Thank God neither she nor anyone else had been killed.
“Miss Finnegan?” he said.
“Yes,” she said. She hoped he couldn’t hear the note of guilt in that single syllable. And why should she feel guilty, anyway? She hadn’t stolen the diamond. She’d been trying to do the right thing—and she’d been kidnapped for her efforts.
“I’m special agent Craig Frasier,” he said, and then he smiled, which changed his countenance entirely. He had high, strong cheekbones and a jaw that appeared to be made of stone. He was tall and dark haired with light eyes that drew her attention and seemed to home in on her like—like truth-seeking beacons.
“I know you’ve told your story several times, but would you tell it again to me?” he asked her.
“There’s not much to tell,” she said. “And you were there at the end, so...”
“But I wasn’t there at the beginning. You went to the store why? Were you looking for a premade piece or a unique stone you could have set?” he asked.
She looked at him, wondering why guilt had immediately set in. “I went to see some loose stones. A friend of mine was married—still is, technically speaking—to one of the salesmen there. She’s interested in buying one of the stones he handles, but she didn’t want to see him, so she asked me to go and look at them. It turned out he wasn’t working, but anyone can show another salesman’s stones. But before I could see them, the thieves came in.”
“And had you ever seen any of them before?”
She shook her head. “I still haven’t actually seen them. The ski masks, you know. But none of them sounded familiar. I’ve definitely never seen the driver before.”
“Yeah, this is New York, after all,” he murmured.
She couldn’t help but smile drily. “You mean we all live by the ‘don’t make eye contact’ rule?”
“I’d like you to come in tomorrow and take a look at some pictures of the men,” he said.
“Why? You can’t need a lineup. You caught them all red-handed.” The thief who escaped from the van had later been apprehended by one of the officers.
“I’d still like to know if they look familiar to you in any way.”
“I’ll come, but...”
“I’ll send a car for you,” he said. “Around ten?”
At ten she would be working her job at the Midtown offices of Doctors Fuller and Miro.
And she knew for a fact that her employers—whose main work came from police consultations—would have no problem with her helping the police.
She started to look around for her purse, which one of the officers had brought to her. She dug into it and produced a card. She remembered how pleased she had been to have a card with the prestigious names of her employers on it—along with her own.
“You’re a psychiatrist?” he asked.
“Psychologist,” she said. “May I go now? I have to get back to work.”
“You see clients at night?” he asked skeptically.
She shook her head, annoyed to find herself flushing slightly. “I’m a bartender, too. Family. I bartend for the family. I mean, the family doesn’t have a private bartender. We own a pub. Finnegan’s on Broadway. I’m still helping out there.”
She was annoyed with herself for babbling. She didn’t know why he made her feel so off-kilter.
Guilt!
But she hadn’t done anything. She’d returned the “borrowed” diamond, for heaven’s sake.
But there was something about the way he looked at her... It was his eyes, she thought, so light against the bronze of his face. She realized that he was tall and solidly built and really good-looking.
She flushed and looked away. Sex appeal wasn’t something she should be thinking about right now.
Especially when people had been killed in a situation like the one she had survived.
“You should let them take you to the hospital,” he said, “and make sure you’re all right. We were flying around pretty good back there.” He smiled again, and she was shocked by what it did to his face. His pin-striped suit was rumpled and his tie was askew, so he wasn’t looking quite as ruggedly GQ as he might have, but his smile made him seem far too...attractive.
“I’m fine. Really. I have three brothers. I’ve been through much worse,” she told him. “Really, I just want to get to the pub.”
“I’ll get an officer to drive you,” he said.
“It’s all right. I can hop on the subway.”
“Not if you want to avoid the press—which I very much hope you’ll want to do,” he told her.
“I do want to avoid them, but why do you want me to?”
“Police should handle the press spin, that’s why,” he said. “Stay right there. I’ll get an officer to drive you.” He pocketed the card she’d given him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She nodded as he turned and left, then watched as he went over to join two other men in suits who were deep in an animated discussion about something no doubt related to the events of the afternoon. His answer had been logical, but she felt as if he’d hesitated just a shade before answering her. Why?
Suddenly her view was blocked as a uniformed NYPD officer moved to stand in front of her.
“Miss Finnegan? I’m here to drive you home.”
She wasn’t heading home, of course, but to the pub. She gave him the address and told him where it was. He smiled. “I love that place,” he said with a broad smile. As they drove, he told her that Finnegan’s was a favorite watering hole for him and a number of his friends—when they were off duty, of course.
He stopped in front of the bar, and she thanked him as she got out. There was an employee entrance that led to the offices, but she knew it would be locked by now, so she walked in the front.
To her shock—and a bit of dismay—the pub was doing a booming business. Mary Kathleen had even come back in for the evening shift. On a Monday, it shouldn’t have been so crazy, but it was.
And the first person to spot her was Declan.
Her older brother was handsome and charming and—in her opinion—the best host and barkeep in the world. He looked as if he’d stepped out of a movie as he worked the bar in his white shirt with rolled up sleeves and green brocade vest. But when he saw her, he folded his arms over his chest, a frown settling onto his face.
Danny bounced out to greet her, his eyes wide with warning. But it was too late. Declan was already coming around the bar to confront her. “Are you crazy?” he asked. His tone was furious. “And look at you! You look like you were competing in the mud-wrestling championships!”
She took a deep breath and was trying to figure out just how she was going to explain herself when he threw his arms wide and pulled her into a tight hug. “Thank God you’re all right!”
Crushed against his chest, she felt her mind race.
What did he know? What did he think?
“She’s here!” Bobby O’Leary cried. “The woman of the hour!”
“All hail our kick-ass hero!” Jimmy McManus, sitting down the bar from Bobby, lifted his beer glass.
The darker of the two men she’d seen with McManus was there with him. Thankfully, there was no sign of Gary Benton.