A Perfect Obsession

“Can I help you in any way?” Kieran asked her.

She smiled. “Just biding time,” the woman said. “That old clock on the wall is right? My cell phone has died.”

“Yes, it’s the right time,” Kieran told her.

“Thanks!” The woman smiled at her. “You have to be Kevin’s sister,” she said. “One of the Finnegan family.”

“Yes, I am. You know Kevin?”

“I was in a print ad with him about a year ago. He told me about this place. First time I’ve had a chance to get down here. Is he here somewhere?”

“No, he went home. I’m so sorry. You could give him a call.”

“Ah, well, I’m only here a few more minutes. I’ll call him, though, and I’ll come back.” She smiled. “You’re gorgeous—but then, so is Kevin!”

“Thank you. My twin has the camera charm, trust me!” Kieran said. She would have talked longer, but another patron called her and she moved on.

It was around 11:00 p.m. when Craig reached her on her cell, checking to see if she was still there. He told her he’d head into the pub, and they could go home together.

She felt her heart beating a little too quickly. She didn’t have to worry that she wasn’t saying anything to him about Kevin’s admission. Brent Westwood had gone to Craig’s office, claiming to be the mystery lover. But still...

Lying to him was so uncomfortable.

Was she really lying?

Yes, she reasoned, omitting the truth—an important truth—was a lie.

Luckily, when he arrived, he offered her a weary smile before heading to an empty bar stool. She watched him talk to Declan and order a soda. He looked tired. Despite knowing he’d have to be up for work early the next morning, he was waiting for her.

The Friday night crowd was diminishing, so Declan thanked her and told her to go on home.

She didn’t argue.

“Your place or mine?” Craig asked, pointing the way to his government car, parked down the street. Thanks to his decal, parking was much easier for Craig than it was for most people in the city. “You know,” he said, as they reached the car, “we don’t have to be asking that question of one another all the time. Moving in would be kind of like the right move now.”

“Probably,” she murmured. “My place tonight?”

“As you wish.”

She glanced his way. He had to be far beyond exhausted, but he was also easily able to go with the flow. She studied him for a moment; he seemed deep in thought, and, of course, she knew he was thinking about the day’s events.

She winced, turning away. She really was so in love with him. What was not to love? He was a walking wall of extremely striking testosterone, masculine to the hilt, yet he never behaved rudely, and never seemed threatened in any way by another man’s—or woman’s—talents or abilities. He was faultlessly courteous. Oh, he had a temper, she knew, but the ability to contain it. His features offered exceptionally fine cheekbones, a strong jaw and wonderful, hazel eyes that far too often seemed to be all-seeing.

“One day soon,” she murmured, finally responding to his comment about moving in together.

She was suddenly, almost irrationally, angry with her brothers. First, one of Danny’s best-intended foibles had gotten him into the trouble when she’d met Craig; now Kevin’s tragic romance seemed to be putting her once again in an extremely awkward situation.

That anger quickly dissipated. She felt so bad for her twin.

In minutes they reached her apartment above a sushi restaurant–karaoke bar in the Village.

Someone was warbling an Aerosmith number as they climbed the stairs. They were both so accustomed to the sometimes painful entertainment that they barely noticed.

Upstairs, she immediately headed for the shower. “Underground graves,” she muttered, heading in.

He joined her.

She wasn’t surprised. Or disappointed. Sharing a shower with Craig, she wouldn’t have to talk to him.

But as he stepped in behind her, slipping a bar of soap from her fingers and easing it down her back, she was the one who nervously spoke.

“So, what about the mystery lover?”

“Narcissistic blowhard,” he said, twirling her around, finding her lips.

His kiss was good, wonderful. Seductive. And it made her forget the day. Hot water and steam swirled around them. The soap made their naked flesh sleek and wet. They kissed and touched and stroked one another until they were certainly clean—and their sense of hunger and need was great. Then they stepped out of the shower, reached for towels, more or less forgot the concept of them and stumbled onto the bed in Kieran’s near-dark room, and back into one another’s arms. Once there, they eschewed foreplay. She crawled atop him and straddled him, and he entered her, the heat of his body bursting within her. They made love, again and again, their lips locked as they climaxed each time with a ferocity that left Kieran breathless. She marveled at it, amazed that she was with him, that the world could be so good, that sex was such an amazement every time.

He pulled her down into his arms and held her and stroked her hair. The glow of aftermath and a sense of warmth and security enveloped her.

And then she realized that he was lying there awake, no doubt thinking about the day once again.

And he picked up right where he had left off.

“Liar.”

“Pardon?” Warmth and serenity slipped away.

“That man. Brent Westwood. He’s a liar. I can’t prove it. There’s no way, really. Jeannette Gilbert is dead. But, in my gut, I know it. There’s no way in hell that man is the mystery lover Jeannette alluded to in her interviews. He’s a liar.” He smiled grimly as he stroked her face. “I will, however,” he assured her, “discover the truth.”

CHAPTER FIVE (#u1331d861-6ae7-562e-8a2a-ce4c074c1eb4)

CRAIG STOOD JUST INSIDE the downed wall in the basement of Le Club Vampyre and looked around.

Techs had been studying the security footage of the club for hours; none as yet had discovered if the footage had been altered and, if so, how.

And if it hadn’t been altered, then it seemed that Jeannette Gilbert’s killer had slipped into a cloak of invisibility that had covered her, as well.

“We’ve established that the killer’s not stupid,” Mike said, watching Craig’s expression. “And, according to our good docs and Kieran, he’s organized, and we know that he’s killed before. According to the info we have on his first victim, he has a vision, a way of leaving his victims. Maybe he’s even trying to learn how to preserve them. He just hasn’t gotten it right yet.”

“Art,” Craig murmured. “Yes.” He stooped down to look at the floor. Everyone in the city who read a paper or turned on a computer or a television had known about the discovery of the early graves behind a false wall in the basement of the building. Anyone would have known. But who would have known how to enter the place without being seen?

“Makes Roger Gleason a good suspect,” Mike said. “He’s definitely been here. He’s a respectable man. He might have been meeting with Jeannette Gilbert for some kind of a publicity thing. Wasn’t she part of a promotional event here?”

“Yes, I believe she was. We don’t have anything on Roger Gleason—yet,” Craig said.

“You hear about the find...and a day later, bring a girl down here to bury. According to the autopsy, she was dead already,” Mike mused aloud.

“Yeah. He must have planned to leave her somewhere else. I wonder where,” Craig said. “I still can’t fathom how he got down here.”