaking as softly as he had, but not answering the question. “It’ll be okay. It’ll all be over soon.”
God, she hoped she wasn’t lying to him, but she didn’t think she was. Because she’d glimpsed something else in Sean’s eyes before,
Damn you, Ollie. She came here for you.
The hot agony that ripped through him nearly knocked him off his feet. Bailey might claim she’d come here for him, but he knew the truth. With the intel at her disposal, she must have figured out that Rabbit had nabbed Ollie. She must have known that helping Sean was the equivalent of saving Oliver.
It stung like hell. But he had no right to be hurt. Of course she loved his brother. Why wouldn’t she? Oliver was the best man Sean had ever known. Hell, he was a bloody
saint
. Sean had once watched his brother run into a burning building to save a low-life meth cooker they’d been hitting up for intel.
And he couldn’t even count the number of times Ollie had swooped in to rescue
him
. The guy was perfect. Perfect son, perfect brother, perfect fucking man for a woman like Bailey.
Sean was nothing more than the speed bump that had disrupted their relationship, the asshole who’d given in to his selfish urges and taken what Bailey had been offering to his brother.
But he couldn’t think about that now. Bailey might not belong to him, but at the moment, she was
his
responsibility, and he was going to bring her back to Oliver safe and sound.
Even if he died trying.
* * *
Bailey didn’t struggle as Sean’s cohort dragged her down the hall as if she were a piece of luggage. The masked man grumbled in Gaelic the entire time, and although she didn’t know the dialect well, she suspected there were a lot of colorful curses being aimed her way. A few seconds later, he pushed her into the lobby, where every pair of eyes immediately flew in her direction.
She noted the line of terrified-looking people on the white-tile floor. She averted her gaze, heeding her captor’s threat that she’d better keep to herself, but she was relieved to see that the hostages were safe. For now anyway.
“We found your little mate hiding in the back room,” her captor snapped at the stocky man sitting at the end of the line.
Bailey quickly masked her alarm, forcing herself to meet the eyes of the man who’d been spoken to. He wore a gray business suit and a name tag publicizing that he was the bank manager. Shit. Sean had told his IRA buddy that Bailey was a teller.
She implored the manager with her eyes, silently begging him not to reveal that they were total strangers. He must have heard the unspoken plea, because he kept his mouth shut, his lips tightening in a thin line.
Her captor shoved her to her knees beside the bank manager. “Sit down and shut up,” he said curtly.
She did both, and the masked man stalked off, leaving her with the group of fifteen ashen-faced hostages. The second he was gone, she assessed her surroundings and pinpointed the threats. Three gunmen remained in the lobby, two on opposite ends of the plate-glass window, one near the teller counter. All masked and armed with sawed-off shotguns.
The bulge at the small of her back was reassuring ashell, as were the two knives tucked inside her boots. But the fact that Sean had let her keep her gun meant he thought she might need to use it—and
that
was not at all reassuring.
God, he’d looked so ravaged back there. Tired and pale, as if this was the last thing he wanted to be doing tonight. And that told her she’d been right. Sean wasn’t a criminal. Somehow he’d been coerced into carrying out this heist.
“Who are you?”
The barely audible inquiry came from the manager beside her.
Bailey kept her gaze straight head, speaking as softly as he had, but not answering the question. “It’ll be okay. It’ll all be over soon.”
God, she hoped she wasn’t lying to him, but she didn’t think she was. Because she’d glimpsed something else in Sean’s eyes before,
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