Night Of The Blackbird (16 page)

The cold wrapped around her.

As she walked, she cursed herself for the idiocy of leaving without a coat. Then she cursed herself for running out in the darkness at this hour of the night. The sidewalks were slick with a thin sheen of ice. And yet…

It was more than just the dark, icy grip of the Boston winter night that held her, she realized. The chill was inside and out. She had walked these neighborhood streets for most of her life, and the family knew their neighbors. She knew the cold, and she even knew the shadows. She had never felt this kind of unease before, never felt as if the chill were inside her, something that would never go away.

She turned the corner to the left. Ahead, the eaves of an old building cast a spill of total Stygian blackness over the sidewalk. Moira moved against the building, instinctively afraid, seeking the protection of darkness.

She was almost upon the two figures before she realized they were there. And she couldn't help but hear the exchange of low murmurs. Whispers, the words just barely audible in the stillness of the night.

“So it's definite. Let the blackbird fly.”

“Which piece?”

“You'll receive it.”

There was a sudden silence; it seemed to stretch forever, but it was probably no more than the beat of a second. She had stopped walking without realizing it.

Blackbird…

It was as if a giant blackbird had suddenly erupted from the shadow, wings sweeping over the street, brushing her. It was as if the wind picked her up, spinning her around. She found herself moving, catapulted forward. Her feet found no grip on the ice. She went sliding, desperately trying to catch her balance, terrified of the dark presence that suddenly menaced her from behind, darkness rising with a stealthy force. Something struck her hard. She found herself falling to the ground, the shadows rising all around her, the stars glimmering in a sky that had been nothing but cloud and darkness before.

W
hen she tried to get up, Moira slid again. She was staring at the sky when a face appeared in the cloud-covered night.

“Moira Kelly! What on earth are you doing out here like this?”

Danny. He reached down, catching her hands. He didn't pull her straight up but hunkered at her side first, studying her eyes. “Whoa, now. Did you hurt yourself?”

“I don't think so.”

“You're all right? Nasty spill on the ice? Where's your coat, girl? It's freezing out here.”

“I'm well aware that it's freezing, thank you.”

“What are you doing out here?”

“It's freezing, Danny. Stop asking questions and help me up.”

“Good shoes for the ice,” he observed. “You're sure you're not really hurt? So what was it? Lovers' quarrel? Were you racing after that beady-eyed Michael?”

“No,” she said indignantly. “Michael and I don't quarrel, and I don't think anything is really hurt. I was—”

She broke off suddenly as he helped her up.
Pushed.
She'd been about to say that she'd been pushed. Instinct kept her from speaking the truth. There was no one out here except Danny. The man who'd been warning her not to let people think that she spoke or understood Gaelic.

Had he pushed her from the shadows, then turned around to help her?

“You were what?” he asked her, eyeing her closely.

“Nothing, I was…I was concerned about Seamus. He'd been drinking quite a bit. I came out after him, and I fell.”

As she spoke, Danny took his coat off, draping it around her. The warmth felt awfully good. She also realized, as she began to thaw a bit, that she was sore from head to toe. “What are
you
doing out here?” she asked him.

“Saying good-night to a few old chums.”

“Where is my brother? Were you with him?”

“Haven't seen Patrick in a bit,” he told her. He arched a brow. “Are we all supposed to report in to you these days?”

“I couldn't find anyone to walk Seamus home, that's all,” she lied. She wondered why she didn't tell Danny the truth. That she'd come outside, overheard two men talking about a flying blackbird and been pushed to the ground.

The reason was obvious. She was alone on the street with Danny. As much as she hated to think it, he might have been the one who had pushed her.

“Let's get in,” she said. “It's freezing out here.”

He nodded, taking her arm as they turned toward the pub.

“Did you see someone out here?” he asked.

“No.”

“Why are you lying to me?”

“I'm not.” She wasn't. She hadn't actually seen anyone. Just shadows. Figures in the dark.

She was looking straight ahead, but she could tell that he was watching her suspiciously.

“Fine, then.”

A statement that he didn't believe her. She was suddenly very anxious to get into the pub.

Danny obliged, moving quickly. She nearly went sliding again. He caught her instantly, keeping her from going down. As they neared the door, she increased her speed.

She felt herself slide on the ice the moment she hit it. This time, not even Danny's hold could keep her from falling. He tried so hard, though, that even as she flailed in what seemed like slow motion, he lost his footing, as well. He managed to get beneath her as they went down. She wound up sprawled on top of him, staring into his amber eyes. For a moment they just lay there, winded, staring at one another. Then Danny smoothed a stray hair from her forehead.

“Hey, this isn't bad,” he told her.

She immediately struggled to rise, slipped, then slammed hard against him once again. The breath was knocked out of him, but he laughed.

“Quit laughing!”

“Hey, I'm the injured party here. Throw your flesh and bones down to be chivalrous, and what do you get? A knee in the groin.”

“I did not jab my knee into your groin.”

“Not on purpose. I don't think.”

She let out a sound of total aggravation, rolling off him. Danny was already up, offering her a hand. She took it. Looking at the door to the pub, she saw that Colleen was standing there, laughing, as well. “If you children are through playing in the snow, it's much warmer inside.”

Danny's coat was lying on the ice. She bent to retrieve it, but he had already picked up the garment. “Inside, yes. I guess that would be good. Although, I was rather enjoying myself,” he said with a grin.

Moira went through the door. Danny entered behind her, his arm around Colleen. “And what were you doing, venturing out in the ice and snow?”

“It's not snowing.”

“Figure of speech.”

“I was wondering how the entire pub suddenly seemed to disappear,” Colleen said lightly. “Even the band has quit for the night, and Jeff took off somewhere. Oh, Moira?”

“Yes?”

“Michael was in a moment ago, looking for you. He said to tell you he was heading back to the hotel.”

“Thanks.”

She'd practically promised to slip out to join him at the hotel, and she knew she should keep that promise. Except that she was tired and sore, and afraid that she would give away the fact that people at her father's pub were all behaving very strangely. Especially her brother.

And Danny.

Moira saw that Chrissie was behind the bar, picking up glasses, breaking down. Moira took a tray from the bar and went on the floor, where she started clearing tables. Behind her, Colleen and Danny did the same.

“Moira Kathleen!” her father suddenly exclaimed.

She nearly dropped her tray full of glasses. “What?”

“What happened to you?”

“Nothing. Why?”

“You're bleeding, girl!”

She looked down to discover that her stockings had torn and a thin trickle of blood was seeping from her knee down her shinbone.

“Just a meeting with the sidewalk, Dad. I tripped outside,” she said. “Danny helped me up.”

“You need to take care of that right away.”

“I'll go upstairs,” Moira said.

“There's a first-aid kit right in the office,” Eamon said.

“I can just go up—”

“Not on your life,” Danny said. “You might need stitches. We'll have to take a look at that.”

He was by her side in a moment, golden mischief in his eyes.

“Danny, I skinned my knee.”

“Ah, but you're
the
Moira Kelly. Can't have scraped knees showing on camera. Let's take care of it right away.”

He ushered her around the bar toward the back.

“First-aid kit is in the—” Eamon began.

“Top drawer,” Danny finished.

A minute later, Moira found herself seated at the desk, with Danny on his knees before her, digging in the drawer.

“What are you doing?” she asked him.

“Taking every lecherous opportunity I can to get closer.”

She started to rise, but he already had her shoe off. She gave up.

“Let's get those stockings off, as well,” he said.

“They aren't stockings. They're panty hose.”

“All the better.”

“Danny…”

“You've got to be careful, Moira. You can't go running out of the pub after people.”

There was no lightness to his tone. Nor was there a teasing look in his eyes. He was suddenly dead serious.

“Okay, Danny, I won't go running out of the pub after people anymore,” she said. She lowered her head, speaking softly. “If you had been around, I could have asked you to go after Seamus.”

“That's right. But Seamus is a grown man.”

“Seamus was acting very strange tonight.”

“Oh? What did he say?”

“I don't remember,” she lied. “He was just speaking…strangely.”

“Was he afraid?”

“Should he have been?”

“I'm just trying to figure out why you went running after him. Moira, take off the panty hose. I'll close my eyes. Promise. Not that…”

“Danny, I'll just go up and take care of my own injuries.”

“You're that afraid of me touching your leg?”

“I'm not at all afraid of you touching my leg. So apparently what I'm supposed to do now is prove it by slipping out of my panty hose?”

“Well, yeah,” he said, offering a rueful grin.

She was suddenly tempted to reach out and touch his hair. Always a bit unruly and unkempt, it fit him. Like the half smile he so frequently wore.

“You're trying to ruin my life,” she told him.

“Never.”

“I have a great job and a wonderful relationship.”

“He has beady eyes.”

“He's a bona fide decent man.”

“I disagree. Besides, is that what you want to settle for? Decent?”

“You told me I should have married Josh.”

“I didn't mean it.”

She rose suddenly and stepped behind the desk to shimmy out of her panty hose. Then she sat in the chair. His fingers were gentle as he studied the gash on her knee. “And you didn't even feel this?”

“I felt like an icicle from head to toe, how was I going to feel anything else? And what is that you're about to put on me? Don't you dare—”

“Peroxide. It won't hurt.”

It didn't. The peroxide bubbled and nothing more. He wiped at the wound with a square of cotton. She watched his hands and his lowered head. Great hands. Danny always had great hands. Long fingers, clipped nails.

Strong hands. He had always been able to open the most stubborn jar known to man.

“And what's that?” she demanded cautiously.

“Neosporin. It won't hurt you, and since when do you act like such a big baby?”

“Since I'm so tired and aggravated. What were you doing outside?”

“I told you, I was saying goodbye to some friends. My turn—what were you really doing out there?”

“Running after Seamus. Danny, damn it, what's going on around here?”

“Nothing, most certainly nothing.” He placed a Band-Aid on her knee. “Not if I have any say in it,” he murmured.

She caught his chin, lifting his eyes to hers. “What are you going on about?”

“Nothing, Moira. All I'm saying is that I'd die before I'd let anything happen to anyone in your family.”

“Why should anything happen to anyone in my family?”

He let out an aggravated sigh. “I was just speaking hypothetically, Moira, all right?”

She stood abruptly. He wasn't going to say anything more to her. “I'm going up to bed. Thanks for the first aid.”

“Hey!”

She started and looked toward the doorway to the bar. Patrick was standing there, staring at her and Danny, who remained on the floor as she stood.

“It's getting to her head, eh, the television thing? She's got you on your knees before her,” Patrick observed.

“He was giving me first aid,” Moira said.

“I've heard she likes her men on their knees,” Danny quipped in return.

“Careful there, I'm her older brother, remember?”

“And where have you been?” she demanded.

Patrick arched a brow. “The guy from that charity thing was here tonight. I was just walking down the street with him, pointing out how close his hotel was to the pub. Why? You know, I have a wife now, to give me a third degree. What's the matter?”

“I wanted somebody to walk Seamus home.”

“He lives a few blocks away.”

“He'd had a few too many,” she said.

“I was gone, you were gone—even her precious Michael was nowhere to be found,” Danny said. “And then, poor lass, trying to be an escort herself, she went sliding right across the ice.”

“Where was precious Michael?” Patrick asked.

“Precious Michael—” she began, then sighed with aggravation. “Michael doesn't work here.”

“Neither do I.”

“It's our pub.”

“Right. I'll try not to let you down next time. Good thing you didn't skin your ass, huh, Moira?” Patrick said.

“Cute, big brother, real cute.”

“That could have been interesting,” Danny murmured.

“Go to hell, both of you,” she said sweetly.

She turned and went upstairs.