Smoked

wasn’t as though the missing jewels had tremendous value. They consisted of only two pieces, valued today at twenty million at best.
They were not even linked to any monarchy but, instead, to the Order of St. Patrick, an elite aristocratic order founded in 1783. The last knight of the order, who would’ve been the one to wear the regalia, had died in 1974. Even if there had been successors, they wouldn’t have owned the jewels; they would merely have been in possession of them.
Apart from it being Ireland’s greatest mystery, there seemed to be little reason why anyone would pursue finding them. And then the accolades would only be in notoriety—something Siren wouldn’t want or could afford in her line of work.
According to Decker, since her first visit a day prior, it appeared Siren was surveilling the antique shop but, according to the security footage Deck had hacked into, hadn’t been back inside.
Once in Dublin, I rented a car and drove to Kinsale. A feeling of foreboding settled in my chest and grew increasingly worse with every kilometer I traveled. Siren was in danger, I swore I could sense it.
I was halfway there when a call came through from Decker. I pulled to the side of the road before answering.
“What’s up?”
“I had two agents that were in Dublin take a drive down to Kinsale to visit the antique store Siren’s been so fascinated with.”
“And?”
“They went in as a couple, and while the woman engaged the shop owner, the man took a look around. They both reported that the guy, James Mallory, seemed agitated by their presence, particularly when the pair split up. When one of the agents got to the back of the store, he saw an office and, beyond it, an old safe in a storage room. Mallory charged past him and slammed the door closed.”
In Siren’s words, the feckin’ eejit just drew more attention to the safe than he otherwise would have. “There’s something in it that he doesn’t want anyone to know about.”
“I’d agree.”
“Anything else?”
When Decker said there wasn’t, I thanked him and ended the call.
I drove directly to Mallory’s antique shop rather than stop again. As I rounded the corner, I was horrified by the sight in front of me.
Fire trucks surrounded what I could only assume was my destination, now a smoldering, blackened shell. I pulled up, parked a safe distance away, and was surveying the scene when I saw someone race past one of the firefighters and into the building—Siren!
I rushed past the same men she had. “Siren!” I called out. “Siobhan! Where the fuck are you?”
I knew she was headed to the back of the shop where Decker said the agents had seen the safe. “Siren!” I yelled again, staying low to the ground, hoping to get a glimpse of her through the haze of smoke.
As if it were a special effect, the cloud suddenly cleared, and in front of me stood the woman I’d hated and loved equally in the months I’d known her.
“Get out of here, Smoke. This is none of your concern,” she shouted.
“It may not be,” I said, taking a step in her direction. “But you are. Let me help you, Siobhan.”
“I was never your concern, Broderick, except to play with.” Her Irish brogue was thick, like when she was about to cry.
“Please.” I took another step closer and held out my hand. Before I was near enough for her to take it, I heard a crack above us. I dove in her direction, covering her body with mine as the still-smoldering ceiling came crashing down on us both. Through my thin shirt, I could feel the heat singe my skin and gritted my teeth against the excruciating pain. With one arm, I shoved the rafters off of us and then heard another crack.
“We have to get the fuck out of here.”
When Siren didn’t respond, I realized her eyes were closed. She was breathing, but the force of my body hitting hers to the ground must have knocked her out. I gathered her into my arms, stood, and raced toward the closest light I could see coming from the back of the building. I was just about to the door when I almost tripped. I looked down and saw a body lying in a heap on the floor.
“Help!” I shouted, running out of the building and around to the front. “There’s someone else in there,” I yelled to men rushing toward me. “Not far from the back door.”
“Get a medic!” one of them shouted in the direction of the truck. “He’s injured!”
I was within a few feet of what looked like an ambulance when Siren came to and immediately began struggling. “Smoke, put me down, I have to get back in there!” she cried.
“Forget the fucking safe; it doesn’t matter, Siobhan.” I’d set her on her feet, but kept my grip tight on her arm when the pain in my back got so bad I feared I’d lose consciousness.
“Not the safe, it’s Jimmy. He’s in there!” She wrenched her arm away, and we both turned when we heard shouting coming from the building as one of the firefighters ran out with a body in his arms.
“He’s alive!” I heard one of them shout as they ran past us.
“Smoke! You’re burned!” Siren screeched, pulling me toward the ambulance. “We need help over here!”
I took a step, and everything went black.

26
Siren
“Help!” I screamed when I saw Smoke about to go down, knowing there was no way I was strong enough to catch him. Two guys raced over.
“Get a gurney over here!” one of them yelled, keeping Smoke from rolling onto his back.
I knelt beside him, and he opened his eyes. “You eejit, what were you thinking?” I said, cupping his cheek with my palm.
“Had to…save…you.” He groaned through gritted teeth as the men shifted his body onto the gurney. I had to turn my head away when I saw the extent of the burns on his back.
“I want to