Deadly Gift

by Heather Graham

  Love.

  Was she really in love? Was it possible to fall in love in a matter of days?

  Indeed, did kindred souls exist?

  Was it possible…

  To be immortal, then look into the eyes of a man and know that he was everything she desired?

  To fall in love with a strength that had nothing to do with muscle, nothing to do with the way he walked or talked, and everything to do with a quiet code of honor and ethics?

  Even a love for music.

  She yearned to stay. Had allowed herself to dream.

  She should have known better.

  Once, long ago, in another life—in her mortal life—she had loved. She should have learned. She had thought that love was greater than hatred, that love between those born to be enemies would be understood, even celebrated. She had thought that she could change her tiny corner of the world, make people see that they should no longer nurture the hatreds they had nurtured for so long.

  But she had been wrong. And she had died for her mistake.

  Now, only now, while the rest of the world exploded, were the Irish finally learning that each day was new, that no child born today deserved to suffer for the sins of the past.

  Far too late for her.

  She couldn’t help the yearning, though. She could forego the feel of silk, the taste of honey. There was no place on earth that she could not bear to leave.

  But the heart and soul she saw in this man’s eyes, the way he touched her…

  She brought a hand to her cheeks. Tears.

  She straightened her shoulders. She was what she was. And not only that, but what if he knew? Dear Lord, she could imagine trying to tell him. “I canna stay with you. I am a banshee, you see. Yes, seriously. A howling banshee who comes with the great black coach of Death.”

  He would loathe her; he would be repelled.

  Tears. She had not shed them in…forever.

  She realized that she had reached the wharf.

  She looked around and saw that the birds were everywhere.

  Poor birds, she thought, even though they unnerved her. She was here to prevent tragedy. Sean was not due to die yet, not for many years. She had been certain that she could protect him, and that with Zachary doing the real work, the investigation, the identity of Sean’s enemy would soon be discovered.

  But the birds…

  Their presence meant that many people were threatened, and she had watched them arrive with fear.

  I’m not equipped for tragedy, she thought. How do I stop what is happening?

  She didn’t need to be afraid of the birds themselves, she knew. They were mortal. They lived; they perished.

  But their presence in such numbers foretold great tragedy. Nothing so sweet as the passing of a woman as loving as Bridey. They foretold something evil, a mass murder, a blood spree.

  For now, she ignored them.

  The office door was locked, as she’d expected it to be. Michael might have arranged to get her the proper credentials for a nurse and not a spy, but she had been picking locks for decades.

  This one was actually quite easy.

  Inside the office, she looked around. Where to start? Was there even anything to discover here?

  She began to rifle through the drawers. Carefully.

  They rolled back the tape. They enhanced it.

  But the quality was grainy, and no matter how much it was blown up, no matter how the pixels were rearranged, there was little they could do to get a clear picture.

  But there, on the screen, was the man Jorey had recognized.

  He wore a hat pulled low over his eyes and a massive coat, and he had the bushy mustache Jorey had seen.

  “Well, it’s something,” Morrissey said.

  “Yeah, shave and a haircut, and you’d never know the guy,” Zach said. “The mustache looks fake, anyway. But I’ll tell you one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’d lay odds that the man who killed Eddie is the same one trying to kill Sean. If there was video of the aisles, I’d guarantee you’d see this guy putting that glass in those jars, then telling Clara how good a blueberry pie would be. We’re on the right track. He’s after whatever Eddie found, and he’s certain Sean will find it, too, unless he gets Sean out of the picture first.”

  “I agree. We’ll get teams out on that island and dig where you suggested,” Morrissey assured him.

  “Thanks,” Sean said. “I have to get back to the house.”

  “What about me?” Jorey asked. “Do you still need me?”

  “No, son, thank you. Thank you very much,” Morrissey told him.

  “Jorey, you went above and beyond,” Zach assured him. “I’ll walk you out.”

  As they left, Jorey told him, “I’m sorry about Bridey. Everyone who knew her loved her.”

  “Thank you. I think Sean is going to be all right. It’s Kat I worry about.”

  Jorey looked at him and grinned sheepishly. “Can I make a suggestion?”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’ve known Kat forever, and whenever anything upsets her, she likes to play her guitar. Maybe you can get her planning the music for Bridey’s memorial service.”

  “Thanks, Jorey. I think you have something there.”

  Zach looked around. Those damned birds were still everywhere.

  Birds. Just birds, he told himself.

  “Hell of a thing, those birds, huh?” Jorey asked.

  “Yeah, hell of a thing.”

  Jorey got in his car, and Zach leaned down to speak to him. “Jorey, do me a favor. Lay low. Stick around other people for now, huh?”

  Jorey’s eyes widened. “Why? You think I could be in danger?”

  “I think someone is killing people. You just don’t need to be one of those people.”

  “I’ll be careful. I like living,” Jorey assured him.

  Zach watched him go. He needed to head back to the house, but he decided to take a detour and check out the charter office. He didn’t think that, under the circumstances, anyone would be there, but something urged him to go by anyway.

  He drove onto the wharf. It was a true winter’s day. The sky was gray, but then again, it was growing late. Darkness would come soon enough.

  He parked the car, and his muscles quickened. There was a light on in the office. It was a just one of the desk lamps, but it cast enough of a glow to show him that someone was there.

  He exited the car, reaching to his waistband for the gun he always carried now. He approached the office door from the side, moving with speed and stealth.

  At the door, he hesitated, then tried the knob.

  It wasn’t locked. He pushed the door open with a foot, used it as a shield and shouted, “Freeze!”

  To his complete surprise, Caer jumped and turned to face him. She was in the process of going through Eddie’s desk, but she froze, as commanded, and stared at him.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he asked her.

  “Looking.”

  “For what?”

  “For whatever everyone else has missed,” she said.

  He let out a sigh of relief, clicked the safety back on and slid the gun back into his waistband, then closed the door behind him.

  “Have you found anything?”

  “Poems,” she told him.

  “What?”

  “Poems. He liked to write poetry. Well, they’re more like ditties, really. Funny little poems. Here, listen. ‘One if by land, two if by sea, oh, I’m so happy, it’s all me, me, me.’”

  Zach arched a brow. “Deep,” he said.

  Caer shrugged. “He seemed to like to write them. Look, there’s nothing on the computer. I mean, there’s lots on the computer—but you’ve already found it. This is what I think. I think Eddie found something on Cow Cay, but he moved it.”

  “What makes you think that?” he asked, realizing that she might not yet know that a man had been murdered out there sometime last night.

  “
I’m not certain, but I think these poems were his…his way of leaving something behind. Insurance, maybe.”

  “Take them. We can go over them later. We should get back to the house.”

  “All right.”

  She gathered up the poems, which had been written on all kinds of paper, then shoved into a file folder.

  “How did you get in?” he asked her a few minutes later, as they were driving back to the house.

  She hesitated, and he wondered if she was about to lie, to tell him that the door had been open when she’d arrived.

  “I picked the lock,” she admitted.

  “You did a good job. I might not have known.”

  She shrugged.

  Suddenly he veered the car to the side of the road and slammed it into park. She stared at him, startled.

  “Who are you, Caer? And what are you doing here?”

  “I told you—”

  “Everything you’ve told me is a bunch of horseshit. Who are you?”

  “Caer Cavannaugh.”

  “All right, let me try again. Who and what are you—really?”

  She stared at him, her eyes hard. “You’ve accepted that I want to save Sean’s life. Can’t we just leave it at that?”

  He shook his head. “No. A man was murdered out on Cow Cay last night, the man I hired to watch over the area where we were digging.”

  Her eyes widened. “Murdered?”

  “Presumably. We found a lot of blood, but his body has disappeared, just like Eddie’s.”

  “The birds,” she murmured. “It’s starting.”

  “Who are you working for?” Zach demanded.

  “An Irish agency,” she said after a moment.

  “The name of it, please.”

  “It’s just referred to as the Agency,” she said.

  “That’s bull.”

  He saw her take in a deep breath, then she said, “All right, Zach. You want the truth? Here it is.” She practically spat out the words. “I’m a banshee. They refer to us as death ghosts. I guess that’s an appropriate label. We are ghosts, and we do deal in death. But anything you might have heard that’s frightening or bad about banshees isn’t true. We come to ease the burden, to be a friend. We help people cross over.”

  She spoke so seriously.

  He felt his temper soar. “That’s the biggest pile of crap I’ve ever heard,” he told her angrily. “And you know what? Gloves are off. I wanted to trust you. I did trust you. Hell, I started falling in love with you. But you need to tell the truth. If you’re some kind of Irish secret service, spit it out. I’ll get on your credentials. Governments share information. My oldest brother has contacts almost everywhere.”

  Her expression had gone implacable. “Do what you have to do, Zach.” To his amazement, there was a quaver in her voice.

  His fingers were locked on the wheel. “People are dying. Tell me the truth.”

  “I just told you the truth,” she said dully, looking ahead. “Why is this so hard for you? Can’t you just accept that I’m here to save lives, and…and can’t you give me what time we have before I have to go?”

  He stared back at her. God, she was beautiful. He wanted to draw her into his arms. He wanted to tell her that he didn’t give a damn if she was an alien from planet Zardov, he just wanted her, wanted a life with her, waking up to her eyes every morning, to the feel of her close against him. He wanted to grow old with her.

  A banshee?

  He swore, determined not to touch her. He’d trusted her—and she returned the favor by coming up with a bunch of Irish claptrap.

  He revved the motor far too hard and jerked the car back onto the road. He didn’t say another word as they drove back to the house.

  When they arrived, there were cars lining the driveway.

  The Irish mourning process had begun.

  Caer found it difficult to concentrate. The house was full of people, and this first night following Bridey’s death was long and draining. At eleven, despite the continuing crowd of visitors, she decided that she had to act like a nurse and make sure Sean got to sleep.

  She firmly insisted that he go to bed. As she gave him his medications, he told her, “You know, Caer, I could handle these on my own.”

  “You hired me through the end of the year, and I’m going to earn my salary.” She smiled to take the sting out of the words.

  “You’re a very special young lady,” he told her. “Hell of a thing. I’m starting to worry about you. Another man was killed today. A stranger, but he died in my employ. I’m thinking I should send you back to Ireland.”

  “I wouldn’t go.”

  “And why am I not surprised to hear that?”

  At last he was in bed. Kat had spent most of the day resting, though she had finally come down for a while to accept condolences, then returned to bed. She was young, and she felt the loss keenly. But she was going to be all right.

  As long as her father was all right.

  With Sean in bed, Caer curled up in her own room to read more of Eddie’s poems. By themselves, they were just silly, but then she began to put them in a semblance of logical order. “Me, me, me,” led to “clever boy, I’ve found the joy,” and they went on from there.

  “The clue is left, the clue is right, follow the North Star tonight.”

  And then, “I dream, therefore I am. Careful, must not be a sacrificial lamb.”

  She set the sheets of paper down on the bed, cursing Michael for not staying to help. Then again, not even Michael had all the answers. People had that whole “free will” thing going on, and he never tampered with the rules that applied to his place in the grand scheme of things.

  Men had choices, and choices meant chances.

  She herself had done well that night, she thought, helping with the guests. Amanda had come down, but she had only swanned around regally, the lady of the manor. She loathed Marni, but that hadn’t stopped her from letting the other woman take over the hospitality arrangements while Clara stayed in her own small house, mourning privately, while Kat had been a zombie.

  Caer hadn’t given herself much time to think, much less to feel.

  And she was glad. She didn’t like feeling. It was far too painful.

  Now she prayed for sleep. Flesh and blood were so weak. Without sleep, she couldn’t function, and when she was awake, she hurt.

  Sleep. At last it came.

  The next day, Aidan and Jeremy arrived.

  Aidan was alone, because his wife, Kendall, couldn’t leave the community theater that they ran on the plantation so quickly, not to mention that traveling with an infant took preparation.

  Jeremy came with Rowenna, his new wife, and the two of them were settled on the second floor, while Aidan took an attic room. Clara was happy to have all three Flynn boys to fuss over, Sean was grateful for the show of support, and Zach was pleased that he would be able to talk over the situation with them.

  Rowenna and Kat seemed to hit it off right away. She told Kat that she needed to pick up a few things and actually convinced Kat to go out shopping with her. Since Sean was closeted in his office, Zach decided it would be a good time to bring his brothers up to speed, not to mention go over the information they both had for him.

  “Where do we start?” Jeremy asked.

  “I’m oldest—and wisest—so I’ll go first,” Aidan said, smiling. “Zach, I’ve had your friend completely checked out, and I can’t come up with anything that contradicts what you’ve been told. She has no known association with any intelligence agency, either in the States, Great Britain or the Irish Republic. She’s absolutely clean. She got her nursing degree five years ago. She’s lived in Dublin all her life. Good grades in school…the whole kit and caboodle. She’s clean, Zach. Pure as the driven snow.”

  Jeremy picked up when Aidan was done. “As to the arsenic, my experts all say it’s not a weapon any killer is going to use these days if there’s any possibility of an autopsy. It’s too easily detected, for one thing. Th
ey think you might be spot-on with the toxic mushroom theory. The delay in the advent of symptoms causes doctors to look for other possibilities first. By the time they’ve ruled those out, even if someone thinks of mushroom poisoning, the victim has passed the toxin via the violence of the very illness it caused. It can be especially dangerous in the elderly, because of the wear and tear it causes on the heart. In can even—as certainly happened in Sean’s case, whatever the cause—bring on cardiac arrest.”

  “So, assuming that Sean was poisoned, it almost certainly happened here, in the United States,” Zach said.

  “It’s a theory, but a good theory, I think,” Jeremy told him.

  “So where are you with this?” Aidan asked. He’d always been the most serious of the three of them, and the death of his first wife had only made him more so.

  Remarriage, however, had done wonders for him. His wife was filled with life, with a touch of the psychic about her, and Zach knew that they were both convinced that they shared the family plantation outside New Orleans with the remaining spirits of the past. But they were happy, and Aidan was a crack investigator.

  “At the moment it’s impossible to know what happened first, Eddie disappearing or Sean becoming ill. Chances are the two things more or less coincided,” Zach said. “A few nights ago, we found ground glass in a pie Clara made, and more was found in several other jars of the same brand of blueberries. Not exactly a foolproof method of killing someone, but I’d bet cash money it’s connected. Yesterday, at the station, Jorey Jenkins—you remember him, his parents run the hardware store near the wharf—recognized someone on the grocery store security tapes as the same person who went out with Eddie. Problem is, the guy was obviously wearing a disguise. A very bad disguise. I don’t believe that Bridey’s passing had anything to do with any of this, by the way. It was just her time.” He took a deep breath and looked at his brothers. “I started digging out on Cow Cay after studying the charts Eddie had been reading, and then seeing the way someone—I’m assuming Eddie, since I know it wasn’t Sean—doctored one of the charts in Sean’s office. Detective Morrissey sent a man out to the island to keep an eye on things, and that man has disappeared and was presumably murdered. Again, no body. But this time there was blood. A lot of blood. Then there’s Caer.”