Flawless (New York Confidential #1)(34)
The building was beautiful, dating back to the deco era. Everything was well maintained, and crown molding and arched doorways gave it a charming look. The lone elevator appeared to be hand run, a unique, glass-enclosed vestige of the past, but Craig started up the stairs and they followed.
His loft was incredible. It must have been several thousand square feet, with half walls separating it into rooms. The kitchen stretched into the dining area, which stretched into the living area, with the other rooms off to the side.
At the far end of the living area, a large-screen TV hung on the wall, surrounded by shelves that were filled with books, games, CDs and DVDs in seemingly random order. That slight messiness surprised Kieran; she would have expected an FBI agent to be somewhat anal about keeping everything in order.
The couches and sofa were old leather pieces, comfortable and inviting, and there was a fireplace to the side with another couple of chairs, then the dining area, with a simple wooden table and six chairs. The kitchen was fairly new.
“Guest room is the first door there, my office next and then my room,” Craig told them.
“I’m going to crash, sis,” Kevin said to her. “I have to be a bouncing ball of dryer fluff in the morning.”
“I thought we were just staying a little while to see if the press would give up and I could go home,” Kieran protested.
“Bouncing balls of dryer fluff need their rest,” Kevin said.
“Don’t they also need to shower and brush their teeth?” she asked.
“I can set an alarm for 5:00 a.m.,” Craig said. “We’ll all get up, and I’ll take you both to your place, Kieran. That should give you both plenty of time to get ready for the day. Meanwhile, make yourself at home. You’re welcome to shower here, of course, and I may even have an extra toothbrush or two in the bathroom cabinet.”
“Kieran, it’s the best plan,” Kevin said, his tone serious. “Unless you want to give the vultures what they want, get over it.”
“Fine,” she said with a sigh. “You want the guest room or the sofa?”
He laughed. “You’re the girl. You get the guest room.”
“You’re my twin, and you know I don’t care about stuff like that.”
Kevin put his hand over his heart. “Mom might be looking down,” he said, “and she would never forgive me if I stole the guest room.” The genuine emotion behind his joking words made her feel a tremendous swell of affection for him, a measure of the strength of their sometimes difficult family bond.
“Okay, well, good night,” she said, heading toward the door Craig had indicated. Nearly there, she paused and looked back at him. He was still regarding her with what looked very much like suspicion. “Thank you,” she said. “I really don’t think this kind of hospitality is in your job description.”
“We serve where we can,” he said.
He continued to stare at her, making her feel as if both sparks and chills were taking turns running through her bloodstream and into her very bones.
Why couldn’t she have wound up sharing that getaway van with an older agent, a fatherly type, someone who didn’t...
Didn’t do this to her.
She smiled weakly and disappeared into the guest room.
It was nice—neutrally nice. Smallish, with a wardrobe rather than a closet, a dresser, period seascapes on the walls and blue bedding. She set down her bag and sat on the bed, awkward and uncomfortable for a minute, but also very aware that she was exhausted from the tension and worry of the past few days.
Just what she needed. Her miscreant brothers getting buddy-buddy with the FBI.
She could hear Craig and Kevin discussing the contents of the shelves by the flat-screen TV. The next thing she knew, she heard the muted sounds of a video game being played. So much for Kevin getting his rest, she thought.
Frustrated and completely confused, she made herself lie down. To her amazement, she immediately began to doze, even with the noise.
As she felt herself fading, she realized, to her dismay, that she could sleep because she felt safe.
Why this sudden need to feel safe? She’d lived in the city her whole life. She loved her job, the pub and having her own apartment.
But that was before someone had tried her apartment door, before she’d felt she was being stalked by a man in a hoodie and a girl had ended up on the subway tracks moments later.
The next thing she knew, she was waking groggily with special agent Craig Frasier knocking at the bedroom door, telling her that it was 5:00 a.m.
*
Craig went in to work early—ridiculously early—after he dropped off his guests and stopped by a diner for breakfast.
He pulled out the reports he’d been working on, sheets and sheets of eye-witness statements and forensics from the diamond thefts. Glancing at the clock impatiently, he rose at last and headed for the tech department. To his surprise and pleasure, he found that Wally O’Neill was in his office, or rather, his cubicle.
“Hey,” Wally said, after nearly dropping his coffee cup, startled by Craig’s appearance so early in the day. “I was looking forward to seeing you. You can tell the bosses that you were right. They were in too much of a hurry to put a bad situation behind them.”
“Tell me more,” Craig said.
“I’ve finished my analysis, and there are definitely two sets of jewelry thieves out there. To be fair, I’m not surprised you and Miss Finnegan were the only ones who saw the differences because they’re not obvious. The guys you caught are five-nine, five-ten, six foot even and six foot one. The guys from the Jersey tapes are six even, six-one, six-one and six-two.”