Deadly Gift

by Heather Graham

  “Kat,” Caer said seriously, “what makes you so certain that Amanda is…after your father?”

  “My dad is in his seventies,” Kat said flatly. “And Amanda spends half her day in front of the mirror. All he is to her is a meal ticket. I think she’d cut my heart out, too, if she could.”

  “But she wouldn’t inherit all your father’s money,” Caer said.

  “No. My father believes in his flesh and blood. Sometimes I wish he hadn’t been so brilliant with business, though. But the thing is, he did what he loved and still does. He just happened to do it better than all the rest, him and Eddie.”

  “What about Cal?”

  “Cal’s good,” Kat said. “And Marni is great with the books. I’m sure they’re both sweating this whole thing, though. My dad really is that company. With Eddie gone…” Her voice trailed off. “Well, I’m sure Cal is praying that Dad gets well soon, and that nothing else happens.”

  “Do you think something else is going to happen?” Caer asked her.

  “Don’t you? Isn’t that really why you’re here?”

  “I’m here to see that your father takes his medications, and to be around in case there’s an emergency with his heart or his blood pressure,” Caer said, wondering if there was anyone here who didn’t think they knew why she was really there.

  “Yeah, right,” Kat muttered.

  “What?”

  “You’re working for Zach, aren’t you?”

  “Pardon?”

  “The Flynn brothers brought you in. Don’t try to tell me differently.”

  “No, really, that’s not true,” Caer said.

  “Whatever. I’m just hoping you and Zach really do have a thing going, because it’s time for him to find the right person, and you’re either an amazing actress or one of the most ‘right’ people I’ve met in my life. You care about him, I know. I’ve seen your eyes when he doesn’t know you’re watching him, and I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Then again, I guess a lot of guys look at you that way.” She laughed. “You are refreshing. Marni loves a mirror, and I think Amanda worships at one. But they can’t hold a candle to you. You just walk into a room and it’s game over. Plus you’re younger than Amanda.”

  “You’re younger than Amanda, too,” Caer told her, grinning but perplexed.

  “Yes, but I’m my dad’s daughter. She hates me, but she’s not jealous of me the way she is of you. Or Marni. She’s always hanging on my dad. She told me once that she lost her father when she was really young, and that’s why.”

  “Maybe that is why.”

  “I don’t think so. She flat out flirts with him. Honestly? I think she’d have an affair with him in a heartbeat”

  “What?” Caer asked, shocked.

  “Don’t worry. My father would never do anything like that. He doesn’t get all hot and bothered over a pretty face. That’s why we were all floored when he fell head over heels for Amanda. My mom has been dead a long time, so it wasn’t anything like that. It’s just that…he was barely dating, and then…Amanda. But watch Marni when she’s around my dad. I’m surprised Amanda hasn’t thrown a fit yet and tried to get Dad to fire Cal just to get rid of Marni. You’ve seen how she treats Clara, but I promise you, Tom and Clara will outlast Amanda, and so will Cal and Marni. My father believes in loyalty. Anyway…I have Dad covered tonight. You two go out. And stay out late. Oh, and fool around if you get a chance,” Kat teased. “Dating the boss is exciting, don’t you think?”

  “Honestly, I met Zach for the first time when he came over to Ireland,” Caer said.

  “Whatever you say. Now go. You look like a million bucks.”

  Caer stood, shaking her head. Maybe it was all right if she left Kat thinking she worked for Zach. She certainly didn’t seem able to convince her otherwise.

  Kat caught her hand, dragging her out of the room just as Zach was coming down the stairway.

  He’d donned a suit, and Caer felt her breath catch. He was gorgeous. He was fixing a cufflink when he looked up, saw her—and froze.

  “Hey, get a room, you two!” Kat said. “You both clean up real nice. Now get out of here.”

  “We’re going, we’re going,” Zach assured her. “Miss Cavannaugh?” He made a slight bow, directing her toward the kitchen and the way out. In the garage, he opened the car door for her, and she slid into the passenger seat.

  She felt awkward. This was like…a date.

  They were going out.

  And anything could happen.

  She sat stiffly in the car as he drove. She found herself staring at his hands where they lay on the wheel. Musician’s hands. His fingers were long, and his hands were neither too rough looking nor too manicured. They had a strength about them, the kind of strength that made her shiver down to her bones.

  He flashed her a glance. “Are you all right with this? You look tense.”

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  He grinned. “I’m not evil.”

  “I promise you, I’m not evil, either.”

  His grinned deepened. “Evil or not, Miss Cavannaugh, you really are quite stunning.”

  “Like Kat said, we both clean up well.”

  He laughed. “You’re stunning even when you don’t clean up. Not that I’ve seen you running around in the mud or anything.”

  “Only in the sand,” she said.

  “That’s a taboo subject for tonight,” he told her.

  “Really?” She turned to him and smiled skeptically. “I know you. You’re already planning your next move.”

  “Am I?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, it is what I do,” he said. “I find the missing. I solve the mystery. It’s the family business.”

  “Right. So you have a plan, even if you’re not going to talk about it with me. You’re not going to sit around just waiting.”

  “I’m going to find out what Eddie found out. There. That’s it in a nutshell. Now, let’s move on. Tell me more about yourself, Miss Cavannaugh.”

  “There’s not that much to tell.”

  “Oh, I have a feeling there’s a massive tome behind you.”

  “You first, then, since you seem to think I’ll be talking for the rest of the night.”

  “Okay. My parents died when I was in high school. They were great. My dad could be tough, but my mother was just as strong. Irish. Dad’s family went way back. He was a cop. He and Sean had been friends for years. We all spent time together when we were growing up. Aidan’s the oldest. He joined the military, and they paid for him to go to school so he could keep the three of us together until we were all legal. We all love music, and we all went into law enforcement. A little over a year ago, we inherited a plantation down in New Orleans. Aidan, his wife and their baby live in it now. And you’ll meet Jeremy soon, I imagine. He’s down in Salem, Massachusetts—he just married a woman who lives there. Let’s see, I own some small music studios. I saved up and invested in the first one, and that one made enough for the second one, and so on, and I used some of the money I made to start a music label. I love stuff that’s new and exciting—or old but done in a new and exciting way. A few of the artists I’ve picked up—like Kat—have been bought out by major labels, so it’s been a very nice sideline. That’s it. I was in forensics when I was a cop, but I think you know that. And now I work with Aidan and Jeremy. It’s a great gig. Now you,” he said pointedly.

  “Aidan is the oldest?” she asked.

  “Yes, I told you that. Your turn.”

  She looked ahead. “Isn’t that the restaurant?”

  “Yes, but you’re not getting out of this.”

  He drove into the valet lane. A few moments later they were walking into what appeared to be an original colonial building. It was whitewashed, boasted grand pillars and was decorated with American flags.

  The staff members were all dressed in colonial garb, right down to the Martha Washington caps the women wore.

  They were ushered to an elegantly set table in an a
lcove and presented with a wine list.

  “Wine?” he asked her.

  “Whatever you’d like.”

  “I’m fond of a good beer on tap, actually, but you’re welcome to whatever you’d like.”

  “A good beer on tap will be lovely,” she assured him.

  As they waited for their drinks to come, Caer studied the menu intently.

  He leaned closer to her and said, “You’re not getting out of it, you know.”

  “Out of what?”

  “Telling me your life story.” He took the menu from her. “Will you let me order for you? I’m not trying to be chauvinistic, I’m just trying to make sure you get a great American meal.”

  “Please. By all means.”

  Their waitress returned with their drinks. They’d both ordered a dark seasonal beer from a local brewer. She sipped, loving the flavor, as he ordered.

  He chose turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes and green bean casserole for both of them, with mini hot dogs and mustard for an appetizer.

  “As American as apple pie—which we’ll have for dessert,” he told her. “Now. Go on.”

  She took another sip of her beer, grinning. “You are persistent.”

  “Have to be. It’s the only way to solve a mystery. And the Irish can make any story dramatic, I’ve learned.”

  She laughed. “Really? All right, then. My father was one of the faerie folk, and my mom was…a banshee. They lived around the Giant Stones near Tara. I have one sister who disgraced the family by running off to live with the leprechauns.”

  “How about the truth?”

  She looked at him, noting the tone of his voice, and set her glass down. “My father was killed fighting when I was fifteen. My mum died soon after. She was very sick. My siblings wound up spread out around Ireland. My baby brother was adopted and taken to Australia. And I’ve been lucky enough to acquire a good education and a job that gives me a great deal of satisfaction.”

  “Sounds like you had a tough time of it, growing up,” he said, but he didn’t apologize for making her bring up what must have been sad memories. They were just part of life.

  “But you do have good friends,” he said.

  “Pardon?”

  “Mary and her family. They were lovely people. I really enjoyed that pub—Irish Eyes. And they think the world of you there.”

  “Oh. Aye, well, thank you.”

  He was staring at her again. She met his eyes and found herself wondering about his thoughts.

  She almost started when his hand touched hers across the table, his fingers moving gently. It wasn’t a sexual gesture, but it seemed to be the most erotic thing she had ever experienced.

  “What is it about you?” he asked, and his voice was husky.

  “I…don’t know?”

  He laughed, and the sound was deep and rich, as sensual as the brush of his fingers.

  “I can’t figure out what you’re really up to, but the more time that goes by, the less I care. I look at you, and I trust you, even though it’s against everything I’ve ever done, been or known. You speak, and I’m nearly hypnotized by the sound of your voice.”

  She didn’t know what to say. She was frozen in place, and her throat had closed up. She was afraid that if she tried to speak, she would squeak.

  Salads arrived along with the mini hot dogs, which were accompanied by delicate little cups that held mustard and ketchup. He drew his hand back. She straightened in her chair and thanked the waitress, who smiled, told them to enjoy their salads and their appetizer, and moved away.

  Caer tasted a hot dog and pronounced it delicious.

  “There’s an American treat for you,” he promised.

  She chewed delicately, taking her time. He seemed to enjoy them himself.

  “You like my story because it’s similar to yours,” she told him.

  “I don’t like to hear anything that’s painful,” he said. “People shouldn’t have to lose their parents when they’re young. It’s as unnatural as a parent losing a child. I’ve seen that happen, too. All in all, I’ve seen some pretty horrible things out there. So I’m glad to hear you’ve done well on your own, and to know that you have good friends.”

  “What if I really had been the child of a faerie and a banshee?”

  “Are you?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Then…?”

  “There are strange things in this world that could be true,” she told him.

  He hesitated. “I’ve seen some strange things, I admit, but usually it’s strange people who cause everything around them to seem…strange.”

  “So you don’t believe in ghosts?”

  She was surprised by his hesitation, but then he grinned and said, “Actually, even my very tough oldest brother might believe in ghosts. I’ve never been really sure.”

  “Ghosts are real,” she said softly.

  “Have you spoken with any lately?”

  “Now you’re making fun of me.”

  “No, I’m not.” He shrugged. “There’s real—and there’s not real. That’s just the way it is.”

  A string quartet—dressed in colonial style—was playing chamber music in a far corner. She turned to watch them.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked.

  “Aye.”

  “Puccini,” he said.

  Their appetizer plates were whisked away and their dinners arrived. She found that she especially loved the stuffing, which had corn, nuts and raisins in it.

  They ordered more beer.

  He told her more about Louisiana and the family plantation, insisting that she really had to see it one day. He talked about Florida, as well, growing up in the north of the state, working in the far south. She talked a bit about her work as a nurse and educated him on Irish history. The time passed quickly.

  When they finished, she was relaxed. As they returned to the car and headed to the pub, he entertained her with stories about the scrapes he had gotten into with his brothers, and how their mother only had to grab one of them by the scruff of the neck or speak a single word to make them shape up.

  “She was that scary?” Caer asked.

  “She was that wonderful,” he said, looking straight ahead. “We loved her to pieces. We were a little wild, but we all adored her. And my dad, of course. We all wanted to grow up to be just like him. In a way, we’ve managed that.”

  At the pub, she was introduced to jazz. She loved the sound of it. They sat in a booth, and she leaned against him, his arm resting easily around her shoulders.

  She didn’t think she’d ever felt more blissful.

  There’s real—and there’s not real.

  That was what he’d said.

  At the moment, though, it was real. And she loved it.

  They listened to the music for a long time, the silence between them a very comfortable thing. When they left, she was loath for the evening to end.

  “I don’t want to go back,” she admitted out loud.

  He glanced at his watch. “Well, I can show you one more thing in Newport, if you’d like.”

  “Really? What? It’s late, isn’t it?”

  He laughed. “Yes, it’s late, but I can get us in.”

  “Oh?”

  He drove for about five minutes. They weren’t exactly off the beaten path, but neither were they in the midst of a commercial area.

  He parked in front of a long commercial building that looked both very old and very well cared for. She realized that small placards on the different doors advertised an art gallery, a piano store, a photography studio and, on the last door, a music studio.

  “Yours?” she asked him.

  “My latest acquisition. On the upper level. Just up these stairs.”

  He drew out his keys and started up, and she followed.

  The reception held a desk, a sofa and several chairs, all tastefully antique. Magazines of all sorts covered the coffee table, and it seemed a very comfortable place to wait. “The
sound studios are this way.”

  He walked along the hall, opening doors as he went. She was fascinated. There were monstrous machines with all kinds of buttons, and glass cubicles that held nothing but microphones and stools. Headphones hung neatly on rungs by the doors.

  “I’m amazed,” she told him. “And extremely impressed. But when do you find time to work here?”

  He laughed. “I don’t, really. I send people here to do the work for me. These days I have managers and technicians who do most of the work.”

  “It’s incredible.”

  “It’s a good studio,” he told her. “People like it. The important thing, of course, is the quality of the sound you produce. But it’s good to be comfortable. There’s more.”

  He led her down to the end of the hall, where there was a full kitchen, and behind it, a bedroom, sleek and inviting, with a lush private bath. The carpet was a rich blue, the bedspread a shade deeper and piled high with pillows.

  “Who lives here?” she asked him.

  “No one. It’s for visiting artists, but there isn’t one at the moment.”

  At that moment, Caer made a conscious decision.

  This was her night.

  She might never have another one.

  She walked into the room. It was lit only by the glow coming in from the kitchen, and she thought she had never seen anything more inviting.

  Zach had remained in the doorway.

  She turned to him. “Aren’t you supposed to make a move now, or something?” she asked softly.

  “I can’t say it hasn’t occurred to me,” he told her. “But it wasn’t my intent when we started out tonight. It wasn’t even my intent when we came here.”

  “It wasn’t my intent when we started out this evening, either,” she said. “It is my intent now.”

  Still, he didn’t come to her. She didn’t know how long she could hold out before she felt like an idiot and went racing from the room.

  She didn’t have to find out.

  He strode over to her, and she was suddenly grateful for the dimness, because she was shaking, tremulous, not at all sure. Then his arms came around her. She had visualized so much before….

  But this…This was real.

  All the wonder, warmth, strength and vibrancy she had imagined were there in his embrace. And then…the tenderness in his fingers as he lifted her chin, and the hot, deep wonder of his kiss when his lips found hers, a touch at first, molding shape against shape, and then a burst of hunger and his tongue deep within her mouth, amazingly intimate, a harbinger of things to come, searing and frantic.