The Mystery of the Claddagh Rings (3 page)

He came up behind Fin, placing a hand on her shoulder. She jumped and turned. Ryan raised his hands in the air. “Easy. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Keep your mitts to yourself.” Her blue eyes turned icy, very much like Thomas’s. Chin tilted in the air, she warned him to back off with a glare. “Just because you work here doesn’t mean we’re on friendly terms.”

“I guess we got off on the wrong foot.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, toed the path with a boot, and tried out a sheepish grin. “I’m sorry I mistook you for a stalker earlier.”

“No, you’re not. As a matter of fact, I think you enjoyed it.” Fin stared at him, her gaze narrowing. “Maybe
you’re
the stalker. I wouldn’t be surprised if you pawed through my underwear when you brought my suitcase to the guesthouse.”

“You’re cutting deep there, sunshine.” Okay, so maybe he had, although he would never admit to it. Fumbling through sexy lingerie and enjoying the hell out of it didn’t make a man feel proud. But it gave him a better understanding of Fin, even if he hadn’t found the rings. Why would someone so tomboyish wear lace and silk under ripped jeans and flannel shirts? And what was with the bubble bath, perfumed lotions, and scented candles? She obviously had a feminine side. He also suspected she had a soft spot, at least where her mother was concerned. Why else would she be here, if not to protect Poppy? He wrapped a hand around her wrist. “Maybe we should start over.”

“Don’t touch me.” She shook free and pulled back, turning toward the guesthouse, but not before Ryan saw the anxiousness in her gaze. “Just keep your hands to yourself.”

“Fin, wait.” Suddenly, it made sense, what had stared him in the face from the pages of the file Thomas compiled on her. The boyish clothes, her lack of feminine wiles, pointed to a childhood lived in fear. The reason she hadn’t been back to Nantucket Sound in ten years. He doubted Poppy knew, but he’d bet his eyeteeth at least one of her exes had preyed on Fin as a child. “Look, we need to talk.”

She wanted no part of him or a conversation, that much was obvious. But if he scratched seduction off his list of ways to get close to her, his arsenal was flat out empty. Which meant he had no choice; he’d have to trust her with the truth. Increasing his stride, he caught up to her as she shot through the guesthouse door. He followed her inside, shutting it behind them.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Alarm leapt into her pretty blue eyes. Reaching into a jacket pocket, she pulled out a canister. “Get out of here this instant or I’ll spray you blind.”

“Don’t do it, sunshine.” Yeah, she was going to use the pepper spray. He saw her hit the button half a second before he knocked the can out of her grasp and sent them both to the floor. He kept his weight on his elbows, rubbing his face in her jacket to keep the stuff from burning the skin on his face. It was damn lucky he’d already had his eyes shut before she’d let loose with her trigger finger. It only dawned on him with her next intake of breath that he’d buried his face in her breasts when he’d landed on top of her.

Shit
. He felt her heart pounding beneath his ear. Her wrists strained to get free under his hands. Thank God, she couldn’t get a knee in position to take out his nuts. “Quit struggling. Give me a second and I’ll move off you.”

“You’re a son of a bitch, you know that?” He didn’t blame her for being furious, although that was a dumb stunt she’d pulled. But something else caught his attention. Her nipple had beaded where his damp breath blew against the slinky tank top exposed by her open shirt and jacket. She was braless beneath it. Hell, it was all he could do not to capture the bud in his mouth and hum the “Hallelujah Chorus.” One thing was certain. She couldn’t be afraid of him, not when her body reacted with pulse-pounding heat to his close proximity. Of course, her words said something entirely different. “You’re fired! Do you hear me? Pick yourself up, pack your bags, and get off the property!”

“Not before I search you for more weapons.” Unwilling to take any chances, he went through her pockets, half afraid he’d find a taser or stun gun to knock him on his ass. When he was sure she was unarmed, he rolled off her. Gaining his feet, he kicked the pepper spray under the couch and pulled her up against him. No fear in her gaze this time—only anger. “About the leaving part…I hate to disappoint, but I’m not going anywhere.”

Pulling her jacket closed, Fin tugged a strand of hair behind an ear and snarled. Yep, she was royally pissed. If she’d had a gun, he figured he’d already be dead. She strode to an end table, snatched up the phone, and wielded it like a weapon in his direction. “Get the hell out of here before I call the cops.”

Ryan shook his head. He rocked back on his heels as he reached in a back pocket to haul out his wallet. Flipping it open, he flashed his badge with a grin. “FBI at your service, sunshine. I am the cops.”

Chapter Two

Fin stared at Ryan’s badge and laughed, although there was nothing funny about the situation. He stood between her and the door, effectively blocking her from leaving the guesthouse.
Wonderful
. She thought about phoning for help but who would she call? Not security, since
he
was standing in front of her waiving FBI credentials he’d most likely bought on the internet. Not her mother, who lacked the wherewithal to face off against someone like O’Shea. Poppy’s fiancé would be downing Bloody Marys by the gallon by now, and none of the other guests had arrived. So that left the cook and housekeeper—who were both about seventy years old—to help Fin toss Ryan out on his perfect butt. Forget it. Judging by the way he handled himself, she’d need a small army to do that.

She tried humoring him instead. “Where’s Holmsby if he didn’t really have surgery?”

Ryan pocketed his identification and stood at ease, his body language benign, as if he was one of the good guys. Nice try, but his questionable creds and lethal appearance instilled about as much trust as a kick in the teeth. “I convinced him it was a matter of national security and sent him on an all-expenses paid trip to the Caymans.”

“Nice for him. But you lied to gain access to my mother.” He had nerve, she’d give him that. But while Holmsby might have been snookered, she didn’t believe O’Shea’s story for a minute. In fact, she was inclined to report him to the local cops. Knew she should, but wouldn’t. Involving Nantucket police would mean forcing some truth out of Poppy, whatever she was involved in, something she wasn’t sure she could do. Fin had no choice but to play along with Mr. FBI and get to the bottom of the “national security” issue herself.
“What do you want?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t already know. You and your mother are in danger.” Green eyes flashed with so-called concern from his damn sexy face. Fin licked her bottom lip, holding his steady gaze when what she really wanted to do was run for cover. No, he didn’t frighten her, but he attracted her, which was worse. While the illusion of interest might be her body’s way of processing adrenaline, this wasn’t the time to be curious about a man who wasn’t who he appeared to be.

Besides, Fin was inexperienced when it came to the flirting game. Poppy’s third husband had seen to that. Always lurking and watching her, his touch making her skin crawl whenever he got her alone. Once she was old enough, she hadn’t played the victim any longer, earning a scholarship to a top culinary college in Paris. Going as far away from home as she could get. Since then, she’d made it a point to avoid big men with rough hands. Which didn’t explain the punch of heat she’d felt when Ryan landed on top of her a few minutes ago. Not something she wanted to acknowledge. Or explore.

He was doing it again, watching her teeth sink into her bottom lip as if he wanted to cover her mouth with his. A ridiculous thought and one he didn’t act on, thank God. Fin reined in her confusion, knowing he wasn’t above using her to get to Poppy, or whatever else he wanted.

Hands on his hips, Ryan rocked on the balls of his feet. “Your mother has five rings that don’t belong to her. The sooner I retrieve them, the safer you both will be.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The rings, damn it, her mother hadn’t told her where she’d gotten them. More to the point, Poppy had avoided the conversation. Fin wondered if Ryan was the one who broke into the L.A. house and then followed Poppy here. It made sense, didn’t it?

“But if what you’re saying is true, why are the rings a matter of national security?”

“That’s need to know information, sunshine.” Ryan reached out and ran his fingertips along her hairline, tucking a curl behind an ear. “The important thing is I find them before anyone else comes looking.”

“Sorry. I can’t help you there.” She brushed past him for the door and opened it wide. “If you’ll excuse me, Poppy needs my help with wedding preparations.”

Ryan moved to the threshold, his gaze serious as he huffed out a breath. “This isn’t over.”

Fin hugged herself against the coolness of his expression until something else caught her attention. A classic, black Porsche Carrera rolled through the gates. Ramsey Carlyle—husband number three—hopped out, looking as cruel and intimidating as ever. Poppy must have invited him to the wedding. And why not? She’d never told her mother what he’d done to her. The air caught in Fin’s lungs and her hands started to shake. Involuntary tremors; Ramsey had trained her well.

“What is it?” Closing the distance between them, Ryan laid a palm at her nape. His chin tilted in the direction of the car. “Who is that?”

“Just one of my mother’s exes.” Fin backed out of sight from the doorway. “Please tell Poppy I’ll see her tomorrow. I’ll call the kitchen if I need anything.”

She bolted the door and began to pace after Ryan left. Of all the rotten luck for Ramsey to show up when she wasn’t prepared to face him. What she needed was a plan to build her confidence. She wasn’t a frightened teenager anymore, although no one would guess it to look at her snazzy wardrobe of oversized shirts and jeans. Yep, she still wore them to hide her body from creepy men. But, no more. Fin hauled out the Nantucket phone directory and dialled. “Mrs. Westover? It’s Fin Murphy—”

“Fin?” An excited squeal came through the line. “It’s Ronnie! I’m home for Christmas and helping Mom at the boutique.”

“Oh, my gosh!” Ronnie had been her best friend in high school, although they hadn’t seen each other in the past ten years. Then again, Fin hadn’t seen anyone from her old life after moving away. “Ronnie, I forgot my suitcase in Boston and I’m desperate for clothes. Any chance you can help me choose a few items to tide me over?”

“Are you kidding? Do you still wear a size 4?” When Fin agreed, Ronnie asked her mom to pull the swankiest clothes off the racks in her size. “How soon can you get here?”

“Twenty minutes.” Fin paused for a beat. “Ronnie, I-I’m glad we’re going to see each other again after all these years.”

“Believe it, honey.” Ronnie laughed. “And best of all? Ilsa, Skye, and Eden are here for the holidays, too. I’m calling them as soon as we hang up.”

Fin locked the door and jogged to her SUV, jumped inside and booted it for Hyannis. The little boutique was on Main Street in the historic downtown area. It was a beautiful, tree-lined avenue not too far from the harbor. Christmas lights decorated store windows and were strung through the trees. The charming shops and restaurants hadn’t changed a lot since her last visit, although a few had different names.

She grinned when she locked her car and gazed across the street to the boutique doors. Ilsa stood outside chatting on a cell phone. She looked beautiful, was still willowy and blond. Her last email had been from Anchorage where she worked for an oil company. Skye stood beside her, decked out in western boots and jeans, her auburn hair streaked from the sun. She’d followed her dream and bought a little dude ranch in Texas. Eden’s tan was a honeyed glow, her body slimmed down since high school, her dark hair cut short and curly. Fin knew she managed a pineapple plantation in Hawaii now. And Ronnie? Well, Ronnie looked the same—a tall gorgeous brunette—a supermodel sought after by hip designers in New York City. Fin often saw her gracing the covers of fashion magazines.

With hugs and laughter, shopping took on a whole new meaning for Fin. Ronnie’s mother popped the cork on a bottle of champagne while the women caught up and browsed to their hearts’ content.

“Where have you been, Fin?” Ilsa asked. “And why haven’t you come back to visit?”

“I floated around Europe after graduating, working as a sous-chef in some of the best restaurants.” She gazed at her friends, appreciating the love and concern in the room. “But now I’m back for good, ladies. I’ve secured the financial backing to open my own restaurant in Boston.”

“That is
the
best news!” Eden led the cheer, and then dampened the festivities with a question. “It’s because of the men in Poppy’s life that you haven’t been back, isn’t it?”

“One man in particular,” Fin admitted. There was no point in lying, not to the women who’d pulled her through so many tough times. She raised her glass for a bit more bubbly. “All that’s changed now, except my mother invited Ramsey to attend wedding number five. He’s staying at the house, but this time, I intend to have the upper hand.”

“You go, girl. Let us know if you need any help.” Skye checked her watch. “And guess what? I exerted a little pressure at the club and got us hair, mani, and pedi appointments. There’s nothing like the spa experience to give a woman a needed boost before she tosses out the trash, right?”

****

The sun was down by the time Fin kissed everyone goodbye, promising to get together again before they went their separate ways after Christmas. She felt like a new woman—relaxed, buffed, and polished. Combined with the clothes she’d bought…well, she’d never felt so girly and in control of her life.

Floating home on a haze of champagne, chocolate-dipped strawberries, and rekindled friendships, she pulled up to the guesthouse. Music and voices from the main house carried on the breeze. Poppy’s guests had arrived, the drive filled with expensive cars. Fin hummed a few bars of “Genie in a Bottle” while she pulled the shopping bags from the CR-V and danced to the door in her new black leather boots, matching jacket, and designer jeans. Everything fit her like a glove, including the white cashmere sweater she wore under the jacket. And, yes, it felt wonderful to be dressed like a woman. Plus, she’d gotten a discount from Ronnie’s mom, easing the strain on her pocketbook.