Night Of The Blackbird (23 page)

“I think it's worse when you sin twice. Especially when you should have known better the first time.”

“That's the point. You did know better the first time. And since you've already sinned, at least in your own mind, you should go with it. All the way. Everything in life should be done with passion, commitment, all the way.” His eyes rose to hers for a moment, glowing amber.

“Danny,” she murmured, “if I stay now, for a while, you can't go thinking that…”

“That?”

“It means…”

“Don't worry, I won't go thinking anything. It's simply easier, more convenient, to go for the guy in the house rather than the one outside it. Nothing personal. You need sex, just sex, hey, I'm happy to oblige.” He spoke sarcastically, but with an underlying note of bitterness that somehow dulled the anger she had felt at his words.

“No, Danny, I…”

She felt the pressure of his lips against her throat, her collarbone.

“That was rude. Uncalled for. I should…hit you,” she whispered.

“Never opt for violence,” he murmured against her breast. “And you can't hit me, I mean, that would mean that one of us was taking this…personally.”

His hand sculpted the length of her body. Fingers caressed her flesh. Zeroed in. Moved with practice and subtle precision. He was her every breath, close, hot. Breathing Danny was too easy, too natural, as familiar and electric as life….

“Damn you, Danny,” she murmured.

“My name…how personal and intimate,” he said. “It's only courteous to respond in kind.”

His caress traveled the length of her.

Very personally, very intimately.

“Danny…” It came out like a long moan when she said his name again.

“I've always believed in actions rather than words.”

H
ours later, before the crack of dawn, Moira rose to leave.

She rescued her T-shirt from the pile of clothing by the bed. Danny had been sleeping. Or so she had thought, until she turned to see that he was wide awake, watching her. If he'd been sleeping, he'd awakened at her first slight movement.

She thought he meant to protest her leaving again, though surely he knew it was nearly morning and the household would be stirring soon.

He rose on one elbow, watching her. “Tell me again. Exactly why did you come down here last night?” he asked.

“What?”

“What were you doing down here last night? You asked me if I'd been out, said you thought there might have been someone in my room. And you thought that someone was in the bar area—you suggested I might have knocked you on the head. Why were you down here in the first place? Dressed the way you were, you weren't on your way out to the hotel to meet Michael.”

“I heard a noise.”

“A noise? You heard this noise in your room?”

“Yes.”

“And you thought it came from down here?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of a noise?”

“I don't know. A thumping noise. As if…as if someone were moving things around or dropped something. I don't know. I just heard a noise.”

“You're certain?”

“I don't seem to be certain about anything these days,” she told him.

He rolled out of the bed, strolling to her naked, taking her by the shoulders. “All the way, Moira, remember, all the way. Go with your instincts. Passion, commitment. Get rid of old beady eyes, today.”

“Don't you dare say a word to him or try to make up my mind for me about right and wrong and my future.”

“I don't need to make up your mind for you. I know you. You did that last night. As for old beady eyes, my love, I intend to let you wrestle with your demons all by yourself.”

“Maybe my mind isn't made up. Maybe you're not as good as you think.” She lifted her chin, meeting his eyes.

“Moira, whatever you're thinking, be careful. When you hear noises in the night, you shouldn't go prowling around.”

“This is my family home and my family's business,” she reminded him. “I grew up here, learning to clear tables from the time I was a little girl. Why should I have to be afraid to walk around my dad's place, even in the middle of the night?”

He watched her, weighing the question for a minute.

“Because there's evil in the world, that's why. When you're a child, your parents teach you to watch out for strangers. Think of Son of Sam, the Boston Strangler, the Zodiac Killer, Jack the Ripper.”

“Right. But none of them has keys to my dad's pub.”

“Yes, but your brother is here these days, I'm here, your associates are here. Doors may be left open.”

“Danny, why don't you just tell me the truth?”

“About what?”

“About whatever is going on.”

“I'm not privy to anything that might be going on.”

She watched him for another moment. Her eyes slid down the length of him, far more analytically than in the previous hours. Danny was really toned. He could have stepped right out of the pages of a brochure on martial arts. Again she wondered how a lecturer and writer stayed in such excellent shape.

“All right, Danny,” she murmured. She turned, starting for the door.

“Moira.”

“What?”

“You know,
you
are keeping things from
me.
”

“Oh?”

“Like what really happened out on the ice the night before last.”

“I slid.”

“Trust is a two-way street, Moira.”

“So it is.”

“And?”

“I don't see any cars coming toward me, Danny. No one to meet halfway.”

She turned again. He caught her arm. “Moira, listen to me. If you hear something, anything strange at all, it's important that you let me know.”

“I'll keep that in mind.” She looked at his hand where he held her arm. The slightest unease swept over her. “I have to go upstairs, Danny.”

He let her go. She walked out, closed the door to his room quietly behind her, then made her way through the bar and up the winding stairs. When she slipped into the house, she carefully locked the door. In her room, she took the videotape from her machine and put it on the table where she had found it. It was still very early. She showered and dressed, then sat in her room, staring at the phone and hesitating. She went to the living room and found Sunday's newspaper. There was an article about Jacob Brolin, talking about his expected arrival in the city and mentioning the hotel where he would be staying.

She walked to the kitchen, where her mother, in a terry bathrobe, had just risen to start breakfast. “Mum,” she said, walking behind her and slipping her arms around her waist.

“Moira, darlin', 'tis so early.”

“Yep.”

“What's on your agenda for today?”

“Well, I'll definitely be helping Dad in the pub tonight.”

Katy turned around and cupped Moira's face between her hands. “You children are not responsible for the pub.”

“But it's fun, and I like helping Dad. And we're getting a great show, really.”

“Then I'm glad. Since I did rather manipulate you into coming home.”

“Dad seems to be in great health,” she commented with a smile.

Katy shrugged. “He did have to have a battery of tests.” She sighed. “I was worried because he works so much. But the doctor told me that work was good for him, just like an ale or a stout a day would do him no harm. Too many men retire and sit around becoming couch potatoes, and that's what kills them, the doctor said.”

“You know who works too hard, don't you?”

“Who?” Katy asked.

“You.”

“Oh, no, Moira, dear.”

“Cooking, cooking, cooking.”

“When it's just your dad and me, there's oatmeal in the morning. And I don't fix his breakfast because he's a tyrant, I fix his breakfast because I love to, and I like being a wife and mum. I'm happy as a lark that my girls have gone off and done well, but for me, well, I like my lot in life just fine.”

“I know you do, Mum. But today…” Moira paused, feeling a bit guilty. Her mother was vindicating her desire to be a housewife, confessing to manipulation, and she was manipulating things herself.

“Mum, I still say there's no job in the world harder than yours. The coffee is going, and that's the thing we all need first. Now, I want you out of your bathrobe. I'm taking you out to breakfast this morning.”

“Moira! The children are here, your sister, brother—”

“I don't mean any insult, but Granny Jon can cook, and Danny will come up, and Siobhan and Colleen are here—not to mention the fact that it would be good for Patrick to try cooking for a change. I've an urge to get away with just my mother, to have you all to myself.”

“But, Moira—”

“Please.”

“I'll just tell your father.”

“We can leave a note.”

“Moira, I have to change out of me robe anyway.”

“You've got a point. But hurry, please.”

Katy did as she was asked, flushing like a schoolgirl. Moira wasn't sure whether to feel guilt or pleasure that her scheme seemed to have made her mother so happy.

 

Jacob Brolin was staying close to the New England Aquarium, just outside Little Italy. Moira told a little white lie, assuring Katy that she'd heard of the hotel's restaurant and that they were known to prepare very special eggs Benedict, which she'd been harboring a craving for the last few days.

“You know, Moira Kathleen,” Katy said as they sat, “I can cook eggs Benedict. You only needed to say you wanted some.”

“Oh, I know, Mum. Like I said, I wanted to get you out.”

Moira looked around the dining room, wondering if Brolin and his party would come down to breakfast. This was really a wild shot. He would probably order room service.

She realized suddenly that her mother had put down her menu and was studying her, sliding her reading glasses down her nose and watching her suspiciously.

“Moira Kathleen.”

“What, Mum?”

“There are no eggs Benedict on this menu.”

“You're kidding!”

“You're not a good enough actress for your mother, girl.”

“No, Mum, I thought that—”

“Don't add insult to injury, daughter. What are we doing here?”

She leaned forward. “All right, Mum. I thought that we might run into Jacob Brolin here.”

Katy put down her menu. “Why didn't you just try calling him?”

“I'm not with one of the networks, or even a major cable channel, Mum,” Moira said. “And…I kind of wanted to do this on my own, too.”

Katy nodded. “All right. Why didn't you just ask me to help you scope out the situation?”

“I really haven't had any time with you alone, Mum,” Moira said earnestly, giving her entire attention to her mother.

Their waiter arrived, wishing them both a good morning and asking if they needed more time.

“Not at all,” Katy said. “A strawberry waffle, coffee and orange juice. Moira?”

“The egg scramble with cheese and ham, coffee and juice, please,” Moira said. When the waiter left, Moira leaned toward her mother. “Mum, I…honestly, I needed to be with you.” That was surprisingly true. She hadn't wanted to be alone with her confusion regarding last night. And she hadn't wanted to be in the house if Michael and Josh had arrived early with ideas for the day's filming or eager to hear what she wanted to do next. They had lots of tape. Plenty for an hour's show, even if they decided not to do a live segment on Saint Patrick's Day. Which, of course, the Leisure Channel was expecting.

“Are you all right, Moira?” her mother asked.

She squeezed her mother's hand across the table. “A little confused, Mum, that's all.”

“Danny?”

“Am I that obvious?”

“No, you're practically rude to him.”

“Mum, you like Michael, right?”

“He's trying very hard. And he's handsome indeed. Probably more so than Danny, though I am prejudiced toward the Irish lad. You say he's dependable and he works hard, and he likes the theater and music and a ball game.”

“Yes. He's willing to try anything. He's polite and courteous, and in the same business I am.” Moira fell silent as their waiter arrived with juice and coffee. When he had gone, Katy leaned toward her.

“You make it sound as if you're dating off a computer matchmaking program.”

“But I'm not, Mum. I've enjoyed him. Enjoyed being with him, I mean. I like the theater and all, too. He's a great companion.”

“So is a Great Dane.”

“No, he's nice, he's fun…I've really enjoyed being with him,” she repeated without conviction.

“And…” Katy said, then hesitated, shaking her head. “You're hedging, daughter. All right, this isn't something you want to discuss with your mother, so I'll go first. Your father is a great companion, but I can tell you quite frankly that I…that I also find him quite exciting.”

“What?” Moira said, startled.

“Well, I wasn't born yesterday. And I like to think I raised children with morals, but being compatible sexually is not a bad thing.”

“Whoa, Mum,” Moira said, laughing, then shutting up as their food arrived.

“This isn't a bad place. They're fast and efficient,” Katy said.

“I'm so glad you like it, at least.”

“Thus far,” Katy said, cutting into her waffle. “If we're talking, let's talk. Don't go being all horrified that I like your father. We're not that decrepit yet. Honestly, child, where do you think you and your siblings came from? I do realize that children don't like to think of their parents in such a light—”

“No, I certainly know where we came from, it's just that…”

“I don't want you sharing more than necessary with me, no details, daughter. I'm just trying to really understand your dilemma”

“I'm attracted to them both,” Moira said. She leaned forward, speaking more softly. “Does that make me bad, Mum?”

“My dear child, I adore your father, and we've had a good marriage. No, we don't burn with passion the way we did when we were kids, but we're comfortable together, and we do still have our moments. No life is a mass of excitement hour after hour, there's always the mundane. But we do have our moments, and we cherish them still. And that's what's kept us together sometimes when we've disagreed and been at one another's throats. It's human nature, girl. You may be attracted to more than one man. It's when you make a commitment that it must be real. And there's your man.”