Flawless (10 page)

Kieran took a deep breath. “I don't know what happened. The platform was crazy crowded, but it was rush hour, so I didn't think anything of it. I was people watching, and then I saw a man in the hoodie standing over there.” She pointed. “Like I said, I looked away, and when I looked back he was gone. I had this feeling that he'd come up behind me—I don't know why, I just did—so I moved away between a rabbi and a woman dressed like a Goth. The next thing I knew, that girl was on the tracks and everyone was screaming. I don't know what else to tell you. I didn't see what happened to her, only that she was down there, so I reached for her, and the next thing I knew, I was on the floor with her and a bunch of other people on top of me.”

He nodded, taking notes, and then said, “Your name is Kieran Finnegan, right?”

“Yes. How do you know that?”

“I told you. I saw you on TV. Couldn't miss hearing about you, to tell the truth. Didn't you notice that the press were in love with you?” He looked over her shoulder. “And speaking of those vultures, here they are. Whatever... Can you sign this for me? And put your phone number and address there, please.”

She scribbled her name and the information he had requested, trying to look over her own shoulder at the same time.

The media had indeed descended.

She wasn't sure how they'd gotten in—the police had cordoned off the entry and were letting people go as they finished speaking with them, but they weren't allowing anyone else in—yet somehow the press had made an appearance.

She could only imagine what the closing of this one line was doing to traffic and commuters citywide. Most people took incidents like this seriously. Still, there would be those who were sure they were only being inconvenienced because an idiotic girl had been playing around and managed to land herself on the tracks.

But...

She
hadn't
been fooling around, just chatting with friends. And then she'd come close to being killed.

“How am I going to get out of here?” she murmured aloud. The last thing she wanted was the press descending on her. It wasn't that she was so humble, she realized. She just didn't want the attention, certainly not now. And not for instinctively doing what anyone would have and reaching out a hand.

Especially when maybe, just maybe, she was the one who was supposed to have wound up on the tracks.

“Miss Finnegan, in all honesty, they're here to report that sometimes, things have a happy ending. And imagine! It's you again. The city has an angel. That's the spin I'd give it, anyway.”

“Trust me, I'm not an angel and I don't want to be one. If you could—”

“I can't stop the press from reporting the truth,” he said.

“No, but can you get me out of here?”

Thankfully, she didn't have to rely on his resources. No sooner had she handed back the signed report than she was stunned to see a group of men coming toward her.

Danny was leading the charge, but right behind him she saw special agent Craig Frasier, the older man she'd seen with him the night of the robbery and another man, perhaps fifty—Craig's boss?—white-haired, but lean and fit, as if he worked out with the same determination as Dr. Fuller.

She doubted, however, that this man stayed so fit by playing tennis.

How the hell had they gotten there so quickly?

None of them was panting or sweating—certainly not Danny, who was unfortunately used to running hard since he'd had to do it so many times in the past, generally while running away.

She quit questioning the situation as Danny stepped aside and the white-haired man showed his credentials to Officer Friendly, who had stepped forward, as if to stop them coming near her.

“I hope you have all you need from this young woman,” the white-haired man said in a tone that said the response had better be yes.

“Yes, sir. I have her signed statement,” Officer Friendly replied. “If she's with you... We may need her again, but we know how to reach her.”

“Excellent. It seems our timing is perfect. We'll see the lady out. Thank you, Officer. Miss Finnegan, shall we?”

Kieran wasn't sure whether to be embarrassed, thrilled, smug—or more worried than ever.

Before she knew it, she was back up at street level and suddenly aware of how the foursome had gotten there so quickly. A black sedan awaited them on the street, guarded by a beat cop.

“Thanks, Reggie,” Craig Frasier told him, opening the rear passenger door and ushering her in.

Danny entered from the other side, and she ended up wedged between her brother and Frasier, with the white-haired man driving.

And as he sat next to her, those ice-chip eyes of his on her, Agent Craig Frasier murmured softly, “Miss Finnegan, you do seem to have a talent for finding danger. Just what is it about you?”

CHAPTER
SIX

“MISS FINNEGAN,
I'm sorry, but there wasn't time for introductions in there,” the white-haired man said. “I'm assistant director Richard Eagan. I'm not sure if you two have met yet or not, but—” he nodded at the man beside him “—this is special agent Michael Dalton, Craig's partner. I hope we didn't drag you away against your will. I know the press were eager to talk to you. Saving the day twice in one week is news, even in New York.”

“Proud of you, sis,” Danny said, nudging her. “You saved her from a grisly death.” He shuddered, murmuring, “Even thinking about it...”

“Thank you,” she said. “I'm pleased to meet you—and very grateful for the rescue. I just happened to be closest to her. Anyone else would have done the same.” She was acutely aware of Craig Frasier by her side—and equally aware that he was still watching her with suspicion.

“We heard some of what happened on the way over—news travels at the speed of light today. Or sound,” Eagan said. “Or internet...waves or whatever they are. You're probably tired of talking about it, but what exactly did happen down there?”

“It was a typical rush hour,” she said. “I don't think people mean to push and shove. And most of us are wary and keep a safe distance from the edge of the platform. I think there was just a—a surge in the crowd because the train was approaching.”

She felt Craig Frasier's eyes on her. She was lying, of course. But after what had happened the other night, how could she say she'd seen a man in a hoodie? That he'd made her nervous, so nervous that she'd moved away into the crowd?

And that she was afraid maybe
she
was the one who was supposed to have fallen on the tracks?

She didn't want him to think she was paranoid.

But, she realized, given how suspicious he was of her, he was bound to read her statement to the police. Feeling as if special agent Craig Frasier could actually read her mind, she decided on a few sentences of honesty that she hoped wouldn't sound paranoid or, worse, delusional.

“The officer asked me if I saw anything suspicious. I told him that I saw a guy in a hoodie,” she said, “and then I looked away and he was gone when I looked back up. I don't think he pushed the girl, though, even though people were saying
someone
did. I think he just made me nervous because of the other night, and it worries me. It's spring. Lots of people wear hoodies this time of year. I didn't see anything, so I just don't know.”

That was the truth. How did the man manage to make her feel so off-kilter, even when she was telling the truth?

She couldn't help but look Craig's way. Yes, he was watching her assessingly.

They pulled up in front of the pub just then, and Eagan pulled into a no-parking space, then tossed a permit of some kind onto the dash.

They all got out, but before they could even enter the building, Declan and Kevin rushed out, followed by a half dozen of their regulars and even a couple of curious strangers.

Kieran wanted to sink into the pavement. Once again she was hailed and cheered, grabbed and squeezed by her brothers. Mary Kathleen, with her huge green eyes and bright red hair, was right there with Declan, hugging her between them. Bobby O'Leary had actually left his seat at the bar for her, and even Jimmy—who she was pretty sure spent more time at the pub than he did working—came out to embrace her. Then again, Jimmy had made enough money so that he didn't have to work anymore if he didn't want to. He worked, he told her once, because he had to, or lose his mind doing nothing.

Tonight, he was with the paler of the two men from the other day, a tall man with hair so blond it was almost white. Nordic, she thought. He hugged her, as well.

Chef Rory O'Bannon, an Irishman from County Cork, and his two grill cooks, brothers Pedro and Javier Marcos, came out and took turns hugging her and praising her bravery. They'd all been with Finnegan's for over five years and were like extended family. Pedro had once told her cheerfully that he and Javier were from the very south of Ireland, a nod to their Puerto Rican roots, though the brothers themselves had been born in the Bronx.

It seemed to take an hour before all the hugging was done and she was seated in a back corner—despite her insistence that she was fine and more than capable of helping out—surrounded by Richard Eagan, Michael Dalton and, of course, Craig Frasier.

Dalton was a nice guy who watched her with a combination of amusement, admiration and curiosity. Frasier watched her as suspiciously as ever.

After a few minutes of casual conversation, Eagan turned serious. They were there, he told her flatly, because he'd wanted to meet her.

“Your timing was perfect. I can't believe you got to me so quickly,” Kieran said.

“Craig drove, though I insisted on the siren. He's one hell of a driver. Traffic's always at a dead stop somewhere in this city. I'd hate to be emergency services. They must dream about traffic at night,” Eagan said.

Does that mean you dream about vicious killers?
she wondered but refrained from asking.

Her hopes that once she'd met Eagan, the three of them would drink up and leave were quickly dashed when they started asking about the menu.

“I'm starving,” Eagan told her. “No time for lunch today—nonstop meetings. What would you like for dinner, Miss Finnegan?”

“Dinner?” she asked blankly.

“A meal one eats at the end of the day,” Craig said lightly, smiling. He looked down quickly—smirking, she was certain. He was undoubtedly aware that she wanted them gone. “I've had the fish-and-chips,” he told Eagan. “It's excellent. Tonight I thought I'd try their shepherd's pie.”

“Sounds good. Shepherd's pie it is,” Eagan said.

Danny was waiting tables tonight, and Kieran had been keeping an eye on him. Time and again she'd seen him point her out, beaming with pride.

She silently cursed whatever fate had made her the one standing closest to the girl.

Danny seemed to realize that the men were ready to eat and arrived to take their order. She didn't feel up to eating anything and told him she would order later. The way he smiled at her made Kieran realize he'd completely forgotten that he'd stolen a diamond—or borrowed it, as he insisted—just a few days back.

She wished she could do the same.

In a way, it was nice that he was proud of her.

In another way it was terrifying. How could he forget? These men were FBI!

Danny took their order, and just as he left them, the door opened. As if just to put the icing on the bizarre cake that the night had become, Kieran saw Julie stand there for a moment looking around. Seconds later her friend saw her and raced over to the table.

Ignoring the three men, Julie stared at her and gasped, “Are you all right? It's all over the news, that poor girl in the subway... My God, it could have been you. Thank God you were there to save her! But are you sure you're all right? First the other night, and now this!”

“Julie!” Kieran snapped quickly, praying her friend wasn't about to start spilling her guts about “the other night.” “I'm fine. These men are from the FBI. Craig Frasier, Mike Dalton and assistant director Richard Eagan.”

Julie looked as innocent as Daniel had. Apparently the two of them still didn't understand the gravity of what they'd done. Now she took the time to look around the table, her eyes widening. “Oh. Um, nice to meet you. I didn't mean to be rude a minute ago. Kieran is my best friend...has been since we were kids. Anyway, I heard what happened, and I was so scared.” She stared at Kieran. “You haven't been answering your phone.”

“Sorry, I didn't hear it ring. You know how loud it gets in here.”

“That's okay. I called Danny, and he said you were here,” Julie said, then looked suddenly embarrassed. “Sorry. I'm sure you're talking about something official, so I...”

She was met by a chorus of “No, not at all” from the three men, who all stood up to offer her their chairs.

Julie took one. Not, unfortunately, special agent Craig Frasier's chair, but Mike Dalton's, leaving Craig between the two women.

Kieran didn't know whether to be relieved or worried that he now had two targets for those suspicious eyes of his.

“Julie Benton,” Craig said, sitting again. He smiled, but to Kieran it looked like a predator's smile. “Your husband is employed by the store where Kieran was taken hostage, isn't that right?”

Kieran frowned. Had she said Julie's last name? Maybe. She didn't remember. But if she hadn't, then...did he know?

Ridiculous. He probably knew everything there was to know about the store by now; he'd helped foil the robbery, after all. He undoubtedly knew the names of everyone employed there, along with their spouses, and he'd probably seen pictures of them, too.

She tried to breathe normally.

“Almost ex-husband, I'm happy to say,” Julie said, mincing no words. “And a wretched human being. It's too bad that he wasn't there when the robbers were.”

Craig turned to Kieran. “Didn't you say you stopped by hoping to see him?”

“I didn't know he wasn't working at the time,” Kieran said.

“Ah,” he murmured.

“Shepherd's pie, twice over, and a fish-and-chips,” Danny announced, swinging by and smiling at the agents as if they were old friends. “Sis, you really do need to eat. Did you decide what to order yet? Julie, my love, what can I get you?” he asked.

“Nothing, Danny, thanks. I already ate,” Julie said.

When Kieran shook her head and told him she wasn't hungry, he shot her a questioning look but didn't push it. “Well, then, I'm off. Gentlemen, another ale anyone?”

“No, thanks, early day tomorrow,” Craig said, speaking for all of them.

Just then Mary Kathleen called to Declan in her high, sweet brogue, “Declan! Turn up the telly, please.”

A handsome young reporter with gel-slick hair and a plastic smile was in a hospital room with a pretty blonde girl lying in a hospital bed.

“Ron Jacobs here, coming to you live and covering a human-interest story with a very happy ending. This is fifteen-year-old Shirley Martin, the young survivor of tonight's incident or, as some are calling it, attack on the tracks. I hope you're doing well, Shirley. All of New York is pulling for you tonight,” he said, moving the microphone toward her face.

She really was a pretty girl, and the whole city really would be cheering for her, Kieran thought.

Shirley smiled tremulously. “I'm fine. They're just keeping me overnight as a precaution. I'm just so grateful to be alive.”

“Of course, of course. Now, tell me, did you fall—or were you pushed?”

“As I told the wonderful officers who helped me,” she said, “I don't know. There's always so much pushing and shoving on the platform, you know? I could hear the train, and the next thing I knew, I was on the tracks and a woman was reaching down to help me. I'm so lucky and so grateful she was there. Whoever she is, she's an angel. I'd love to meet her and thank her in person.”

“I'm happy to tell you, Shirley, that your angel is New York City's own Kieran Finnegan. I'm sure she's out there somewhere, maybe watching this very broadcast.” He addressed the camera. “We'd love to meet her, too, so, Kieran, if you're out there, give us a call.”

Shirley Martin smiled and said straight into the camera, “Please call. I plan to finish high school, then go to NYU for their performing arts program. I intend to act in film and on Broadway. Thanks to you, Miss Finnegan, I'm alive to get my shot.”

She smiled broadly again, and Kieran had to wonder if they hadn't practiced their “live coverage.”

Once again, as everyone in the pub broke into whistles, toasts and applause, all Kieran wanted was to crawl under the table.

She felt her face burn, but she forced a smile and waved.

Then she felt Craig Frasier's face close to hers, very close, as he whispered to her, “What's the matter? Aren't you enjoying your fifteen minutes of fame?”

She turned to look at him, dismayed. And apparently he saw honesty in her face at last.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “Really. It's just that—well, most angels
would
want their moment of fame and the thanks of an entire city.”

“Anyone would have done it,” she said almost desperately.

“Actually, no. A lot of people would have jumped back or panicked, afraid they'd be pulled down. You need to give yourself more credit for your quick thinking and competence. But then again, I've seen you in action. Now, you've saved two people... Angel.”

“I saved
you
from a water pistol,” she reminded him, and suddenly she couldn't take it any longer. “Julie, gentlemen, if you'll all forgive me, I really need to go home and crawl under the covers.”

“Of course,” Julie said, looking guilty, as if she were personally responsible for Kieran's need to escape.

Which in a way she was, Kieran thought.

The men stood, and Kieran couldn't stop herself from glancing over at Craig.

He was looking over at Kevin, who was standing by the bar, a towel in his hand. She could have sworn that the two men exchanged a look, and that her brother nodded.

In two seconds Kevin was beside her. “You ready to head home?” he asked.

“Yes.” She couldn't keep a tinge of suspicion out of her voice.

“Cool. I'm ready when you are.”

“You coming with me again?”

“Another shoot in the morning,” he said. “We'll catch a cab. You've had a long day.”

“I'm done eating,” Craig said. “I'll drop the two of you, then swing back for Mike and my boss.”

It seemed agonizingly long to Kieran, though it was only a few minutes, before they headed out to the street. Declan had to hug her, then Danny, and then half the pub again. But finally she was in the car next to Craig with Kevin behind her, headed toward St. Marks.