Flawless (20 page)

Poor Nurse Emily was having a fit. Only two people could be in the room, and that was that. And so they rotated, two of them in with Bobby, the others drinking coffee and pacing the waiting room.

Hours went by.

A doctor came in at last and spoke with them. Bobby had a skull fracture; the big fear was water on the brain. He and the rest of the team wanted to wait before taking further steps. They would only operate if it was Bobby's only chance, because the operation came with serious risks.

“What can we do?” Kieran asked.

“If you're the praying sort, then pray,” the doctor told them.

“We're Irish. We're good at that,” Danny said. He looked over at Kieran, his expression anguished. “We're great at praying—and guilt,” he said softly.

She felt her stomach flip.

Did Danny know something about what had happened to Bobby? Or, worse, about the robberies—and the murders?

CHAPTER
ELEVEN

RICHARD EAGAN CALLED
an emergency interdepartmental task force meeting that morning, laying out flatly what they knew, what might be circumstantial, what they surmised—and what every law enforcement agency in the city needed to be looking out for.

The FBI, the US Marshals Service, city and state police, and Homeland Security were all involved.

Craig wasn't sure if he was glad to be appointed—with Mike—as colead on the investigation, seeing as they didn't seem to be getting anywhere.

Except Finnegan's, he thought unhappily.

And, of course, he was left to field questions such as, “What are we supposed to do? Stop and question anyone who's wearing a hoodie?”

After the Q and A, he wrapped up with an overview of what he
did
want everyone to do.

“Watch for individuals in hoodies behaving in a suspicious manner. I want the surveillance footage from all the robberies shown at every agency, so every man and woman out there is aware of who and what to look for. We're also posting twenty-four-hour surveillance in the Diamond District and at a rotating selection of jewelry stores across the city that carry high-end diamonds. We're working on a theory that the killers stalked the foursome that we apprehended last Monday in order to learn and copycat their MO. We have a partially complete list of places where the original thieves met and did some of their strategizing, places where the copycats might have eavesdropped on them. We'll have people at these locations, too, questioning staff to see if anyone noticed something that might help us, then cross-referencing that information looking for repeat customers, so to speak. We've already collected a massive amount of information, and you'll all have access to those files.”

Mike said a few words next, and then Eagan spoke again when he was done. Everyone filed out a few minutes later, leaving the three FBI agents alone in the room.

Craig didn't wait to consult with the others; he pulled out his phone and dialed Kieran's number.

She didn't answer.

He dialed the hospital and found that there had been no change in Bobby O'Leary's condition.

He realized, as he hung up, that his director and partner were staring at him. “Checking on O'Leary,” he said.

“Could have nothing to do with any of this,” Eagan said.

“But it does. Somehow, I know it does,” Craig said.

“Can we really afford to work off our guts on this one?” Eagan asked.

“Can we afford not to?” Craig asked in response, feeling a little desperate because he hadn't reached Kieran.

“All right, I guess I need to trust you on this. You're a good agent, Craig. You and Mike are a crack team, which is why I put you on lead. Follow the evidence
and
your gut wherever they take you. Just solve this thing,” Eagan said.

He left the conference room. Mike and Craig were left alone.

“You really think the killers hang out at Finnegan's?” Mike asked.

“I think something is going on there.”

“Think the Finnegans are involved?”

“No!” Craig protested, knowing even as he spoke that he sounded defensive.

They couldn't be.

Or rather, being honest with himself, he didn't want them to be.

Craig sat up suddenly. “I just thought of something.”

Mike groaned. “Oh, God, what does that mean?”

“We worked a lot of different units, both of us, before landing here.”

“So?”

“Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“My place.”

“For?”

“A change of clothes.”

Mike arched a brow.

“And faces. A change of clothes—and faces.”

* * *

The Finnegan family was good at allotting tasks to make sure everything was covered, especially in times of crisis, Kieran thought.

Declan, in his role as eldest, created a schedule.

Danny had to work that day, but when he was done being a tour guide he would head back to the hospital.

Finnegan's opened at 11:00 a.m., but Rory, Pedro and Javier would have the kitchen going early, Debbie Buenger would open the bar and Mary Kathleen would join her to make sure opening would be covered. Declan himself would be there by eleven thirty.

Kieran would leave the hospital in time to make it to the pub by around twelve thirty, when the lunch crowd got going, and Kevin would stay at the hospital until Danny arrived. Once Kevin got to the pub, Kieran would return to the hospital and stay as long as they let her. Moving forward, Danny would be a floater and either stay at the hospital or come to the pub, depending on which seemed more important on the day.

At one point, as Kieran sat next to Bobby, nearly drowsing, she felt him squeeze her hand again.

Her eyes flew open, and she saw that Bobby was looking at her. He managed a weak smile and his lips were moving.

“Thank you,” he said, and he closed his eyes again.

She looked across the bed at Kevin, who was staring at her.

“Did I just hear that?” he asked.

“Yes!” she said excitedly. “He spoke.”

Kieran rose, easing her hand from Bobby's, and headed into the hall, looking for a doctor. She found Nurse Emily, who told her that even momentary consciousness was a very good sign, but they had to be patient. With luck he would wake up again soon.

As the lunch hour drew near, Kieran rose to leave. Due to her recent experience in the subway, she opted to take a cab and made it to the pub without incident.

Saturday crowds could be a strange mix.

The pub was closer to downtown than not, so the business crowd that flooded the pub on weekdays wasn't around.

Saturday nights tended to be very busy, with tourists and random locals on top of their regular patrons.

The regulars all knew Bobby O'Leary and would understand that the Finnegan siblings had taken on the duty of watching over him.

When Kieran came in, she saw that Declan or someone had asked Julie to help out; she was wearing an apron and carrying a tray filled with frosty ales.

Julie saw Kieran walk in and paused with her heavy tray. “How's Bobby? Any change?” Her tone was worried.

“I think he's a little better. He opened his eyes for a minute and spoke,” Kieran said.

One of the regulars overheard her, and in seconds her words were echoing through the entire place.

“Bobby is a fighter, that he is!” someone called out. “Three cheers for Bobby.”

Cheers and applause filled the air.

“This really is an amazing place,” Julie said, smiling. “In a city made up of neighborhoods, Finnegan's just might make this area the best.”

“I'm not about to disagree, Now, where am I needed?” Kieran asked, smiling.

“You're always a godsend behind the bar, you know that. But,” she said, lowering her voice, “if you and your brother don't mind, I'd love some help here in the bar. Mr. Krakowsky is here.”

“Krakowsky?” Kieran said blankly.

“Gary's boss, Simon Krakowsky.” She nodded in his direction. “I don't think Gary would have arranged to meet him here after the last time he came in, but I'm still worried he'll show up. And Mr. Krakowsky loves you. You saved his store, after all, running after those guys and jumping into that van.”

“I didn't run after anyone, much less jump into that van. I was dragged at what I thought was gunpoint,” Kieran protested.

“Whatever, he adores you. He's told the world about you saying ‘Any decent person would lend a hand.' But he's still Gary's boss, you know? Please, I don't mind helping at all, just please don't make me wait on him.”

“Where are Mary Kathleen and Debbie?”

“Running their butts off over there,” Julie told her, nodding toward the dining room.

The bar area held five tables, while the dining room held twenty, along with the stage.

“Gotcha, not a problem,” Kieran said. “Just let me set my things down.”

Declan was behind the bar, moving at the speed of light. Kieran set her jacket and bag beneath the bar, explained Julie's request to her brother and headed to Simon Krakowsky's table, passing several tables on the way.

Austin and Libby Anderson were at the first—regulars. She flashed them a quick smile. She didn't recognize the two men at the second table, both long-haired and bearded, one in classic John Lennon wire-rims, and both wearing T-shirts advertising a band called Resurgence. A guitar was propped up next to the one with the longer beard. She'd never heard of the group, but New York was overrun with up-and-coming bands—and, of course, plenty that would never make it at all.

She reached Simon Krakowsky's table. He was eating alone, but she could easily understand Julie's fear that he might be joined by one of his employees, specifically Gary.

“Mr. Krakowsky,” she said, smiling as she stood beside him. “How are you?”

“I'm just fine, Miss Finnegan,” he said, nodding gravely. “Largely thanks to you, of course.”

“I'm happy that you feel that way, but, really, I was a hostage and simply went into self-preservation mode.”

“Maybe, but your quick thinking might have saved our lives.”

“We were being held up by men with water pistols,” she reminded him.

“I heard that on the news, but you didn't know that as it was happening.”

“Self-preservation,” she repeated. “But thank you. Are you dining alone today?”

He nodded. “Felt the need to be surrounded by good people,” he said. “Even if I'm on my own. I heard about your friend being mugged. I'm so sorry. I don't know what this world is coming to.”

“There's still a lot of good in the world, Mr. Krakowsky. And Bobby's hanging on. I believe he's going to make it.”

“I'll pray for him,” Mr. Krakowsky said. Then he shook his head. “Seems like just yesterday that I was in here with friends and the world felt safe.”

“The world has never really been safe,” she said.

“
My
world was safe. Humdrum, day in, day out.” He was quiet for a moment, then pointed to the bar. “I was in here with my friend Harry Belvedere. Do you know Harry?”

“I might. I'm not sure.”

“He owns Vintage by Victoria. He named the place after his late wife.”

Kieran paused, frowning. “That's the jewelry store that was just held up. And it's where...”

“Yes. Where that poor young girl was killed.”

“You two were in here together?” she asked him.

“That's what I just said. I had a shipment of stones coming in from Africa—clean stones, by the way. I always check. I'm not a broker for any bastards making their money off blood diamonds.”

“I believe that you run a very ethical business,” Kieran assured him. “But you were
here
,
talking about diamonds?”

“Harry needed some stones to restore a piece of estate jewelry. He specializes in antique jewelry. He's devastated. That poor, poor girl.”

“Yes,” Kieran said. She felt frozen in place.

She'd known the thieves had been in Finnegan's. Now it seemed that the killers might have been here, as well.

Listening. Stalking her family's clientele.
Picking their next target.

She was heartsick—and furious. How dare they sully Finnegan's, where everyone was welcome, where hospitality meant everything.

“I know. It's horrible,” she said.

Mr. Krakowsky nodded gravely, and then smiled, nodding to someone across the room. Kieran turned to follow his gaze. He was looking at Julie.

“I probably shouldn't be saying this, but... Gary is a good employee, but I have to question his intelligence. Julie is one of the loveliest women I've ever met. Divorce is hard, but marriages do fall apart. Still, there are ways to conduct yourself and ways not to. The man is an idiot, leaving her for some of the women I've seen him with recently.” He met her eyes. “I hear you asked him to leave the pub the other night.”

“I did,” she said firmly.

“I told him the same thing, said he needs to have the good sense to stay out of this place. He's tight with Jimmy, though, and I guess this has been McManus's watering hole since your dad was running it.”

She'd been there too long, and she was starting to feel her anger at Gary growing all over again. She had to shake off the way she was feeling and do her job.

“Look at me,” she said with forced brightness. “Standing and chatting in the middle of the lunch rush. I'd better get to work or I'll hear about it from my brother later. What can I get you today?”

“I'm sorry. Selfish of me to monopolize you. A stout, please—surprise me with which. And that chicken pot pie thing your chef does so well.”

“Coming right up,” Kieran promised him. She poured and delivered his stout, then headed back behind the bar to help, since it would be some time before his food was up.

She found herself pausing to look at the two musicians. They were scribbling on music paper, apparently working on a song. Their half-full beer glasses and empty plates sat in front of them.

She walked over to pick up the plates. “Can I get you anything else?” she asked.

They both looked up at her.

“No, thank you,” said the full-bearded one, who she noticed had dark eyes versus his friend's green ones.

She nodded and stepped away. Something about them seemed odd. And vaguely familiar.

Surely she would have noticed them if they'd been in before.

Maybe she was going overboard looking for anything suspicious.

Besides, bearded men always looked suspicious. Or creepy.

At least they weren't wearing hoodies.

She put the empty plates in the bin under the bar and went back to work.

Every time someone came in and wanted to talk about Bobby, it seemed the rest of the place wanted to drink a toast to his recovery.