Flawless (New York Confidential #1)(22)

Before long one of the women headed to his table. He didn’t think that she was a Finnegan. She was petite and blonde, with lively blue eyes and a quick smile. “Hello. Welcome to Finnegan’s. What can I get you?”

He was in an Irish pub, so he figured why not order Guinness on draft? He asked for a menu, as well.

“Special tonight is fish-and-chips. Really good,” she told him.

“Then forget the menu. I’ll have fish-and-chips.”

She brought his beer quickly. He thanked her and sipped it as he continued to people watch. A group of young women seemed to be holding a baby shower. Business executives filled several of the tables. An older couple sat and ate a quiet dinner; the bar stools were mostly filled.

When his food came, he thanked the waitress again. “So this is a family business, huh?” he asked.

“Yup, and the Finnegans are all working tonight. That’s Danny on the floor there, Declan and Kevin behind the bar—and Kieran is back there, too.”

“Are you related, too?” he asked her.

She laughed. “Actually, I’m the only one—well, besides the kitchen staff—who isn’t a Finnegan or almost one. That’s Mary Kathleen O’Shaunnessy over there,” she said, pointing. “She’s Declan’s fiancée. And I,” she told him brightly, “am Debbie Buenger, an old family friend. I went to school with Kevin and Kieran—who are twins, by the way. Anyhow, enjoy the fish. Our food is great, so if you haven’t been in here before, you’re in for a treat.”

“I don’t think I’ve been in before—and I’m pretty sure I’d remember. I have a lot of friends who love this place, though.”

She gave him another of her charming smiles. “What’s not to love?” she asked, and moved on.

The fish was delicious.

At least at first glance, Finnegan’s seemed to be everything a pub was supposed to be. He couldn’t help but allow his mind to consider the possibility that there was something going on beneath the surface, though, since there had definitely been something off about Kieran Finnegan both last night and today. Were they laundering money? Raising funds for the Irish Republican Army? He doubted that. The violence seemed to have dropped substantially in Ireland since just about the time the Twin Towers had been hit.

What, then? Was there an illegal poker game in the back?

He’d nearly finished his meal when he paused, taking a sip of his beer, to stare at the bar again. Kieran happened to look up at just that moment and see him. She was visibly startled.

She also looked guilty—again.

She stared at him so long that Debbie—waiting in front of her with a tray of shot glasses—had to say something to stop her from pouring as whiskey started sloshing over the rim of the glass she was filling.

Kieran looked away quickly, flushing, and reached a bar rag. She said something to Debbie, who smiled and replied cheerfully.

Within a few minutes Kieran came around from behind the bar and walked over to his table.

He liked the way she moved, almost in rhythm with the music of the Dropkick Murphys playing in the background.

For a minute, he thought she was going to demand to know what he was doing in her bar and ask him to leave.

But she just looked at him, puzzled and uneasy.

“Agent Frasier,” she said after a long moment.

“Guilty as charged.”

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Eating.”

What did she think he was doing there? He would love to know.

“Oh,” she said. “Well. Um, I hope you’re enjoying your dinner.”

“I am. Very much.”

“It’s only pub food, nothing gourmet.”

“I love pub food,” he said blandly, curious to see where she would take their conversation. He didn’t have to wait long.

“Are you watching me for some reason?” she asked him.

Was he?

She was certainly a pleasure to watch, with her long, long legs, blue eyes and fiery hair. But he doubted that saying as much would please her any more than would giving voice to his suspicions that she was keeping something from him.

“Actually,” he heard himself say, “I wanted to talk to you again but figured I’d wait a bit. You seemed to be pretty busy when I came in, and I was hungry anyway.”

“Being busy is a good thing for—for a business,” she said.

He smiled. “Yes, of course. But I was wondering...” He paused, surprised that the right approach came to him so quickly. “The thing is, the prosecutor wants to charge the men from last night with murder, but I don’t think they’re the killers.”

“Yes, I know. I spent the morning studying video footage, remember?” she said, smiling for the first time since she’d come over to his table.

“I’d like to get you to Rikers so you can speak with the men. They were held in lockup last night, but they were arraigned on grand larceny today. The prosecutor wants to add homicide charges right away. I’d like to counter him with more than grainy video, toy guns and my own gut feeling. Would you come with me to talk to them?”

She seemed surprised—and relieved. And still uncomfortable.

“Um, sure.”

He saw the taller bartender heading in their direction. One of her brothers, but which one?