A Dangerous Game. Heather Graham
her—you stalked her and then you killed her,” Kieran used her fiercest voice, trying to sound like a cop.
Her twin looked at her and arched a brow. He lowered his head, trying to hide a smile. “No,” he said simply.
“We can understand how it happened, how you must have felt—”
“No,” Kevin said again.
“She rejected you. You felt like an ass.”
“No,” Kevin said again.
“You were humiliated. In front of so many people.”
“No, damn you!”
Kevin looked up at her with fire in his eyes. “You idiots. Don’t you understand? I loved her. Whether she did or didn’t love me, I loved her. I would have never hurt her. I didn’t kill her, and when you get your heads out of your asses you’ll discover the truth. I’m innocent, and I’m done talking. I want my lawyer—now.”
“He’s not here yet. We still have time—”
“Get the hell out! I’ve asked for my lawyer and from here on out, we will wait for him to arrive.”
Kieran set the script down and looked at her brother with a smile. “Wow. Did you do it?”
“Nope. I am innocent,” he told her, and grimaced. “My character is innocent, at any rate. You see, he’s a rock star, and it really does look like he did it at first. The cops believe it was him—until they find a kid who was too terrified to come forward. She was actually killed by her stepfather. Because she totally rejected him!”
“You’re really good,” she told him, leaning an elbow on the desk. They were in the office at Finnegan’s. She was sitting in Declan’s chair. She’d returned from the soup kitchen with Mary Kathleen at about three, and Kevin had been there ready to run lines with her.
She’d popped into the back office to eat some fish and chips, and Kevin had joined her. They’d been running his lines for the filming that would take place on Monday and Tuesday.
“You’re pretty good at that emoting thing yourself,” Kevin told her.
“No, I’m not. You were laughing at me.”
“Just because you’re not a big black cop who used to be a linebacker,” Kevin said.
“Ah, but I love Arnie Westmore!” Kieran said. And she did. The actor who starred as the lead detective on the show Kevin would be filming was both strikingly handsome and definitely talented. He really had been a linebacker, too, with the Jets. She was thrilled that Kevin had scored a role on the show.
There was a tap on the door. Kieran jumped up, hopeful that it was Craig.
She had managed not to call him yet—mainly because she had kept busy all day.
It wasn’t Craig. It was Danny. He poked his head in and asked, “Am I interrupting the great flow of dramatic practice?”
“No, you’re not interrupting. Kevin knows his lines perfectly,” Kieran said, sitting back down. “I do believe he thinks that I’m horrible, and that I overact terribly, emoting here and there and everywhere.”
“Come on—she was trying to sound as tough as a linebacker,” Kevin said.
“Don’t kid yourself—Irish women are supposed to be tougher than linebackers, especially the Irish American kind,” Kieran assured him.
“Remember when we were kids?” Kevin asked Danny. “We weren’t supposed to hurt our only sister. And then one day Dad said, ‘Hey! If she pinches you again, deck her!’”
“Yeah, I remember,” Danny said. “But she was older than me—and she grew fast. And I was chicken. I never did deck her.”
“None of us did.”
“She was too scary,” Danny said.
Kieran made a face at them both. “And she’s really tired of this story!” Kieran told them firmly. “I was not a terror as a sister!”
“Well, it’s a good thing that you’re tough,” Kevin said. “Seeing you’re determined to get into or cause trouble at every turn.”
“I am not—”
“Sorry, sorry!” Kevin said. “Okay, trouble finds you. Your boyfriend is an FBI agent and you work with criminal psychologists. But, hey, yeah, trouble finds you.”
“This time, it actually did,” Danny told Kevin.
“But she’s going to let it go, right?” another voice asked.
None of them had noticed Declan when he arrived at the office door, arms crossed over his chest, expression stern as he looked at them all.
“I don’t know what you mean!” Kieran protested. “Craig might well be on the case.”
“Craig, yes, the guy who wears a Glock and knows how to use it,” Declan said. “Kieran, honestly, think about it—”
“Honestly! I am thinking. I’m not doing anything. I handed out food at a soup kitchen with your fiancée, and I’ve been a sounding board for my twin. I was happy to wait tables, but you were covered for the day. I am being an angel.”
“Fallen,” Danny muttered.
“I heard that!” she snapped at him.
The phone on the desk rang; it was Mary Kathleen out on the floor—Saturday evening business was picking up. It wasn’t crazy, but she could use one of them to help out.
Any one of them.
“I’m going,” Kieran said, rising. “It’s a hard life to bear the burdens of this family, but I am willing to give my all.”
She heard all three of her brothers laughing as she walked out. Shaking her head, Kieran went ahead behind the bar.
Mary Kathleen was hurrying about. She glanced quickly at Kieran. “Terrific, I’m heading out on the floor. You can manage here?”
“God help me, I hope so,” Kieran said. She was about to say that she’d grown up in the pub. It wouldn’t have sounded quite right. Neither of her parents had been drinkers. Tea had been mom’s go-to, and at best, her dad had a pint on a Sunday with his roast.
A pub could be so many things. In the old days, the men had usually enjoyed their whiskey and pints in the main room—women and children had often been banished to another area. But Finnegan’s had always been a place where food and camaraderie were the most important aspects of the business. There were hours during certain days when everyone there really did know everyone else.
However you looked at it, she knew how to handle a bar.
She knew a lot of their clientele that day, and it was nice to chat. They all asked her how she was doing, how did she like her “real work.” And, of course, she asked back about them and their families as she served up their fare: Larry Adair, whiskey neat and fish and chips. John Martin, a pint of whatever was on special and shepherd’s pie. Brian McMann, a soda with lots of lime and corned beef and cabbage. Jillian Boyle, white wine and Guinness stew.
She was moving about quickly and yet easily when the door to the pub opened just as the sun made a powerful streak down Broadway.
For a moment, it was almost like a religious experience. There, in the midst of the tremendous light, was a tall, dark figure with a sweeping cloak around it—as if a presence from above or beyond had arrived with a powerful force.
Kieran blinked, the figure stepped forward, and she saw that it was not a presence from above or beyond—and yet, it was still one containing a powerful force.
Sister Teresa was just outside the pub. She looked at Kieran for a long moment, grinned and turned away.
Astonished, Kieran stared after her.