Page 8 of Her Irish Twins
“You’re really a nurse, aren’t you?”
She raises a brow. “Did you think I was lying?”
I smile. “No, but you’re not…” my eyes narrow. “You’re not with the FBI, are you?”
She snorts. “Um, what?”
I shake my head. “Figures.”
“I’m sorry, what’s going on?”
“We were watching you because you’ve been watching the interests of our bosses—poking around in affairs and businesses, talking to people in the neighborhood.”
She frowns, quickly shaking her head. “No, I’m just…” she trials off and looks away.
“What?”
“It’s nothing.”
My eyes search for hers, holding them when she finally looks at me.
“Give me something, Charlotte,” I say quietly.
“It’s still weird to me that you knew my name,” she whispers, looking into my eyes.
“Well, now you know ours.”
“And that’s your brother, you said?”
I nod.
“Are you guys twins?”
I chuckle. “Almost. Irish twins. I’m ten months older than Gavin.”
I sigh, standing and towering over her. Charlotte’s breath catches a little, and her face reddens as she looks up into my eyes.
“So?” I say gently. “Help us help you out here. It’s pretty obvious you aren’t with the FBI, so what the hell were you doing poking around—”
“I’m looking for my sister,” she blurts out suddenly.
I frown. “Why were you looking around Southie at Irish pubs and some of those other businesses?”
“Because, there were rumors that these really not good guys—” she looks down. “Irish guys, I think, who were harassing her at work. And these guys are apparently known for getting girls into drugs and then into prostitution. I was worried…” she squeezes her eyes shut, and my jaw clenches as I move into her.
“Notus, Charlotte,” I say quietly, scowling. “Our organization doesn’t have shit to do with stuff like that. No girls, no pimping, none of that shit.”
She looks up and half-smiles. “Well, that’s good to hear. So, I’m not with the FBI…”
I chuckle. “Also, good to hear.”
“And you’re not pimping out my sister or trying to hurt me.”
“Not in the slightest. But you poking around coincided with one of our own disappearing—a good lad named Ash.”
She nods, frowning and looking down as she cleans up the needle and washes her hands in the sink.
“Sorry about your friend,” she says quietly.