From the backseat, Richard asked, “You think they’ll be mad to have a boy around?”
“Heavens no,” Brigid said, twisting to look at him over her shoulder. “You are already a part of our family, sweetie.”
“And on the bright side,” Nicholas said with a glance into the driver’s side mirror. “They get a wonderful boy, and the boy-photographer gets a house full of beautiful women to take pictures of.” Nicholas wriggled his eyebrows exaggeratedly. “Hubba, hubba.”
Richard laughed. “Hubba, hubba.”
Brigid playfully slapped Nicholas’s shoulder. “Careful what you teach him. He’s an impressionable boy.”
Nicholas gave a feigned pout of chastisement and said, “Sorry.” He ruined any authenticity in the apology when he winked at Richard sitting between them, which produced a round of giggles from the child.
The playful bantering continued the entire ride home. As Nicholas pulled up to the house, Brigid realized she could make the best of this moment. She didn’t have feelings beyond friendship for Nicholas, but he could be useful as the head of the household to raise Richard. Nicholas would be the perfect father figure. Bonus, he had money and probably expected it would draw women’s attention. She could use his help, so best start setting a to-snare-a-father-slash-husband plan in motion. Brigid halted Nicholas with a hand on his shoulder when he pushed open the driver-side door. He turned to her with a questioning expression. Before he could speak, Brigid kissed him full on the lips, quick but firm. “Thank you, Nicholas. Your support has meant the world to me.”
Nicholas gave a surprised grin. “My pleasure, Brigid.”
See, men were predictable, Brigid thought. She could do this. She needn’t be alone to raise Richard.
Nicholas walked Richard into the house. Brigid leaned against the car and squeezed her eyes shut. What the hell was she doing? She missed her friend. Missed their agreement to disagree—on a great many topics—and the fun in coming to resolutions regardless. Even missed Ethel’s self-centeredness.
Brigid previously considered what she would do for a child, much like Richard. That more obvious with what she was willing to do now, to Nicholas. Ethel managed to be a mom alone, but Ethel had the advantage of her marriage. Brigid wouldn’t be truly alone with the Cavanaugh’s.
She rubbed her forehead. It didn’t wipe away her confusion or her disgust with herself. Brigid needed to concentrate on Richard. Needed to focus on mourning her lost friend.
Chapter Ten
Nicholas, ever gallant, picked Fiona up from the house, and checked up on Brigid and Richard’s state of well-being as he did so. After they left, they’d driven up and down the streets where the women had lived when murdered, focused on the surrounding layouts—access sites, hiding places, etc.—when they both seemed to come to the same silent conclusion that they would learn nothing today. Having garnered as much information as they could in their mobile investigation, Nicholas parked the car, and they consented to continue on foot.
As suspected, the specific homes of the murdered women were close to areas where a perpetrator could easily hide from view. Neither she nor Nicholas believed, though they hadn’t ruled the possibility out, Ethel’s killer was the same person. They’d been up and down the street where the last woman had been murdered and realized this area also within a short walk to the railroad tracks.
“The similarities are compulsive enough to believe the train tracks are the quickest means for our killer to escape. My money is on a hobo,” Nicholas said. He was going through the motions of snapping pictures as they walked, hoping anyone who watched would believe them sightseeing.
Fiona roughly scrubbed at her forehead, she tensed as a throbbing began behind her eyes. Of all the times for a possible episode, out in the open and so far from home, from safety. “Despite the tracks, we still agree Ethel’s murder is unrelated, don’t we?”
“The train tracks are the only clue in common.” Nicholas stopped and shifted, so his body blocked Fiona from the road. “Shit. Warren is across the street, about 200 yards east of my left shoulder. We aren’t doing anything wrong, but a confrontation with Warren is not on my fun-things-to-do list.”
Fiona squinted and casually looked in that direction. Warren was currently in a heated conversation with a disheveled man in tattered and filthy clothes. A vagabond or tramp? Could it be possible Sheriff Langford was conducting a real investigation?
“We should leave,” Fiona said as the pain in her head increased. Having any interaction with Warren, especially without sight, wasn’t her idea of fun either. As if the deities were against her, Fiona stumbled when the pain increased, and her gaze spotted toward grey darkness.
“Fiona, are you alright?” Nicholas asked. “Hold on to my arm and follow my lead.”
A ball of panic grew heavy in her chest as she latched a hand on his arm, her fingers biting deep in desperation. “Nicho—”
“Don’t worry. I know it’s not easy for you, but trust me and try to relax.” Nicholas placed his hand over hers. “Okay, here he comes. Just follow along with me.” He nudged the camera into her hip. “Pretend you’re focused on the camera.” Fiona dropped her head slightly. “Of course, you’re right. The angle of shot and light trajectory are all important, but not crucial. I’ve found—”
“What the hell are you two doing here?” Warrens’ accusatory tone barked loud and sharp. Fiona flinched.
“Good afternoon to you, too, Sergeant. Didn’t realize you’d restricted areas of the city to visitors. Or is it just restricted from us?”
“Answer me.”
Nicholas shifted in front of her, his shadow crossed her face. Fiona suspected he’d moved to block her from Warren’s view. “Now really, officer, isn’t it obvious?”
“Don’t call me that. It’s Sergeant, not officer.”
“Then don’t be an ass. Beg your pardon, Miss Cavanaugh.”
Fiona dutifully took her cue and squeezed his arm. “Understandable and forgiven.”
“Thank you, my dear.” He gently tapped the hand on his arm, then rested the palm over hers. “Miss Cavanaugh kindly offered to show me the city in all its aspects. In return, I share my craft so she can show young Richard. After all, it’s up to us to keep his mind off his mother’s brutal death. One which is still unsolved, I gather? Sergeant?”
“It’s not like these matters are resolved overnight.” Fiona could feel Warren’s anger like it was a physical thing. There was something else in his defensive tone, something she couldn’t quite grasp. “Guess I’m just a bit confused,” Warren said. His tone changed to one more recognizable. Hateful. “Why would someone with your obvious money and snobbery hang around this thing anyway?” She couldn’t see it, but Fiona could image his pudgy finger stabbed in her direction. “I can’t even decide if it’s a woman or man, traipsing around town in men’s clothing.”
Fiona was used to people like Warren and learned not to react openly. Well, for the most part. Reactions were what ignorant people of Warren’s caliber thrived on, making them feel all superior to the person they insulted. Nicholas tensed, though, and Fiona could feel it. She just hoped he’d maintain his temper and not do anything rash. She was about to recommend they left when Nicholas gave a small chuckle. “Ah, and that is what truly sets us apart, officer. Not the money and upbringing. I see the heart of a person. You see the cut of a person and will never delve deep enough to reach the treasure.”
“What?” Warren's tone indicated he hadn’t a clue what Nicholas just imparted to him.
“Precisely. If there is nothing else, I’ll take Miss Cavanaugh home to her family.” With a nudge to her arm, they turned from Warren and walked away.
“I know what you were doing here,” Warren yelled at their retreating backs. “I won’t have it. Get in my way, and I’ll make you pay.”
Nicholas guided her with caution and asked softly, “Do you think anyone will back us if we complain about his threat?”
“Not on your life,” she said. That’s what troubled her. When it came to figures with more power, no one remembered or heard a thing.
“Was afraid you’d confirm my conclusion.”
Fiona chuckled, then winced at the piercing pain. “Probably no consolation for you, but I believe either one of us could take him.”
“Agreed but, be that as it may, men like him don’t play fair.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that fact. I also have the scars to prove it.”
“We’re at the car.” She felt him shift to open the door. He gave her a hand inside before he gently closed the passenger door.
Fiona heard his door close. Then silence for a few moments. “Um…” Nicholas hesitated. She worried about what he might say next. Would he ask personal questions Fiona was not prepared to answer? Would she ever answer them if he did inquire? Fiona needn’t have worried. When he spoke, his voice low and holding a tenderness she rarely associated with men, Nicholas said, “I don’t put much stock in gossip, but admit I’ve heard enough. I know your comment on scars was not lightly made, either. Just let me say that anyone who can’t see you as, not only a woman, but a beautiful one no matter what you wear, is blinder than your illness has you at this moment.”
Fiona sensed his seriousness, and not given as flattery to win favor. She decided it was best to inject humor to lighten the mood. Nicholas had often used it as a go-to response to tension. “Mr. Tirrell, are you flirting with me?”
Nicholas gave a warm chuckle as he put the car in gear and drove away. “No offense, Miss Fiona, but not on my life.”
“Your life would be in jeopardy, huh?”
“Yes, ma’am. You have powerful protectors. They’d rise to your defense if they believed me playing fickle with you. Honestly, upsetting Miss Margaret is not smart, not at all. But the whole Cavanaugh clan?” He chuckled. “I value breathing and hope to continue doing so for a long time.”
Despite the pain in her head, Fiona guffawed. “We’re not that bad.”
“You’re right,” he said, his tone turned serious. “Not bad at all. Surprisingly remarkable.” He sighed heavily, his next words barely a whisper. “Once knew a girl who could have used the protection of the women of your clan.”
A bit less quiet, Fiona said, “If she’s anything like you, Nicholas, she would be most welcomed.” She could feel the headache abate a little, and with it, her vision returned.
Another whispered reply. “More like me than you could imagine.”
Fiona frowned at the sadness that swirled through the remark. Her vision was returning, going from nothing to cloudiness like a thick fog. Fiona again decided to resort to humor. “Impossible, Mr. Tirrell, as you are one of a kind, all dashing and debonair.”
After only a slight hesitation, Nicholas shook his head and laughed. “Too true, Miss Cavanaugh. Too true, indeed.”
Chapter Eleven
Brigid was glad to finish the last of the packing after a full day of work to box and clean Ethel’s home. Nicholas took the last box to the truck he’d borrowed from Fiona. She would be glad not to have a reason to ever return to Ethel’s house. She offered to make supper for them before Nicholas presented a picnic lunch prepared by Margaret. She was thankful to have one less worry today. Of course, now she had a bigger worry than closing the house up. Now she had to explain her charade toward Nicholas.
She was leading him on. Not that Brigid didn’t like him. Goodness knew Nicholas was handsome. She appreciated his masculine physicality, without being too bulky or awkward, his thick black hair and Greek nose. The thin dark mustache neat above his nearly too-red full lips, the piercing intensity of his grey eyes.
But, despite all his gorgeous attributes, she didn’t care for him in the same way she perceived he cared for her. Her fault, of course, since even when it was clear to everyone else that Ethel washed her hands of Nicholas, Brigid implied her interest for him. Looking back, Brigid realized how inappropriate and unfair she had been. Deep down, and all things reconsidered, Nicholas was a wonderful man who didn’t deserve her deceit, even for Richard’s benefit. The spark expected with her feelings whenever they were together never occurred.
Today, she played with his feelings to her advantage. She gave him every indication she thought of Nicholas in more than a friendly way. Even going so far as to suggest, due to possible exhaustion from closing the house, of course, they spend the night in Ethel’s home. Brigid needed to tell him the truth. She hoped it didn’t backfire—or she could lose a good friend. Or worse. She played a dangerous game with spurning a man's advances. Would Nicholas be the type to take the original offer even if she rescinded? Was Nicholas prone to violence?
Brigid picked up the last of the dishes from the table.
“That should do it,” Nicholas announced. She heard the distinctive click as the front door closed. She returned to the sink with her dishes.
“I’m about finished in here,” she said.
Nicholas walked behind her and stood nearly flush against her back. His whisper feather-soft against her ear, his mustache tickling. “Shall I start a fire? I wouldn’t want you to get a chill.” He wrapped his arms gently around her waist. “Have I told you—”
“Nicholas.” His name came out harsher than intended. Brigid felt him stiffen in anticipation of her next words.
He gave a self-deprecatory chuckle. “Am I to assume your increased interest was solely to use me for labor and protection tonight?”
Brigid inhaled deeply. “Yes.” She dropped her head until her chin hit her chest. “If it’s any consolation, I do care about you.” She felt the warmth of Nicholas’s body leave her as he stepped back. Brigid felt a pang of regret.
“I thought my days of playing the fool were behind me.” He barked a short laugh. “I guess an attractive woman can still trap an intelligent grown man. I should know better.”
“I didn’t start out trying to use you, not wholly.” She raised her head, stared into the darkness outside the kitchen window. “I’d given up hope of finding someone for myself. Or of knowing what it was to feel love, someone’s adoration and attention. There you were with your caring ways toward me, tender and gentle hand with Richard, your burgeoning friendship with Fiona. I thought maybe, with all that, it could be enough, and that feelings would grow between us with time. And it nearly is enough,” she said, unable to stop the escaped sob of her shame. “I want to be intimate—”
A human-shaped shadow darted past the window, and Brigid screamed.
Nicholas wedged himself between her and the sink. “Brigid?”
Trembling, Brigid said, “Someone was in the window. I don’t know who.”
Nicholas rushed to his satchel by the front door, pulled out a gun, dashed outside, slamming the door closed behind him. Brigid turned off the overhead kitchen light and hoped the evening illumination was enough to see by and decrease her chances of being a target. She strained into the depths of darkness, watched what she assumed to be Nicholas’s shadow in the yard. Concern for him turned to more internal guilt as she prayed he not be harmed before she could explain herself.
When the lights in the kitchen went out, Nicholas blinked rapidly to adjust his sight to the sudden darkness. There was just enough moonlight to make out his car in front of the barn. The barn doors appeared to still be locked with the padlock and chain he’d attached himself when, as the first project of the day, the barn emptied of the few tools and Richard’s miscellaneous toys. From off to his left, the rustle of dried leaves indicated someone trespassed. His internal reasoning allowed it could be a wild animal, though he doubted the possibility. He didn’t want whoever was there to come back. Raising the pistol at an angle slightly higher than an average-sized man’s head, Nicholas fired two rounds into the wooded darkness.
He waited, ears straining for any sound before he accepted whoever frightened Brigid was no longer there. Nicholas doubted whomever, for whatever the initial intent, would return t
onight. He stuffed the pistol in his pocket, gave one last look around, before reentering the house.
Still standing in front of the sink, Brigid turned toward him, her face damp with tears. “Whoever was outside, they’re most likely gone now.” He locked the door and slid the bolt in place. Nicholas picked up his satchel, removed the pistol, and tucked it inside. “You’ll be safe to sleep tonight. I’ll be in Richard’s room.”
Brigid rushed toward him, stopped him with a tug on his shirt sleeve. “Please, Nicholas, let me explain.”
“I understand, honestly, I do. You needed a patsy, and I filled the bill.”
“It’s not like that,” Brigid said. “I didn’t intentionally set out to hurt you.”
“But, you did intend to play on my attraction?” Admittedly, his attraction to her had a lot to do with a ready-made family. Easier to assume the mantle of respectability, normalcy.
Brigid nodded as fresh tears fell down her face. She swiped them away with the back of her hand, gave a watery chuckle. “It wasn’t supposed to end this way. I would’ve given myself to you. We could both have satisfied our needs and walked away.”
“And what changed you from your course?” Confused, Nicholas needed clarification. Her words suggested she still wanted him intimately. But is that all she asked of him? One night? Was this the I-care-for-you-as-a-friend-but speech? Brigid had to know he cared for her, and in time, could learn to love her. After his previous experiences, Nicholas didn’t give his heart too lightly. He inhaled deeply. There it was. Although her tactics were inappropriate, her purpose mirrored his own. With all that had gone on recently with Ethel, and after her death, they both needed companionship.
What was wrong with him? He didn’t have an answer for himself.
Was he doomed to be attracted to women who didn’t truly want him?
Brigid must believe she lost ground. “I care too much to use you, Nicholas. I thought, with you, I could know one night of masculine attention, where I could feel safe. We would both get a little enjoyment out of it, or so I hoped.” Brigid took a step back, her gaze aimed at the floor. “Was I so wrong?”
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