Night Of The Blackbird (32 page)

“That's partly why I'd really like to come up today. I need to get away. I'm not bringing a crew, just a handheld camera. If it's all right with you—and you're willing to sign a waiver, of course—I'll film a bit in the shop, and then you can escort me around to see the town's Saint Patrick's Day decorations.”

“I'd love it.”

Sally extended her sympathy to Moira's dad and family, and they chatted a minute longer, then Moira hung up and tried Michael in his hotel room. He wasn't there, but she hadn't really expected him to sit around all day waiting. She called his cell phone and found him.

“Hey, beautiful, I've been looking for you.”

“You knew I was going with Dad, and then I had a few errands. And I went to see Jacob Brolin. He's going to come to the pub after the parade and let me interview him here.”

“Fantastic! I knew you could get him.”

“I'm delighted, but we won't have him for the original airing, since we need to get the tape we have in tomorrow if we want to show it with the live feed. They'll have to edit him in for the repeat of the broadcast at night.”

“I'm sure that will be fine. So…were you planning on staying around to help your dad today?”

“Actually, no. How soon can you meet me here?”

“Ten minutes, why?”

“I want to take a trip up to Salem.”

“Oh?”

“I'd like some tape from Salem to compare to Boston's festivities. Nothing major, just the handheld camera.”

“Moira, whatever you want. I've been reviewing what we've got and made arrangements to get the tape out tomorrow once we've finished up. Plus I made the last of the arrangements for the live setup.”

“Great. Thanks, Michael.”

“Hey, it's my job, remember? Besides, in all honesty, Josh has done a lot of the work.”

“It's his job, too,” she reminded him. “Is he at the hotel?”

“I believe he is. Editing the pub door thing.”

“I'll give him a call.”

“I've got the camera. If you can't reach him, we can just take off and leave him a message.”

“Great.”

She hung up and went to the bar. She looked around, but Danny hadn't followed her in.

“Do you know where Danny is?” she asked her father.

“Haven't seen him,” Eamon replied.

“How about Patrick?”

“Your brother went out a while ago, said he was going to meet Siobhan at her folks' place.”

“You're sure you haven't seen Danny?”

“He took off a few hours back. Haven't seen him since.”

Moira wished that he had come in, that she could see him and know he was here. It was making her uneasy not to know where he was.

“Think he's in his room?”

“No, I don't think he's there, but give a knock on his door if you're worried.”

Moira nodded, then walked toward the back of the pub. At Danny's door, she hesitated, listened, then knocked. He didn't answer. She tried the door and found it open. Walking into the room, she found that he kept it impeccably neat, bed made, clothing put away, only a jacket over a chair. A notebook computer was running on the desk, and next to it were several maps of Boston. She hesitated, then curiosity got the best of her. The file that was running was something Sara's Night. She began to read.

“There was only one thing to do when taken in by the Royal Ulster Constabulary under the Special Powers Act. Lie. And Sara lied.”

Moira kept reading.

The soldiers were none too gentle when they broke into the house. Naturally, they came in the dead of night, when the fog lay heavy over the streets. She had always thought there would be a warning, but she was wrong. She had barely lifted her head from the bed when they dragged her from it. The nightgown she'd worn was torn off her, just as the sheets were stripped from the bed. They were taking no chances that she might have a weapon hidden somewhere on her body or in her bed.

When they finished with their search, she was shaking and humiliated, and wondering what weapon could be so minute that she might have hidden it in the orifices they violated.

Clothes were thrown at her. She dressed.

They took her to the “Infamous Place,” Long Kesh, with barbed wire and towers that sported machine guns. She was taken alone, which frightened her more than anything. This wasn't a general sweep of all suspected terrorists. This was aimed at
her.

When she arrived, she was escorted to the man in charge. She knew his name. And his reputation.

“Miss O'Malley, is it?” he asked, reading from a folder. She had been seated in a chair before his desk, and he was speaking politely. She had heard about prisoners being tortured, terrorized. This man was being courteous. Courtesy, she had learned, was deadly.

“Yes. Sara O'Malley. And I've done nothing.”

“You were recognized, Miss O'Malley, as the woman who pretended to be distressed, who lured Sergeant Hudson from his car while your friends set a bomb beneath it. Hudson and three soldiers were killed when that bomb went off.”

She had been willing to give her life, or so she had believed. But she had never imagined what it would be like when a bomb went off, when an explosion ripped through the air, the fire, the screams, the smell of human flesh burning…

“I don't know who thought they saw me. I was nowhere near the scene.”

He leaned forward. “Poor silly girl. I don't really want to see you go to prison…or die. You're a young thing, with your whole life ahead of you. You could escape, run to America. What I want from you are the names of the men who are doing the bombing. It's very easy. You give me the names. I help you escape.”

“I can't give you names. I wasn't there.”

He nodded, as if accepting her word. “Fine, we'll give you some time to think about it. Maybe you will come up with something.”

She'd had no idea that a man had been standing behind her until she was blindfolded. A hood fell over her head. Arms reached for her. “Call the lady's escort, please.”

Her escort.

She never knew exactly where she was taken. Or how many soldiers “escorted” her.

She had been willing to give her life….

In the end, they left her on the concrete, still blindfolded.

The hours passed in a nightmare. She imagined the smell of the burning bodies once again. She shivered with the cold. Names. She couldn't give names….

They brought her into the office again the next day.

“Miss O'Malley, have you thought of anything to tell me?” he asked her.

She shook her head. “No.”

“I'm sure in time you will. Meanwhile, let me have you escorted back to your cell.”

She tried not to let him see the way she was shaking. Her lip trembled.

“I'm sorry—did you think of something to say?”

She shook her head, trying to steel herself for what was to come. The “escort” arrived. She tried very hard not to think or feel. One of the soldiers, bending over her, whispered, “Hudson was my cousin.” When he finished with her, silent tears fell down her cheeks in such a flood, she nearly choked on them.

 

“Enjoying the story?”

Moira slammed down the screen of the laptop, stepping back in horror. Danny had come into his room. He was leaning against the doorway, staring at her with narrowed amber eyes.

“Danny…”

He moved toward her. “I asked you if you're enjoying the story.”

“What do you care what I think? I'm sure you have plenty of fans.”

“Do
you
ever buy my books?” he asked politely.

“Of course. Sometimes. I will now, of course.”

“Of course. You want to see how it ends.”

“I've got to go.”

“Right. You have work to do today.”

“Yes.”

She tried to brush past him, but he caught her arm. He didn't hurt her, just brought her too close against him.

“What did you want?”

“What?”

His body seemed as hot as a furnace. His hold on her flesh reminded her of the lean power in his arms and chest. The anger in his eyes seemed to shoot through her.

“You're in my room. What did you want?”

“Nothing.”

“Just nosy?”

“No…I was…looking for you. To make sure you'd help my father if he needed it until I got back. I'll only be gone four or five hours.”

“You're a fool, Moira.”

“The computer was there—”

He shook his head with impatience. “Do you think I give a damn if you read what I write?”

“I've got to go,” she insisted.

“Moira, damn it, you need to talk to me.”

“Why, Danny, when you've never really talked to me?” she asked.

“You're shaking.”

“I've got to go.”

“Moira?” She heard her father's voice as he called from the bar.

“Let me go. My father is calling me.”

His eyes pinned her for another moment, and he pulled her slightly closer. “Moira, I…damn,” he muttered, then released her, almost pushing her away.

He watched as Moira fled past him.

“M
ichael is here,” Eamon said as she rushed to the bar. “Let me get the car keys.”

“Thanks, Dad. I'll be back for the post-dinner rush.”

“Thanks, but you go do your own work. I can manage the pub.”

“I'll be back,” she said firmly, catching the keys as he tossed them to her.

Michael was standing at the door, waiting, a backpack with camera equipment thrown over his shoulder. He slipped an arm around her shoulders as she joined him at the door.

“You're shaking.”

“Am I? Just a little chill. Let's go.”

The attendant at the garage brought the car around. When it arrived, Michael set a hand on her shoulder. “I think I should drive.”

She was about to protest, but he was right.

They pulled onto the road.

“Are you sure you want to do this today?” he asked her, sliding a hand over hers. “This is a rough time for your family. Even I could see that Seamus was much more than a customer.”

“Yes, I'm fine. I'm happy to be getting out of the city. And I've given so little attention to what I've been doing, I'll be amazed if we have a show left.”

“You're not supposed to worry about the technical aspect of the operation, Moira. You're the talent.”

“I'm also a producer.”

“Josh is on top of everything. You don't need to worry. And,” he reminded her lightly, “you do have me.”

“I've used and abused you both.”

“I love it when you use me, you know.”

He was teasing. His fingers tightened around hers, and she smiled again, but she was sure it was a sick smile. He didn't know that she had betrayed him. With a man who might be planning murder. Who might already have tried to murder
her.

Then again, Danny had been there, picking her up each time. Of course, if he'd failed in his attempts to cause her harm, what better way to disarm her suspicions than by being the man to rescue her?

What about the night she had come downstairs? They had been alone together for a very long time. He could have done something then. What? Slit her throat in a bed in her father's house?

“Moira, what's wrong? I'm here, you know.”

She looked at Michael. What was wrong, indeed? Here was a man most women would kill to be with. He had done nothing wrong; she had. But she wasn't ready to come clean with him—not while all this was going on. And she knew she couldn't resume their relationship until she had done so.

“I don't know. I suppose I'm just upset, worried about a lot of things.”

“You know, we don't need this segment. We could just take the day off. Find a charming New England inn and…forget about everything.”

“Oh, Michael, I'm so sorry, I've been horrible, and—”

“It's all right. We'll go to Salem.”

He kept driving, then said, “I'm sorry—I think I upset you more, telling you what I found out about O'Hara.”

“It looked like you two were getting along fine on your pub door excursion.”

“Yeah, well…” Michael murmured ruefully. “I think I'm sorry about what I told you. I should have kept my mouth shut.”

“Why?”

“Because we did have a decent day. You know, it's a little intimidating when the family friend turns out to be a man who looks like real competition.”

“He isn't competition,” Moira murmured. Lord, she was lying. Or maybe she wasn't. Some things didn't change easily. Maybe Danny would always have a physical power that beckoned to something in her senses. And maybe the sheer logic of everything she knew about him would be enough to convince her that even if he wasn't contemplating murder, he wasn't what she was looking for in life.

“No, I guess not. He told me that if I made you happy, no one could ever wish me greater blessings in life. Sounded a lot like your brother. We had an interesting day.” He fell silent for a moment, then said in a serious tone, “You think there's something going on in your dad's bar, don't you?”

“Pub,” she corrected automatically, giving him a rueful shrug. “There is a difference. And there could be something going on anywhere,” she murmured.

“I think you should stay close to me for the next few days. Will you?”

She turned and looked at him. “I'm with you now, and we're on our way out of town.”

“So let's have a good day.”

“Michael,” she murmured. “I—”

“No more talk about the pub or Seamus. You have your interview with Brolin, and everything is going to be all right.”

“How can it be all right? Seamus is dead.”

He was quiet for a minute, then said, “Moira, I talked with your dad. I know what happened, and I know you're disturbed. But it was an accident. A man trying to help a friend. Now let's just try to enjoy the day, okay?”

She smiled and agreed, but inside she was still cold and worried.

 

“Josh, where did she go?”

Dan had barely waited until Moira left his room to call her business partner, hoping he would be in his room at the hotel.

“Hang on,” Josh said. “I just got in, but I've got a message here. They went to tape in Salem, with Moira's friend. Sally Adair. I never met her. Do you know her?”

“Yes, I met her years ago. She used to live around here, then moved up the coast. Are you going to join them?”

“I wasn't planning to. I'm assuming Moira planned on using just the handheld camera, and since Michael is with her, he can handle it.”

Dan hadn't closed the door to his room; he was startled to see Patrick Kelly standing in the doorway.

He lifted a hand in acknowledgment of Patrick's presence.

Patrick smiled and nodded, waiting for him to finish his conversation.

“I think I'll take a drive up,” Dan said. “Just in case they need a hand.”

Josh was silent for a minute. “Dan, I'm sure they're going to be fine. And…you know, this is none of my business, but…she's been seeing Michael steadily ever since they met.”

“I know. Look, if it turns out that he's what she really wants to be happy, I swear, I'll back off so far you'll never know I was around. Moira has been really upset though, lately, with Seamus and all…. Why don't you drive up with me?”

“All right. But if we don't move—”

“We'll move now. Right now. We can catch them. They just went out the door.”

“All right. I'm on my way.”

“Where are you moving to?” Patrick asked from the doorway.

“Salem.”

“Dad said Moira had taken off with Michael to see Sally.” Patrick studied Dan. “You don't think you should leave the two of them alone?”

“Maybe I should. But I'm not going to, not now, in the midst of everything here…with Seamus's loss and all. Hell, did you need me for something?”

Patrick shrugged and laughed. “Actually, I came to see if you wanted to take a drive up to Salem.”

“
You
were planning on following them?”

“Yup.”

“Why?”

“I guess I'm a little worried about her. And Michael…well, maybe she's madly in love with him, but he hasn't really known her that long. I'm her brother. I've known her forever, and if she needs support right now, I think I'm better qualified to offer it. And I had a feeling you might be willing to join me.”

“Yeah, I'm willing. And Josh is on the way.”

“Good. That makes it okay for us to go up and you to get into the middle of her relationship, right?” Patrick asked. “Never mind, don't answer. I'll drive.”

“Hey, do me a favor. Make sure your dad is going to be okay, then keep a lookout for Josh. Give me a minute here. I'll be right out.”

“Sure.”

Patrick left. Dan dialed the phone again. He never called Liz on the house phone. This time, however, he did.

“Liz, tell me you've got something new for me.”

“All right. This charity fellow that Patrick Kelly is working with…Andrew McGahey. There's a man walking a really fine line. Want to hear about him?”

“Shoot.”

“You're on the house line,” she accused him suddenly.

“Just tell me quickly what you've got.”

“He was in Belfast several times in the last few years. Each time he went, he had a number of meetings with Jacob Brolin—and members of the Real IRA. You need to keep your eye on him—and Patrick Kelly. Although I will say this, McGahey has been doing all the right things legally for that charity. His papers have all been filed correctly.”

“Well, of course. Patrick Kelly is a good attorney,” Danny said dryly.

“There's been another man in the pub, as I'm sure you know.”

“I'm aware of Browne.”

“Good. Watch yourself. He's not working alone.”

“I know the main prize, Liz. I've been watching out for Browne. Jesus, there should be something else by now. Have you gotten anything else on Michael McLean?”

“Why? Are you itching to take the fellow down? Don't go getting obsessive.”

“Just keep at it,” he said. Obsessive? Well, yes, he could be obsessive. And he wasn't even sure why. He'd managed to spend the afternoon with Moira's new beloved and discovered that if there was something behind the facade, it was damned well hidden. The guy had been decent all day, humorous, intelligent. It appeared that he really loved Moira, which should have made Dan feel some guilt, but didn't. Maybe he was wrong, and the guy was simply perfect, and he himself had blown everything over the years.

“I told you,” Liz said wearily, “every record we have squeaks. Don't go getting tunnel vision. There's too much at stake.”

“I don't have tunnel vision.” Maybe he did. Liz was right; there was too much at stake.

“You know that Moira Kelly went to see Brolin today.”

“Yes, of course, I know that.”

“Good. You've been on that line too long.”

“I was on it too long the second I called you,” he said impatiently. “Listen, I want to see what you have.”

“On what?”

“McGahey, Patrick, the charity. And on McLean.”

“Dan…” she said warningly.

“I want to see what you've got. It's my ass on the line here, big-time. Now I'll get off the phone.” He hung up, grabbed his coat, patted the inner lining to make sure he had everything and went out. He spoke quickly with Eamon, praying the man would tell him that he was fine and had plenty of help. Eamon said exactly that.

Dan hurried outside to join Patrick. They waited on the street for Josh to arrive.

 

As they passed the sign telling them that they were entering Salem, Michael asked Moira where she wanted him to park.

“There's nothing much by the shop. I usually park in a space around the common when I come here. It's only a few blocks to her shop, and the town is really charming.”

Michael drove past pretty houses to park in the first space he could find around the common. He took the camera from the trunk, and they walked along the street, past the Hawthorne Inn toward the waterfront.

She grinned at him. Getting away from Boston had been good. She felt as if she had cast aside a burden, if only for a short time. She could almost forget that tomorrow would bring a wake, that Seamus was dead.

“One more block to Sally's shop.”

The camera was over his shoulder. He took her hand as they walked. She didn't protest.

“Ah, there you are.”

Sally was standing outside her shop, as if supernaturally aware of just when they would arrive.

“See, she is a witch, she's expecting us,” Moira told Michael seriously. She moved ahead, hugging her friend. Sally had ink-dark hair that went well with the slinky black caftan she was wearing. The V neck of her garment displayed the silver pentagram she wore. Silver orbs dangled from her ears and highlighted her almost powder blue eyes.

“You must be Michael,” Sally said, stepping forward and extending a hand.

“I must be. Sally, great to meet you. I admit, you're my first witch.”

“Sally. I love the window,” Moira said, looking into the display window, where her friend had created an Irish tableau with fairies and leprechauns and a charming statue of Saint Patrick.

“Thanks. You don't think it's overkill? I had such a good time.” She grinned at Michael. “The Irish may be very Catholic in general, but they do love their fairies, leprechauns, banshees and the rest.”

“Michael comes from an Irish family, too.”