Celtic Dragons

by Dee Bridgnorth

  But that wasn’t on the table for this particular morning. Ronan had called her into the agency, and she was supposed to meet with him at nine o’clock. Apparently, he had a new case that had her name all over it. She wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, and based on his tone, she suspected that he might be foisting a client on her that she wouldn’t enjoy that much. But they all had their turn to take one for the team, and it didn’t affect her mood as she rolled down the windows in her green Bug, blasted the music, and bopped her way into work to the tunes of 80s rock and roll.

  Moira’s life philosophy was simple—just see what happens. Sure, her father’s doom and gloom prophecies about the future of their branch of the Dragon Clan might be right, and Ronan’s decision to let Kean follow his heart to true love, rather than force him to uphold his duty to the clan, might spell their disaster. That would definitely ruin her day, week, month, year…life. But it hadn’t happened yet, and so Moira wasn’t going to spend any time worrying about it. All she had control over was how fast her car was going and how much she was enjoying the view in front of her. The other stuff, she would take as it came.

  “Oy, youeejit!”

  Glancing out her window as she whipped into her parking spot at work, Moira looked over to see Siobhan standing there, clearly having just jumped out of the way of Moira’s car. She laughed and waved to her friend. “Sorry! Didn’t see you there.”

  Siobhan arched an eyebrow at her. “You didn’t see me there? Then where, in God’s name, were you looking since I was right in front of you?”

  “Somewhere else,” Moira said, hopping out of her car and locking the doors with a perky beep. “How’re things this morning?”

  “Now that I didn’t die at the hands of my best friend, they’re great,” Siobhan said, linking arms with Moira as they headed toward the agency. “I hear there’s a new case waiting for you.”

  “Ronan called you too?”

  Siobhan smirked, her amber eyes twinkling. “Oh yeah. He tried to give me the case first. I told him that it would be just perfect for you though.”

  Moira groaned good naturedly. “Oh, this sounds so promising.”

  Chapter Two

  Grady

  “Damn it! Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn!”

  Grady Princeton shoved his business ledger book back from him, sending it careening across the smooth oak surface of the desk that dominated his downtown Boston, glass-walled office. He pushed back in his chair, his handsome face a twisted mask of frustration as he looked across the room at his anxiety-ridden accountant.

  “Explain this to me,” Grady demanded, crossing his arms over his broad chest and pinning Harrison in place with a dark glare. “Explain how you convinced me to invest in gold after the last market crash, had me build a vault to store that gold in, and then, for the past month, have been continually reporting to me that the gold that you had me buy, which I stored in the vault you had me build, keeps disappearing.”

  Harrison began to open his mouth, but Grady didn’t give him a chance to speak before continuing his rant.

  “And not only is there gold in that vault, but there are family belongings. My mother’s entire collection of jewelry, handed down for generations, is in that vault. Are you going to tell me next week that that’s gone too? How about all our important documents? My grandfather’s ashes?” He stood up, leaning over the desk, his hands planted on the wood, fingers splayed out. “My money, my valuables, and my documents are in that vault, Harrison. The one that you wanted me to build. And now you can’t give me any explanation as to why they’re disappearing. Nothing on the security footage. Nothing odd reported by the security guards. They haven’t noticed a thing, and yet…everything is still disappearing. And you seem to be the only one with full access to the area. So, please, give me some explanation that doesn’t force me to conclude that you’re stealing from me.”

  The bobbing Adam’s apple in Harrison’s throat and his fingers twisting together in front of him might have inspired Grady to feel some sympathy for the man, who was brilliant but could hardly be described as confident. But he was at the end of his rope. For weeks now, he had continued to get reports—to be fair, some of them were from Harrison himself—that his personal belongings and his money were being tampered with, and Grady was not a man who took such things lightly. He wasn’t a man who took anything lightly in fact, and though many people in his life told him he needed to “lighten up,” he knew his success and wealth were largely due to the fact that he was always in full control, driving the process forward until he got what he wanted.

  And what he wanted now was an answer.

  “Mr. Princeton, I can assure you that I have nothing to do with the recent troubles affecting your security program,” Harrison said, his voice a full octave higher than normal. His fingers still twisted together, his wedding ring spinning helplessly between thumb and forefinger. “I do understand your suspicions, and I’m not resentful of them—not at all. Were I in your shoes, I would have similar questions. You have every right to interrogate me, and I am happy to turn over the contents of my computer, both work and personal, my cell phone, anything in my house that you—”

  “Harrison.” Grady sighed and sat down at his desk, his earlier anger and intensity no match for the man’s earnest, nervous sincerity. “Take a breath, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Grady heard nothing and flicked his eyes back up toward the man, arching an eyebrow. “Literally, Harrison. If you don’t breathe, you’re going to pass out in my office.”

  “Yes, sir,” Harrison said, quickly gulping in a mouthful of air. “Of course. My apologies. I—”

  Grady held up a hand for the man to stop talking, then pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes closing. “I’m sorry if I came down too hard on you,” he said. There was one rule of business that he lived by—be accountable. “I’m incredibly frustrated, and as you’ve admitted yourself, you are in a suspicious position. However, I’m wrong to jump to conclusions after several years of good work from you.”

  “It’s understandable, sir.”

  Waving a hand, Grady dismissed the niceties and moved on with the business at hand. “I accept your offer to turn over your belongings, but only in the context that I’m going to ask everyone else to do the same—anyone who could possibly have access to the vault and its contents. In the past six weeks, we have lost over two hundred thousand dollars. Even for me, that’s a lot of money, Harrison.”

  “It’s a great deal, sir, yes.”

  “And there’s no explanation. It was in the form of gold bars, sitting in the vault, where it has been for quite some time. And now…it’s gone.”

  “Yes, sir, that’s true.”

  “And you can’t tell me how that happened.”

  “No, sir, I cannot.”

  “Even though I have seven security cameras in the area and guards patrolling the location.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Grady laced his fingers behind his head, leaning back in his chair as he stared at the ceiling. What bothered him most was the fact that there was no logical explanation. The money was significant, certainly, but Grady was a millionaire so many times over and with so much future earning potential that it was hardly the two hundred thousand dollars that was eating away at him. What was causing him to lose sleep at night was that it just didn’t make any sense. His whole world made sense, because he had built it that way. He had come from a middle-class family and utilized the small account that his parents had set aside for his college tuition to launch a consulting company out of the basement of his parents’ house. It had taken years of sweat, lost sleep, and stomach ulcers to transform that tiny company into the multi-million-dollar organization he now owned in its entirety, but every step along the way had made sense. He knew exactly why and how he had succeeded, because he had worked the plan day in and day out.

  And now, suddenly, he was losing control of what he had built.

  “Sir, if I may…”
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  Grady had forgotten that Harrison was in the room, but the man’s quiet, hesitant voice caused him to open his eyes so he could once again focus on the large, Norwegian-born man. “Of course you may.”

  “I suggest bringing in an outside team,” Harrison said. “Clearly, the security team we have here is either unable or unwilling to figure out what is happening at the vault location. I’m not accusing them of anything—I’m merely referring to the facts you’ve pointed out yourself. It’s been weeks and there are no answers. As someone whose reputation is at stake, I strongly urge you to call in a team who will be able to look at this from a completely unbiased position and lead us toward an answer.”

  Grady scrubbed a hand along his smooth jawline, considering this. “I was just going to call the security company I’ve been working with and demand an investigation, but maybe you’re right. Maybe I need to get a second opinion, as it were.”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  Grady arched an eyebrow at the man, a tactic he often used with clients who just didn’t seem to understand that when they had hired his company, they had agreed to follow his rules. “Harrison, when we started this conversation, I was reasonably convinced that you were guilty. Now I’m not as sure. I’m a good judge of character, typically speaking, and I’m not in the habit of hiring men who stab me in the back. Let me put it to you this way. If I bring in a third-party team and they clear you, then for your trouble, I’ll double your bonus this year—permanently.”

  Harrison’s eyes widened, and he gulped again. Grady didn’t blame him. Last year Harrison had gotten a bonus of seventy-five thousand dollars—a salary that most people would be thrilled with. “Th—thank you, sir.”

  “But if they don’t clear you,” Grady continued, standing up to signal the end to their meeting. “Then I’ll press charges and sue you for everything you have.” He gave the man a smile as he rounded the desk, clapped him on the shoulder, and headed out of his office to his first morning meeting. At lunch, he would start looking at outside investigation teams.

  Chapter Three

  Moira

  “I hate you,” Moira said, propping herself up against Ronan’s office doorway, her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes narrowed in faux resentment. “I cannot believe you gave me that case.”

  Ronan didn’t look up from his computer screen, but his mouth quirked up at the corner. “You were perfect for it.”

  “Perfect for a case about a lost dog who turned out to be in the basement, hiding from the little old woman who is trying to drive the dog to an early grave with grooming sessions, tickle fests, and doggie nail-painting kits?”

  Ronan’s smile grew. “Yep. And you did an excellent job.”

  Moira made a hand gesture with two fingers that, in Irish culture, wasn’t very nice. But she was smiling, and she walked into Ronan’s office and dropped down in one of the empty chairs. “Well, I have to say it was an easy morning’s work. Cross that case off the list. What’s next?”

  Closing his computer, Ronan shook his head. “Nothing at the moment. But I’ll tell you what, I have some clan business to take care of this afternoon. You could give me a hand with that.”

  “Sure,” Moira said, shrugging easily. “Oh, by the way, my dad wants me to tell you that he hates your guts and that he expected better of you.”

  Ronan didn’t take her seriously, as she had known he wouldn’t. “Yeah,” he said, giving a wince. “Him and most of the rest of the older generation. This thing with Kean has really gotten under their skin. I don’t want to tick them all off, but I’m not backing down. I know I’m making the right choice for us.”

  “Look, you’re in charge for a reason,” Moira said. “I told Dad that if he wanted to fuss at someone about it, he needed to come directly to you because I had nothing to say.”

  “Thanks,” Ronan said, giving her a slight smile. “I appreciate the support.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re the boss, boss,” Moira said easily. “Just, in return, maybe don’t assign me a mate—human or otherwise—for a while. I’m not done with this stage yet.”

  He chuckled and stood up. “If I have it my way, I won’t be assigning anyone a mate. But that’s a long way down the road, and all I can really think about right now is meeting with Eamon’s branch of the family. They have grievances to air.”

  “And I’m supposed to go with you?”

  Ronan shrugged. “Sure. Moral support.”

  Moira didn’t say anything, simply nodding. She was happy to go with Ronan for whatever he needed, but it was unlike him to mention any sort of support. He was the kind to go it alone, and he always had been. Moira realized that as steady and confident as Ronan appeared about his decision to radically alter the way the clan reproduced, it wasn’t as easy for him as he wanted everyone to think.

  She was getting up to follow him out the door when Siobhan popped her head in. “Guy out front for you, Ronan. Says he’s got a case and he’s willing to pay whatever your price is.”

  Ronan winced, checking his watch. “Damn it. I’ve got an appointment in twenty minutes. I can’t see him now.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

  Perplexed at Siobhan’s cavalier attitude, Moira interjected, “Wouldn’t worry about it? Why not? Guy sounds pretty desperate if he’s volunteering upfront to pay whatever Ronan asks.”

  Siobhan rolled her eyes. “No, it’s not like that. We’re not talking about someone so desperate for help that they’ll give you everything they have. We’re talking about a guy who might as well be wearing a sign on his forehead announcing that he has more money than God. He’s a trust-fund baby or something. You should see his shoes.”

  “They’re genuine Italian leather.”

  Moira wasn’t sure whether to laugh or wince as the man in question appeared suddenly behind Siobhan, seeming unperturbed by her characterization of him. Perhaps that was because it was true. As Moira quickly assessed the man, she noted both that he was devastatingly gorgeous and perfectly coiffed. From his ash-blond hair to his Italian leather shoes, every bit of him of was tidy, professional, and expensive. She didn’t even want to know how much that perfectly tailored blue suit had cost him or what product was responsible for the way his hair maintained the perfect balance between tidy and mussed. His jawline was strong, his lips full, and his hazelnut-colored eyes as rich as his bank account. He was the kind of man who could easily charm a woman right off of her feet and out of her clothes, and he undoubtedly had done just that on a number of occasions.

  Of course, Moira was immune to such things, and she was particularly glad of that at the moment, but from a strictly observational standpoint, she could see why someone might find the man impressive.

  But then he continued talking and the visual impact he’d made began to fade.

  “I have several new pairs made each year,” the man said to Siobhan. “If you like them, I’d be happy to send you a few pairs for your significant other. Or a brother or a father. Really, once they experience the comfort of Italian leather, there’s no going back.” He smiled. “And, yes, I do have more money than God.”

  Moira caught Siobhan’s eye, the women exchanging a withering glance. Moira knew exactly what her friend was thinking, because it reflected her own reaction exactly. This guy was going to be a total pain in the ass.

  “Thanks, but I’ll pass on the shoes,” Siobhan said. “This is Ronan. He’ll help you.”

  Then Siobhan was gone, and it was just Moira, Ronan, and the potential client standing together in the office. Moira didn’t have to be supernatural to know what was going to happen next, but as she opened her mouth to try to deflect what Ronan was about to say, it was already too late.

  “I’m afraid I have a meeting,” Ronan told the man, smiling apologetically at the stranger. “But my colleague, Moira, will be glad to help you out.”

  “I thought you needed me to come with you,” Moira said, looking at Ronan pointedly as he began to gather his things to leave
. “I was just about to say—perhaps Kean is available.” Her eyes bored into Ronan’s as she tried to communicate silently with him. You already gave me a lame-duck case today. Don’t foist this guy on me.

  Ronan, clearly understanding her, had a hint of a smirk teasing at his lips. “No, that’s okay, Moira. I can manage. You stay here and help—” Ronan paused, looking at the man for clarification.

  “Grady Princeton.”

  Moira had to force herself not to roll her eyes. It was the perfect name for the spoiled rich boy who stood in front of her.

  “Mr. Princeton,” Ronan said, stepping forward to shake his hand. “You’ll excuse me, won’t you? I’m running late.”

  “Of course,” Grady said, shaking Ronan’s hand and nodding as he stepped aside. “I’ll be happy to work with your colleague.”

  “Excellent,” Ronan said, glancing back at Moira, who did not miss the glint in his eyes. “You can fill me in later, Moira.”

  She gave him a broad smile that she knew he would see right through. “Of course, Ronan. Have a wonderful meeting.”

  He winked at her behind the new client’s back, then slipped out of his office, hurrying down the hall.

  “I didn’t catch your name,” Grady said, stepping toward Moira, his hand outstretched.

  Moira’s smile became even more forced as she shook Grady’s hand. Ronan had said her name several times, which meant that Grady just wasn’t paying attention. “Moira,” she told him, shaking his hand briefly. “Let’s go to my office and talk about what the problem is.”