Frannie and The Private Dick (Night Fall Book 7)

by Delilah Devlin

  “She sounds like Zia Grazia.” At his quizzical expression, she added, “My mama’s aunt. Now, she was straight off the boat from Italy. Literally.” She started to raise her glass again, and then remembered the places her hands had been tonight. She wrinkled her nose and set it down.

  “Would you be wantin’ another beer?”

  Frannie sighed. The man wasn’t going to leave her alone to wallow in her misery. “I suppose so. But I’ll buy my own. This isn’t a date.”

  He waved at the bartender. “Another beer for the lady.”

  Frannie pulled out a ten, quickly laid it on the counter, then gave him a warning glare.

  Niall stared at the bill. “Don’t go gettin’ nervous, now. I’ll let you pay.”

  “I’m not…nervous, that is. It’s just—”

  “I know. This isn’t a date.”

  The bartender replaced her beer, and an awkward silence fell between them.

  “So, you want to talk about what happened back there?” Niall asked quietly.

  Frannie didn’t have to guess what he was talking about. She supposed it was pretty obvious what had happened at the shipping office, what with Vinnie half-dressed and Raeline slinking away. But admitting to this man that her fiancé had cheated on her was too galling. She stared at her glass, at her lacquered fingertips—anywhere but into his knowing eyes. “Nothing happened.”

  “All right. I can take a hint.” He leaned close, and his voice dropped. “But I’m a good listener. You’d be surprised the things I hear.”

  Her mind went momentarily blank as she breathed in the spicy scent of his aftershave. “Oh yeah. I suppose taxi drivers hear plenty.”

  “See plenty, too.”

  She glanced up to see a wicked gleam shining in his eyes. And that was all it took. One wicked gleam, and she relaxed—and forgot about the louse waiting at home. The man sitting beside her was too tempting, too large to ignore. His warm, deep-timbered voice and navy eyes seduced her into letting down her guard. At least, that was the excuse she gave herself for gifting him with a smile.

  His eyelids dipped, and his gaze fell to her lips. Then he drew a deep breath and glanced away. “He’s a bloody damn fool,” he gritted out.

  The roughness in his voice had Frannie squirming on her barstool, recognizing his awareness, feeling excitement pricking the tips of her nipples and an unexpected curl of warmth settle in her belly. She felt almost giddy with this sudden sensual dawning. She hadn’t known this feeling since her earliest days with Vinnie. And she couldn’t recall it ever being this intense or urgent.

  Never one to question an impulse, Frannie leaned toward Niall. “Would you mind kissing me?”

  He drew back his head sharply and stared into her eyes. “I’m not goin’ to be your revenge, sweetheart.”

  “It’s not revenge…not really.” Her cheeks flooded with heat. “It’s just I haven’t been with anyone but Vinnie for years, and I was…curious. I mean, what if I died tonight? I might never know the difference.”

  “The difference between what?”

  Frannie shrugged, feeling embarrassed and a little foolish. Perhaps she’d misread his interest. Before she lost her nerve, she blurted, “Between lust and love.”

  His nostrils flared. “Sweetheart, there are kisses…and there are kisses. The kind I’d give you wouldn’t answer your question.”

  She looked at him from beneath her lashes. Her “look” had worked before. “Try me?”

  Some dark emotion flickered in his eyes, and he leaned close. He was so large and his expression almost angry that she felt a moment’s alarm. But Frannie closed her eyes tight and tilted her head.

  His breath brushed her lips a moment before his lips briefly touched hers.

  She blinked and opened her eyes, giving him a frustrated frown. “I’ve given Zia Grazia kisses more passionate than that.”

  One dark brow quirked upward. “Oh, you were lookin’ for passion?”

  “Well, you could have shown a little enthusiasm,” she muttered. She was a fool—a selfish, self-centered little fool. Just because Vinnie and Papa had told her there wasn’t a more beautiful girl in the whole wide world didn’t make it so. The Irishman probably thought she was an idiot. “This was a bad idea. I’m sorry.” She bent to reach for her purse on the ledge at her feet.

  His hand closed over her arm. “I just needed for you to spell it out, sweetheart.”

  Frannie shot him a startled glance, and her body tightened with desire at the flare of heat she saw in his eyes.

  “Ah, you’re a temptation, Francesca Valentine. But if you’re wantin’ to experiment, it may as well be with me.”

  She licked her lips in anticipation of another, deeper kiss.

  He shook his head. “Not here. Not sittin’ at a bar. I’ll want to touch you.”

  Oh, she wanted that too! But only enough to ascertain whether her attractions were universal. Seeing the woman Vinnie had chosen, and was willing to risk her affections over, had dented Frannie’s confidence. If she could tempt a handsome man like Niall, she knew her appeal wasn’t withering on the vine.

  Not that she’d stand for anything too intimate—she was almost a married lady after all. A kiss with a little caressing wasn’t really breaking her vow. Besides, Vinnie had earned a little tit for his tat with Raeline. “Where then?”

  Niall searched her face, shaking his head. “You’re a reckless girl.”

  “Then you’ll just have to make sure you keep me safe.”

  “I’ll kiss you outside…on the way back to my cab. Then I’ll take you home to that man of yours.”

  Francesca let him help her from her stool with a light touch of his hand on her arm and leaned down to pick up her purse. Niall led the way out of the club and into the street.

  Outside, the sky was cloudy, starless, and a mist reflected light in rainbow-hued halos around the streetlamps. His taxi stood alone near the corner of the street. Niall tugged her hand, pulling her toward it.

  Frannie’s heart pounded fast and furious, and a trembling excitement tightened her stomach, making her slightly queasy. Funny, she didn’t remember lust making her sick to her stomach.

  Just as they neared the cab, Niall pulled her within the shelter of a shop doorway. Into the shadows. Then his hands slid between the lapels of her leather jacket and parted the jacket to smooth over her breasts and around to her back.

  Shock and delight made her body quiver. It was too much, too fast. I have to stop this now.

  “Give me your mouth.”

  Frannie decided that was just about the sexiest thing a man had ever said to her, or maybe it was just his tone—deep, resonant, wickedly masculine.

  The extent of Vinnie’s romantic vocabulary was, “Why ain’t ya in bed already?”

  She leaned toward Niall, yearning for his caress. His face was hidden in shadows, his body loomed, large and blatantly male. Frannie reached to slide her hands across his chest. The broad expanse was so hard she couldn’t resist squeezing the muscle she found there. At the ripples that rolled beneath her palms, her heart hammered faster.

  His hands settled on her bottom. Before she had a chance to so much as give a startled squeal, he dragged her up on her toes. As Niall’s head descended, Frannie’s breath left in a rush.

  Now this was a kiss! What Niall’s mouth did to hers couldn’t be described with such a short, innocent word. His lips molded hers, drew hers into his mouth where he sucked and bit, first the upper then her lower lip.

  Frannie gasped, and his tongue forged into her mouth, gliding along hers, tangling with it, until they surged together in rhythm with the movement of his hips as he pressed his long, hot erection into her soft belly.

  Frannie’s hands clutched his shoulders, her nails raking upward, digging into his scalp to keep his mouth clamped right where it was.

  His thigh pressed between hers, and Frannie’s heart galloped like a spooked mare. But she opened her legs and strained upward, rubbing the top of her
mound against his cock. Damp lust spilled from her body to soak her panties. His hands tightened on her ass, holding her still with a bruising grip, and she rose higher to meet his shallow thrusts. Ohmygod! Ohmygod!

  Niall groaned into her mouth.

  Frannie began to shake, feeling near to explosion—and her with every stitch of clothing still intact!

  Vinnie had cheated her of more than just his fidelity. Vinnie!

  Frannie tore her mouth from Niall’s and stared at his hard, strained face, horrified.

  If Niall lowered his pants, she’d be tempted to let him take her here and now. With a Herculean effort, Frannie shoved at his chest. “Let me go!”

  Niall closed his eyes for a long moment, and then lowered her until her uneven heels met the ground.

  Still shaking, Frannie backed away and wrapped her arms around her stomach.

  “I’ll take you home now,” he said, his voice hoarse.

  “No!” Good lord. Vinnie would take one look at her face and know something had happened. What had she been thinking? One little kiss did not erase three years of waiting for Vinnie to set a date. “I’ll catch another cab.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Mine’s right here.”

  She backed away, afraid he’d touch her with one little pinkie and reignite the fire banked in her loins. “No! I can take care of myself.” She took another step backward.

  Niall’s eyes widened. “Frannie, stop!”

  She whirled and stepped out—and off the curb. A loud honk and a bright light were all she knew before she found herself flying through the air.

  Only it wasn’t the bus that hit her—it was the Irish freight train behind her that knocked her to ground.

  “Get off me!” she gasped, trying to suck air back into her lungs. Why was he sitting on her chest?

  No, he was at her side, his forehead creased with concern. He lifted her in his arms and carried her back to the sidewalk.

  Still she couldn’t seem to catch her breath, and from there her memories grew fragmented. She had the impression she’d slept for a time. She moaned and shook her head.

  “Don’t move, sweetheart. I’m so sorry, love,” Niall said, his voice laced with regret. “You’ll only hurt for a moment.” Although his face was inches above hers, Niall’s voice sounded like it came from the bottom of a deep well.

  “Don’t hurt,” she muttered. “Tired. Cold. Can’t…breathe.”

  “Hold on, sweetheart.” He gently tilted her head to the side.

  Frannie felt the heat of Niall’s amazing lips clamp on the side of her neck, followed by a pricking pain. Then her world narrowed as darkness closed around her.

  No, the Q59 bus to Flushing hadn’t killed her.

  Niall Keegan had.

  Chapter Two

  ‡

  “List while I woooo thee with soft melodeee…”

  Frannie winced, inwardly of course, at the wobbly high note. If only she could get the old bat to shut up.

  What an odd purgatory she’d landed in. Frannie wondered what she’d done so wrong to earn her fate, and whether God would clue her in how long she had to suffer here. Surely, not an eternity. She hadn’t been a bad girl—maybe just a little lazy. Maybe a lot dependent upon the men in her life. First her father, and then Vinnie. But she’d gone to Mass with her mother every week and endured confession, occasionally, to be absolved of her sins. Just how much time in purgatory had she earned?

  “Gone are the caaares of life’s busy throoong…”

  So slowly she almost didn’t note it, the rigidity that had held her body paralyzed eased, and she knew with a certainty she found puzzling that the sun was setting.

  Then a sweet aroma like, yet tantalizingly different from the most succulent steak she’d ever eaten at Sardi’s, assaulted her senses. Her mouth filled with saliva. Was this a new nuance to her torture? Not only must she suffer the demon’s ministrations, but now there was the smell of dinner to forever torment her.

  “Bee-ooot-ee-foll Dreeeeamer, awake unto me…”

  The singing halted, and the she-devil made a clucking sound. “Who’d have thought a young thing like you would have a weak ticker. And your eyelashes are a little on the skimpy side,” the creaking voice said.

  Skimpy! Frannie bristled.

  “Let’s find something to fix that… something that’ll open your face right up.”

  Mentally, Frannie blanched. Was her face about to be split open? Would she be awake to feel the pain?

  There was a rustling, and the sound of drawers opening and closing. “These lashes should do. Now where’s that superglue?”

  Lashes? Superglue? Was the she-devil going to superglue false eyelashes to her lids? That tears it!

  Frannie simmered. Every atom of her being concentrated on putting a stop to her punishment. This was too much to accept. She’d have said a hundred thousand Hail Marys on her knees on a cold, stone floor rather than face her current fate. Someone was going to hear her complaint.

  The demon shuffled toward her accompanied by the pungent smell of adhesive.

  Just as the scent hovered above her face, Frannie’s eyes obeyed her command and opened. She found herself staring up at a wrinkled old woman with blue hair, thick blue eye shadow, and a large mole with an inch-long hair growing from it.

  The old woman squealed and drew back, clasping a hand to her chest. “Lord, have mercy!” She took a deep breath and chuckled nervously. “I’ll just have to superglue your lids together too, otherwise you’ll frighten your family to death.”

  Once more, the tube of superglue descended toward Frannie’s face. She concentrated again, sending every ounce of anger to her hand. Her fingers trembled for a moment, and then her hand shot up and grabbed the old woman’s wrist.

  This time the woman shrieked, and her eyes rolled back as she sank toward the floor.

  Frannie let go of the woman’s arm, wincing at the loud thud as she hit the floor. Then she tested the rest of her limbs, one by one. They all appeared to be in good working order, if a little weak. She pushed off the table to a sitting position, and the fabric covering her slithered to the floor, leaving her naked. Frannie inhaled, drawing cool air deep into her lungs, and then she ran her hands over her arms and legs. She didn’t appear to be any worse for wear despite having been hit by a bus. Oh yeah, not a bus—a damn freight train!

  Holding her breath, she smoothed her fingertips over her face. Again, she discovered no sign of injury. Had she really suffered a heart attack? She felt perfectly fine.

  If she didn’t know better, she’d think she hadn’t died at all.

  Then her hands went to her belly, and she discovered a ridge of bumps trailing from below her breasts to her lower abdomen. Alarmed, she looked down to find a row of stitches made of a thread that looked like thin fishing line. It closed an incision that was only a pale pink scar and seemed to fade before her eyes.

  She tugged the thread, but it was deeply embedded. She gave up for now and jumped from the table. Her legs wobbled, and she crumpled, falling in a heap on top of the old woman.

  The woman didn’t stir, but Frannie hadn’t frightened her to death. She could hear the old woman’s steady heartbeat although her ear wasn’t pressed directly to her chest. Frannie didn’t think about that odd fact for long. She sniffed the woman’s neck, drawing in the warring scents of formaldehyde and cloves—and that luscious steak tartar aroma. Her tummy burbled loudly.

  Frannie scrambled to her knees and gripped the edge of the metal table to haul herself to her feet. Then she had her first good look around the room. It was outfitted like a doctor’s office—mint green walls, stainless steel tables, and a large sink with multiple gooseneck faucets and odd-looking nozzles attached to long, rolled-up hoses. The strong smell of bleach and formaldehyde permeated the air.

  But the major differences between this room and any doctor’s office she’d ever seen were the lack of silver stirrups—and the open, rosewood coffin sitting on a gurney near the door.<
br />
  Good Lord, she was in a funeral parlor. This wasn’t hell—she was being prepared for her own funeral!

  Frannie decided she’d better find some clothes before she went looking for the dummies running the funeral home to tell them they’d made a terrible mistake.

  As luck would have it, a black dress hung from a hangar on a coat rack. She plucked at the silky fabric and immediately recognized her own dress. The one she’d worn to her papa’s funeral. A plastic grocery bag hung from the rack as well. Inside it were thigh-high hose, white panties and a bra, and black pumps. Her mother had provided the clothing. The dress and the conservative underwear hadn’t made the move to Vinnie’s apartment.

  She dressed quickly, feeling hungrier by the minute—almost nauseous from a lack of food. How many days had she been here? Weren’t they supposed to embalm her? She remembered the rough stitches on her stomach and felt more confused.

  But hunger was uppermost on her mind.

  Rustling sounded from the floor behind her, and she glanced back to see the old woman struggling to rise from the floor. Frannie hurried over and offered her hand.

  The old woman’s eyes grew as wide as saucers, and she drew back. “Z-z-zombie!” Another strangling screech erupted from her throat.

  “Calm down, there’s nothing to be afraid of. There’s been a mistake—”

  The woman’s eyes rolled back again, and she slumped back to the floor.

  Frannie sighed. She couldn’t leave her there—she was elderly and the room was chilly. Frannie chewed the edge of her lip, and her gaze drifted to the rosewood coffin with its plush, satin interior…

  *

  Niall Keegan waited in an anteroom of the funeral home hidden behind a thick velvet curtain as mourners gathered in the parlor. Dusk had fallen an hour ago, and he’d hurried here to continue his vigil.

  However, he had taken the precaution of feeding just before entering the building—on a haughty doorman at a hotel he’d passed, and then a woman walking her ferociously growling Pekinese.

  His appetite had been off since the night he drank from the fragrantly delicious vessel that was Francesca Valentine. But he’d forced himself to feed anyway. Tonight, he’d need his strength.