It took about thirty minutes to reach Kieran’s street in the St. Mark’s area of Manhattan. When Mike parked the car, Danny looked at her with his eyebrows raised—probably hoping that she was going to tell him just to go home. But when she didn’t budge, he seemed to give up and he got out of the car along with her and Craig. They bid Mike good-night; he and Craig would talk in the morning.
In the sushi restaurant, someone was warbling out a frightening rendition of Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ on a Prayer.”
“Last time, I think it was a lady auditioning for The Lion King,” Danny said. “Feast or famine entertainment-wise here, huh?”
“You can’t hear it upstairs,” Kieran said.
“You can’t hear it? You’ve lived here too long.”
“Danny, I haven’t even been here three years,” Kieran protested. “Come on, please, be nice. I’ll make grilled cheese. We’ll all go to bed.”
“Or to couch,” Danny muttered.
Kieran let out a sigh of frustration. “To couch, whatever!”
“Shower,” Craig said. “I smell like a burning building. I think I even smell like...” His voice trailed, but they were both staring at him. “Burning flesh,” he said quietly.
“Yes, you need a shower!” Kieran told him. “And your clothing needs to be sterilized!”
Inside, he headed straight for her room and the en suite shower. She wanted to follow him.
She wanted to make sure Danny was okay, too.
“Hey, you made me come here!” Danny told her. “What? Am I putting a bit of a snag in your romantic expectations for the evening? Wait, you’ve been living together a long time.”
“Someone could have followed us. You shouldn’t be on your own tonight,” Kieran said firmly.
“Well, I’m here. And I’m fine. Go and talk and cuddle...or whatever. I don’t want to know. I’ll get the grilled cheese started.”
Kieran nodded, biting her lower lip. Then she hurried into the bedroom, shedding her clothing to join Craig in the shower—and wondering if she had created an awkward situation.
Still, she slipped beneath the cascading water and wrapped her arms around Craig, pressing herself against his back. He stood very still for a long moment. Warmth and steam rose around them while the water beat down.
Suddenly he spun around, sliding his arms around her waist and pulling her close.
“Marry me,” he said.
She looked at him, startled. It wasn’t something that they hadn’t talked about before—they just hadn’t been in any hurry. They were young; they were career oriented. They were happy as things were.
“I... Where did that come from so suddenly?” she asked.
“We’ve lived together for almost two years,” he reminded her. “Your place mostly, sometimes my place...”
“We do need to pick one place to live,” she murmured.
“Yes, and...well, I always thought that eventually we’d get married.”
“We really should,” she said. She smiled, feeling a surge of joy. “We’ll need an Irish priest. You know my family.”
“An Irish priest,” he agreed.
He pulled her close. She felt the naked flesh of his chest against her cheek and felt the hard pounding of his heart. He kissed her and ran his fingers down her spine, and then back up again, and with the touch she was pressed closer to his body, closing her eyes, caught for a minute in nothing but sensation.
Maybe they were done talking...
“I was truly frightened today,” he told her. “Mike couldn’t find you. And your phone...”
They weren’t.
“It broke. I’m so sorry.”
“Things happen. You shouldn’t have to be sorry. I was just beyond scared. And I thought about life...our lives. And I think we should get married.”
“I think that we should get married, but...”
Because it’s right, because we’re ready...not because of fear...
She never said the words. His phone started to ring. He moved back, pulled the curtain aside, and stepped out of the tub.
She heard him speaking curtly to someone. It was mainly a lot of “Oh?”
“Yes.” And “No.”
“Craig?” she asked.
She realized that he’d hung up and stepped out of the bathroom. When she emerged, wrapped in one of their large fluffy bath towels and headed into the bedroom, she found that he was almost dressed.
“You’re going out now?” she asked.
“I have to.”
“So...what’s up? Where are you going? I should probably be with you, you know.”
She waited for the argument from him.
It didn’t come.
“We’re going out now—all of us,” he said. “You, me and Danny.”
“Oh? Where?”
“We’re meeting up with Detectives Beard, Holmes and Kendall—and Riley and Tanya,” he added softly. “Their new keepers—the US Marshals Madison Smyth and Hank LeBlanc—will be following, watching out for whatever is going on. We’ll fix up at the safe house.”
“Oh. Well, good. I do help with Riley and Tanya and—”
“And I’m not leaving you here alone.”
“I’d be with Danny.”
“I love your brother, Kieran. He’s an amazing man—fiercely loyal, almost to a dangerous point. And in a fair fight, I’d back him against a bigger guy because he’s a smart fighter, too. But your brother is not a killer. And he’s not even licensed to have a firearm. It’s not a good time for anyone to be alone, so...he’ll hang with us. It will be great.”
She had to smile. “For now.”
“For now. We are going to get these guys—the whole racket, men, women, whoever they may be. We are going to get them. I swear it.”
Kieran nodded. “I’ll be dressed in five. But... I am a bit confused. Why now? Why not in the morning?”
Craig let out a breath. “Our man...the man we found who survived the explosion. He may not make it. One of the doctors has suggested that if we want someone to identify him, now—despite his condition—would be a better time than if...than if he does die.”
“I see,” Kieran murmured. She was sorry—at least she thought that she was sorry. If the man in the hospital had caused misery to anyone—to the captive immigrant women or their babies—she wasn’t sure if the pain he was surely suffering now was enough to make up for what he’d done to others.
But maybe he was a victim himself.
“I’m ready in a minute,” she assured him. She hurried to her dresser and tossed out undergarments and then headed for the closet where she quickly grabbed an easy pullover knit dress. When it was over her head, she spun back to look at him.
“Craig.”
“Yes?”
“What about Sister Teresa? She wound up forgotten today.”
“Not forgotten, I promise.”
“Then?”
“She died of a heart attack. There is still lab work being processed. And that takes time, even when the guys at the top of the heap are ordering faster-than-a-speeding-bullet results. Kieran, I know she became special to you in just a short time, but...she was nearly a hundred. We should all be so blessed.”
“I know.”
“If she was murdered—if she was hastened toward death in any way—we will find justice for her, along with the others,” Craig vowed.
“Thank you.”
“Of course. Now, I guess we have to go let Danny know that he’s still in a hot spot. Well, he does want to be NYC’s top tourist guide. We give him more stories all the time. We’re really doing him a favor.”
Kieran laughed. “If he’s prepared the grilled cheese sandwiches, I’m going to suggest we eat them as we run. Let’s get going.”
* * *
There was no way to trea
t a man in the condition of the one who’d survived the explosion and fire other than at the finest burn center in the city. He was fighting for his life with the help of some of the best doctors in the world, Craig was certain.
But he couldn’t be taken out and hidden anywhere else.
And that made trying to identify him extremely difficult.
While a press conference had clearly stated that the one man found in the building had been deceased, they couldn’t count on it remaining secret that a survivor had been taken to a hospital. The burn unit might be under watch.
So while any number of police officers might easily go in and out of the wards—often enough, criminals in the custody of protective services were in the hospital, or an officer might be there on personal business—the motley crew of agents and witnesses couldn’t be seen.
When Craig, Kieran and Danny arrived at the safe house, Riley’s beautiful red hair was covered in a short black wig; Tanya had become a brunette. They were dressed in generic jeans and nondescript T-shirts.
Madison Smyth and Hank LeBlanc were in similar apparel, and a policewoman was waiting to see that Kieran was duly wigged and given a few appearance-changing bolsters.
It turned out she was going to be fitted with butt padding. Craig couldn’t help but be amused by her horror at the situation.
“Actually,” he whispered to her, “it’s kind of hot.”
She glared at him evilly. “What? My derriere is not big enough as it is?”
“It’s perfect—sorry! You just have to look kind of different than usual—that’s what they’re going for,” he told her.
“Great. And you get ‘surfer dude.’”
“I’ve been just about everything at some point.”
Egan had made the arrangements; Craig discovered that it had been Riley’s idea, and that it had been Kieran’s discussions with Riley and Tanya that had led to it.
The operation, as they had known, was a big one. Set up just like a monarchy. There was a king and a queen. There was a royal court that consisted of their hired guns, killers, people as bad as they were. Then there were slaves.
Alexandra Callas had been a slave. She had watched over captives; she had been forced to do so, and then her concern for her friends had held her as much prisoner as any outside threat.
This man might have been in the same position. But Craig believed that it was most likely he had followed orders because his family had been threatened. Why he had been set up to be killed, Craig wasn’t sure. Maybe they believe that he’d betrayed them somehow, that something he had done had led to the possible discovery of the warehouse, and thus he’d needed his punishment.
If his family was in the States somewhere, the FBI might be able to help them.
With Riley and Tanya helping them, they hoped to find out.
Craig was to arrive with Tanya and Kieran on his arms; they would be loaded with gifts for a new baby, and appear to be heading to the maternity ward.
Mike, Danny and Riley would be together, friends with cards and gifts for a friend in the orthopedic section—one of the city’s football players who had suffered an ankle injury.
The US Marshals and other detectives and uniformed officers would follow up, with Smyth and LeBlanc lead on protection. Lance Kendall and Randy Holmes had remained at the hospital since their man had gone in; Larry McBride would be among those on the team watching for any attackers—and watching for anyone who might be watching.
The police backup team were good at their jobs; they held their distance, staying unnoticed as the first little group arrived.
Even as Craig handed over the false IDs they’d been assigned for the night, he heard the voice of Randy Holmes through his two-way radio earpiece. “Your nine o’clock, Frasier. TV news is on in front of him—and he’s got a paper. May just be a reader—may not be, you know?”
Craig surreptitiously looked around. The man seemed to be watching them.
Kieran must have sensed something. “A boy! I’m so happy for them, you, Sissy?” she asked Tanya. “I think we’ll have a baby, too, one of these days. If your brother ever decides that we can afford one! Oh, can anyone ever really afford a child? I think not!”
The man looked back down at his paper.
“Might be something, might not,” Craig murmured back to Holmes and everyone else on the communication system.
“We’ll be watching,” Holmes promised.
Craig could see Mike, Danny and Riley as they took their turn and stepped up to offer their IDs and received hospital visitor stickers, as well. Danny took a cue from his sister.
“I love the guy—you know, we went to high school together. And he’s still a good guy. But, you know, what an idiot, getting hurt that way! Don’t you think so, love?” He gave Riley a squeeze.
“Hey, he’s been playing good,” Mike said.
“Yeah, but will he now?”
The man with the paper looked out the door, ignoring their group.
“Good call!” Craig said softly to Holmes.
“Thanks. I’m on him. I’ll be watching.”
Soon, they were all gathered in the small room on the burn floor where Lance Kendall had been holding vigil since their victim had gone in. David Beard had joined him a while ago, and an officer in uniform was keeping guard on the floor, as well.
They assured Craig that they were fine, had covered one another for coffee, naps, food and whatever was needed.
Craig thanked them both for sticking it out.
Beard shook his head. “It’s a chance,” he said hopefully. “And I’d have given a limb to have caught the bastards five years ago.”
“We’ll get them,” Craig said.
Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if they’d catch them all. It was a massive operation. He said as much to Kieran in a low voice.
“Maybe it’s like...like myth and legend as far as werewolves go,” Kieran said.
“Huh?” He turned to stare at her, not sure whether or not she was just trying to ease the terrible tension that seemed to be affecting everyone there.
“If you get the werewolf—or vampire, maybe?—that started it all, the others just fall,” Kieran said. “What I mean is...the King and Queen are managing it all. Catch them, and you’ve cut off the head of the operation. The whole thing may then tumble down.”
He nodded, almost smiling.
“Yeah, I hope so.”
One of the man’s doctors arrived and explained that the room had to be kept as a “clean” room, as germ-free as they could make it, and while they were welcome to look at the patient as long as they liked, they had to stay outside the room, looking through a glass window.
Craig led Riley and Tanya forward to see the man.
He lay on his back, a small sheet covering his genitals while the rest of his body was treated. Health-care workers were helping him on a twenty-four-hour basis, administering to his flesh with strips covered in painkillers and medication. At Craig’s side, Tanya let out a gasp and began to sob softly.
It was horrible; the man looked something like a steak that had fallen off a grill before being fully cooked.
“Aye, lass, aye,” Riley murmured, slipping an arm around Tanya and pulling her close. She looked at Craig over Tanya’s head.
“We know him, that we do,” she said softly. “Oh, Lord, aye, we know the man.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Riley appeared to be very distressed. Tears sprang into her eyes.
“Are you okay?” Kieran asked her.
“Riley?” Danny asked softly. He had definitely decided that he was fond of the two immigrant women, and he seemed to feel a special affinity with Riley—but then, they owned an Irish pub, so maybe he was feeling that he should defend a young Irish woman.
But he had been just as courteous toward Tanya.
&
nbsp; Actually, Kieran was quite proud of her brother. Danny could be quick to get into a bit of trouble when defending others, but, at least, he tended to want to defend those who were in grave difficulty—he didn’t want to get into frays for the hell of it.
Riley looked at Danny with a soft gleam in her eye and she smiled.
“I’m okay,” Riley said.
“Did—that man—did he hurt you?” Kieran demanded indignantly.
“Oh, no, no! Nothing like that,” Riley said. “No, that’s just it. He never hurt us. Looking at him... Oh, it’s so sad! And he’s not a bad man. He’s not a bad man at all.”
Tanya, at Riley’s side, shook her head. “No. Not bad man,” she agreed.
“What’s his name?” Kieran asked.
“Jimmy,” Riley said.
“Just—Jimmy?” Craig pressed gently.
“Jimmy,” Tanya said.
Mike walked over and spoke softly to Craig, who then excused himself from the girls. Kieran realized that Mike Dalton had been on the phone with someone and that he was explaining the conversation to Craig. She wanted to hear for herself what was going on.
“Excuse me,” she said, smiling. She looked at Danny, who seemed to believe that he was no part of an investigation. He nodded to her gravely and slipped between the two young women to set a protective arm around their shoulders. “I’ve got this,” he said to Kieran, adding softly to the young women, “We’ll move away a bit. You know him. There’s no need for you to stare at the poor man. You must realize, he’s not suffering now. The doctors here are brilliant. They’re giving him pain medication. If he can be saved, they will save him.”
“Hey,” Kieran murmured as she approached Craig and Mike. Craig glanced at her. To her relief, neither man acted as if she shouldn’t be involved at every level.
“Detective McBride—yes, our McBride,” he assured her, “had a troop of officers out in the street after the explosion. They’re searching for anyone who saw and remembered anything. Trucks, moving vans and—hope against hope—license plates. We’ve gotten a few things from the officers and agents on the street. McBride called to assure me that all information is being shared.”
A Dangerous Game Page 20