Last year for St. Patrick’s Day, we dispelled some Irish myths. I learned a lot about modern Irish culture as I wrote about Irish characters. Once, they even got to be the villains—and that’s what we get to see today as part of The St. Patrick’s Day Blogfest hosted by Colene and Alexia!

In this (never ever edited and heavily compressed) excerpt, Mark is trying to find the bomb Grace and Pearse have planted on a St. Patrick’s Day parade float the night before the parade. Mark has been investigating them separately for a while, using different cover IDs with each of them (one of which is Southern).

That’s about to come back to bite him.

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They could kill hundreds of people tomorrow. Thousands.

On the second row of parade floats, Mark spotted a pile of clutter in the pristine warehouse. If he found the bomb, the bomb squad could be here by the time he finished his sweep. It’d take two minutes to check. It was only a small risk.

He jogged to the toolbox and tools. They were definitely coming back. He glanced at the float. Along the bottom edge, clothespins held a few inches of long green fringe around a small, white translucent plastic cube.

They’d started installing it. Mark jammed his gun into his waistband, grabbed a flashlight from the toolbox and slid beneath the float. The wires hung there, exposed. He could end it now.

He crept from under the float, but before he moved, Mark heard a gasp behind him. He drew his gun, but a flashlight blinded him.

“Jason?” Grace.

A less experienced operative would’ve broken cover and confessed all. A better operative would play his cover even harder. “Grace, what are you doin here?”

“I should be askin’ you the same thing.”

“What’s this, then?” A man’s voice rang out behind him—Irish accent, familiar.

Pearse? Mark turned around and was again blinded by a flashlight.

“Jimmy?” Definitely Pearse.

“Now, y’all, let’s don’t go jumpin—” A blow to the back of his head cut Mark off mid-sentence.

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And it gets worse. Hooray!

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!