“I’m sorry. Who did you say you are?” Domino asked, though I knew he’d heard perfectly.

   “Hotel security. Is everything all right in there, sir?”

   “We’re fine.”

   “Could you open the door and let us verify that everyone in the room is fine?”

   “I’m sorry, but I’m not comfortable with opening the door,” Domino said.

   “Sir, if you don’t open the door, we will be forced to unlock the door and enter without your permission.”

   “The safety bolt is on. You won’t get in,” Domino said.

   “We are just following up on a noise complaint, sir,” a second, slightly less authoritative voice said.

   Domino turned and looked at me, smiling in that way that men do when they’re proud of the noise you’ve made together. “If you had a noise complaint, I’m sorry. We’ll be quieter.”

   “People said they heard a woman screaming. I’m terribly sorry, sir, but we need to verify that the woman is not in any distress.”

   Domino smiled broader and shook his head. “Anita, can you tell them you’re not in distress?”

   I held the sheet a little tighter to my chest as if I needed more cover-up just to talk through the door. “I’m sorry we were loud, but I’m fine.”

   “I’m sorry, miss. We’d love to be able to take your word through the door, but we need to actually see you face-to-face,” the second male voice said; he sounded younger than the other one.

   “Is there a law in Ireland against loud sex?” Domino asked.

   “No, sir,” said the voice through the door, “but there is a law against domestic abuse. If you don’t open the door and let us see the lady for ourselves, we will be forced to call the Gardai and report this as a potential assault.”

   “I didn’t think we were that loud,” I said.

   Ethan said, “You were loud.”

   “If you didn’t know what we were doing, would you think I was screaming for help?”

   “Maybe.”

   “Just a minute. We need to get some clothes on before we open the door,” Domino said, and backed away from the door. I’d have liked to say he was being paranoid, but the knock had spooked me, too. Maybe we were all just professionally paranoid.

   “Thank you, sir, ma’am, miss.” It was the younger security guard again; he sounded uncomfortable even through the door.

   It wasn’t just clothes we needed. The guns and blades that we’d been wearing were in a pile on either side of the bed. We had no official status in Ireland, so without one of the Gardai that knew us, or Nolan and his people with us, if we opened the door and the security people saw this many weapons, they would call the cops. We could put some of the dangerous stuff under the edge of the bed, but I didn’t want to shove them too far under, because then you couldn’t reach them, or worse yet I didn’t want to spend time searching for a gun that I’d forgotten was under the bed. I’d never done it yet, but I didn’t want to break my streak.

   “Sir, ma’am?” said the cop voice at the door.

   “Just tidying up,” I called out, trying to sound like a woman who had rented a hotel room with her lover and was maybe hiding bondage gear or sex toys from sight, not weapons. Nope, no weapons here.

   Ethan holstered the gun he’d drawn so he could help us put weapons in the closet. Domino pulled on underwear and jeans. He picked up his holster, but Ethan shook his head.

   I whispered to Domino, “We don’t have any legal status here. Without Nolan and his crew, we’re just armed strangers to these men. I don’t know what we were thinking going out without Nolan or someone with credentials to vouch for us.”

   “We couldn’t bring Donnie and Griffin upstairs with us,” he said.

   “Still should have asked for a card or something from Nolan,” I said.

   “You were in pain, and we were thinking about sex,” Domino said.

   “Edward let us walk off alone, too,” I said.

   “Him, I don’t have an excuse for,” Domino said.

   Neither did I, which meant I’d be talking to him about it later, but first . . . another loud knock. “We’ve been patient, but either you open this door now, or we call the police, assuming that the lady in question is injured.”

   Domino put on a T-shirt loose over the top of his jeans and put one handgun at the back of his waistband. It wasn’t an ideal place to carry for real, no matter how many times you see it in movies, but for a few minutes to not spook hotel security it would do.

   I’d started to put a robe on, but in the end I got one of the few oversize sleep shirts that I’d packed and put it on over jeans. I could have hidden my AR-15 under it without it showing, but I settled for my EMP tucked into the holster I normally carried it in; yay gun belt! I had to put it a little more to the front than I normally carried it, but I wanted concealment more than I wanted a fast draw. We only had show the hotel security that I wasn’t a victim, and then we could call Edward or any of our people still at the police station and get an escort back there. The fact that Domino and I had both taken the time to arm ourselves before we opened the door said we were indeed paranoid.

   The last knock shook the door. “This is the last warning, sir. Open the door or the Gardai are being called.”

   “We’re coming,” I called.

   Ethan went back to the other room, shutting the door between. Domino and I visually checked the room one more time for weapons, and then he opened the door with his body not in line of sight from the door, and me farther behind him. I’d stopped arguing with the bodyguards when they were guarding.

   “Sorry, really, but the room was a mess,” Domino said in a wonderfully ordinary voice.

   The two men in the doorway were both wearing dark suits and white button-up shirts, and they were shorter than Domino. The one in front was older and heavier, carrying enough around his middle that combined with the gray buzz cut of his hair he’d need to worry about cardiac health soon. His white button-up shirt strained across his chest and stomach, showing the undershirt as an imprint because it was all too tight. The second one looked like he should have still been in high school if he’d been in the States. Baby-fine white-blond hair cut short and a spattering of freckles across his cheeks made him look like an extra on a 1950s sitcom, but the black suit fit him well and the shoulder spread looked more grown-up than the face.

   I probably looked about the same age in the huge T-shirt and jeans, so I guess I shouldn’t throw stones, and God knew what my hair looked like after sex. Yeah, the stone throwing could wait.