Tasting Fear (8 page)

Although the earth had definitely shaken during that kiss in the rain. Nor would she characterize that kiss as frivolous, or lighthearted.

Oh, no. Calling that earthshaking was putting it mildly.

She wouldn’t show. He was sure of it, but like an idiot, he kept checking his watch every half minute or so since he’d walked into Malloy’s and took his fiddle, flutes, and whistles out of their various bags and cases. He took a swallow of Guinness and wondered why he tortured himself. After all, the woman’s cell phone alone would drive him insane.

He could hardly believe his idiocy. Offering himself as an unpaid bodyguard? Getting all up on his high horse when she called him on his bullshit. Oh, sure, he’d keep her safe. Nobody would mess with her while she was snug and warm in his bed, pinned to the mattress beneath his heaving body. No problem. He’d keep her plenty safe.

But his eyes kept drifting to the entry door. He wanted to see her again. Hear her voice. He liked the way her mind worked, the way her brow furrowed when she was thinking. Those big leaves-under-the-water eyes. The way she wrinkled her nose when she was disgusted, which appeared to be fairly often. And when he kissed her, God. The rain that fell on him yesterday should have evaporated into pure steam.

“Yo! Earth to Liam! Come in, Liam!” Mickey the guitar player brayed into his ear. “Do that set of reels you did last week that ends with ‘The Tinker’s Bride,’ okay? I want to try out a new accompaniment.”

“Sure.” He took another swig of his pint. His watch said 11:07. He had to just get the hell over it and concentrate on the music. He tuned up his fiddle.

They’d just launched into “The Tinker’s Bride” when she walked in. He felt her even before she pushed through the crowd. A smile spread across his face. By the time she made it back to the table, it had become a grin. He started speeding up. The other musicians gave him panicked looks, dropping out one by one until only Eoin played with him. They finished with a flourish, to appreciative hoots and hollers.

She looked soft tonight. Amazingly, her hair was shiny and loose, surprisingly wavy, hanging long down her back. She was wearing jeans and a snug, low-cut red T-shirt that made her skin look pearly and glowing and showed off the perfect shape of those pert, suck-able tits.

Her eyes were cautious behind her glasses. Liam put down his fiddle and made his way over to her as the group tore into “The Redhaired Boy.” Her eyes widened as he leaned over and kissed her. As if he had the right. She smelled incredible. Her lips were so soft.

She swayed back. “Whoa,” she said with a nervous laugh. “You don’t waste any time, do you?”

“Fuck no.” He slid his arms around her, kissing her again.

It started happening again, like yesterday. The world fell away, narrowing down to just Nancy and his own pounding heartbeat. He could barely hear the music. He forced himself to pull away, glanced over his shoulder, to a circle of grins, smirks, and nudges. Eoin lifted his pint, his face discreetly curious.

Nancy’s face was pink. “Did I mess up?” he asked her.

“I’m not used to a guys just grabbing me,” she said.

“Oh. Uh, sorry.” He ached to grab her again. “Did your other boyfriends ask nicely before they kissed you?”

“I don’t think so,” she said doubtfully. “I don’t remember. To be truthful, I don’t think it was ever much of an issue.”

He looked baffled. “Dickless wimps. What was their problem?”

He was rewarded by an startled crack of laughter from her, and he grinned, delighted with himself. “Can I get you a drink?”

“You said the Guinness was good?”

“Best this side of the Atlantic.” He elbowed his way to the bar and got her a pint. She sipped, and sighed with an expert’s appreciation.

“I thought you wouldn’t show,” he admitted.

She licked foam off her lip. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”

“Me neither, but I don’t care,” he said recklessly. He dragged another chair to the musicians’ table and sat her down next to him, taking her hand. He wound his fingers through hers to warm them. In the confusion that followed the end of the set, she leaned over to him. “I want to hear you play!” she shouted.

Her breath against his neck made his head swim. He picked up his fiddle, Mickey called another set, and they were off. It was a good group. Guitar, fiddles, bodhran, accordion, and Eoin, locked in a trance of perfect happiness, his fingers flashing as he played his Uilleann pipes.

Nancy clapped vigorously as they finished the set, and leaned over. “You guys are great!” she said, her eyes alight with pleasure. “You kick ass with that fiddle, Liam! Where did you learn to play?”

“My stepdad played the fiddle,” he replied. “He got me into it when I was a kid. And I picked up the flutes and whistles a few years back, just for fun. I’d rather mess around with them than watch TV.”

“You’re hot,” she said. “Did you ever consider going pro?”

He used the excuse of having to talk over the noise into her ear to kiss the soft skin behind it, and smell the scent of her shampoo. “For about ten minutes,” he admitted. “Figured that would take all the fun out of it.”

“Hmm. I guess that’s one way of looking at it. Who’s the piper?”

“Oh, Eoin? He’s my cousin. Second cousin, actually. Fresh from County Wicklow. He works for me. Lives in my basement. Good kid.”

“He’s fabulous,” she said.

“Yeah, isn’t he just?”

That was all there was time to say before they plunged into another set of the reels. After the set she leaned over to him. “Would he be interested in touring with a hot band that gigs a lot?”

He blinked. “Who, Eoin?”

“I don’t want to put you in a bind. But he rocks.” Her eyes glowed.

The world was warm and generous tonight, and so was he. “Ask him. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled. He lives to play those pipes.”

They played a set of slip jigs as she talked into her phone, a big happy smile on her face, like a kid with a new toy. She sat down, looking satisfied. “This is the answer to my prayers. Matt and Eugene are on their way over, but I’m sure it’s a done deal, if he’s interested.”

“You work fast,” Liam said wryly.

She looked troubled. “You sure you don’t mind me stealing him?”

He shrugged. “I’ve just found him a fill-in job. Nothing big.”

Her face relaxed. “I love it when things work out perfectly.”

“Me, too,” he agreed, leaning over to breathe in her subtle fragrance, let her glossy, perfumed hair brush against his face.

A stocky redheaded guy with a guitar and a skinny guy carrying a fiddle pushed their way through the crowd about a half hour later. Their eyes fastened on Eoin, lost in the rapture of a set of fast jigs, his eyes closed, bellows pumping. They nodded to Nancy. The redheaded guy’s eyes lingered curiously on Liam, who was still smelling her hair.

“That’s Matt with the guitar, and Eugene with the fiddle,” she said in his ear. “I’ll introduce you after the set.”

Matt and Eugene pulled out their instruments and dove into the seisìun. Nancy patted Liam’s hand and extracted her own. “I have to go talk to Eoin,” she said, with a smile. “Be right back.”

He watched, fascinated, as she made her way through the crowd. She waited until the end of the set, tapped Eoin on the shoulder, and started talking in his ear. Eoin shot him a bewildered look. Liam gave him a thumbs-up. Nancy spoke again, and Eoin’s freckles disappeared in a deep blush. She made her way back to Liam and sat down.

“I’ll let the boys take it from here! He’s shy! Needs some convincing!” she yelled, as the players tore lustily into “The Abbey Reel.”

Some time later, Liam noticed a man across the bar lifting a pint in salute. It was Charlie Witt, a cop from Latham who’d been partnered with Eddie, Liam’s stepdad, back when Eddie had been on the force. Charlie was a good guy. Past retirement age, but he kept on working.

An impulse struck Liam, and he leaned over to Nancy’s ear, nuzzling his nose into her soft hair, sucking in a greedy chestful of that sweet warm scent that made him want to lick her all over. “There’s a guy I want to talk to over there,” he said. “Will you come with me?”

Nancy gave him a puzzled nod. They slid out of their chairs, and he clasped her hand and led her through the crowd just as the lads all followed Eoin’s lead and struck into a raucous reel.

Nancy’s fingers curled around his. Her hand was so small. He wanted to kiss it. Drag her out of there. Find someplace private.

He shook Charlie’s hand, introduced Nancy, and got a congratulatory thump on the shoulder from the old man as Charlie looked her over. “You got yourself a dish,” the older guy said. “Treat her good, huh? Or else I’ll steal her for myself.”

The next reel had a couple of bodhrans thundering along, so Liam had to speak right into Charlie’s ear. “I need some advice.”

“Anything for Eddie’s kid,” Charlie shot back.

“Remember that elderly Italian American lady in Hempton who died in a burglary attempt about ten days ago? D’Onofrio?”

Charlie’s smile faded. “Yeah, heard about that. Fuckin’ shame. They say the house got tossed again, even worse this time.”

“I was the one who reported it yesterday,” Liam told him. “And Nancy is Mrs. D’Onofrio’s daughter.”

Charlie looked at Nancy again, his round face grave. He jerked his chin toward the back of the bar. “Let’s go where there’s less noise.”

They followed Charlie into a quieter room, with a pool table and a pay phone. Charlie slid into a booth and took a swig of the pint that he’d brought with him. “I don’t know a lot about that case,” he warned them. “It ain’t my case, or even my town. I just heard about it because my partner, Henry, is hangin’ out with one of the evidence techs.”

“I just wanted your take on it,” Liam said.

He outlined the facts for Charlie, with a few interjections from Nancy, clarifying and explaining. Charlie read Lucia’s letter, peering through his bifocals for several minutes, and scowled, chewing his lip.

He looked at Nancy. “Your investigating officer knows about this letter, miss? You told him about the connection with the Baruchins?”

“It’s a her, Detective Lanaghan, and I told her about both things yesterday,” Nancy said. “And the letter was bagged by the forensics team. They might have even found more of it by now. God, I hope so. It’s our only hope of knowing more.”

Charlie shook his head. “Bad couple of weeks for senior citizens around here. The D’Onofrio lady, the clotheshorse. Now the Baruchins.”

“The clotheshorse? Who’s he?” Liam asked.

Charlie scowled. “Nobody knows. Strangest shit I ever heard. Kid finds a body in a vacant lot in Jamaica ’bout a week ago. Some guy in his eighties, neck snapped. No ID, but the guy was dressed head to toe in Italian designer clothes. Like, ten thousand bucks on the guy’s back. Steffi got on the Internet, did some pricing. His shoes alone would have cost two thousand bucks. But if he’s a rich bigwig, why doesn’t somebody report him missing? And if he’s a crook, his prints or DNA would turn up some priors, right?” He shrugged. “Nothing. It’s like the guy never existed. But somebody popped him, and now somebody pops Baruchin and his wife and mother-in-law, the same night that somebody comes back to the D’Onofrio house and searches it again? It stinks.” He gazed at Nancy. “You’re absolutely sure you don’t know what these clowns are looking for, right, miss?”

Nancy’s lips tightened. “Absolutely not. Unless it’s these necklaces, and Lucia’s letter indicates that it is not. The necklaces are the only connection to the Baruchins. Believe me, if I knew more, the first thing I would do would be tell the investigating officer.”

“You and your sisters should stop wearin’ those necklaces, if somebody might be willing to kill for ’em,” Charlie said bluntly.

Nancy’s hand shot up and clutched the thing, as if someone were trying to tear it away. “It…they were Lucia’s last gifts to us,” she said.

“Yeah. Could be the last gifts you ever get.” All the breezy good cheer was gone from Charlie Witt’s ruddy face. He was dead serious.

Nancy stared back, polite but defiant. “Lieutenant Witt—”

“Call me Charlie, honey.”

Nancy gave him an incandescent smile. “Charlie. In the first break-in, the forensics team found a set of fingerprints on my mother’s writing table that did not belong to her or the three of us. Do you suppose they might try comparing them with Baruchin’s prints? Or this mystery man? To see if they were ever in my mother’s house?”

Charlie looked doubtful. “I don’t see why it would have occurred to anyone, but why not? I’ll call Detective Lanaghan tomorrow, talk to her. Just remember—don’t expect any quick or easy answers.”

“Of course not,” Nancy murmured.

Charlie turned to Liam with a thoughtful frown. “I wouldn’t let her out of my sight, if I was you, kid. Not for a second.”

Liam nodded. It was a relief to have his own instincts verified. He hoped Nancy was paying attention. “That’s what I figured,” he said. “I’m still working on selling that proposal. She’s not convinced.”

“Work harder,” Charlie advised, his voice hard. He looked over at Nancy, his eyes lingering on her décolletage. “Not that it would be such a chore to keep your eyes on that, now, mind you.”

“That it wouldn’t be,” Liam heard himself agree, though the look on Nancy’s face indicated that he was going to pay for it.

“Kinda hard to take your eyes off her as it is,” Charlie commented.

“Could you two gentlemen please stop talking about me as if I weren’t here?” Nancy asked, her voice very crisp.

Charlie blinked. “Honey, was I objectifyin’ you?”

Nancy snorted. Charlie took it as encouragement. “Had this girlfriend once. Always said I was objectifyin’ her when I pissed her off.”

“Charlie,” Liam broke in, “put the brakes on.”

“Never did figure out what the hell she was talkin’ about, but boy oh boy did she ever have a nice pair of round, jigglin’—”

“Charlie!” Liam snapped his fingers in front of Charlie’s face.

Charlie subsided. “Sorry. Uh, well. Anyhow. Guess I better be heading on home to the wife.” His eyes rested on Nancy as he took his final swallow of beer, and then his eyes cut to Liam’s half-empty pint of Guinness. “I’d switch to coffee, if I was you, kid,” he said quietly.