Forever Mine: Callaghan Brothers, Book 9(68)

“No,” Charlie said, answering Jack’s unspoken question (and further increasing Jack’s confidence in the process). “I prefer to remain in the shadows. I only emerge when the situation requires it. Or, as in this case, when I want to.”

Mona appeared out of nowhere with another mug, took Charlie’s order (he ordered a special for himself and Jack), then disappeared again before Jack could protest.

“So what the hell brings you to this neck of the woods?” Jack said. “I thought you were a Midwestern boy.”

“I am,” Charlie agreed. “But I like the mountains around here. Thinking of buying some land, building a remote cabin away from the rest of the world for when I retire. Or maybe go underground. I have some ideas for a fully functional, self-contained shelter when shit inevitably hits the fan someday. And it will.” He tapped his temple with his index finger.

“Good plan,” Jack said. He’d often dreamed of doing the same thing himself. His father used to bring him hunting around here when he was a kid, first week of deer season, without fail. A lot of the forested land was state game lands, but there were always parcels available if you knew the right people and had enough cash.

“Business must be good, then,” Jack said, lifting the mug to his lips.

“Aye, it is at that,” Charlie said. “So what are you doing with yourself these days, Jack?”

“Is that really what you want to talk about?”

“I never discuss business on an empty stomach. And neither should you. A man cannot concentrate properly when bacon is involved.”

Mona arrived with two heaping plates. Eggs, sausage, home fries, and thick slices of slab bacon sat atop a mountain of buttermilk pancakes. Jack’s appetite re-emerged; his stomach rumbled in welcome. Maybe Charlie had a point.

“I own a pub,” Jack told him in between delicious, grease-laden forkfuls.

“A pub, huh?” Charlie laughed. “Wasn’t that supposed to be my dream?”

It was. Jack suddenly remembered pulling guard duty with a then nineteen-year old Charlie passing the time by telling him about the old-fashioned Irish tavern he would own someday.

“So you don’t own a pub?”

“Didn’t say that, did I? I’ve got several, but there’s only one I’m really fond of. Old place with real spirit to it, if you know what I mean. I’ve been fixing her up in my spare time.”

Jack told him about his place, and they commiserated about the amount of time and effort that went into a quality renovation. Both agreed it was well worth it.

“Are you married?” Jack asked.

“Nah. Never met the right one, I guess. What about you? Did you marry that Irish lass you were always mooning over?”

“Aye.”

“Kids?”

“Seven sons.”

Charlie whistled. “Seven! You’ve been a right rutting bastard, haven’t you? All black-haired, blue-eyed, big lads like their father, I suppose?”

Jack grinned, the proud answer evident in his features.

“Eight Callaghans. I’m not sure the world is quite ready for that. You’ll be able to start your own team someday.”

Jack wasn’t sure how he felt about that, so he said nothing. From the moment Kane was born, he’d often wondered how he’d feel if his boys wanted to follow in his footsteps. Proud, certainly, but worried, too. The world was an ugly place, run by greedy, power hungry men. All he’d wanted to do when he got out was forget all that. To return to his sleepy little hometown and live whatever time he had left with Kathleen in an isolated bubble of his own making. For more than twelve years, that was exactly what he’d done.

Now here was that outside world again, looking for a way to poke holes in that bubble and demand his attention. He didn’t like it.

They talked more about land and bars and family. Once the plates had been cleared away, Charlie’s expression turned serious.

“Before I begin, I have to ask. Are you in?”

Knowing Charlie was involved made the decision easier. Charlie was a hell of a planner. He left nothing to chance. If shite went sideways, it would not be for lack of preparation on Charlie’s part.

Jack nodded. He saw both relief and approval in the other man’s face.

“It’s a hell of a thing, Jack,” Charlie said, his voice automatically lowering as he leaned forward to be heard over the din of the busy diner. “A human trafficking operation.”

“Tell me.”

“We’ve been after these guys for years. They’re smart. Too smart to be your run of the mill smuggler. We’ve identified a few as former immigration agents, agents who have chosen to leave the government pension behind in exchange for a spot on the payrolls of some very powerful family organizations.” He looked pointedly at Jack. “Family organizations based in Chicago and Vegas, but also with a strong presence on the east coast.”

Jack nodded in acknowledgement, hearing the words Charlie didn’t say.

“They operate under the guise of a completely legal, professional escort service. We’re not talking your run of the mill flesh peddlers here. The clients are billionaire businessmen and foreign dignitaries. And it goes beyond the public appearances and a couple of nights in the penthouse suite. These guys are leasing with the option to buy, if you know what I mean.”