Deadly Gift

by Heather Graham

  “Will you wait for me?” he asked her.

  She wanted to lie. She wanted to tell him that she’d thought about it, and her friends would feel uncomfortable about a stranger crashing her farewell, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to.

  “Mr. Flynn, you must be worn out. On an overnight plane, at the hospital all day,” she said.

  “Too dingy looking for public consumption, am I?”

  “I didn’t mean that.”

  “Give me ten minutes.”

  “Seriously—”

  “Please?” he said pleasantly.

  She hesitated, then nodded slowly. Anything else would have been rude. And maybe Mary would greet her warmly enough that she would appear to have at least one friend.

  There was an elegant bar just off the lobby, and he indicated that she should wait for him there. “May I hold your bags for you?”

  “What?”

  “Your shopping bags. We can leave them in my room while we’re at dinner, and then I’ll fetch them down and see you home for the night afterward,” he said.

  She was loath to give up the bags, almost as if she would find herself trapped if she handed them over.

  But then she grew irritated with herself for being afraid of the man, knowing full well that he was suspicious of her, and that was why he was promoting their acquaintance. She stiffened inwardly. She was not going to worry about him; she knew what she was doing, and she didn’t intend to let him interfere with her purpose.

  She’d already missed the chance to say something useful, like, Sorry, but I’m not nearly ready for this trip, and I have to go home and pack. Or, Sorry, but I have to drive out to the country and say goodbye to Mum and Dad.

  And now she was standing there looking like an idiot.

  Nothing to do but try to appear gracious. And to use this man, if need be, since he was clearly close to the family.

  She offered him the bags. “Lovely, thanks.”

  And with that, she turned and headed into the bar.

  4

  It had been a long day. A long flight, and a long afternoon at the hospital, time on the phone, time wishing he hadn’t come—time wishing he could stay longer. If he’d had any sense, he would have had dinner sent up and gotten a good night’s sleep.

  But the temptation to find out more about the nurse who was accompanying Sean home had been strong. He didn’t tend to categorize people based on looks, and he’d seen plenty of beautiful nurses. But this woman was absolutely striking.

  The image of her perfect, porcelain skin and cobalt eyes remained with him as he checked in at the desk, got his key and a welcome speech, and was pointed toward the elevator.

  Thoughts of her remained with him as he quickly washed his face, ran a razor over the more-than-shadow he had acquired since he’d last shaved, and hopped in and out of the shower quickly enough to feel the heat of the water and wish he could stay longer.

  She was wearing a casual blue sweater dress, so he chose a blue sweater, as well, to go with black jeans and his overcoat. Blue, he thought, taking one last look in the mirror. Deep, dark blue—but still no match for the color of her eyes.

  Whoa, buddy, he told himself. He was supposed to be figuring her out, seeing as she was about to be very close to Sean for a while, not assessing the virtues of her appearance. But since they were on his mind, maybe he should assess them and get the subject out of the way. Okay, list time.

  Her hair had a blue-black gleam more brilliant than a raven’s wing, and judging by the way the sweater dress molded her form, she was built as perfectly as any model who had ever graced the pages of a Victoria’s Secret catalogue, and he had the feeling she wouldn’t need any airbrushing. Maybe it was the arrangements of her features that made her so compelling. Her face was a delicate oval, her nose perfect, her lips generous and yet cleanly shaped. She had high, elegant cheekbones, and those eyes…

  He’d noticed that those eyes were often wary, filled with suspicion. But he was somehow certain that those eyes could also fill with passion and compassion, that they could blaze with anger against injustice, and soften to the warm blue of a summer’s day with empathy for those in her care.

  So what was his problem? What was not to like?

  Something about her just wasn’t right, though he couldn’t figure out what. They were heading to a pub to say goodbye to her friends, and that was certainly normal enough. She worked in the hospital, was clearly known there….

  On the other hand, his brother’s old associate was theoretically working in the hospital, too, and he was anything but what he seemed.

  He felt that the evening was going to be important; it would be a chance to see her in her element and get a better sense of her.

  Why the hell was she willing to drop everything at a moment’s notice and head off to the United States to care for an old man with an undiagnosed illness? Maybe that question, more than anything, was at the heart of his curiosity, his suspicions.

  Once, she might have been glad for any opportunity to go to the States. Years ago, the economic situation in Dublin had been bad enough to send Irish nurses to the U.S. by the thousands. But Ireland was enjoying a time of solid financial footing these days, and the immigration level of the Irish to the U.S. had definitely dwindled. She wasn’t accompanying Sean in hopes of making her way to a new country for good.

  He’d had her credentials checked out, and on paper, she was everything she should be.

  There was just that something he couldn’t put his finger on, something he sensed. Aidan claimed that “sixth sense” was what made a good private investigator, and Zach had to agree.

  Sean adored Caer Cavannaugh. He barely knew her, but he already spoke of her with genuine affection. There was nothing lascivious in it, so it wasn’t as if he was head over heels—as he had been when he’d decided to marry Amanda. That union had surprised all of them. Not only because of the vast age difference, though that was certainly a red flag, but because Sean was a man who loved books, learning and the sea, and Amanda was interested in none of those things. Sean was definitely well off, but he wasn’t stupid enough to be taken in by a simple gold digger. Not even Kat was sure why she was so convinced her stepmother wanted to do in her father. She knew she was protected in his will, as were his partners and his business.

  Of course, if Eddie weren’t found, there would have to be some changes.

  He chafed, thinking about Eddie and how much he wanted to be back in the States, searching for the man.

  There was no way he could think of that Amanda could be guilty of Eddie’s disappearance. Sean and Amanda had left the States the same day that Eddie had headed out on his fateful trip. Eddie had left at midday, and the O’Rileys hadn’t departed until the early evening, but from what Kat had told him, she’d seen Amanda around the house during the day. She had to pack the right jewelry, the right gowns for an evening out, the right casual couture for scrambling around the hills, and heading out of Dublin to view castle ruins and kiss the Blarney Stone. He’d spoken to Kat long enough to know that no, she couldn’t swear to Amanda’s whereabouts for the entire day, but she’d admitted that she wasn’t sure how Amanda could have gotten out of the house long enough to get to Eddie out on the water and do something to him.

  So Amanda and Sean had set out after a small goodbye party where people had commented on Eddie’s absence but just assumed he’d gotten held up on his afternoon cruise or down at the marina. It hadn’t been until the next day that Cal had reported—after arriving at work himself—that Eddie wasn’t there, and neither was the boat he had taken out the day before. He’d found the receipt for payment in the drawer. Cash. The name on the receipt had been John Alden, possibly real, but also a good enough alias to pass in New England. With no leads, the police were stymied.

  Then, just before Zach had boarded his plane for Dublin, Eddie’s boat had been discovered, but with no sign of Eddie. No sign of foul play. Just the boat, drifting alone.

  It was w
inter, but the weather had been mild. There had been no storms to sweep him overboard. There had been no rough water or unexpectedly strong currents, nothing that might have posed any danger for an old salt like Eddie.

  Sean hadn’t found out about Eddie immediately, because he had been rushed to the hospital just as the police had begun to investigate Eddie’s disappearance. But now Sean knew, and he was sick with worry.

  Eddie was more than a partner to him.

  Eddie had been his support when he was young and determined to take over the business and make a real go of it. Eddie was his best friend.

  It was bizarre, Eddie disappearing and Sean coming down with a debilitating and inexplicable illness. Two incidents, across the Atlantic from one another, and yet his gut told him they were related.

  Tomorrow night they would be back in the States. In Rhode Island. And then he could find out what the hell had happened to Eddie. If Eddie could be found, he would find him, he thought grimly. But there was one problem.

  Sometimes the sea gave back.

  And sometimes the sea was an endless black abyss, swallowing all signs of guilt—including the victim. If Eddie had been murdered and cast overboard…

  He picked up his bedside phone and asked to be connected with Mrs. O’Riley. But Mrs. O’Riley was apparently still at the spa.

  She would no doubt argue that she needed to be her absolute best in order to give Sean all the care and attention he would need during the flight home and during his recuperation. Zach didn’t care. He thought her place was at the hospital, by her husband’s side.

  He grabbed his wallet and his overcoat, pocketed his key and headed downstairs.

  He wondered if Caer Cavannaugh had really waited for him, or if she had simply headed out the door the moment he had gotten into the elevator.

  But she was there. He saw her as soon as he headed toward the open French doors that separated the bar from the lobby. She was sitting by a window with a pint of dark beer in front of her, and seemed to be studying the glass and the beer in it as if they were both something strange and unusual.

  Someone walked by on the street outside. The winter evening was already sliding toward a deeper darkness, and for a moment, she was cast completely in shadow. He found himself inadvertently thinking back to Maeve, earlier that day, and the way a shadow had seemed to pass by her on the plane and again in the airport. Maeve. A kind woman who had lived a long life and come home before leaving this world. He felt a tightening in his muscles and a strange sense of fear for Caer Cavannaugh. She wasn’t old; she hadn’t lived anything that resembled a full lifetime. An urge to protect her washed over him like a whitecap hitting a granite coast.

  He gave himself a shake. He’d seen so much that was horrendous and cruel and shouldn’t have been a part of anyone’s life, and that was affecting his judgment now. It was absurd to connect Maeve’s gentle death with his unwarranted fear for Caer.

  He’d spent his law enforcement career in forensics; he knew all about science and logic. He knew, as well, that fate was fickle, and no respecter of youth. Infants died; children fell prey to abuse from the adults who should have gone to any end to protect them; people of all ages suffered from terrible diseases. That was sad, but it was fact.

  Fearing shadows…that was ridiculous.

  He was tired, that was all.

  Caer looked up, that raven’s wing of dark hair framing the perfection of her features.

  She even offered him a tentative smile.

  He walked toward her, and as he got closer, he felt a sense of being drawn in, replacing his instinctive urge to protect.

  A sense of being the hunted, rather than the hunter.

  Which was absurd, although he supposed even he deserved a moment to indulge in imagination—especially here in this land of myth and mystery.

  His mind filled with a vision of winds that howled, storms that raged, a green that was greener than emeralds, laughter and tall tales. This was a land of belief, in God and in a mythical history populated by fanciful beings that had never lived and breathed except in the imaginations of a population fond of tall tales.

  Logic and science, those were the things he knew. He blinked hard and gritted his teeth, determined to cast off the strange fancies no doubt born of exhaustion.

  “So where are we going?” he asked Caer casually when he reached her side and sat down. He was close enough to smell the subtle scent of her perfume. Nothing overwhelming.

  Just…

  Seductive.

  “Irish Eyes,” she told him, signaling to the young man behind the bar to bring her check.

  Irish eyes. Was that what hers were? Bluer than cobalt or sapphires, a color so vibrant and deep. Irish eyes.

  “Irish eyes,” he repeated questioningly.

  She stared at him. “Irish Eyes. It’s the name of the pub,” she said.

  He quickly regained his composure, feeling like an idiot. “Right. Forgive an outsider’s confusion,” he said lightly.

  She smiled. “No problem. It’s a very popular place at Temple Bar. I’m sorry if that disappoints you, since many an American tourist makes his way there, so you won’t be getting off the beaten track, I’m afraid.”

  “I’ll still be with a native,” he said gallantly.

  He took the check when it came, though she tried to demur.

  “Hey, we’re both working for Sean, right?” he said.

  “Working?” she said, studying him with a frown. “But you’re his friend.”

  “I am his friend. A friend who intends to make sure he remains on this earth for a long time to come,” Zach said firmly. He signed the check to his room and started to turn away.

  “A minute,” she told him.

  He frowned as she reached for her pint and arched a brow. “We’re headed to another pub. You don’t have to swig.”

  “Swig,” she said, rolling the word on her tongue and smiling as if she liked it.

  “Or we can wait,” he said, leaning back.

  “It’s just that this is an exceptionally lovely beer,” she told him.

  “Sure,” he said.

  She didn’t swig, but she didn’t tarry, either. When she finished, she set the glass back on the table and smiled her enjoyment. She must have sensed that he was watching her, because a slight stain of color touched her cheeks.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t get out all that often,” she told him.

  “I see.” He didn’t see at all, though. Why would a woman who looked the way she did not get out? It couldn’t be for lack of invitations.

  “Let’s go,” she said cheerfully.

  As she stood, she swayed slightly. He automatically put an arm around her, steadying her, and his libido took a wild leap. She was warm, so vital against him that he found himself instantly lost in carnal thoughts that entwined with the reborn desire to protect her from…something. He gritted his teeth, torn between the desire to push her away and the urge to shake her and demand to know the truth.

  What truth?

  …Why was he so convinced that there was more to her than what he saw? Why not just accept her at her very attractive face value and be glad for the chance to spend time in her company?

  He didn’t know, nor did he have time to explore the thought, because she pulled herself together quickly and apologized. “I am so sorry. I haven’t had a drink in…I can’t even remember. I’ll go slow tonight, I promise you.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t let any harm befall you,” he said, stepping back and wondering why he’d chosen that particular turn of phrase. For just a moment their eyes seemed to lock.

  Images flashed through his mind. Eddie on an open sea. Maeve dying in his arms. Sean in his hospital bed. Blue eyes, bluer than the sea and sky, deep and dark, staring back into his eyes. Eyes filled with enigma and shadows…

  She turned swiftly, heading for the door. “Chop-chop, then. Let’s go on for a bit of supper and get back, eh? Tomorrow will be long.”

  She had move
d, and whatever had held him hypnotized lifted its hold.

  Yeah, supper. Something to eat and a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow, back to reality, and starting tomorrow night, the search for Eddie.

  He would bring logic to bear, and discover the truth behind Eddie’s disappearance and Sean’s illness.

  Cal Johnson usually slept well. But not tonight. Tonight he couldn’t stop thinking.

  He was the youngest of the three partners, and he knew he’d been brought in because Eddie and Sean had been starting to get tired of handling everything themselves. Face it, they were both getting older—even if Sean had married a woman half his age. The point was, the two older guys wanted more free time. Hell, they deserved it. They’d worked hard.

  They loved their history, those two. Loved to pore over books and charts, then sail out to the site of some important event and relive it.

  He wasn’t all that into history himself.

  He was still into making money.

  He love sailing, and loved the area. And if he had to learn history to run a successful charter business, then he was glad to do so, but it wasn’t anything he would have done otherwise. He was better when his passengers just wanted a look at the scenery from the water, or even a sailing lesson. He was good at that.

  And no one could tell a worn-out old story and make it sound exciting again the way Sean could.

  It had to be three or four in the morning, he thought, tossing restlessly.

  Why the hell couldn’t he sleep?

  Eddie. That was why.

  They’d found the boat, but there’d been no sign of Eddie.

  He trembled suddenly. He knew why he had awakened. He’d had a nightmare. He’d seen Eddie all covered in seaweed, tangled up in ropes and torn sails. Hungry sea creatures had been clinging to him, were almost a part of him.

  He’d come in with the shriek of the wind, all darkness and menace and…

  He’d stood at the foot of the bed, staring down at Cal, but when he’d opened his mouth to speak, he hadn’t said anything.

  Cal had awakened instantly and sat up, but Eddie, of course, hadn’t been there.