His cashmere sweater fit his broad form splendidly. He was athletic, commanding. He was a man who would always succeed, able to carry any burden weighing down on his strong shoulders.
Although the boardroom was warm and brightly lit, an unsettling chill settled over the room. With a determined lift of her chin, she decided to venture into the deafening silence. They only had a few minutes before Ian arrived.
“Are you angry at me for some reason?” Despite her resolve, she heard the tremor in her voice.
He swung around. Anguish and hopefulness, two contradictory emotions, flickered across his face. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Should I be angry? Angry at you?”
“No, unless you’ve suddenly grown an aversion to celebrations and sur-surprise birthday parties.” She hadn’t meant to stammer. And she’d spoken louder than she’d intended.
He didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he expelled a long sigh. His sharp gaze seemed to pierce through her, and she directed her own gaze at the rain spitting against the window. She kept her head high, her chin determinedly set. And she waited, although she wasn’t sure what she was waiting for.
“Clara, where was your brother last evening?”
She heard her own sharp intake of breath. Danny’s voice was so implacably calm.
Very deliberately, she shook the wrinkles from her silk dress and stood. “You know where he was. He spent the day working in your hot kitchen and attended my surprise party.”
“I meant last evening. March eighteenth.”
“I don’t know. I’m trying not to nag Seamus about his whereabouts because he gets furious when I do.”
Frantically, she sifted through her memory. Seamus had gone out to settle a car deal on March 17, St. Patrick’s Day. And tonight, March 19, was accounted for. Her mind was in turmoil as she tried to recollect the day in between. Hadn’t Seamus said that he was working on March 18?
A vision of her brother from two years ago, strong-willed and protective, a sprinkle of reddish-brown bristles along his chin, flashed in her memory. He’d safeguarded her from Jack Connor so bravely.
And then another image from a few weeks past. Seamus, his mouth twisted in hopeless despair, that heart-wrenching night atop Farthing Bridge when he’d contemplated suicide.
“It’s better if I end my life. I’m on me tod, I’m all alone,” Seamus had sobbed.
“You mentioned that Seamus was buying a car,” Danny was saying. “Where did he get the money?”
“He said it was a private deal. Why? There’s no crime in a man buying an old banger of a car to get around. It’s further proof that he’s exchanging his bad choices for good ones.”
She could see the conflict in the set of Danny’s jaw as he stepped forward, his tall form seeming to loom over her. Automatically, she stepped back before changing her mind and standing her ground.
He put one hand on her arm. “I don’t believe that Seamus pulled off a cybercrime from a remote computer location. He must have either stolen the key to the deadbolt from Ian when the keys went missing, or broken into the boardroom. Somehow, he managed to avoid the security camera.”
“How dare you accuse my brother!” Angrily, she shrugged off Danny’s hand. “Seamus would never do such a terrible thing and steal money right out from under you. You’re his employer and his new job is the main reason he’s finally beginning to respect himself. You saw him tonight at my party. Did he look like a criminal to you?”
“Did you talk with him?”
“No. Although I wanted to, I never had the chance.”
“Because he was probably avoiding you. He was buzzed on vodka most of the night.”
She didn’t speak as a glacial blast of silence encased them.
“Unfortunately,” Danny finally said quietly, “I may be forced to press charges against Seamus, now that Aiden and the garda are privy to so much information,” Danny said quietly.
White static went through her brain, a forewarning of impending disaster. She knew that he might suspect Seamus, and had half expected his questions. However, she hadn’t expected his unsympathetic confrontation and accusation, and a fierce wave of protectiveness for her brother rose in her.
In quiet defiance, she repeated, “My brother is not a thief.”
Danny looked away, seeming to mentally review the evidence. “Perhaps he’s been gambling again. Perhaps he was desperate.”
She bristled. “He has no reason to be desperate. He lives with me and we share the cost of his food and I charge no rent. Plus, one of the reasons he’s buying a car is so that I won’t have to use public transportation to travel to and from work anymore. Please.” She reached out and touched Danny’s sleeve. “Seamus is kind and considerate and generous. We all go through hard times and he’s made a remarkable recovery. He’s vowed that he isn’t gambling anymore. And, emotionally, he wouldn’t be able to survive being hauled into a garda station for questioning.”
“And I have a cyber nightmare ahead of me. The need for all these fixes will impede the smooth flow of my businesses as the computer system is being changed and upgraded. Not to mention the money taken—”
“It’s all about the money for you. Not about people, nor their lives, nor their hardships. And—”
He interrupted with an ironic laugh. “Despite what you may think, I don’t care about the money.”
She almost lost her determination to continue. However, Danny had shown her that persistence paid off, and that realization gave her resolve.
“You care about being a winner.” She stiffened her stance, meeting his cool gaze with as much confidence as she could muster. “You’re so driven. And for what? Coffee? Can’t you be satisfied with all that you’ve already accomplished? You are successful. You don’t need any more money or international franchises to prove that.”
In the glare of the overhead florescent lights, she saw the fury, then sadness, emanating from him. They were standing so close, within arm’s reach, yet so far away. She dropped her hand.
“You don’t understand,” he said softly.
“Help me to understand.”
A heavy-booted stride had them glancing toward the hallway. Ian had undoubtedly arrived.
Clara started for the door. “I’ll get my things from your flat.”
“I told Ian to retrieve your gifts and personal belongings and pack everything into my car.”
She pressed back the tears threatening to flood her eyes. “You’re quite efficient,” she managed to say. “Of course, you’re an entrepreneur, and all your jobs and appointments must be completed on schedule.”
He jerked, then said curtly, “Aye, they must.”
She swiped a tear that had managed to trickle down her cheek. Surely, he would take her in his arms and reassure her that this was all a grave misunderstanding.
At first he didn’t move. He folded his arms, seemed to think better of it, and stepped forward. Lightly, he placed both hands on her shoulders. Any hint of the sparkling, teasing gaze she’d come to treasure had long disappeared from his eyes.
“Clara.”
She stared up at him, at the persistent pulse drumming at his temple. Hesitantly, she laid a hand against his cheek. “Please, don’t do this to Seamus, to us.” She felt more tears, made no attempt to wipe them. “Please. I love—”
He shook his head, effectively stopping her from continuing.
“I must ask you one more question,” he said. “This is difficult for me. Please understand that I have no choice.” He blew out a ragged breath. He couldn’t quite meet her gaze. “Clara, where were you the evening of March eighteenth?”
Chapter Eighteen
She visibly whitened as his words registered. And Danny knew, having asked the question he didn’t want to ask, shouldn’t have asked, that she’d never forgive him.
He wasn’t prepared, however, for the sharp crack of her hand against his jaw.
“You think it was me? You think I was the one who hacked into your computer and
stole your precious money?” She reared back and hurled a curse at him. “How dare you? You are nothing but a wastrel, a no-good bowsie who only thinks about himself!”
She lifted her arm, ready to strike him again.
He grabbed her hand. “Of course I don’t think it was you. I think it was your conniving brother who coerced you into committing this crime.”
“Did I waltz past your fancy security surveillance camera, your always devoted barista, Kathleen, plus shut the power to your entire shop so that I could steal fifty thousand euros?”
He shrugged with an indifference he didn’t feel. “If anyone could pull off a crime like that, you could.”
Her eyes widened in confusion. “Because I stole from some shops when I was five years old?”
“You’re conveniently forgetting your crime from a couple of years ago.”
Her lips parted and she blinked rapidly. “My crime? My crime, like I’m some sort of hardened criminal? I never ended up stealing any money from the Murphys, and I served my night in jail.” She visibly shuddered and rubbed her hands up and down her arms as if to warm herself. “My crime was splashed on the front page of the Farthing newspaper and I felt such shame afterward. Wasn’t that punishment enough for my foolish mistake? Or would you prefer that I serve my sentence for a lifetime?”
“Of course not.” He released his grip on her wrist. His gaze raked her features, searching for guilt. He saw only her anguished expression and her trembling chin; heard her soft sobs. And in that instant, he knew that no matter how much misguided devotion she felt for her brother, she would never have taken part in Seamus’s misdeeds.
Danny swallowed the unaccustomed tightness in his throat. “I’m sorry, luv.”
She was sobbing harder now.
“I’m … I’m sorry. I—I didn’t mean to sound so harsh. It’s late.” His excuses were hollow, because there were no excuses.
He watched her exquisite features crumple, and his heart seemed to crumple too. Her shiny hair had fallen from its upsweep, tumbling in waves around her face.
She twisted from him, her shoulders shaking. She was crying, and she didn’t want him to see. She was so proud, had fought so hard to break free from her shameful past. And he was driving her away, just as he’d driven away everyone he had ever loved with his harsh judgments.
Instinctively, he placed a hand on her shoulder. “Luv, please don’t cry. I never meant to hurt you. I’m not thinking straight. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll buy you—”
“Don’t touch me.” She shrugged him off. “Don’t ever touch me again. Don’t ever come near me or my family. We don’t need you, your posh gifts …” She whirled, unfastened the diamond necklace around her throat and threw it on his computer desk as if the stones were filthy.
He ached to take her in his arms and absorb the hurt he had caused with his terrible charge. He wanted to thread his fingers through her hair, kiss her nape, inhale the fresh, lemony scent of her. “Please, keep it. I picked it out in London especially for you. It’s my birthday gift.”
She tightened her fists at her sides. “I don’t want anything from you.” Her voice was fainter, her tone broken.
“Seamus coerced you,” he said quietly, trying to talk reasonably. “He’s obviously off the rails.”
“No. He lives with me, we have long chats.” She drew in a shaky breath. “He wouldn’t need fifty thousand euros.”
“Gambling debts add up quickly, and unscrupulous men may have pushed Seamus to the brink of desperation. And, if you’d be honest with yourself concerning your brother for longer than ten seconds, you’d realize that Seamus has had a lot of extra time and money unaccounted for.”
“People fall … people fail … Everyone deserves a second chance. He’s doing well, has a job …”
“Your brother has perfected the art of persuading you to feel sorry for him. It’s time he stood on his own two feet without you making excuses for him every inch of the way.”
She cut him off. “He said he was working and saving his money. He said—”
“And I’m his employer, and I can say for certain that he’s hardly put in one full day of work since he was hired.”
“Seamus leaves my flat at the same time every day.”
“And where he goes is anyone’s guess. My guess is liquor and gambling.” With a heavy sigh, Danny looked up at the ceiling. “Clara, please. At least, entertain the thought that Seamus may have committed this crime.”
She shook her head. “No.”
A click of boots in the hallway was followed by a knock on the door.
Ian entered the boardroom quietly. Working an antacid around in his mouth, he kept his gaze on Danny while handing Clara her raincoat. “I’m warming the car, boss, and ready to return Clara to her flat.”
“Not yet, Ian.” Clara lifted her hand and turned to Danny. “You’ve forgotten about Jack. It could easily have been him. He’s stolen plenty of times. He gambles. He drinks.”
She waited until Danny met her gaze. Everything grew quiet.
Danny drew in a heavy breath and released it before he spoke. “Clara, that’s what I’ve wanted to tell you all evening and I haven’t had the chance. Since the garda haven’t been any help, I hired a private detective to follow Jack Connor. He was picked up a few days ago near Dublin.”
Her hands went to her face. “What was Jack doing in Dublin?”
“Apparently, he was trying to get to me,” Danny said, half to himself. “Aiden said the money lifted from my Farthing account occurred on March eighteenth and Jack wasn’t anywhere near Farthing. He’s been locked in county Dublin prison the past three days for violating parole.”
Danny stood by the window in his flat. He’d abandoned the task of sorting files, leaving the computer fixes to his experts. For him, the burden was emotional. He felt violated. Someone had accessed his online information, which he considered private.
Silently, he replayed his last scenes with Clara before he finally shut down his computer. She’d hardly bidden him a civil good-bye, even when he’d assured her that he wouldn’t press charges against her brother, although he would be forced to dismiss Seamus from the dishwasher job. He’d also offer Seamus a month-long compensation in wages.
She’d said nothing in return, silently assessing him and then requesting that he never contact her again. He’d insisted she take the diamond necklace because it was a gift, and she’d reluctantly placed the necklace in the pocket of her raincoat. Then he’d watched her walk away. Her spine had been straight, her chin held high.
Her unconquerable spirit had been ever-present, even when he’d charged her with theft. He kept envisioning her in that silky dress, its deep red color enhancing the creamy olive tones of her flawless skin, her silver earrings glinting in the overhead lights. She’d been enraged, her face heated, her hand raised, ready to strike him a second time. She’d resembled a stormy, outraged goddess.
And she’d never looked so irresistibly gorgeous.
He walked down the hall to his flat and fixed a cup of tea. Clara’s lemon scone recipe, written in her scholarly scroll, sat on the kitchen counter. He’d shared the recipe with his bakers and kept her hand-written recipe for himself.
He stared at it and sighed. He wasn’t certain what made him more furious—his infatuation with her, or his inability to concentrate whenever she was near. He was in his thirties, considered one of the most successful businessmen in all Ireland, and she’d trimmed him down to staring at a lemon scone recipe.
Somewhere along the path of his disillusioned, cynical life, Clara Donovan had taken the eye out of his head. He’d been smitten with her, a part-time dance teacher who lived in a small town that he hadn’t even known existed. Despite the turbulence surrounding their relationship, he had enjoyed every minute of their time together. He’d started to dream that their moments together could last forever.
He wet his tea and added a great deal of cream to cool it. He sipped. Still too damn hot. He shoo
k his head.
He’d seen what he’d wanted to see—a life with his precious Clara. He loved her desperately. And now, somehow, he needed to come to grips with the fact that her engaging smile, her eternal optimism, was gone from his life.
He carried his steaming tea to the living room and stood at the window, looking down at the street. Rain bore down endlessly, beating against the cobblestone sidewalks. The roads were rapidly becoming infinite lakes of grey, mud-spattered water.
He took a dull swallow of tea, quelling the urge to ring Clara, closing his eyes to memorize every detail of her exquisite features—as well as her wit and her jaunty smile. For he knew, he’d never see her again.
With a rough sigh, he shoved away from the window and set his cup on the cherry credenza. He’d instructed Ian to return before dawn so that they would reach Dublin by early morn.
He should be packing, Danny’s practical side insisted. Six months of travel was a long time. Instead, his gaze canvassed the party remnants from Clara’s birthday party. The green balloons were sinking. The slices of apples had browned, and the strawberries smelled unpleasantly pungent. Kelly-green confetti littered every inch of the cream carpeting.
If she’d seen it, Clara would have begun straightening the mess immediately. Except that Clara wouldn’t ever know, because she wasn’t standing beside him.
With a vicious jerk, Danny tore the festive streamers from the lampshades and threw them on the floor. This was all her brother’s fault. He’d been a dark cloud, hovering above every moment of Danny’s relationship with Clara. He was the painful trigger, and Danny resented Seamus more and more. Seamus’s drinking and gambling, his resultant lies, had set off this devastating chain of events.
Why did people—his parents, Seamus—act the way they did and not overcome their addictions? He didn’t know. He just knew that Clara was still crying when she left.
On his way to his bedroom to begin packing, Danny picked up several discarded napkins. The Ground Café was proudly stamped on each, along with the recognizable pot of gold logo.
Oh Danny Boy: A Sweet Contemporary Romance Page 17
