Flawless (New York Confidential #1)(54)

“Wait, whoa, you don’t know that the killers were in here, right?”

“No, but...”

“So calm down.”

“Danny, I’m scared.”

“You were taken hostage and nearly killed in the subway. Being scared is normal.”

“No, it’s more than that. I’m scared for you. Danny, could anyone have heard you and Julie talking about ‘borrowing’ that diamond? Do you think—”

“I think you’re paranoid.”

“I’m scared. I’m scared for you and for the pub.”

“Hey, is something wrong?” Declan asked, coming through the door and stopping dead when he saw the two of them.

“No, just running out of whiskey out there,” Kieran said quickly.

“I’m back here for a keg,” Danny said.

“Thanks, both of you, for staying on top of things,” Declan said. “It’s a zoo out there tonight. Go figure, someone gets killed and the world needs to drink.” He hesitated, then added in a heartfelt tone, “Thank God, Kieran, that the thieves who grabbed you weren’t the killers.”

“Don’t I know it,” she said, grabbing a bottle at random. Rum, she saw, not whiskey, so she put it back, grabbed a bottle of whiskey instead and quickly headed out.

If she’d thought that would make things easier, she’d been mistaken.

Eagan was no longer at the bar.

That was because he had taken a seat at the booth closest to the bar, along with Mike Dalton and Craig Frasier.

Craig did seem to have a way to home in on her. She saw him the minute she emerged from the stock room and found herself staring at him like a deer caught in headlights.

Why was she so damned panicked?

And also glad he was there, filled with memories, warm at just the sight of him...

But mostly panicked.

He smiled at her. For a moment she could think of nothing but the night they’d shared.

And then she wondered about his smile.

Was it a suspicious smile? Even a little grim?

But he was sitting with Eagan. He knew where she’d spent her afternoon.

She wondered what his day had been like, then immediately realized it must have been awful. He must be feeling like hell.

“Kieran, girl, did you forget me?”

She snapped back into motion, hurrying to give one of their regulars, Nathan Worth, a Scotch and soda.

The night became a blur. Every member of the Finnegan family was working, along with Mary Kathleen and Debbie Buenger. Pedro had left the kitchen to the chef and his brother so he could bus tables, though more people were drinking than eating.

A local Irish band began to play at 8:00 p.m.

But even then, Kieran could overhear bits of conversation as she worked.

A group of young women talked about a wedding, then moved on to the murder during the morning’s robbery.

Business execs discussed stocks and then the poor girl who had been killed.

A few people danced on the little bit of empty floor in front of the low stage. And then they, too, started talking about the robberies and the most recent murder.

She began to think the night would never end, and, of course, it wasn’t even due to end until late, or was that early? On Fridays they stayed open until 2:00 a.m., and they were generally busy until the last moment when, according to their license with the city of New York, they were required to stop serving and usher people out.

Even more people than usual didn’t want to go home that night.

Some left, of course. Eagan was gone by ten. Mike called it quits around midnight.

But Craig Frasier stayed.

He didn’t hog the booth, though, but made his way to the bar, where he was quickly engaged in conversation. Not only with customers, either.

He talked to Declan.

Kevin, and even Mary Kathleen, Debbie and Pedro.

And Danny.

And he was still there when last call came.

Nervous—because on the one hand she kept imagining him naked, while on the other she pictured him declaring that the pub was a den of iniquity where thieves met to plan their nefarious deeds—she forced herself to go up to him at last.

“You’re really a trouper,” she told him. “Working all day, then staying here all night. You don’t have to do this, you know. I have brothers.”

“I know. But I needed to be here.”

Her hands were resting palms down on the smooth wood surface of the bar. Now he ran a finger over the back of one hand, sending a shock of sensation through her.

“Uh, okay, thank you,” she said, her words almost a whisper. She looked around, but they were pretty much alone; everyone else was busy, customers gulping their last drinks, staff cleaning up and trying to get out and go home.

“You’re thanking me?”

“Yes, of course.”

“For?”

“Last night, this...” That sounded wrong, she thought, and tried again. “I meant thank you for caring, not for the sex. No, wait, I don’t mean that I don’t thank you for the sex. It was great. You’re great. But more than anything I appreciate the fact that you’re concerned for my welfare. But you’re working a case. You can’t be so concerned with me that you’re not...on it.”

He smiled. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m on it.”