O’Neill was downright gloating as he strode into the pub. Sean glanced up from the table he was sharing with Quinn and Doherty, trying not to flinch at the cat-killed-the-bloody-canary grin on O’Neill’s face. The man had been tasked with driving the explosives-filled car and parking it in front of Trinity Pub, and Sean was disappointed that O’Neill had followed through. A part of him had hoped O’Neill would chicken out or screw up. Because whether or not the damn thing went off, Sean didn’t feel right knowing there was a bomb in an area teeming with civilians and college kids. From the corner booth where she sat with her laptop, Bailey lifted her head and met his eyes, and he saw the same unhappiness he was feeling reflected on her face. Then she scowled and turned back to the computer screen, the rigid set of her shoulders revealing that she was as unhappy with him as she was about the car bomb. She’d barely said five words to him all morning.
