Flawless

What the hell? Did he really believe that there were more jewel thieves out there, only carrying real guns?

“Just for a checkup,” someone said behind her.

She turned. The earnest EMT had followed her and was still trying to convince her to go to the hospital.

He flashed a light into her eyes, his own eyes worried as he examined her. “You need medical attention.”

“No, I don’t,” Kieran said.

She looked away from him and saw that FBI agent Craig—was that his first name or his last? she wondered—was standing only a few feet away, staring at her.

She felt a moment’s panic, then remembered that he’d managed to pass the stolen diamond to the police along with the others.

With any luck whatsoever, no one would know that it had ever been in her possession. Thank God she’d managed to give it back, even if not in the way she’d planned.

Thank God neither she nor anyone else had been killed.

“Miss Finnegan?” he said.

“Yes,” she said. She hoped he couldn’t hear the note of guilt in that single syllable. And why should she feel guilty, anyway? She hadn’t stolen the diamond. She’d been trying to do the right thing—and she’d been kidnapped for her efforts.

“I’m special agent Craig Frasier,” he said, and then he smiled, which changed his countenance entirely. He had high, strong cheekbones and a jaw that appeared to be made of stone. He was tall and dark haired with light eyes that drew her attention and seemed to home in on her like—like truth-seeking beacons.

“I know you’ve told your story several times, but would you tell it again to me?” he asked her.

“There’s not much to tell,” she said. “And you were there at the end, so...”

“But I wasn’t there at the beginning. You went to the store why? Were you looking for a premade piece or a unique stone you could have set?” he asked.

She looked at him, wondering why guilt had immediately set in. “I went to see some loose stones. A friend of mine was married—still is, technically speaking—to one of the salesmen there. She’s interested in buying one of the stones he handles, but she didn’t want to see him, so she asked me to go and look at them. It turned out he wasn’t working, but anyone can show another salesman’s stones. But before I could see them, the thieves came in.”

“And had you ever seen any of them before?”

She shook her head. “I still haven’t actually seen them. The ski masks, you know. But none of them sounded familiar. I’ve definitely never seen the driver before.”

“Yeah, this is New York, after all,” he murmured.

She couldn’t help but smile drily. “You mean we all live by the ‘don’t make eye contact’ rule?”

“I’d like you to come in tomorrow and take a look at some pictures of the men,” he said.

“Why? You can’t need a lineup. You caught them all red-handed.” The thief who escaped from the van had later been apprehended by one of the officers.

“I’d still like to know if they look familiar to you in any way.”

“I’ll come, but...”

“I’ll send a car for you,” he said. “Around ten?”

At ten she would be working her job at the Midtown offices of Doctors Fuller and Miro.

And she knew for a fact that her employers—whose main work came from police consultations—would have no problem with her helping the police.

She started to look around for her purse, which one of the officers had brought to her. She dug into it and produced a card. She remembered how pleased she had been to have a card with the prestigious names of her employers on it—along with her own.

“You’re a psychiatrist?” he asked.

“Psychologist,” she said. “May I go now? I have to get back to work.”

“You see clients at night?” he asked skeptically.

She shook her head, annoyed to find herself flushing slightly. “I’m a bartender, too. Family. I bartend for the family. I mean, the family doesn’t have a private bartender. We own a pub. Finnegan’s on Broadway. I’m still helping out there.”

She was annoyed with herself for babbling. She didn’t know why he made her feel so off-kilter.

Guilt!

But she hadn’t done anything. She’d returned the “borrowed” diamond, for heaven’s sake.

But there was something about the way he looked at her... It was his eyes, she thought, so light against the bronze of his face. She realized that he was tall and solidly built and really good-looking.

She flushed and looked away. Sex appeal wasn’t something she should be thinking about right now.

Especially when people had been killed in a situation like the one she had survived.

“You should let them take you to the hospital,” he said, “and make sure you’re all right. We were flying around pretty good back there.” He smiled again, and she was shocked by what it did to his face. His pin-striped suit was rumpled and his tie was askew, so he wasn’t looking quite as ruggedly GQ as he might have, but his smile made him seem far too...attractive.

“I’m fine. Really. I have three brothers. I’ve been through much worse,” she told him. “Really, I just want to get to the pub.”

“I’ll get an officer to drive you,” he said.

“It’s all right. I can hop on the subway.”

“Not if you want to avoid the press—which I very much hope you’ll want to do,” he told her.

“I do want to avoid them, but why do you want me to?”

“Police should handle the press spin, that’s why,” he said. “Stay right there. I’ll get an officer to drive you.” He pocketed the card she’d given him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She nodded as he turned and left, then watched as he went over to join two other men in suits who were deep in an animated discussion about something no doubt related to the events of the afternoon. His answer had been logical, but she felt as if he’d hesitated just a shade before answering her. Why?

Suddenly her view was blocked as a uniformed NYPD officer moved to stand in front of her.

“Miss Finnegan? I’m here to drive you home.”

She wasn’t heading home, of course, but to the pub. She gave him the address and told him where it was. He smiled. “I love that place,” he said with a broad smile. As they drove, he told her that Finnegan’s was a favorite watering hole for him and a number of his friends—when they were off duty, of course.

He stopped in front of the bar, and she thanked him as she got out. There was an employee entrance that led to the offices, but she knew it would be locked by now, so she walked in the front.

To her shock—and a bit of dismay—the pub was doing a booming business. Mary Kathleen had even come back in for the evening shift. On a Monday, it shouldn’t have been so crazy, but it was.

And the first person to spot her was Declan.

Her older brother was handsome and charming and—in her opinion—the best host and barkeep in the world. He looked as if he’d stepped out of a movie as he worked the bar in his white shirt with rolled up sleeves and green brocade vest. But when he saw her, he folded his arms over his chest, a frown settling onto his face.

Danny bounced out to greet her, his eyes wide with warning. But it was too late. Declan was already coming around the bar to confront her. “Are you crazy?” he asked. His tone was furious. “And look at you! You look like you were competing in the mud-wrestling championships!”

She took a deep breath and was trying to figure out just how she was going to explain herself when he threw his arms wide and pulled her into a tight hug. “Thank God you’re all right!”

Crushed against his chest, she felt her mind race.

What did he know? What did he think?

“She’s here!” Bobby O’Leary cried. “The woman of the hour!”

“All hail our kick-ass hero!” Jimmy McManus, sitting down the bar from Bobby, lifted his beer glass.

The darker of the two men she’d seen with McManus was there with him. Thankfully, there was no sign of Gary Benton.

Kieran froze, then slowly emerged from Declan’s embrace. Everyone in the place was looking at her and applauding.

“What, um, what...?” she muttered inarticulately.

“The television—check out the television,” Danny told her, hugging her tightly for a long moment.

Kevin, her twin, had emerged from behind the bar, too, and he also hugged her warmly, whispering, “I know you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, but if you took chances... I came into this world with you, sis, and if you leave it before me, I won’t be able to cope.”

“I love you, too,” she murmured, then finally got a glance at the TV. A reporter was in the middle of explaining that a brave hostage had helped the FBI take down the thieves. And she was clearly visible in the shot behind him, which showed her seated in the back of the ambulance, a blanket around her shoulders and a cup of coffee in her hand, as an EMT spoke to her. The reporter was still going on about her courage under fire.

Except there had been no courage. There had been no choice.

She smiled weakly, waved a hand and managed a soft thank-you, then dodged behind the bar and ran to the offices in back.

Declan was right behind her, closing the door to the office behind them. She noticed that he’d brought a clean wet bar rag with him and looked at him questioningly.

“You’re still wearing a fair amount of dirt. You roll in an alley or something?” he asked.

He was watching her with his arms crossed over his chest again. Even so, she could tell that he was truly grateful to see her alive and well.

She could also tell that he knew there was more to the story.

“You were buying diamonds?” he asked her. “Instead of coming to work?”

She accepted the bar rag from him, sank into the chair behind the desk and studiously scrubbed at her face. “No, and I’m sorry. I didn’t think that the bar would be this busy. I—”

The door burst open. Danny rushed in and hurried over to her, dropping to his knees by the chair. “You’re really all right?”

She nodded. “I’m fine.”

“Oh, my God, when I saw...” Danny sounded sick and shaky.

She patted his red hair gently, reassuringly.

“Kieran, you went there to talk to Gary Benton, didn’t you?” Declan demanded.

She went very still, looking at Danny. “Yes,” she said.

“Kieran, we all love Julie. She’s been our friend since we were children. I don’t like Gary one bit myself, and the way he’s treating her is awful. He’s a total jerk, and we should all be looking forward to the day when Julie is finally rid of him. I should have expected... Well, he was in here this afternoon, right? You don’t need to answer. Bobby O’Leary told me he was. And then you got upset and went to tell him... Well, I don’t care what you thought you were going to tell him. It’s only by the grace of God that you’re alive and well. Kieran—let this be a lesson. Stand by Julie. Be there to listen to her, to hold her hand. Help her make the split final. But stay away from Gary Benton.”

“You’re right,” she said, still staring warningly into Danny’s eyes. He opened his mouth as if he was going to admit the truth. She shook her head and looked up at Declan. “You’re right. It’s just that... He had the nerve to come here!”

“And if he comes again, we have to let him in. And we won’t throw him out unless he starts causing trouble or gets in a fight or something—and there’s no spitting in his food or his drinks, either. All three of you—you and Danny and Kevin, too—are off pursuing careers, which is wonderful. But the bar is my livelihood—and it’s all our heritage and what you have to depend on, too, if life doesn’t work out for some reason. We will not discriminate against anyone, do you understand me?”

“It’s not illegal to discriminate against assholes,” Danny said.

Declan shook his head in aggravation. “Danny!”

“Sorry. All right, if the jerk comes in, we won’t show him the door,” Danny said.

“Kieran?” Declan said.

“Hey, I served him coffee without throwing it on him—or even accidentally spilling a single drop,” she said.

“Good. But in future, stay away from him, let someone else take his order. Please,” Declan told her.

She nodded grudgingly.

“Now go home, kid—you don’t need to be here. Mary Kathleen is on the floor with Danny, and I have the bar. We’re fine. Kevin’s been behind the bar with me, but as soon as things slow down I’ll send him home, since he has an audition tomorrow. So go home. And not to be rude, but I suggest you take a bath.”

The door opened again. It was Kevin this time.

“It’s slowed down. Maybe the crowd was just waiting to applaud Kieran and now they’ve all gone home to talk about her. I’ve got my car, so I can drive Kieran home on my way.”

“I can get home—” Kieran began.

“With me,” Kevin said.

“Declan said you have an audition in the morning. You need to go straight home and get your beauty rest,” she said, smiling. “Although you’re beautiful no matter what.”

Kevin winced. “Men aren’t beautiful!” he said.

“Ouch,” Danny said, laughing. “He’s a manly man, you know.”

“What about you? You have work tomorrow, too,” she reminded him. Danny was outgoing, and despite the problems he’d had in the past, he was a keen historian and the tour company he worked for loved him.

“I’m off tomorrow,” he said. “Sundays and Tuesdays, remember? I’ll help Declan until closing,” he assured her.

She looked away, still uncomfortable that they weren’t telling Declan and Kevin the truth but absolutely certain that she didn’t want to tell them more than what they already knew.

“Well, in my mind, Kevin, you are beautiful!” she said, returning to a safer topic. “And you’ll be great tomorrow. Break a leg.”

“Thanks. And I’m going to my car now, and you’re going with me,” Kevin said.

It would be worse to argue than to go along. She said, “Okay, thanks. I could walk it if I wanted to, and I know the subway like the back of my hand, but a ride from my twin will be nice.”

Kieran stood, hugged Danny and Declan, and then followed Kevin out of the office through the side door. He slipped an arm around her shoulders as they walked down the street.

“That must have been scary as hell,” he told her. “How the hell you didn’t lose it, I don’t know. I don’t think I would have coped as well.”

“Thanks—but I think you would have done everything exactly the way I did. We were brought up to do the right thing. Maybe kids remember even more when they’ve lost both parents,” she said.

“We’re not kids,” he said quietly.

He didn’t say anything more until the attendant had brought his car down from the garage nestled in the next block, and then it was only to thank the man and give him a tip. They were parked in front of her apartment before he finally said something else to her.

She moved to get out of the car, but he stopped her.

“Kieran, I don’t know what you told Declan, and I don’t intend to say another word. But I think there’s more to the story of why you were in that store. Something to do with Danny. I don’t even want you to tell me—unless there comes a point when you need to for some reason. Danny is my baby brother, too, and Julie’s also my friend. But don’t go getting yourself into trouble because the two of them have concocted some wild scheme. You’re a therapist now—talk them out of it.”

She leaned over and hugged him tightly. “Best twin in the world,” she told him. “But I swear with my whole heart, I will not get into any trouble with those two, and I’ll make sure they don’t get into trouble, either. I’d like to believe that...”

She hesitated.

“That they learned something from what happened to you today?” Kevin asked her drily. “Never mind—I meant it when I said I won’t make you say anything. You always keep my confidences, so I don’t expect you to break anyone else’s trust. But if you run into a problem again, keep me in the loop.”

“I swear,” she promised.

He nodded and smiled, then watched until she was safely inside her building.

Upstairs, she threw off her jacket and tossed down her bag, then headed into the bathroom to give her face a good scrubbing. When she saw herself in the mirror, she realized stronger action was called for, so she stripped and jumped into the shower.

It wasn’t that late when she dried off, feeling like a new woman, but she didn’t want to see more of herself on the news, and she was exhausted. She lay down to sleep, but her heart kept pounding. She couldn’t deny it. She was worried.

Hiding what she, Danny and Julie had been up to from Declan and Kevin had proved easier than she had thought it would.

But she was dreading the next day and her time with the FBI agent with the dark hair and deep smoky voice and those light eyes that seemed to look into her with the power of an X-ray machine.

* * *

Craig Frasier sat in the office in the near dark, alone except for the skeleton night staff. He’d made Mike go home, knowing that he was being obsessive and not wanting to drag his partner into the pit after him.

He simply didn’t believe that they had caught the thieves they most needed to catch: the ones who killed.

The thieves themselves denied it, and their guns had been fake.

But he understood the desire in law enforcement to believe a case was closed, and a lot of people simply didn’t want to accept the idea that there could be copycats out there—copycats whose MO was so perfect in every detail...except that the guns they carried were real. The prevailing belief was that there was only one set of thieves who, having established that they were willing to kill to get what they wanted, no longer felt the need to carry real guns and had switched to fakes in order to create confusion and make a case for a lighter sentence if they were caught.

The NYPD had made the arrest. The charges would be up to the district attorney’s office. Somewhere the powers that be, whose influence went far beyond his own, were arguing about that right now.

They wouldn’t ask his opinion.

But that didn’t matter. What did matter was whether there were still killers out there—and he was willing to bet cash money that there were.

He leaned back, rubbing his eyes. He thought about the way things might have ended—and how that too-attractive-for-his-own-good redhead had actually had the sense to do something other than scream and expect the world to save her.

She’d saved his ass—or would have, had the gun been real.

He drummed his fingers on the table, thinking about her. She hadn’t wanted any attention from the press; in fact, she had paled at the very mention of it. Strange. Most beautiful women—no, she wasn’t just beautiful; she was stunning—welcomed attention. As gorgeous as she was, she could have been hitting the stage or a runway somewhere, a tall, blue-eyed redhead with legs that stretched forever. But instead...

He reached into his pocket for the card she had given him. Fuller and Miro. He knew the names; they and their employees were often called in as consultants. The Behavioral Science Unit of the bureau was in Virginia, and they were called in on the most puzzling or unusual cases, especially when local police asked for help. Otherwise, the New York office often looked to local talent to untangle the psychology of a captured killer or profile one who was still at large.

Therapist. And bartender.

Quite an intriguing combination.

For someone who had such talents—and had saved both his ass and her own—she had acted very strangely.

Almost as if she were...guilty herself.

He mulled over the thought. Then, standing up, he stretched and walked to the coffee machine in the break room. He needed to go home and go to sleep, but he could use a cup to get that far. The coffee here was wretched; they kept a regular pot instead of investing in pods. But that was all right. Wretched coffee was still better than no coffee.

He lifted the cup to his lips and realized that in the midst of the fray, she’d reminded him of someone.

Of Caroline.

He smiled at the thought.

Caroline had been blessed with that same ability to think on the spot, to behave rationally and, most important, to know when to hold—and when to fight back like blue blazes.

He hadn’t really thought about her in years now. And truthfully, she had been nothing like Kieran Finnegan. Caroline had been a petite blonde with hazel eyes and a smile as big as the world.

He felt a dull ache and shook off the thought. He hadn’t allowed himself to get morose in years. It had all been so long ago. And yet he knew that when Caroline had died, something in him had died, too. He’d lost the ability to get close to a woman. No matter who he met, no matter how sure he was that he wanted to find something close to what they’d had somewhere along the line, he’d just never met anyone with her fire and humor, charm and...heart.

He drained the coffee, returned to his office and turned off the computer. It was time to go home.

And if he thought about it, he was intrigued.

He forced his mind back to the case. Maybe she could help by watching the video surveillance of the deadly robberies and spotting something one of the men she had encountered had done that was different from what was on the tapes.

And maybe he could find out just what she was hiding.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE FIELD OFFICE was toward downtown on Broadway, not very far from Finnegan’s Pub, but, with traffic, Kieran knew it would be a thirty-minute trek from the Midtown offices of Doctors Fuller and Miro. She had barely gotten to work before a black sedan with a black-suited agent—wearing black-framed sunglasses—arrived to pick her up.

She had only just slipped into her own office—a small room not much bigger than a walk-in closet, but at least it had a window—when Dr. Allison Miro came to her door. She was generally a stern-looking woman with her slim, perfectly compact body and short, crisp, iron-gray hair, but that morning she gazed at Kieran with concern and compassion.

“Kieran, dear girl, thank the good Lord that you’re all right. When we saw the news...well, we were quite concerned. Anyway, you’re a heroine, my dear. We’re so proud of you.”

Kieran was startled when Dr. Miro walked over to where she stood by her desk and hugged her. It was a slightly awkward hug. Kieran wasn’t expecting it, and Dr. Miro was a good half foot shorter than she was. The older woman didn’t seem to notice that Kieran rocked back slightly, startled, before hugging her back.

“I’m fine, really, and I’m not a hero, just a survivor,” Kieran said.

“Kieran!”

She recognized the deep, rich, masculine tone, and she looked up to see that Dr. Fuller had joined the party. Her employers were a living representation of “the long and short of it.” Dr. Bentley Fuller was six foot three, lean and fit, and he could have starred in a “male enhancement” advertisement. He was about fifty—a ruggedly handsome fifty. She knew he maintained his health and physique by religiously adhering to the strict tennis-playing schedule he’d set for himself.

He walked over to her, leaving Dr. Miro sandwiched between them in the cramped space.

The two doctors were not a romantic duo, but they shared the same interests and respected one another’s work ethics. Dr. Miro was a grandmother. Dr. Fuller had a lovely—equally tennis honed and perfect—blonde wife. She was a kindergarten teacher, and, in Kieran’s opinion, very sweet. She and Bentley were as perfectly matched as a set of Barbie and Ken dolls.

“Thank God you’re all right,” he said.

She extricated herself from Dr. Miro’s hug and stepped back, smiling. “You two deal with some of the most hardened criminals in the NYC system. I managed—with the help of an FBI agent—to escape squirt-gun-toting thieves. Thank you so much for caring. I truly appreciate your concern.”

“Of course, of course,” Dr. Fuller said. “And you need to go. I came to tell you that your car and escort are here.”