Flawless (14 page)

“My dad,” Julie said, rolling her eyes. “I was a Jameson—no relation to the whiskey Jameson's, I'm afraid.”

The white-haired man who seemed to be a fixture at the bar with his soda and lime suddenly rose and came over to them. “Mind if I join you for a spell?” he asked, his brogue rich.

“Of course not,” Kieran said. “Have you two met? Bobby O'Leary, this is my friend Craig Frasier.”

“Frasier, eh?” Bobby said.

“Yes, sir, how do you do?” Craig shook the man's hand.

“Scotsman, eh?”

“My father's father, yes.”

“You're that FBI agent.”

“Yes,” Craig said.

He was always in control, Kieran thought. But she saw his mouth tighten a bit and realized he wasn't pleased that he was known to be with the FBI.

“Saw you on the television with Kieran here. Scary thing. She's precious to us. Glad you were there for her.”

“Actually, sir, she saved me.”

“From a water pistol,” Kieran said quickly.

“Still, we had no idea we weren't dealing with killers,” Craig said.

“I think I was just functioning on adrenaline. Besides, I have a feeling you would have Rambo-ed your way out of the situation eventually,” she told him.

Bobby wagged a finger at them both. “You be careful now, you hear? This is no joking matter. Those killers out there are real. Now you, sir, you're trained for this. Kieran, you may be a hero, your face plastered all over the papers, but you take care, lass, take great care. There's no Finnegan's without you, you know.”

He rose to leave them.

“Bobby's one of our oldest customers,” Kieran said.

“He's quite observant,” Craig remarked.

“He's been in recovery for years,” Julie added.

“Must be hard, spending as much time in a pub as he does.”

“Pubs aren't just bars,” Kieran said. “Pubs are meeting places.”

“Whoa, I wasn't attacking the place!” Craig said, lifting a hand. “This is my new favorite hangout.”

Her smile faded. She looked uneasy.

Julie didn't notice. “Rory outdid himself tonight,” she said. “This is delicious.”

By the time they were finishing, the pretty young Irishwoman, Mary Kathleen, Declan's red-haired fiancée, came hurrying over to them.

“Julie, I know you've been wanting to move, and I have the perfect solution for you,” she said, flushing with pleasure.

“What is it?” Julie asked.

“My flat,” Mary Kathleen said. “I'm never there.” She glanced over at Kieran, blushing, a pretty sight given the fairness of her skin. “I'm with Declan all the time. Me toothbrush is there, you know? My place allows dogs. There's a wee bedroom and a parlor, and a nice big kitchen. You and the pups would be gloriously happy there.”

“Oh, I couldn't!” Julie said.

“You could,” Kieran told her. “It's perfect for you. It's right by the fire station on Reed Street, a great neighborhood, very safe.”

“I can help you get your things in the morning, if you can take a few hours off work,” Mary Kathleen said. “In fact, you can come home with me tonight and we'll get started packing up me things.”

“Won't Declan be upset you're not going home with him tonight?” Julie asked.

“He'll be thrilled—he was the one who came up with this idea,” Mary Kathleen said.

“Where are you living now?” Craig asked.

“At the apartment Gary and I still share,” Julie said. “We avoid each other as much as we can. He ignores me and the dogs, I ignore
him
. We try to come and go at different times. I wanted to move in with my parents temporarily, but their building doesn't allow dogs. I haven't found anything else I can afford, and Gary refuses to leave.”

“And you're not afraid Gary will...try something?” Craig asked.

“Oh, Gary is hateful, but he's not violent,” Julie said. “He says things, but he's never touched me or hurt me physically in any way.”

That could change in a split second, Craig knew.

“Go home with Mary Kathleen tonight,” he said. “Please.”

“But the dogs...” Julie said.

“We'll go get the dogs right now,” Kieran said, rising. “I'll borrow Declan's car.”

Julie paled. “What if he's there tonight—after this?”

“I'll take you,” Craig said decisively as he stood.

What the hell was he doing?
He was getting far more involved than he'd intended. He'd meant to keep watch over Kieran. He hadn't meant to become a member of the damned extended family.

“Oh, no, we can't ask you to do that,” Kieran protested.

Her protest suddenly solidified his determination to help when only a moment ago he'd been wishing he'd never spoken.

“Let's go,” he said.

A few minutes later he was driving down Broadway to Canal and planning to cut over to the West Village.

CHAPTER
EIGHT

IT WASN'T A
long drive at all, but the whole time Craig kept wondering what the hell he was doing.

He wasn't a by-the-book guy in the sense that Marty was; he was by nature careful and thoughtful. He made sure he knew what he was doing, and when he chose a direction and moved forward, he always had a reason.

This was crazy.

He wasn't a therapist.

Or a bodyguard.

And yet he had wedged himself into the middle of a nasty divorce.

But what the hell else could he have done? As Kieran had said, any decent person would lend a hand.

He was glad that she was along for the ride, too. He was still inexplicably on edge about her after watching the surveillance tapes from the subway.

As he drove, he couldn't stop keeping an eye out for people in hoodies. Unsurprisingly, there were lots of them.

Julie's apartment wasn't too far over from Kieran's place. She and Gary had the basement of a beautiful old brownstone. Craig remembered reading that the basements of the nineteenth-century row houses had originally been servants' quarters.

The apartment might once have been the servants' quarters, but the servants had been given plenty of space. And Julie Benton had a flair for decoration. The walls held animation stills from her work, charming dragons and medieval fantasy sorcerers, knights in battle and more. There were collectible superhero action figures here and there, and plenty of twenty-first-century comforts. The television screen looked to be a good seventy inches; the cabinets surrounding it were filled with high-end sound equipment, controllers, remotes and more. Modernist lamps and mirrors completed the decor.

“My place is nothing like this,” Mary Kathleen said.

“Most of this is mine, but I'm not allowed to touch it. Everything is part of the divorce now,” Julie told her. “I don't care about any of it, though, just my babies!”

Her babies, of course, were the dogs, Benji and Sally. Benji was a brindle male, Sally a cream-colored female.

Craig waited by the door while Kieran and Julie took them down the street for a walk, then accompanied them back inside so Julie could pack.

In the end, other than dog supplies, her packing consisted of nothing but a small bag of toiletries and a change of clothing. She was clearly anxious to leave.

Craig soon knew why. Just as they locked the door behind them and stepped onto the sidewalk, Gary came down the street.

He was weaving slightly, as was the blonde next to him, the two of them somehow holding each other up. When they reached the house, however, and Gary saw Craig standing there, he stopped dead, forgetting his companion. “What the hell is going on here?” he demanded.

Craig didn't let Julie answer and he didn't allow Gary any closer, immediately stepping between them. “Animal control,” he said drily. “We're taking the dogs.”

“Tell him, Gary!” the woman said. “Tell him that he'd better not have touched even one of your things.”

Gary straightened his shoulders, but it was obvious he was no more eager to get into a fight now than he had been back at Finnegan's.

“You better not have touched anything,” he warned, but he didn't make any move to back up his words.

Julie stepped to Craig's side and glared at his date. “And you'd better not touch anything of mine—like my bed!”

Craig had a feeling things were about to get ugly.

But Kieran grabbed Julie's arm and looked at Gary. “We're leaving, Gary. No more whining dogs to ruin your special moment.”

“Yes, let's go,” Mary Kathleen urged.

“Come on, honey,” Craig said, slipping an arm around Julie's shoulders.

That made Gary's jaw drop. “You're with—with
him
now?”

“Let's go,” Craig insisted.

He led her down the sidewalk toward his car. Gary and the blonde stepped aside, Gary still looking stunned.

“What the hell is that?” Gary cried after him. “Your fucking harem?”

Julie tensed as if she was about to turn and confront Gary, but Craig kept her moving and helped her into the car.

With the dogs. Two sizable greyhounds. Sweet—but big, they sat in the backseat with Mary Kathleen and Julie, but one of them kept licking his ear. He liked dogs, but that was a little too personal.

Eventually they reached Mary Kathleen's place down by the Reed Street fire station.

“You went above and beyond,” Kieran told him as they all got out of the car. “Thanks so much for getting us here and dealing with Gary. You don't need to give up the rest of your night, though. You should go home.”

“Are you going to stay here tonight, too?” he asked her.

“No, but I can grab a cab.”

He shook his head. “Not on my watch,” he said softly. “It's late—there's barely any traffic. Come on, I'll see you home.”

She hesitated, then acquiesced. Everyone said good-night and thanked Craig for his help. Even Benji and Sally seemed happy to be there, wagging their tails nonstop.

“You were a lifesaver tonight,” Kieran told him as they drove.

“It was nothing.”

“Making Gary believe you're with Julie? That will have him think twice.”

“Frankly, I'm amazed Danny hasn't belted the guy yet. All of you seem to be very close.”

“Our dads were best friends,” Kieran explained. “We've known each other since we were born, I'm pretty sure. She's like the other girl in the family. And,” she added, swinging around slightly to study him, “she's not only gorgeous, she's smart and talented.”

“Brakes on there,” he said.

“She's not your type?”

“I don't have a type.”

“Seriously, thank you. I've tried to talk Julie into getting out of that place since her marriage fell apart three months ago. I know there are smart lawyers out there, but the idiots they've hired have warned them that the other one will clean them out and the division of property will become a nightmare if they don't hang in until their court date. But...”

“But?”

She shrugged and glanced at him, looking uncomfortable. “But I've seen what can happen when a marriage turns toxic. Today at work I interviewed a woman who—according to one of my colleagues—‘pulled a Bobbitt.'”

“Ouch,” Craig murmured.

“The guy is going to live and, of course, rip her to shreds in court. I've told my bosses that she suffered terribly at his hands, but claiming self-defense when she was the one wielding the knife is going to be hard.”

“Makes me even happier I was able to help Julie get away from Gary.”

“He's never been violent, just cruel. But who knows what people will do? I don't think the woman I interviewed was ever violent before she suddenly picked up a knife and whacked off her husband's...you know. I guess there's only so much anyone can take. Gary's already nasty, so if he started thinking Julie was persecuting him or cramping his style... Well, let's just say I'm glad we won't have to find out,” Kieran said. She flashed him an awkward smile. “Funny. I'm a psychologist—I'm supposed to know so much about people, but the more I learn, the less I seem to understand. Please don't tell my employers I said that.”

“If you felt you knew everything, you wouldn't be any good at your job,” he told her.

When they reached her apartment, he once again got lucky and found parking on the street, and this time the media weren't lurking nearby. “I'll see you upstairs.”

“I'm fine. I can see myself up.”

“No. You know I can't let you do that.”

“Your mother taught you that you always have to walk a woman to her door?”

He laughed. “I'm FBI. I've seen too much.”

“I think I've seen too much, too, and in less than a week.” She frowned. “And now everyone knows that the thieves you caught the other night aren't the killers.”

“True.”

“Maybe they'll lay low.”

“I hope so. That will give us time to see if the guys we caught can help us figure out where at least one of them met the copycats, because the killers know too much. They didn't only study what our guys were doing—they had some kind of inside information to be able to copy them so completely.”

Kieran shuddered lightly. “Thank God the original thieves were at the store the other day.”

He nodded, then walked her past the entry to the karaoke club and to her door, then up to her apartment. When she opened the door, he followed her in before she could close it.

“I'll take a look around,” he told her.

“I had the double bolts on,” she said.

“Very sensible,” he assured her.

He noted that Kieran had a number of stuffed toys and collectible models on display; she was clearly an admirer of Julie's work. There was a family crest on one wall, along with a Celtic cross. Other walls held a combination of photos and paintings of New York, the Rockies and Ireland.

“Nice place,” he said.

“Thank you.”

He wasn't sure what happened then. He would never be sure.

She was standing against the wall, watching him. Her hair was slightly tousled, a swath of deep fire-auburn falling across her forehead.

“You don't have to do this,” she said. “You can't—you can't watch over me every second. I mean, I appreciate what you've done. Julie really needed help. I don't. I'm strong. I can manage.”

Something in her words pushed all his buttons. He found himself directly in front of her, arms out, hands on either side of her head, almost yelling.

And he
never
yelled.

“What are you—a complete fool?
You
don't need help.
You're
so tough. Well, you're an idiot. No one is safe against a determined killer.”

“Why would anyone want to kill me?” she demanded.

“I don't know!” he said. “Why don't you tell me?”

“Tell you what? I don't know why anyone would be after me.”

Their eyes met and locked.

“There's something going on with you.”

There was something going on with her, all right. All he wanted to do was kiss her, hold her, get closer to her....

“Something...” she repeated.

And then, to his astonishment, she let out a little cry—maybe self-disgust?—and moved against him. He didn't know if he kissed her first or she kissed him, but their lips met as she pressed her hands against his chest.

The kiss deepened and deepened, until at last he broke away. His breath came fast and strong; his voice was harsh as he said, “This is wrong on a thousand levels. You're a witness, involved on a case I'm actively working.”

But he didn't move away. He still had her pinned against the wall, leaning toward her, his face a tense mask of anguish.

* * *

Kieran could still feel the kiss, almost as if his lips continued to touch hers. His body was close enough to hers to send his heat swirling around her like invisible steam. She could see the tension in his muscles.

She knew all she had to do was nod. Say yes. Or say no.

And he would move.

She realized that on some level she had known from the first time they met, even in the middle of what might have been a deadly situation, that she wanted him. The last remaining iota of logic within her screamed that she needed to run.

But everything else screamed that she wanted this moment, this time together, no matter what was to come. The part of her aching to touch him, to feel him touch her, argued that she could handle this. She could handle the truth and the lies...and him.

She knew she was lying to herself, but it didn't matter; none of it mattered. She reached out and touched his face, marveling at the planes and angles of his jaw. She met his eyes...chips of blue ice, she had once thought them. Now they were like blue fire, and when they touched her, she felt a slow burn inside, one that promised a blaze as strong and sweet as the soul could imagine.

“Wrong,” he murmured.

“Maybe,” she agreed.

But she moved closer to him, slipping her arms around him, pressing her lips to his.

For a moment he fought the urge to return the kiss.

But only for a moment.

And then he took over, his kiss powerful and sure, deliciously wet and deep, and she wondered if she would ever get enough of his mouth. No, she would never be sated....

She would always want more.

As she did now.

Wrong
, he'd said.

It couldn't be.

It felt too right.

He was still kissing her as he shed his jacket, letting it fall to the floor. Still kissing her as he tugged at his tie, tossing it aside. She applied her fingers to the buttons of his shirt just as he reached to undo them himself. Their eyes met, and they smiled, then laughed, and turned their attention to their own clothing. His shirt fell to the floor, and then he paused, reaching to the small of his back for the gun he kept there in a leather holster. She stepped back.

“I'm not a proponent of everyone in the world running around with a gun,” he said. “But in my line of work, it's a necessary evil.”

She stared at him. “I was just waiting for you to put it down,” she said quietly.

He held it awkwardly for a moment.

“On the bedside table,” she suggested.

“I'm staying?” he asked.

“See me through until morning?”

“I won't leave you,” he said.

“It wouldn't be at all professional to leave me in danger,” she told him with a smile, then was immediately sorry she'd said the word, knowing he already felt it was unprofessional for him to be here.

She turned quickly and headed toward her bedroom, letting her blouse drop to the floor as she went. A part of her was afraid he wouldn't follow.

But he did.

In her room she kicked off her shoes, slipped out of her skirt and wished she'd worn stockings for once instead of panty hose. She sat on the bed so she could peel them off.