There were two? Rose cast her mind back to the job file. She was certain the Elephant’s Nest belonged to a sole proprietor. “My call is in connection with the pub.” Rose indicated the empty room. “Michael O’Connor’s the owner, I believe.”
The woman’s face split into a warm grin. “Our Mick. Right you are, then. Won’t be a mo.” She disappeared up the three steps leading into the back, and Rose glanced around, suddenly uneasy. She usually dealt with large organizations. She had an inkling this job was going to be very different.
The fair-haired woman scuttled back down the stairs, giggling, and Rose watched expectantly for her latest client to appear. If he were the cooperative sort, her job would be a lot easier.
Michael O’Connor ran down the three steps with the grace of a dancer, flicked back his wealth of chestnut curls, and flashed her a seductive grin.
Rose felt her jaw go slack. He was the prettiest man she’d ever seen. From his cobalt blue eyes to his perfect lips, everything about his face was finely formed and faultless. As he sauntered out from behind the bar, he hooked his thumbs in the front pockets of well-worn, skintight jeans and tilted his lips into a smile that could probably melt hearts at fifty paces.
Oh, my God. She eyed his body—she couldn’t help herself. He might be pretty, but there was nothing feminine about the muscles outlined beneath his scarlet T-shirt. She felt her mouth slip into a flirty smile and mentally slapped herself. Get a grip. But she couldn’t. She was intoxicated, losing her senses.
He halted before her and extended his hand. “’Tis a pleasure to meet you, Rose Tremain.” He rolled her name off his tongue like an endearment. She caught a whiff of spicy fragrance and felt a liquid tug of arousal deep in her belly.
She closed her eyes and swallowed. This was certainly a new technique for impeding her investigation. She’d faced clients who were hostile, unhelpful, and obstructive, but never before had a client dazzled her with sex appeal.
Opening her eyes, she struggled for control. She bit the inside of her lip hard enough to hurt as she shook his hand. His eyes glittered between spiky dark lashes like the warm blue waters of the Mediterranean, tempting her in for a dip. What heaven she would find if she slid into that water. Let it flow over her. Immersed herself. Gave in to the pleasure waiting to—
A crash of breaking glass behind the bar snapped her back to the room as though she’d been yanked out of sleep. She blinked. For a second her mind swam; then her head cleared. Michael O’Connor still looked pretty, but now her normal good sense kicked in. He was exactly the type of man she always avoided. She’d learned as a child that the beautiful people who hung around her mother were all gloss and no substance.
Professional distance, she repeated in her head. Realizing she still held his hand, she dropped it like a hot brick.
His eyes flickered with confusion. Tilting his head to one side, he pouted. “You’re a strong-willed lass. What’s your business with me, Rose Tremain?”
Rose straightened her back. “I assumed you were expecting me, Mr. O’Connor. You signed my firm’s letter of engagement and agreed to the appointment date.” Although the bank he was in debt to would have given him no choice in the matter.
He shrugged, pulled a squashed packet of cigarettes from his back pocket, and flipped one out. “Not sure I be remembering that.”
Okay, she had encountered this tactic before: denial. “Well, as luck would have it”—she gave him a polite smile, propped her briefcase on a table, and pulled out a copy of the letter he’d returned—“I have a copy here.”
He scowled at her, jabbed the cigarette between his lips, and lit it with a gold lighter.
“Grand,” he said in a tone suggesting her presence was anything but. “Me office is this way.”
He led her behind the bar. As he passed the display of cigarettes, he tossed his half-full squashed pack into the trash and grabbed a new one. Okay, so he was extravagant and wasteful. Rose made a mental note to add those to the list of things he could correct to save money.
They mounted the steps, and she followed him along a short corridor with a kitchen off to one side. He took her through to a back entrance hall with a small reception desk in the corner. They must have rooms to let. Perhaps she could stay here?
“I don’t suppose you have any vacancies?”
He glanced back at her and his lips stretched into a grin. The hot, seductive glint in his eyes started to dissolve her brain again until she stamped on the feeling. How the hell did he do that when she had no interest in him?
“You after staying with me, darlin’? That can be arranged.”
Maybe staying here wasn’t such a brilliant idea. “No, forget it. I don’t want to inconvenience you. I should have booked ahead. I’ll find somewhere—”
“’Tis no inconvenience. You’ll have a room on the house.”
“I’d prefer to pay.” She refrained from telling him he needed all the revenue he could get.
He showed her through a door marked OFFICE behind the reception desk.
Rose paused on the threshold and glanced into the room expectantly. For the second time that evening, her mouth dropped open. The massive oak desk in the corner was hidden beneath piles of documents. Cardboard boxes were stacked beside it, also full of documents. But the thing that sent a chill of foreboding through her was not what she saw, but what she didn’t see.
“Where’s your computer?” She glanced behind the door and found nothing but a chair with a slat missing from its back.
Michael O’Connor laughed. She’d heard contagious laughs before, the sort that made you smile, even when you hadn’t heard the joke. Michael’s laugh had her grinning like a fool—at a problem.
“I can’t be doing with all those shenanigans. I like the old-fashioned ways.”
A sense of doom settled heavily in the pit of her stomach. She eyed the heaps of documents. The easy two-day job she’d expected took on mammoth proportions. It was vital to get the investigation out of the way quickly, or there wouldn’t be enough time to find her father. “Are your accounts recorded manually, then?” She searched for any sign of an analysis book but couldn’t see one.
“You’ll be needing me brother, Niall, if it’s computers and accounts you’re after. He’s the one with the gift in this family.”
Oh, thank God. Relief melted through her like the effect of a good cup of coffee. “Can you ask him if he’ll spare me a few hours in the morning to go through the records? From then on I’ll be fine alone, providing one of you remains available to answer questions.”
“Your wish is my command, darlin’.” Michael beamed his bone-melting smile at her again.
This time Rose caught herself before she responded inappropriately.
“I’m always available for a pretty girl,” he said with a wink.
Rose shrank inside from embarrassment. False flattery was one of her pet peeves. She hadn’t been a girl for many years, and her mother had made certain Rose had no illusions about her looks.
With a tight grip on her briefcase, she heaved a determined breath. This job wouldn’t be a problem. She’d complete her report on the Elephant’s Nest as fast as possible, then concentrate on the real reason for her visit to Cornwall. Niall O’Connor would be her point of contact. Hopefully he’d be easier to work with than Michael. Anyone logical enough to keep the financial records must be normal and down-to-earth.
The following morning, Rose checked her lipstick in the dressing table mirror in the room she’d taken at the Elephant’s Nest.
When she was served breakfast at seven, there’ been no sign of Michael O’Connor, thank goodness. He would probably be like strong spirits—too much to swallow until later in the day. She turned away from her reflection with a sigh. Imagine having to wake up in bed with him. How soul destroying to be faced with a man prettier than yourself every morning.
She checked her watch and wondered what time Niall O’Connor would be available. Until he showed her where he kep
t the accounts, there was nothing for her to do. She cast a sideways glance at her running outfit laid out on the chair. There would have been time to do a few miles after all, but it was too late to change her plans now. She’d already showered and dressed in a navy suit.
Rose wandered across to the window and fiddled with the three stone rings hung on a chain around her neck as she stared at the river. What could she do to fill the time?
Rose.
The whispered call in her head made her squeeze her eyes closed. She couldn’t read the cards now. What would Niall O’Connor think if he came to the room looking for her and saw them?
Rose.
She glanced at her pack of Magic Knot tarot cards in their black velvet bag on the nightstand. Taking them out of her case had been a mistake. Rose rubbed her temples to try to banish the quietly whispered entreaties in her head.
We only want to help.
After all her years living a normal life, why did she still have this ridiculous urge to ask advice from the cards?
Why do you deny us?
“Talk about emotional blackmail.” Rose swung around and snatched up the cards that had been designed and given to her by her mother.
She pushed her cell phone and makeup bag aside and laid out on the dressing table the square of purple silk she kept with her cards. Then she sat on the stool, feet flat on the floor, closed her eyes, and took three deep breaths to ground herself. After gathering the seventy-eight cards in her hands, she shuffled, their familiar smooth feel a balm to her soul.
Today she wouldn’t read for herself. After years of depending on the cards to tell her how to live her life, she’d finally weaned herself off the need for her morning reading. What she really required was more information on the two O’Connor brothers. Understanding their characters would help her deal with them.
She pictured Michael and fanned the cards in her hand. Eyes closed, she ran the tips of her fingers along the top of the pack.
When a corner dug into her skin, she opened her eyes, drew the card, and placed it faceup on the silk. The Moon. “Oh.” She bit her lip. The pale circle of the moon glowed behind the veiled face of the woman portrayed on the card. “The pale light masks a dark and secret nature,” Rose whispered, repeating the words her mother had recited many times when she’d taught her to divine with the tarot cards. Michael was not what he seemed.
She touched the card’s image. Illusion, whispered into her mind. Hidden truths.
A shiver ran through her. That didn’t bode well for her investigation. She needed a more precise idea of how he would behave as her client. Fanning the cards, she closed her eyes and drew another. The Seven of Cups. After laying it beside the Moon, she scanned the image of the golden-haired man lying beside a stream in a grassy glade, a misty dream bubble full of riches and beautiful women above his head.
“Dreams invade reality.” Michael lived in a fantasy world and probably wasn’t able to cope with reality. Two escapism cards together were worrying. They suggested an addiction. Maybe the smoking? With the tip of her finger, she traced the man’s golden hair down the back of his cloak. Sizzling lust burst through her.
“Yowee!” Rose snatched her hand back and pressed it against her chest to calm her pounding heart. With Michael’s looks, he probably had no trouble feeding that addiction.
After thanking the cards, she slid them into the deck. Anything Michael told her about the business should be treated with extreme caution.
Perhaps his brother would prove more helpful. “Niall O’Connor,” she whispered. “Show me the heart of the man.” The name Niall tasted strange and sharp on her tongue. She didn’t know what he looked like, so she concentrated on his name and let a feel for him float into her mind. With slow, precise movements, she reshuffled the cards, fanned them, and pulled one. “Justice.” She breathed a sigh of relief. In his heart, Niall O’Connor was a just and fair man. If she stayed on the right side of him, he’d probably help her.
As Niall seemed more promising, she decided to choose two more cards for him. Shuffling, she asked to be shown how he would help her and then drew the King of Coins. “Money?” Surely if he had any capital, he’d have bailed out his brother. This card must indicate that his advice would be reliable. She touched the dark-haired man who sat on a throne of twisted branches, a huge gold coin clutched in his hand. A warm breath of suggestion whispered in her ear, the words unclear but soft and beguiling.
Bewildered by the feeling, she took a deep breath to clear her head and moved on. Shuffling again she asked, “How will Niall work against me?” then selected a card. Ten of Swords! Her hand fisted against the silk as she stared at the young man lying facedown with ten swords thrust into his back.
Rose closed her eyes and massaged her temples, her belly queasy with remembered humiliation. She’d pulled the same card during her personal reading on the day her mother betrayed her. After all these years, the nightmare scenario was as clear as ever.
She drew a breath and tried to stay open to the card’s meaning for this reading. It could represent the successful conclusion of her investigation. But she’d asked to be shown how Niall would work against her. Reluctantly, she touched the image of the prone man and waited for the voice in her head.
Sacrifice, the whisper hissed.
She ached to withdraw her hand, hardly able to bear the feelings.
Betrayal, separation, pain—
She yanked her hand away with a groan and stared wide-eyed into the mirror, her ragged breaths filling the silence.
The memory of finding her mother with Tom burned in her mind. She’d been so terribly naive and trusting. How could she ever have believed Tom loved her when she knew she was nothing special?
She crushed the memory down. Her life was exactly as she wanted it now, and when she located her father, maybe she’d finally have a parent who valued her achievements—and valued her.
After squaring off the pack, she pressed the cool cards against her forehead. What did the Ten of Swords mean? How would Niall stab her in the back? The prediction filled her with disquiet, but it wasn’t the card’s fault.
“Thank you,” she whispered. The characters on the Magic Knot tarot cards had been her companions from her earliest memories. When her mother went on a binge, Rose had always turned to the cards for comfort. For a sad, lonely little girl, the characters had been her only family.
With a sigh, she slid the pack into its velvet bag and cinched the drawstring. She checked her face, then grabbed her purse and briefcase. When she stood, she straightened her body into professional mode. Let Niall O’Connor try to stab her in the back. Forewarned was forearmed. She had plenty of experience dealing with difficult people, from the uncooperative to the downright rude. “Bring it on, Mr. O’Connor. I’m ready for you.”
Chapter Two
At nine o’clock, Rose steeled herself and entered the small, untidy office Michael had shown her the previous evening. She felt deflated when there was no sign of Niall O’Connor.
Using a duster and polish borrowed from the woman cleaning the bar, she kept busy while she waited by tidying herself a workspace. At nine twenty, when she had the surface of the desk clear and gleaming with lemon-scented beeswax, Niall still hadn’t appeared.
She set her briefcase on the corner of the desk and took out the file from the bank. Then she arranged neatly around the space her cell phone, which had no signal in this back-of-beyond place, her calculator, her PalmPilot, and her pencils and pen. She leaned back in the rickety swivel chair and surveyed her handiwork.
Awareness tickled the back of her neck. She swung the squeaky chair around and checked the door.
A man stood in the open doorway, shoulder against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest in a relaxed pose at odds with his alert expression. Rose had a strange moment in which reality twisted into a different shape. He looked like Michael O’Connor, only the oozing charm had been replaced by a faint air of menace that fluttered dark thrills of anti
cipation through her.
Every feature of his face matched Michael’s, from the startlingly blue eyes to the perfect lips. How was it possible for two men to look the same and yet so different? This man had short hair and wore a loose brown shirt, green combat pants, and brown leather hiking boots. Of course, the man on the motorcycle had been Niall.
“You and Michael are identical twins.”
“I know,” he said flatly as he appraised her, his eyes blank, his face expressionless. “Who might you be?”
“Rose Tremain. Michael didn’t tell you?”
“Obviously not.” He raised one eyebrow slightly. “What’re you doing in the office?”
“Waiting for you.”
“Me?” A hint of a frown creased his forehead and then was gone.
The Magic Knot Page 2
