The place looked deserted. After spending an hour watching for some activity, I rode back to the village I’d passed through and hit the pub across the street from the church. The proprietor served me a bowl of lamb stew and a glass of stout that renewed my faith in the world.
“American?” he asked when he brought my second beer.
“Sort of. Canadian, North American.”
“On holiday?”
“Yes. Holiday and business. My firm posted me to Dublin for a project. But on my own time, I want to see the country. A man I met one time told me about this part of Ireland, so here I am.”
“And what do you think?”
“It’s absolutely beautiful. The only problem is, if people keep feeding me like this, I’ll have to buy a new wardrobe.”
He beamed. “Was it a local man?”
“I think so. He said he lived northwest of Blarney. I can’t remember exactly where. I do remember that he mentioned Ballyandreen, which confused the hell out of me because there are two towns with that name near Cork.”
He roared with laughter. “What was this bloke’s name?”
“Gavin. I never did get his last name. Tall, burley man, head shaved bald, with a fat nose. Probably in his forties.”
The innkeeper tilted his head to the side, obviously thinking. “That would seem to fit a man I know. Gavin O’Bannon. His place is north of here. It’s a small world, isn’t it?”
“Really? You know him? Does he come in here often?”
“He was away for a while. He travels on business. He’s back now, though he seems to stick close to home. Had an accident sometime back. Told me he had a rough time of it.”
“That’s too bad. Do you think he’ll recover?”
“Can’t use his left arm very well. Said he crushed the shoulder, broke some ribs, and punctured his lung. Said he’s coming back from it, but it’s a slow process. If I see him, who should I say?”
I thought furiously. My first temptation was to say Danielle Kincaid, but I bit my tongue. “Jasmine,” I said. “Tell him Jasmine from Vancouver asked about him. I doubt he remembers me. We just met in a bar one night.”
I used Jasmine’s credit card to pay for my meal. “Are there any places that rent rooms near here?”
“Back toward Blarney would be the closest,” he said.
I thanked him and left. When I got outside and walked around the side to get my bike, I pumped my fist in the air and screamed, “Yes!”
I checked into a hotel near Blarney using my real name and form, then went shopping in the village near Blarney castle. I bought a couple of warm sweaters and a long black woolen cloak. The Irish weather was starting to get to me. The natives were walking around in shorts and t-shirts, but the temperatures were barely in the eighties on a nice day.
I found a lovely restaurant touting locally-sourced food, guaranteed non-toxic. I found that easy to believe, as southern Ireland had never been a major polluter. The local salmon I ordered was probably the best I’d ever tasted.
Halfway through my meal, I saw O’Bannon come in. I turned my head away, keeping track of him out of the corner of my eye. As he walked to his table, he glanced my way, and I thought I saw him hesitate. Maybe it was just my imagination, as he recovered quickly. He did, however, take a seat where he could watch me.
I got up and went to the ladies’ room. I thought about what O’Bannon might know about me. He had tried to kill Danielle Kincaid. I had shot him, but he never saw me. On the other hand, Kieran Murphy knew me as Libby Nelson in my natural form, and knew I was an insurance investigator. The bartender in Vicarstown also knew me in my natural form, but as Jasmine Keller. I rented the townhouse in Dublin as Jasmine and in the form that matched her identification pictures.
All this made me a little dizzy and I had to sit down. I usually wasn’t that careless. Before I went back to my table, I darkened my hair slightly, lengthened it a few inches, and altered its part and style. I also shortened my stature about four inches, modified my facial features, and turned my eyes green. The woman in the mirror resembled Libby Nelson, but wasn’t her. It was the best I could do to try to salvage the situation.
O’Bannon watched me as I walked back to my table, but I thought I could see puzzlement, or perhaps uncertainty, in his face. I ignored him, never looking directly at him. I did note that all he ordered was an appetizer and a single glass of wine, then I saw him paying and leaving as I prepared to go.
That made me nervous. I went to the ladies’ room again and completely altered my appearance. The woman who walked out of the restaurant was a foot shorter than I was, with a dark complexion, dark hair, and wearing a different color dress. I walked down the street to a hotel and checked in as Suri Selvaskanen.
So, there I was, without a change of clothes or even a toothbrush. My rented motorcycle was parked at the restaurant. And as far as I knew, a homicidal maniac was hanging around the village hoping to end my life.
I waited a few minutes, then blurred my form and took the back stairs out of the hotel. I really wasn’t dressed for wandering around in the dark trying to stalk an assassin. I could imagine myself dressed in a black cat suit, but that didn’t change the reality that I had put on a dress and two-inch heels to go out to dinner.
Circling around to the restaurant, I scouted the area, hoping to spot O’Bannon. I didn’t see him in any of the hiding places that would allow him to watch the restaurant’s front door. He might have climbed to a roof, but the bartender’s description of O’Bannon’s arm caused me to dismiss the idea. Besides, I wasn’t dressed for wall climbing.
An hour of searching didn’t turn up anything, so I went to get my bike. I froze as I saw it. Both tires had been slashed with a large knife. O’Bannon knew that the woman in the pub and the woman in the restaurant were the same. If he had known I was Danielle Kincaid, I would probably have been dead.
Chapter 19
I spent a very nervous morning arranging for a man with a lorry to transport the motorcycle to Cork City. A shop there was the closest place that had tires for the bike. I gathered my things and checked out of the hotel.
It took me an hour to scout the area in my blurred form before I dared to get near the bike. I’m sure the guy who drove me to Cork thought I was weird, as I spent most of the trip hunched down in my seat, keeping my head low. O’Bannon knew the area, and I was sure he could figure out a good ambush spot.
As it turned out, my first attempt to sneak up on O’Bannon was a spectacular failure. I thought through everything I had done since landing in Ireland, and traced every one of my actions and mistakes.
The shop in Cork had the tires and fixed the bike in an hour.
“Those tires look like they were cut,” the repairman said.
I gave him a sour look. “Arsehole ex-boyfriend.”
He chuckled, but sobered quickly when I snarled at him.
“Need to improve your taste in men.”
“No kidding. But after I kill him, there will be one less jerk that I have to worry about.”
That sobered him up and ended the questions.
But having found O’Bannon, I wasn’t willing to give up. Although the Suri persona was as different from Libby as any two women could be, I hadn’t chosen her at random. She exactly matched the physical type of women that my father told me O’Bannon favored.
Leaving the bike at the repair shop, I rented a car and drove back to Blarney. At Suri’s hotel, I extended her stay. In her persona, I toured Blarney Castle and played tourist, settling into being someone so much different and shorter than I was.
That evening, rather than make reservations, I walked into the same restaurant where I’d seen O’Bannon before and waited in the bar for half an hour. I didn’t know if O’Bannon would go back to the restaurant, but hoped that his arrogance and curiosity would bring him back.
My hope was rewarded when O’Bannon came in and was shown to a table. Shortly thereafter, the hostess came for me. She led me past O’Ba
nnon to a table behind him. I looked around and asked, “Is it possible to sit over there?”
The table I pointed to was near the kitchen and not as desirable, but it was directly in O’Bannon’s line of sight. The hostess shrugged and led me to the other table.
I ordered light and ate delicately, completely the opposite of my normal ravenous approach to food. I did order dessert, though. Throughout my meal, I noticed him staring at me, and when I caught him at it, I blushed, smiled, looked down at my plate, then looked back at him through my eyelashes.
After I finished eating, I ordered tea and asked the waiter, “Is there an establishment near here with musicians who perform Irish music?”
He told me of a nearby pub, and when I acted dumb about his directions, we did a great pantomime with me pointing and gesticulating, then him pointing, and our voices rising enough that people around us could hear.
“And a woman alone,” I asked, “it is allowed?”
“Oh, certainly.”
“And safe?”
“I assure you,” the waiter said, “you will be perfectly safe.”
As the waiter walked away, I glanced at O’Bannon, holding his eyes for a few moments. Then I blushed again.
I made my way down the street to the pub, half expecting to hear footsteps behind me. When I reached the door, I glanced back but only saw two couples, laughing together as they walked along.
Once inside, I ordered a cider from the bartender and found a small table that three people were vacating. Taking a seat, I settled in to listen to the music. It was low season, and at least half of the people present looked like locals. The tourists appeared to be mostly older, probably retirees.
About five minutes later, O’Bannon walked in. He made his way across the room, and several people hailed him. The lady bartender greeted him warmly, and they leaned across the bar and bussed each other on the cheek. It was a very different view of the man than my mental image of an assassin and torturer. It suddenly struck me that he was probably a local. Hell, it made sense. Everyone is born somewhere. In my research, I found that O’Bannon owned the house I had seen, but I hadn’t found a record of him buying it, as I had with the Dublin townhouse.
He stood at the bar chatting with the bartender for a while, and at one point both looked directly at me. She smiled and laughed and said something to him. Collecting his pint, he walked toward me and stopped at my table.
“Is anyone sitting here?” His voice was a pleasant baritone. That helped, since his physical appearance had a lack of appeal.
“No, no one,” I said, my gaze flicking up to him, and then back down.
He pulled out a chair and sat down, setting his beer on the table.
“Are you enjoying the music?” he asked.
“Yes, very much.” A new musician joined the group sitting in a circle at the front of the pub. “Are they not a band?”
O’Bannon smiled, revealing white, slightly crooked teeth. It wasn’t completely unpleasant. “Just a bunch of local musicians,” he said. “Anyone who wants to can show up with an instrument and play.”
“Are they not paid?”
“Oh, no. They play for the pleasure of it, just like we listen. Where are you from?”
I don’t know why I wasn’t prepared for that question, but it seemed I wasn’t ready for O’Bannon on a number of levels. A recent documentary on immigrant communities in Australia popped into my head.
“Australia.”
“I haven’t been there,” he said, and I breathed a sigh of relief. “Are you here on business or holiday?”
We continued with a completely banal conversation the rest of the evening. When the musicians packed up, the customers followed them. O’Bannon offered to walk me back to my hotel.
For a brief moment, I thought I might get him alone and kill him. Unfortunately, the street was crowded, and many of the pub’s patrons were staying at the same hotel I was. I flirted with the idea of inviting him up to my room, but he had yet to touch me, and I decided that he might be suspicious of such an offer.
So, I let him walk me home. At the hotel, I turned to him and said, “Thank you for a very pleasant evening, Gavin. I enjoyed it very much.”
“I’m glad,” he said. “How long will you be in Blarney?”
“Several more days. Do you have any recommendations for tours I might take?”
He bit. “If you would like, I can play your tour guide. I grew up around here, and I can show you anything you’re interested in.”
I did the coy look-down-then-back-up-through-my-lashes thing, and in a voice so soft he had to lean close to hear me, said, “That is a very gallant offer, but I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you. I’m sure you have more important things to do than chauffeur me around.”
“As a matter of fact, I’m convalescing from an injury, and I have little to do. It would be good for me to get out and about.”
Raising my eyes, I gave him a smile. “I would enjoy your company very much.”
“I’ll be here at nine in the morning,” he said, and walked off with a bounce in his step. He held his left arm very stiffly at his side.
Even though I did not intend to let him get too close, I wondered what kind of kinks he had. Suppressing a shudder, I went up to my room.
O’Bannon showed up on time the following morning. Suri appeared wearing a red wrap blouse, white pants, a scarf to contain her hair, and a short black cloak with a hood. In reality, I wore a black catsuit, its pockets stuffed with lethal equipment, and the long black cloak I had purchased a couple of days before.
“You look very lovely,” he said in greeting. I lowered my eyes and blushed. “Where would you like to go on this pleasant day?”
I shot an involuntary look at the gray sky above and decided that he was crazy. Or maybe the Irish were. It wasn’t raining yet, so maybe that’s what he meant.
“Among the places I wanted to see is the park at Killarney,” I said. “Is that too far?”
“Absolutely not. A splendid suggestion.”
He led me to a red sports car and opened the door for me. I had thought long about where to go. Hopefully, Killarney National Park would provide plenty of opportunities for isolation, and a train ran from the town of Killarney to Cork. I could pick up the motorcycle, and be gone before anyone found the body. Nice and clean.
We drove through some more beautiful country, but I was becoming convinced that everywhere in Ireland was beautiful. O’Bannon cheerfully talked about the countryside we drove through, other interesting facts about Ireland, and in general, was a pleasant companion. Inside, I was a bundle of nerves. Sitting beside a man who had come within inches of killing me was incredibly uncomfortable. I hoped he thought my nervousness was simply that of a woman on a first date.
That thought made me even more nervous. I had chosen the Suri persona because it matched what I’d been told about O’Bannon’s physical preferences. But what kind of woman would climb in a car with a total stranger in a strange country? O’Bannon seemed to think it was natural. I thought it was weird that he thought so.
We reached the town of Killarney in less than two hours. He asked if I was hungry, and we stopped at a pub for lunch. After a stroll around the town, we drove out to Ross Castle.
“Can we take a walk?” I asked. Indicating the lake, I started to my left, away from the parking lot, visitor center, and castle, which looked like a shoebox set on end.
“Of course.” His smile showed a little surprise, but he seemed pleased.
We walked along a path, and when it petered out, I continued into the woods. O’Bannon walked by my side, answering my questions about various trees, the lake and the park.
“It’s very beautiful,” I said, gazing out over the lake. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
I suddenly stopped, and he took a couple of steps before realizing I wasn’t beside him anymore. He turned back toward me, and I shot him in the chest. He staggered backwards, splashing into the water, and fell.
Walking to the edge of the water, I watched his body slowly float away in a spreading red cloud. I shuddered, and the tension flowed out of me. The feeling of relief was almost overwhelming.
I put my pistol away, morphed into a sixty-year-old man, and walked swiftly back to the visitor center. An hour later, I boarded a tour bus with a bunch of other old people, and rode into town. A few of the other riders gave me odd looks, I assumed because I hadn’t been on the bus earlier, but I ignored them.
Once I reached Killarney, I morphed into Danielle Kincaid and bought a train ticket to Cork. By evening, I had my motorcycle, a room in a hotel, and a seat in a pub listening to live music while eating dinner.
During a break in the music, I pulled out my phone and called Wil.
“Hi. Heard anything new about Reagan and Murphy?”
“Hi, yourself. Enjoying Ireland?”
“I am. Wil, it’s beautiful here. I want to come back sometime with you.”
“That’s an invitation I’ll take you up on. Any luck finding Gavin O’Bannon?”
“He had an accident. What about Reagan and Murphy?”
There was silence on the other end of the phone, and then I heard him sigh. “They docked in England yesterday.”
“Sounds like they’re coming home. Let me know when they set sail again.”
Wil called the next morning. “Are you in Dublin?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I’m at the airport. Come pick me up.”
“I hope you’re traveling light. I don’t have a car, only a motorcycle.”
Silence, then, “Okay, I guess I’ll rent a car. Where are you?”
I gave him my address. “What are you doing in Dublin?”
“I’ll see you when I get there,” he responded and hung up, leaving me to speculate on what he was doing.
By the time he arrived at my door two hours later, I had decided he was either coming to play hero, or he thought he needed to rein me in. Or both.
Chameleon's Death Dance Page 14