Flawless(24)

She loved her whole neighborhood, where there were still stores selling unusual items—crafts, imports—along with those carrying the usual T-shirts and souvenirs.

“I wonder if I should pop down and try a few numbers, get some practice in,” Kevin mused, more to himself than to her. “Nah, I should get to sleep.” He paused as she used her two keys in their respective locks. “You okay?”

“I’m fine, why?”

“You’re so quiet. That FBI guy you’re working with seems great. You’re lucky—damned lucky—he came along.”

“Yes, especially when I shouldn’t have been at the store at all. You’re not going to point that out?”

“I’ll let Declan keep the paternal thing going. You know you shouldn’t have been there without me telling you. But listen, I love Julie, too, but you’ve got to draw a line. Let her cry on your shoulder, but stay the hell out of the shenanigans between her and Gary.”

“He could have killed those dogs,” Kieran said indignantly.

Inside now, she closed the door and double-bolted it, then headed to the living room closet. She took out the guest bedding while Kevin unfolded the sleeper-sofa. Her place was fairly small—only her bedroom, a tiny nook she used as an office, the kitchen and the living room—but it had been an incredibly lucky find. It had a private bathroom off her bedroom and a guest bathroom to the left of the kitchen, off the dining area.

Her sleeper-sofa was the only modern piece of furniture she had. The rest consisted of odds and ends and period pieces: an art deco buffet she’d found at an estate sale, a Duncan Phyfe love seat she’d found in pieces at a bric-a-brac shop and had reupholstered, and more. Her walls were covered with framed movie posters and prints of old masterpieces.

“Care if I keep the TV on while I fall asleep?” Kevin asked.

“Not at all. I’m accustomed to noise,” she reminded him, smiling.

“So what’s your beef with Craig?” he asked, surprising her.

“I don’t have a beef with him.”

“Then what’s your problem?” he asked.

“I don’t have a problem.”

“Okay then, what are you afraid of?”

“I’m not—”

“I’m your twin.”

“Yeah, and you and Danny have checkered pasts,” she reminded him.

He started to laugh. “You think a guy who chases killers for a living gives a damn about our little past transgressions? He’s looking at the bigger picture.” He sobered, turned sympathetic. “If you’re afraid working with the Feds is going to put you in danger, you should bow out of the investigation.”

“Afraid? They caught the guys.”

“But did they catch all of them? That’s the real question, isn’t it?”

Yes, it was. And she was certain they hadn’t caught them all.

She waved a hand in the air. “Kevin, stop worrying about me and get your beauty rest. You need it to be a singing chip. I love you—good night.”

She headed into her bedroom. She was suddenly deeply tired.

She was almost asleep when she heard Kevin’s sleepy voice. “Who is it?”

She sat up and looked at her bedside clock. Almost one o’clock. Was he rehearsing lines?

Hurriedly crawling out of bed, she went to her bedroom door and peered out.

Kevin was standing by the door, puzzled.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Thought I heard someone at the door. Guess not. There’s no one there now, anyway,” he said. “But I could have sworn I heard someone playing with the lock.” He shrugged. “Sorry I woke you. Probably just some drunk from downstairs looking for a place to crash.”

“Probably,” she agreed.

She gave him a quick hug and reminded him to get his beauty sleep.

She went back to bed. But then she began to wonder.

Had someone been trying to get into her apartment? Not just any apartment, her apartment?

And if so...

Why?

She tried to be logical. Kevin had to be right. Some drunk had just wandered up from below. It wasn’t an unheard-of occurrence, as she knew firsthand. They ran a pub, after all. Most of the time people more or less knew their limits, and when they didn’t, Declan refused to keep serving them.

But alcohol was a moneymaker. Not every establishment was as careful as Finnegan’s.

And yet...

She tossed and turned, glad that her twin was in the living room and that she had not one but two serious dead bolts on her door.





CHAPTER

FIVE

THEY HEADED OVER from Queens on the three-lane Francis Buono Memorial Bridge, known unofficially as the Rikers Island Bridge.

She’d never been to Rikers Island before, either, though her employers had been there often enough.

“You been here before?” he asked, as if reading her mind.

She shook her head.

“It’s pretty amazing. Inmates may be held here pending trial. Maybe their attorneys couldn’t get them bail, or maybe they couldn’t pay it. Or they might have been sentenced to under a year. Anything longer, and they’d be in prison. Rikers is a jail.”

She nodded, pretty sure that she’d more or less known that.