Novels 03 After Twilight, page 7
His answering grin was slow and provocative. “Oh, I think you can safely say you have that.”
“So, how long are you planning to stay in Ireland?” Kacy stirred the beans on her plate aimlessly, her head tilted to one side as she waited for an answer.
Until I find out the truth about you. Hardly a suitable response. “I don’t know, really. This is the first holiday I’ve had in a long time.”
“You look like a man who never vacations.” Kacy eyed him as though he were an interesting painting she was restoring.
He bit back a smile. Usually he was the one doing the scrutinizing. “And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”
She smiled. “I don’t know. Lack of laugh lines. Perfect creases. Not signs of a restful life.”
“Well, I always seem to be putting out one fire or another.”
“Doing what?”
“This and that. I dabble in a lot of businesses. Investing where I see a sign of profit.”
She nodded sagely, sipping her tea. “A mogul.”
“Well, I don’t know if I’d go that far, but I definitely keep my finger in more than one pie.”
“That would explain why your name seems familiar.”
He almost choked on his sandwich. “My name?”
“Yes. I know I’ve heard it somewhere before. I just can’t put a finger on where.” She shrugged, obviously dismissing the thought.
He released a breath. Relieved. Time to turn the tables. “So, Fin tells me you came here from America.”
She frowned and shot a look at the barman, mumbling something under her breath, then, with a sigh, she met his gaze. “I was living in Southampton.”
Now seemed the perfect time to steer the conversation to Alex. “So what made you leave?”
Her face hardened. All emotion—all life—draining away instantly. It was as if he’d pressed a button and a mask had dropped firmly into place, obscuring the real Kacy from view.
Fin’s paradox.
He reached over to cover her hand with his, wanting nothing more than to bring back the sparkle in her eye. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
Just as quickly as it had descended, the mask was gone. “You didn’t. There’s just nothing to tell. I thought I’d be happier here. Besides, I wanted to look after the cottage. It’s my heritage, after all.”
“Don’t you miss the social whirl of the Hamptons?”
“I’m not much of a party girl, I’m afraid. I’d rather be alone with a canvas and a brush. Boring, I know, but there you have it.” She smiled at him almost apologetically, but there was a spark of something else, too. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have thought it was defiance.
“I dislike the social crush myself. Avoid it like the plague if I can.” The tension between them eased, the conversation back on safer ground.
“Well, then that’s something we have in common. I’m afraid my idea of a good time is a good book and a cup of tea.” She shrugged. “So Lindoon suits me perfectly.”
“I can see why. It’s an enchanting place.” He picked up his beer glass, staring into the amber depths. “Still, I’d think you’d get homesick now and then. Want a hot dog or a soap opera or something.”
She laughed. “I miss silly things. Like strawberry Jell-O and Pillsbury crescent rolls.”
“Ah, yes, spoken like a true gourmet.” Although he had to admit there were days when he’d kill for a good lamb stew or hot soda bread or a tall glass of Smithwick’s. Something no one in the States seemed to be able to reproduce authentically.
“Well, I told you, I like things simple.”
The color had come back to her cheeks, the slight flush accentuating the white of the bandage over her eye, reminding him of her recent ordeal. “I suspect you’re tired.”
She nodded slowly, a soft smile playing about her lips. “It has been rather a long day. Would you mind if I called it an early night?”
He stood up, offering her his hand. “Not at all.”
She took his hand. “The thing is …” She stopped, her teeth worrying her bottom lip as she considered something. “I don’t have a way home.” Her eyes met his, her look apologetic.
“Oh, God, how thoughtless of me. And here I’ve been keeping you captive.”
Her mouth curved upward, her dimple peeking out. “I’ve enjoyed every minute of it. Well, maybe not the almost getting run over part. But dinner was lovely.” She stifled a yawn.
And he felt like an out and out rotter. “Just hang on a minute. I’ll go get my keys.”
Kacy leaned back into the soft upholstery of the blue sedan. It smelled of rental car and Braedon. She closed her eyes, letting the smell of him surround her, soothe her. She’d never met anyone like him. His intensity frightened her and fascinated her all at the same time. He was a contradiction. One she desperately wanted to explore. Beyond the intensity, there was gentleness—an intrinsic goodness.
She smiled at the romantic turn of her thoughts. It wasn’t like her to wax poetic. It must be the whack on the head.
“You all right?” His voice was soft and warm, intimate, almost tender.
“I’m fine. Just a little tired.”
He pulled up in front of Sidhean, the wheels of the car crunching on the gravel drive. The house was dark. A shiver of apprehension ran down her spine, and she leaned forward, staring at the cottage.
He braked, bringing the car to a halt. Killing the engine, he turned to face her. “Something wrong?”
“Probably not. I just thought I left the lights on. Mac’s in there.”
“I tell you what. I’ll go and check things out. You stay here.”
She glanced at the dark house and then out into the dark night. She hated to admit to being afraid, but just at the moment the dark house with Braedon looked a lot less scary than the dark night all alone. “I’m coming with you.” She tried to keep her voice steady, but the telltale tremor was there.
He hopped out of the car and came around to the passenger side to help her out. With his hand under her elbow, she felt braver.
Braedon held out his hand when they reached the steps. “I need the keys.”
She felt herself flush and was grateful for the dark. “It’s not locked.”
He swung around to look at her and even in the dim light she could see his frown. “You left your house open?” His voice was sharp, accusing.
“No one locks their doors around here. For God’s sake, this is rural Ireland. I don’t even know if there is a key.” She sounded apologetic and hated herself for it. It was her house, after all.
He opened his mouth to respond and then snapped it shut, seeming to think better of it. His hand closed around her arm, his anger communicating itself through his touch. He turned the knob and opened the door, releasing her to reach inside and flip on the lights.
Light had never looked so good. She pushed past him into the hall. “Mac? Sweetie, where are you?” Nothing moved. Fingers of dread danced along her skin. “Mac?”
“Stay here.” Braedon’s voice had lowered to a whisper. He grabbed a cane from the urn by the door and moved slowly toward the kitchen.
An unearthly keening filled the room.
Mac.
Kacy ran forward, fear spurring her on. Braedon reached the kitchen first, holding the door for her. The sound of the cry still echoed in her ears. He flipped the light on and Kacy searched the room for her dog. “He’s not here.” There was a note of desperation in her voice. The wailing started again. This time louder, almost echoing through the walls.
She grabbed his arm. “Braedon, it’s coming from the pantry.”
He went to the connecting door, yanking it open, the walking stick held point out. Kacy skidded to a stop behind him, then stepped back involuntarily when the keening began again.
“Is there a light?”
She nodded, unable to make her voice work, and pointed to a cord dangling above the door.
Braedon stepped into the storeroom, still brandishing the cane. With a click, light flooded the little room and there was a whimper and another whine.
Mac.
She pushed past Braedon, her only thought the welfare of her dog. He was lying on the floor, his left leg twitching, his tongue lolling. He tried to sit up, but his limbs seemed to have a mind of their own. He finally managed to struggle to a sitting position, but he listed to one side, head hanging, resembling a furry, black-and-white drunk.
Kacy locked her arms around him, keeping him stable, alarmed at the feel of his pounding heart. “What’s wrong with him?” She looked up to meet Braedon’s eyes, comforted by his steady gaze.
“I don’t know, but we’ll find out. You stay with him, I’m going to go call the vet.”
“The number is by the phone.” It was all she could manage. Her head throbbed and her dog was sick or poisoned or worse. She buried her head in Mac’s soft fur. He was shivering uncontrollably.
Oh, please, God, she prayed, don’t let him die.
Chapter 7
“KACY, HE’S GOING to be fine.” Paddy Fitzgerald stood up, brushing off his worn, corduroy work pants.
She sagged with relief, grateful for Braedon’s arm around her. “So what happens now?”
“Nothing. He’ll sleep it off. Should be right as rain in eight hours or so. I’ll come out first thing in the morning to check on him, but I doubt he’ll be needing me.”
“Thank God.” Relief flooded through her. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost Mac.” Braedon’s arm tightened as he pulled her closer.
“Do you have any idea what caused this?” She felt the vibration of Braedon’s voice through his chest.
Paddy rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Well, now, there’s no way to say for sure, but if I had to state a reason, I’d say the pup was drugged.”
“Deliberately?” Kacy stared at the vet. “I’d just assumed he’d gotten into something he shouldn’t have.”
He nodded, his face grim. “The symptoms are right. It could have been acepromazine.”
“I beg your pardon?” She took a step toward Mac, breaking contact with Braedon, shivering at the loss of his warming touch.
“Acepromazine. It’s a drug I use sometimes to relax an animal.”
She knelt by her dog, stroking his head, grateful to see that he had fallen asleep. “How?”
“’Twould be easy enough.” He shrugged. “Pop a capsule into a bit o’ meat and the animal never knows what hit him.”
Braedon crossed his arms, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “There’s no way something like that could happen accidentally.”
It was a statement, not a question, but Paddy answered anyway. “I suppose it could, but it’d take a mighty long string o’ coincidences. There’s honestly no way to tell for certain without examining the contents of his stomach.” Paddy dropped his stethoscope into his bag and snapped it shut.
Kacy shivered, looping a protective arm around Mac. “You’re not going to do that?”
Paddy laughed. “No, child. I’m not.” He sobered, his gaze meeting Braedon’s. “I’d see to it you keep the cottage locked for a while. ’Twas probably no more than a prank, but it’s best to be careful.”
“I’ll make certain they’re safe and sound.” Braedon’s voice was firm.
“Good.” Paddy picked up his bag and held out his hand. “I’d best be on my way. No sense in worrying Mary.”
Braedon shook the vet’s hand. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
“No need for that. You stay with Kacy and Mac.” He headed for the door, stopping on the threshold to call over his shoulder. “Keep him warm, and I’ll see you in the morning.”
Braedon nodded and then turned back to Kacy, running a hand through his hair, leaving it in wild disarray. She’d bet that didn’t happen very often. “I’m glad he was home when I called.”
“Me, too.” She rolled her shoulders, trying to ease her aching muscles. Stroking Mac’s head, she tried to process all that had happened. She met Braedon’s gaze, frustration and fear battling inside her. “Why would someone do this?”
He shook his head, his mouth tightening into a thin line. “I’m not sure we’ll ever know.”
“I just keep thinking about the car. And Mac. All of it.”
“Kacy—” He frowned at her, his look intense. “—is there a reason someone might be trying to hurt you?”
No, her mind insisted. Maybe, a little voice revised. She sighed. Either way it wasn’t something she was ready to discuss. It was too soon for that kind of trust. “No, there’s nothing. It’s probably just coincidence. The important thing now is to make certain Mac is all right.”
“Paddy says he’ll be fine, and I’d bet the farm he’s not the type of man to make rash promises.” He held out a hand. “Come on. Mac’s not the only one who’s had a rough night.”
She nodded, and after tucking a blanket around her sleeping dog, let him pull her up into the kitchen.
“You wait here.” He gestured to the kitchen table. “And I’ll check the rest of the house.”
She nodded absently, sinking onto a chair, resting her head in her hands. How could this have happened? Who would want to hurt Mac? Or had they been trying to hurt her? She cringed, sick to think that somehow Mac might have suffered because of her. It seemed that whatever she did, wherever she went, someone always got hurt.
All she wanted was a normal life. A chance for the happiness that most people took for granted. But it seemed no matter what she did, no matter how far she ran, disaster followed. She’d married Alex in an effort to shed the old and make a new start, but she’d only traded one prison for another.
Then instead of finding release after the horror of his death, she’d been thrust into another nightmare. One filled with goons carrying handguns. And, as always, Millicent was there in the background. Waiting for her to make a mistake. She threaded her fingers through her hair, fighting a wave of hopelessness. She’d battled so long to step out of the shadows. Ye t every time she took a small step forward, it seemed that something—or someone—pushed her back.
“I can’t tell if anyone has been here.” Braedon walked into the room, the sound of his voice breaking into her thoughts. “The front room and your studio look fine, but your bedroom is a shambles.”
She blushed, ducking her head in embarrassment. “That’d be me. I couldn’t decide what to wear.” She shot him a rueful look and then looked down at the overly large sweats. Suddenly she started to laugh.
It began as a bubble of amusement, but soon burgeoned into something bordering on hysterics. Tears mixed with laughter and she slipped into sobs, her shoulders shaking with the release of emotion. She felt his arms circle around her, pulling her close, and she buried her face in the soft warmth of his sweater.
Suddenly she pushed back, aware that she was allowing herself to rely on someone else. And that was against her number one rule. Relying meant trusting and she wasn’t allowed to trust anyone. Her father had drilled it into her head. Over and over. No one could be trusted. Ever.
“I’m … I’m all right now. I just need a shower. And bed.” The minute the word was out she wanted to yank it back. Bed wasn’t something she wanted to think about while she was in the same room as Braedon Roche. And she was more than just in the room with him, she was in his arms.
Oh, Lord, she was in his arms.
She pulled away, mumbling something about tea and almost fell, her legs buckling under her. His strong arms locked around her again, righting her, his voice warm against her ear. “Here now, let me help you.”
She leaned back against him, allowing herself just a minute. One minute. Then she’d go back to looking after herself. But it felt so nice, just for once, to let someone take care of her. No. She had to be honest. She was nothing if not honest. Well, most of the time. And the truth was she wanted Braedon Roche to take care of her. Wanted it more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life.
Braedon carried the tea tray into the bedroom. He could hear the soft whoosh of water coming from the shower behind the closed door of the bathroom. His brain instantly formed a vivid, graphic picture of Kacy. Setting the tray down on a table, he tried to clear his mind. The picture intensified.
He needed a distraction. Tea. He’d drink tea. He took a cup and filled it with the potent brew, adding sugar and milk. Somehow it was impossible to entertain lascivious thoughts while sipping tea.
He smiled, surveying the small bedroom. Without all the clutter, it looked much like the rest of the cottage, exquisitely furnished. The mahogany four poster dominated the room, a brightly patterned quilt adorning the bed—the kind only someone’s granny could make. He ran a hand across it, feeling the tiny handmade stitches, for a moment transported back to his childhood. Memory shifted and he saw his mother, frail and dying.
He pushed back the pain, banishing the vision, and returned his attention to the room. Lace curtains covered each window, a pristine white. One floated out, billowing in the breeze from an open window. On one side of the bed, a large occasional table was covered with books and decorative pieces—a vase, a pewter candlestick, a crystal bowl. The entire scene looked like something from a magazine photo layout.
Everything was perfect. Too perfect. At odds with a woman who’d earlier left every garment she owned scattered about the room without a second thought. He was back to Fin’s paradox.
He frowned, his gaze sweeping across the room again. There was nothing of Kacy here. The room was beautiful in a House & Garden kind of way, but there was no soul. No heart. Nothing personal.
There wasn’t even a photograph in the room, and now that he thought about it, none in any of the other rooms either. Odd. Almost compulsively, he reached for the little drawer in her nightstand. Surely there would be something there, a small clue to the woman in the shower.
He stopped, hand on the drawer pull, suddenly aware that he was trespassing. The water in the shower was still running. Curiosity battled with decency. Curiosity won.
He opened the drawer, staring at the usual assortment of night things. Vaseline, tissues, a flashlight. Nothing personal, certainly nothing worth snooping for. He started to push the drawer back into place. It stuck a little and the motion shifted the packet of tissues, revealing a small silver frame.
