The Angel (35 page)

“Yeah,” Bob said. “He loved it all.”

“Keira knows she had nothing to do with bringing him into Patsy’s life, doesn’t she?”

“She knows. I’m just not sure how much that helps.”

Liam’s eyes, swollen from his ordeal, opened, focused on the two detectives. “I should have told you…”

Bob sighed at him. “Life’s full of should haves, kid.” He spoke as if he was just laying out an obvious truth. “Get used to it. You have a lot more mistakes ahead of you.”

“Geez, Bob,” Abigail said, “remind me not to have you come visit if I’m ever in the hospital.”

He glanced at her, obviously mystified. “What?” But he turned back to Liam. “Detective Browning and I are experi

enced investigators, and we took a house tour with Augus

tine. I should have known something was wrong when that twisted son of a bitch didn’t get the creeps in the devil room.”

“Me, too,” Liam mumbled. “But Victor…”

“Weird guy, but he was okay, huh?”

Liam stirred, more conscious now. “Victor figured it out. He knew what Jay was. I thought Jay was just hiding money and stealing from Charlotte. I got his log-in infor

mation for his accounts. Bank, credit card. Victor—he checked them out. He must have found something.”

“Receipts for Jay’s tickets to Ireland, maybe,” Abigail said.

“He didn’t tell me. That day…” Liam’s eyes closed, and he was clearly fading again. “He said he had the devil on his heels. I didn’t…I thought it was just…you know, Victor being Victor.”

“Rest up, kid,” Bob said. “You’ll need your energy for

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when you look for a new job. Nothing involving devils this time, okay?”

Liam’s mouth twitched with humor. “Thanks.”

Bob didn’t speak again until he and Abigail had exited the hospital and were outside in the warm, clear, beautiful June evening. “Yarborough’s still annoyed with you for being right about your drowning. Me, I’m getting used to the idea.”

“No, you aren’t, and I don’t care. I wish I’d been wrong.”

“Better to die tripping on a crack in the sidewalk than believing you’re being chased by the devil.”

“We’ll prove Augustine was in Boston that night,”

Abigail said.

“Yeah, but the bastard had me beat,” Bob said, matter of fact. “Keira and Eileen are alive because of what they and Simon did, not because of what I did. I let my assump

tions drive my conclusions.”

“Augustine had us both beat,” Abigail said.

“I don’t know, though. Go back through the time line. We’d have had to be damn lucky to get ahead of Augus

tine any sooner than we did. Even if Butler had told us what he and Victor had been up to, he didn’t know that Augus

tine was a killer. We’re just a couple of detectives, Abigail. And we didn’t kill anyone.”

She walked out to her car. Bob had parked right behind her. She got out her keys but didn’t step off the curb. “My father worked on the Deirdre McCarthy murder investigation.”

“Yes, he did. Abigail—” He broke off, seemed to try to find the right words. “Deirdre’s death is something I got used to not talking about.”

It was as close to an apology as she’d ever get from Bob O’Reilly. “You I can understand. You were just a kid yourself thirty years ago. But my father…”

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“He’s not that much older than me. It was a tough in

vestigation. I didn’t know him that well, but you were a toddler when Deirdre was killed, Abigail.” Bob took a pack of gum from his pants pocket, tapped out a piece and gave it to her, then tapped one out for himself. “Why would your father tell you about an unspeakable act of violence that happened when you were still in diapers?”

Abigail supposed he had a point, but she didn’t want to get into it. He’d had a hard enough day without taking on defend

ing her father. “Not me, Bob. I was out of diapers by then.”

“No kidding? I thought my girls would be going to kin

dergarten in diapers.” He headed for his car, but stopped after a few yards and called back to her. “You’ll be a good mother, Abigail.”

She pushed back a tug of emotion. “Yeah. I think so.”

Two minutes later, she was in her car, tossing Bob’s stick of gum into her little trash bag. She didn’t chew gum that wasn’t sugar free, and he didn’t chew gum that was. She stuck her key in the ignition, pushing back her fatigue. She was on her way to the triple-decker she shared with Bob and Scoop—and Owen, she thought. Her eyes teared up, and suddenly she couldn’t wait to be home.

Jamaica Plain, Massachusetts

9:00 p.m., EDT

June 24

Keira laid a handful of loose-leaf lettuce in Scoop’s dented colander. “I must really look like hell for you to let me in your garden.”

He was picking lettuce a few feet down the row from her. The garden was his turf. He’d all but posted No Tres

passing signs. He smiled at her. “Tough for you to look like hell, Keira.”

“It’s been a long day,” she said without further expla

nation.

“Yeah. But working in the garden helps, doesn’t it? Puts life into perspective. I’ll wash the lettuce, toss it with this nice balsamic vinaigrette I whipped up.” He rolled back onto his heels. “Feeling better already, aren’t you?”

“I am,” she said, standing up. “Thanks, Scoop. Thanks for everything.”

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“You’re welcome, but I didn’t do a damn thing except listen to Fiona O’Reilly play harp for a couple hours—”

“You got Madeleine and Jayne into protective custody, and you were the one who had to tell Bob about the pictures.”

“Yeah. There was that.”

The thought of the pictures—the thought of Jay Augus

tine stalking her cousins—made Keira sick to her stomach. She could only imagine how her uncle felt. But they were a ruse, a part of Augustine’s game. Fiona, Madeleine and Jayne were never his targets.

“I didn’t ask enough questions around here,” Scoop said. “Bob and Abigail needed an objective voice, and I wasn’t there. They weren’t letting anyone in, given their crappy moods, but I should have forced myself in.”

“We all did our best.” Keira brushed dirt off her hands as she got to her feet. “I guess that’s all we can ask of ourselves.”

Scoop rose next to her with his colander. “Let this guy Cahill in, Keira. The two of you. It’s new, but it’s for real. That’s not one of the things I missed the past week.”

His words took her by surprise. “Scoop—”

But he’d already bolted for the stairs up to his apartment. Keira stepped out of the garden, carefully avoiding tramping on any of his tender plants. Scoop wasn’t easy to figure out, but none of them was—him, her uncle, Abigail. And Simon, she thought. He’d stayed at her side after he’d tackled Jay Augustine. The police had arrived within minutes. Augustine had gone silent by then, but Keira knew his cold stare would stay in her mind forever. But he was in police custody now. He couldn’t hurt anyone else. Simon was in Abigail’s kitchen with her and Bob. Talking cop talk, probably. Keira wanted to stay close to her mother, who’d given in to her brother’s wishes not to go back to her cabin. She’d had her wounds stitched up at a local hospital.

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Augustine was, indeed, very good with knives. She was half asleep in an Adirondack chair now. It was her first visit to the triple-decker Bob had bought with his two colleagues.

“Doing okay, Mum?” Keira asked her.

She managed a small, reassuring smile. “Never better.”

Owen walked out into the tiny yard with two tall glasses of iced tea, handing one to Keira and the other to her mother. Keira relished the normalcy of drinking iced tea on a warm summer night. “You knew Simon was FBI?”

Owen nodded without hesitation. “I did.”

“For how long?”

“Eighteen months.”

“And you didn’t tell Abigail,” Keira said, making it a statement.

“It turned into a bigger deal than it should have. Simon and I didn’t really become friends until recently. The Armenian earthquake in particular—he’s tireless. He’s also one of the bravest men I’ve ever known.”

Keira smiled. “Scary almost, isn’t it?” But she couldn’t sustain any real humor and instead dropped into a chair at the table, drinking some of her tea. “In other words, you never expected for you and Simon and Abigail to become friends.”

“Fast Rescue has a lot of volunteers.”

“Do you know what he does with the FBI?”

Owen looked uncomfortable. “Keira…”

“I’m guessing he’s used his disaster-preparedness con

sulting as cover. I imagine he’s had to tell the BPD and state detectives who he is by now, if not the details. Is that going to cause him problems?”

“Nothing he can’t handle, or so he tells me.” Owen pulled out a chair next to her and sat down. He could be exacting and intense, but he was also one of the kindest 328

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men Keira had ever met. “Simon’s status was a confidence, not a secret.”

“A distinction without a difference if you’re the one in the dark. I’m not talking about myself. I’m just getting to know Simon.” Never mind last night, she thought with a welcome surge of heat. “Abigail, though. Yikes. She must not be real pleased.”

Owen shrugged, obviously not worried. “That’s one way to put it. I’ve known Simon long enough to say this, Keira. He’s the same man whether or not he’s wearing his badge.”

She knew what he was saying—that there’d been no pre

tending this week. The man she’d met—the man she’d made love to, had fallen for so hard and fast—wasn’t part of an act. But she’d known that. “Badge, hell, Owen. I’m just glad he showed up when he did this afternoon. Otherwise I’d have had to do serious bodily harm to that cretin.”

“I heard about your ax,” Owen said with a smile.

“Splitter. Now
that’s
a distinction with a difference. An ax has a proper blade. If I’d had to tackle Augustine myself—” She stopped herself, not wanting to dive too deep into the bottomless ocean of might-have-beens. “It doesn’t matter. I’m just relieved I didn’t have to do more than I did.”

“Which was enough.”

“That whole deadly force thing is what bit me at the police academy. There’s usually one thing in particular that gets people who don’t make it through training, and that was mine.”

“You dropped out. You didn’t flunk out—”

“Another distinction without a difference.”

“Maybe so. I’m not in law enforcement, but I know that the purpose of deadly force is to stop, not to kill.”

She leveled her eyes on him. “There you go.”

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Simon had been gentle with her mother and profes

sional with the police, but Keira knew he’d have used deadly force on Jay Augustine if he’d had to. He didn’t just have handcuffs on him—he had a 9 mm Sig Sauer. Of course, he’d made wisecracks once the immediate danger had passed. He had an uncanny ability to sense when people were at their breaking point and knew how to ease their tension, to make them smile in spite of themselves, to remind them that life was too damn short to be serious all the time, even over serious matters. And yet all the while, Keira knew he had other things on his mind—the life and work he’d dropped to check on her in Ireland.

The long June day was slowly giving way to darkness when Fiona arrived with her two younger sisters, and Bob emerged from Abigail’s apartment, his emotion palpable as he took all three daughters into his arms. “Kiss your aunt,”

he said, nodding to his bandaged sister. “She’s lucky to be alive with this crazy bastard come to cut her into ribbons.”

Keira watched her cousins surround her mother, crying, hugging. Her mother’s reserve, the inevitable result of living alone for so many months, lifted, and she let Jayne, the youngest, sit on the arm of her chair. Without any warning, Bob broke into an Irish song as he lit the grill.

He had an amazing voice. Keira and her young cousins gaped at him, and he grinned. “What, haven’t you ever heard me sing?”

“Not like
that,
Dad,” Fiona said, obviously impressed. Simon walked out into the yard, and Keira’s heart jumped at the sight of him with his black curls, his green eyes, his confident manner. He winked at her, then joined in the singing, his voice just as amazing as her uncle’s. The 330

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two of them adopted Irish accents, and Fiona got up, insert

ing herself between the two men and hooking one arm with each, the three of them step dancing merrily as they sang. The tears came next as they belted out a sad song. Fiona, her sisters, Bob and his sister all cried openly. Keira couldn’t stop herself from sobbing, but she noticed that Simon remained dry-eyed, just kept singing with that beau

tiful voice. When they switched to a jauntier tune, he scooped her up and spun her across the clipped grass. She didn’t know any of the moves, but he showed her, holding her close, his eyes sparking with humor, and, she thought, desire as he sang and danced with her.

He tightened his arms around her. “Just don’t you and your mother start singing,” he said, and with one smooth move, swept Keira up and off her feet.

She shrieked in surprise and started to laugh, and she couldn’t imagine anywhere else she’d rather be. The dissecting of events began over dinner, just as Keira had known it would.

Colm Dermott joined the crowd as Abigail, tense and quiet, set the table, refusing help from anyone. He placed a computer disk in the middle. “The police have the original, but I’d copied it onto my computer and burned it onto a disk. I’m quite handy, I’ll have you know.” But he sighed, his humor not taking hold as he tapped the disk case with one finger. “Patsy doesn’t say a word about this bloody bastard. It’s just her telling her tale. What a tale it is, too! She was a fine storyteller, Keira.”

“Here’s my theory,” Bob said, breaking the uncom

fortable silence that had descended over the table. He glanced at his daughters, and Keira half-expected him to send them upstairs. But he didn’t, and continued. “We’re