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do you? And don’t be worryin’ that I’ll take advantage of you at the hotel. You’ve been through enough tonight. Me mum brought her boy up to be a gentleman.”
    He smiled. It was a very charming smile. He glanced at my leg, which was now exposed up to my thigh by the ripped skirt. He leaned a bit closer and whispered, “Which isn’t to say, mind you, I won’t be attemptin’ a bit of he-in’ and she-in’ on some other, finer, occasion. With your permission, of course.”
    I had no words for any of this. I’d dived into a situation better suited for a live CIA operative, a Lara Croft or a leather-clad heroine from The Matrix . I make my living translating words. Most of the time I’m stationed behind a desk in an office. Leaping over, under, and through beer barrels while listening to the sound of gunfire over my head, then ending up with a man whose first language must be romance, hadn’t been listed in my daily planner under “Jobs for Month of September.”
    Which reminded me.
    â€œMr. O’Brien. Brig. Stop. I think before either of us go anywhere else, somebody needs to sneak back into Hot Harry’s and see if Ray is okay. I mean, I just left the man there facedown on the table. Bleeding. He could be badly hurt. Even dying.”
    Brig shot me a look. One of those are-you-daft looks. He then asked, “Are you daft?”
    â€œProbably. Especially after tonight. I feel my brainpower seeping out of my head. But why do you ask?”
    â€œBecause Mahindra’s thugs are doubtless still shootin’ up the place. If Patel’s goons haven’t joined in and started shootin’ back at him. Or knifing. Patel’s fond of the blades. I don’t think it’s the safest place to be strollin’ in askin’ for the tab now, do you?”
    I scowled. “And you think it’s any safer for Ray Decore, who wasn’t fast or agile enough to do the gymnastic routine I executed to end up in the storeroom with you? Or are you afraid I’ll discover you’re connected by your Gaelic lip and hip to one or more of those creeps?”
    He bit his lip. Whether in shame or in laughter I wasn’t sure.
    â€œAll right then, Miss Tempe Walsh. We’ll head in by way of the side door leading directly to the bar counter. We can creep low, then stay underneath Miss April and peer through the holes the bullets made in the bar.”
    I might have known he’d noticed Miss April. I almost missed his next words, thinking that Miss April, plastered lifeless on paper, doubtless had noticed him too. “But I’m telling you, Tempe, if I hear so much as a mouse moving inside, we’re gone. Understood?”
    I nodded, pleased that Brig O’Brien had enough kindness in him to help a man he didn’t know because a lady he’d just met had asked for his aid.
    We walked in silence back to Hot Harry’s. All quiet on the saloon front. All quiet on the saloon back. Not a twitter from the saloon side door. Brig opened it about two inches, then peeked inside.
    â€œLooks deserted. This is strange. Your boss is nowhere to be found. But the good news is I don’t see anyone else around either, including Hot Harry, if such a man exists.”
    He inhaled then blew out his breath with a whoosh. “Wait! Oh heavenly Saint Bridget!”
    â€œWhat? What’s wrong?”
    â€œIt’s still there! Under the table where you were sitting. Just a bare glimpse peeking out from underneath a bag. Must be yours? The bag.”
    â€œIt’s mine, unless you’re talking about that filthy backpack thing Khan had. I know Ray carries a briefcase. I have this cool tote I got in Mexico City. Wait. What’s under my bag? Ray?”
    â€œThey didn’t find it! Saint Cecilia be praised.”
    â€œWhat? Briggan! Will you just shut up and tell me?”
    He winked at me. “I can’t be doin’ both,