A Dangerous Game

Kieran looked up while Craig spoke with a young policewoman for a moment. Her brother had once warned her that she looked up too often—that she looked like a tourist. But she loved the rooftops, the skyline. Old skyscrapers with ornate moldings at the roof sat alongside new giants that towered above them in glass, chrome and steel. And then again, right in the midst of the twentieth-and twenty-first-century buildings, there would be a charming throwback to the 1800s.

From a nearby Chinese restaurant, a tempting aroma laced the air.

Even over murder.

The cops generally knew Craig; he was polite to all of them. They nodded an acknowledgment to Kieran. She’d worked with the police often enough herself.

“Is Detective McBride going to be on the case?” Kieran asked hopefully. They’d worked with Larry McBride before, not even a year ago, and he had been an amazing ally.

Drs. Fuller and Miro worked with city detectives regularly, and nine times out of ten, they were great. Every once in a while, as in any job, there was a total jerk in the mix. Mainly they were professionals, and good at their work, and Kieran knew it. Some were more personable than others. Homicide detectives could be very cut-and-dried. McBride had told her once that Homicide, while horrible, was also easier than dealing with other crimes. The victims couldn’t complain about the way he was working. Of course, the victims had relatives. That was hard.

She had come to really like McBride.

In this case, a baby was involved. A woman had died trying to save that baby, Kieran was certain. So she felt they needed the best.

Craig looked at her quizzically. “You know that there are thousands of detectives in the city, a decent percentage of that in Homicide—and even a decent percentage in Major Case.”

“Actually, when you break it all down...”

“I don’t know who will be working the case—probably more than one detective. For right now, it is Lance Kendall. And he’s all right, Kieran. He’s good. He was doing all the right things,” he added quietly. He looked as if he was going to say something more. He didn’t.

He took her hand in his. She held on, letting the warmth of his touch comfort her as they walked down the street.

“Hey, remember, I’m an agent, and you work with psychiatrists who spend most of their time on criminal files. It’s the life we’ve chosen, and we’ve talked about it. This will be just another case—whatever level of involvement we have with it. You can’t let it take over, or neither one of us will be sane.”

She nodded. He was right. There were other cases where they found themselves on the fringe, and, frankly, every day of Craig’s life had to do with criminal activity in the city of New York. They’d already worked on cases of cruel and brutal murders. This was another. And there was always something that seemed to make it better—at least for the survivors—when a killer was brought to justice.

She couldn’t obsess. She knew it.

But this one felt personal!

“Yep.” She spoke blithely and smiled.

“You’re cool?” She could tell he didn’t believe her; it seemed he didn’t know whether to push it or not.

But he was right about one thing. There was nothing for them to do right now except try to get their minds around what had happened—and let it go enough to get on with life.

Even figure out how to step back in order to step forward again.

“Yep. I’m fine. Let’s get food,” Kieran said.

“Sounds good. Thankfully, we always know where to go!”

CHAPTER TWO (#u4d333f40-3d95-52fe-95c4-3a3e89b9b138)

Finnegan’s on Broadway had been a tavern, inn or den of Irish hospitality since before the Civil War. It was just after the war that the Finnegan family had taken over. Some of the family members were Americans; some were cousins who arrived from Ireland at various times in the pub’s history. Whoever wound up in charge knew that they were always purveyors of camaraderie. It was a true center of community, where you brought friends, and if you had none, you found some. To many in the neighborhood it had become a personal place, and they felt as comfortable and welcome there as in their own living room. The taps were extensive and kept spotlessly clean; the kitchen created a flow of Irish, American, and Irish American food that could be rivaled by few pubs—even in a city like New York.

While all of the four Finnegan siblings—Declan, Kieran, Kevin and Daniel—had inherited the pub, it was run by Declan. Kieran had her work, and Kevin was an actor. Danny—after a few false starts due to the death of their mother—had become an exceptional tour guide. Then again, though they all loved their dad, each sibling had acted out in a way when they had lost their mom. Not one member of the family had the least problem waiting tables or tending bar when help was needed, and Kieran still did a lot of the bookkeeping while her brothers kept up with stock and repairs.

Craig and Kieran were greeted by serving staff as soon as they walked in. At the bar—which had a clear view of the front door—Declan saw them enter, and he nodded and raised a hand and looked curiously at Craig.

Kieran had called Declan a few hours ago, to fill him in, but they hadn’t really believed at the time they would miss the entire evening. But they had, of course. The band was no longer playing.

It was quiet; the last of the crowd seemed to be paying their tabs, ready to head out.

“Kieran, dear, are you all right?”

Mary Kathleen—Declan’s fiancée, who was from Dublin but had been in the States for a few years—rushed up to Kieran.

“Yes, I’m fine, thank you,” Kieran said.

“I’m going to say hi to Declan,” Craig murmured, sliding past the two women. He reached the bar and leaned against it. Declan wiped his hands on a bar rag, shaking his head as he looked at Craig.

“You’re a wee bit late. You missed the Danny Boys,” Declan said. “They were great.”

“Yeah, we missed them. Thanks.”

“Ouch. Sorry,” Declan said. “That was really rude of me.” His jaw was set at an awkward angle. “Kieran is all right? I’m glad she called—knowing we’d freak out if we saw something that close to her place of business and we didn’t hear from her. It’s been on the news, you know. This time, the media hasn’t been using her name—they don’t have it, apparently.”

“Yes. The police kept pretty good control of the crime scene in the street and got Kieran out of the limelight before the reporters honed in. They know a woman was murdered. They know she gave a child to someone else, and Child Services will be caring for the baby, who will also be under police protection,” Craig said. “I guess they want a warning out there that no one should come for the child—unless, of course, they’re the rightful parents or guardians. Hopefully, they’d be searching for their baby through the police.”

“And here I thought you had the night off. Like it was one of those kinds of normal days for you when you were only going to work ten or twelve hours.”

“This one had nothing to do with me.”

“Hmm. If they don’t have some sick scum of the earth for you to be finding, Kieran will come up with something.” He was silent for a minute. “Actually, come to think about it, with what you’ve got on your hands already, you probably shouldn’t have gotten involved with a crazy Irish lass like my sister.”

“Yeah. Probably not,” Craig agreed.

“A bit too late.”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“So someone shoved a baby into her arms, and then ran out and got stabbed. That the gist of it?”

“That’s the gist of it.”

“And it’s your case?”

“Not at the moment.”

“I know you,” Declan said, “and so I also know that I don’t really need to be saying this, but...watch out for my sister, huh? Even if she’s quiet and acts tough, you know she’s got to be really shaken tonight.”

“I do. And,” he added softly, “you know I love your sister.”

“I do,” Declan said with a slight smile. “I’ll go back and see the cook.”

“Sounds great.”