LETHAL OBSESSION
Previously published as Last of the O'Rourkes Also available in a two-book bundle with LETHAL DECEPTION Authors have to accept the fact that a lot of our readers think we're nuts. I can live with that, and the reason is that I sometimes wonder if maybe they're not right--at least about me. For example, LETHAL OBSESSION, originally titled LAST OF THE O'ROURKES, was written because the heroine, Kat Malone, wouldn't leave me alone. She haunted me, quite literally, a constant presence sitting on my shoulder, whispering to me and saying, "Write my story. You have to tell them MY story."
You can only take that kind of harassment just so long. The odd thing is, once I sat down and gave Kat free rein to tell her story, she quit yammering in my ear. But she was right, it's a story worth telling, not only for her sake, but for Seamus O'Rourke's as well. Not every hero is a tough guy. Sometimes they're just truly nice guys who want to be left alone. At least Seamus was, until a beautiful, pregnant woman showed up needing his help. I hope you enjoy reading about Seamus and Kat as much as I enjoyed writing about them. Kat Malone doesn't want to be pregnant. Seamus O'Rourke is not a hero. Thrown together by the death of Kat's adulterous lover and the threat of a sadistic stalker, Kat and Seamus discover unexpected truths about themselves and each other in LETHAL OBSESSION, the sequel to LETHAL DECEPTION
~~*~~ "...This is a wonderful, emotional romance, featuring two spellbinding characters. The heat is there, in the love story and in the solid and suspenseful plot that runs beneath...Kate Douglas has penned yet another winner..."
Reviewed by Celia for A Romance Review |
Read an Excerpt:
Prologue
Satisfaction, a sense of completion . . . satiation tempered with desire, so much like the aftermath of orgasm. It should not have been so easy . . . he fought the urge to laugh aloud, recalling his gut-clenching fear, his trembling fingers as he’d grasped the steering wheel, yanked hard and veered the car tightly to cut the other motorist off at precisely the right moment.
Precision counted. Precision and planning. He’d relish that moment forever, the shocked expression in his victim’s eyes, the brief flash of recognition, the terror of impending, unalterable death.
If only he’d known . . . he’d never once imagined the gratification, the power, the unbelievable sense of control.
His first kill.
Now this pleasure . . . watching from the shadows, relishing the aftereffects of his deed, visualizing the next steps in this most thrilling game of cat and mouse.
Kat and mouse? No . . . he was the cat . . . feral, a killer. A killer who had tasted first blood.
He’d toyed with his prey long enough.
Smiling in anticipation, gliding silently through the grove of ancient olive trees, he disappeared into the shadows.
Chapter 1
A breeze. Finally a faint breath of air, barely enough to lift away the cloying scent of incense and flowers, but sufficient to stave off the persistent nausea for another moment. Kat Malone leaned against the rough trunk of a twisted olive tree, doing her best to remain at least partially hidden in the shadows of the small grove. She watched silently as, inch by inch, the simple oak casket disappeared into the freshly dug grave, all the while wondering if there wasn’t some way to speed up the process short of goosing the pallbearers. She’d managed to get through the interminably long High Mass and the equally lengthy graveside service, but she knew she couldn’t last much longer.
Her skin felt clammy and her stomach churned. The old tree offered welcome support, but if she didn’t find a place to sit down soon she’d probably pass out right here in the cemetery. Of course, at this point it probably wouldn’t make any difference.
She closed her eyes, swayed slightly, swallowed past the foul lump in her throat.
Fingers clamped about her arm, vise-like, startling her, but steadying her as well. She looked up, up into the icy green eyes of Riley O’Rourke.
The man who’d just been buried.
No. Riley’s eyes are blue . . . they’ve always been blue . . .
She fainted.
~~*~~
Her world gradually expanded from dark to light, opening like the aperture of an old camera. Her initial fear subsided, giving way to confusion. Riley held her firmly in his arms, his brisk steps carrying her back into the olive grove, out of sight of the other mourners.
No! This wasn’t Riley. It couldn’t be. Riley was dead, buried moments ago. Riley of the sparkling blue eyes.
I saw them bury you, damn it! She thought of breaking free of the man’s steady grip, but lethargy held her arms and legs immobile. Instead, she absorbed what information she could about him. Know your enemy. One of the first rules she’d learned. An important lesson, it had saved her life more than once.
A stray thought intruded—why did she immediately think of him as the enemy?
Bemused and disoriented, Kat studied her captor. This stranger, this image of the gentle man she’d loved, was subtly different from the easygoing FBI agent. It was more than the eyes . . . much more. If possible, his hair was even darker, a little bit longer, his demeanor more intense, his scent . . . she took a deep breath, inhaling an intoxicating blend of expensive aftershave and man that made her want to shut her eyes and inhale all over again.
Geesh, Malone. Get a grip! She jerked fully awake and struggled enough that he loosed the arm under her knees until her feet touched the ground. He steadied her with one hand while his other arm lightly supported her at the waist.
She inched away, out of his reach. Confusion sharpened by a brief stab of pain followed her. Riley’s dead. He’s dead. He’s...
“You’re not going to keel over again, are you, ma’am?”
Kat shook her head in quick denial. She keyed on his voice. It was different, definitely not Riley’s. Deeper . . . softer. Almost threatening.
Kat Malone never backed away from a threat. Suddenly feeling as if she were back in familiar territory, she raised her chin and brushed a wisp of hair out of her eyes. “I wouldn’t have keeled over the first time if you hadn’t scared the crap out of me. I thought you were Riley.”
“My brother’s dead.”
“I’m well aware of that fact.” Kat stared at him a moment, quickly assimilating the almost imperceptible differences between this man and the man she’d loved. So, this was Riley’s brother. The one she’d learned about in the obit.
One more thing he’d neglected to tell her.
She sighed, closed her eyes and swallowed. “I’ve spent the morning watching his grieving widow and loving family and friends bury him.”
“From the tone of your voice, I assume you’re not a close friend of the family.” He cocked his head and looked down at her as if she were some sort of bug on the ground.
She studied him a moment before answering, noting the impeccable fit of his black suit, the crisp white collar and cuffs, the perfectly knotted tie. Definitely not Riley. The resemblance was uncanny, but Riley couldn’t have acted this arrogant if his life depended on it.
“Until I read his obituary,” she said, watching for his reaction, “I didn’t even know there was a family. At least, to be specific, a wife.”
“Ah. This is beginning to make sense.”
“Are there children, too?” she asked, swallowing the bile that wouldn’t stay down. She’d really make this guy’s day if she puked all over his shiny black shoes.
“Riley and Clarisse were unable to have children.”
“I see.” Kat swallowed again. “Well, it certainly wasn’t Riley’s fault.”
“What do you mean?”
Even the way he tilted his head as he waited for her answer reminded Kat of Riley, reminded her of the sweetness of the man, the humor . . . the duplicity. Kat blinked herself back to the present. “I mean, Mr. O’Rourke, that I loved your brother. I’ve loved him since the day I met him during an investigation we both worked on well over a year ago. I thought he loved me, too. I changed jobs and transferred out here from Pennsylvania because he asked me to. We talked about marriage, about settling down and raising a family, all the things couples in love generally discuss. Only he neglected to tell me he was already married. In fact, he never said a word about the wife. Who, by the way, must be the one with the fertility problems, because it certainly wasn’t Riley.”
He stared at her as if she’d suddenly grown a third eye, then lowered his gaze to her flat stomach. “Why would you say something like that?”
“I say that, Mr. O’Rourke, because I’m pregnant with Riley’s child.”
His reaction stunned her.
“You lying little . . . ! How dare you . . .” He clenched his fists as if he might take a swing.
Kat stood her ground. She’d stared down larger, angrier men than this, though she didn’t have a clue why he was so upset. It wasn’t like she was accusing him of fatherhood. “Put a sock in it, O’Rourke. I have no reason to lie. Your brother and I had an affair and I got pregnant. It happens all the time. I just didn’t expect it to happen to me.”
“Not to my brother, it doesn’t. Just what kind of scam are you trying to pull?”
Scam? Kathleen stared intently at the man glaring back at her. What in the hell was this jerk’s problem? She swallowed and took a deep breath to give herself time to think of a fitting answer. She blinked and swallowed again.
Then the need for a snappy comeback disappeared entirely. Kat leaned over and puked all over Mr. O’Rourke’s fancy black shoes.
~~*~~
Kat wasn’t certain if it was humiliation or shock that kept her quiet when Riley’s brother pulled his Jaguar up in front of her little bungalow just as the fire truck was leaving. She didn’t say a word when Mr. O’Rourke opened the car door for her and helped her out of the low-slung Jag. She even managed to accept, with what she considered remarkable aplomb, the presence of three squad cars and a phalanx of uniformed police officers hovering about her front door.
Then her landlord barred her way at the bottom step and refused to let her pass. Kat saw red.
“Bug off, Morton. You’d better get out of . . .” She lunged at the little weasel.
O’Rourke grabbed her elbow and stopped Kat dead in her tracks. “What’s going on here?” he demanded, looking down on Mr. Morton even though the landlord stood a step above. Kat tried to jerk her arm free.
O’Rourke’s grip tightened, firm but not bruising.
She glared at him.
He ignored her.
“I told you the last time this happened I wanted you out of here, lady. This time you pack your bags and get.” Morton pointedly avoided eye contact with O’Rourke. He scowled at Kathleen. She noticed a tiny fleck of saliva at the corner of his mouth and wished her stomach hadn’t chosen this moment to finally settle down.
She’d really love to puke on his shoes.
“The last time?” O’Rourke’s gesture encompassed the squad cars as well as the smoke still drifting out of the side window of the little house. His grip on Kat’s elbow tightened. He tilted his chin and looked down his rather patrician nose at her. “This isn’t the first time for what?”
The patronizing look on his face fired Kat’s adrenaline into overdrive. Damn, the man was infuriating! Just who did he think he was, talking to her like that? He might be Riley’s brother but the two obviously had nothing in common. His disparaging attitude gave her the strength to yank her elbow out of his grasp. She flashed him one of her famous “if looks could kill” stares.
He didn’t flinch.
In a brief flash of insight, she realized she really did owe him an explanation. He had, after all, come to her rescue this morning, whether she’d needed it or not. Kat took a deep breath, turned her back on her sputtering landlord and gestured toward the police captain coming their way.
“Follow me.” She brushed past O’Rourke and reached out to shake hands with the officer. “Hey, Sandy.” She grabbed his outstretched hand. “I take it my stalker’s back?”
“I’m sorry, Kat. We had the place staked out and everything. He must’ve gotten in during the shift change. Torched the place this time. Really trashed things.”
The landlord shoved himself in front of Kathleen again. “I repeat, Ms. Malone, I want you out of here. Today. Don’t plan on getting your deposit back.”
“Stuff it, Morton. You owe me twice that deposit for all the times I’ve caught you peeking through the blinds. I don’t give freebies. Now out of my way.” Kathleen was aware of O’Rourke standing off to one side quietly taking in all the commotion. She turned her back on the landlord and tried to push the image of the tall, raven-haired Irishman out of her mind as well.
Damn, he looked so much like Riley it gave her the creeps. But there was none of Riley’s easygoing style, none of the loose-limbed awkwardness or easy manner she’d found so endearing.
A wave of nausea swept through her. Look where endearing got you this time, sweetheart. Well, she’d never been known for her intelligent decisions regarding men.
“You probably ought to come in and take a look, let us know if he took anything,” Sandy was saying. “Be prepared, though. It’s bad. Really bad.” Still muttering about the damage, he turned and led the way to the front door.
Kat followed Sandy down the walk to her tiny studio behind the landlord’s house and ducked under the yellow caution tape stretched across the front porch. She was aware of O’Rourke following silently behind her and had to stifle a grin when one of the officers allowed him through but restrained the fuming landlord.
She wasn’t prepared for the mess that greeted her. “Oh my God.” Once again a strong hand at her elbow steadied her. She heard the sharp hiss of in-drawn breath.
“You’re not going to be sick again, are you?” His voice was so close she almost jumped.
She shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “I’m okay.”
“That’s a relief. Though I wouldn’t blame you if you did throw up. This kind of wanton vandalism would make anyone ill.”
“Gee, thanks.” She tugged her arm free of his grasp and stepped away. Damn! She’d loved this place in spite of her slimy landlord. A quiet, furnished little house that actually had some character to it. Now it was splashed throughout with painted vulgarities and threats, not done with a spray can but brushed on thickly, red paint over wallpaper and cabinets, across the appliances in the kitchenette.
Red paint. Dripping blood red paint.
A fire had melted the small plastic trash can near the sink and black soot streaked the walls. Long cobwebs hung from the ceiling, invisible until the soot had given them substance. Greasy black smears covered every unpainted surface where investigators had dusted for prints.
Sandy tapped her on the shoulder. “We’ll need to get Mr. O’Rourke’s prints so we can figure out which ones don’t belong here.”
“Different O’Rourke.” Kat’s hand went to her belly, consciously cradling the life she carried. “Sandy, meet Riley’s brother, the other Mr. O’Rourke. Riley was killed in a car accident four days ago.”
“Ah, gee, Kat. I’m sorry to hear that.” He held his hand out to the man beside her. “Sandy Wilson, SFPD,” he said. “Kat and I have worked on a number of cases together since she transferred to the San Francisco office. I assumed you were Riley. You look just like him . . . we only met once before. I didn’t know he’d been killed. I am truly sorry for your loss. He seemed like a helluva nice guy.”
“Seamus O’Rourke.” O’Rourke shook hands with the officer. “Riley and I are . . . were fraternal twins, but other than our eye color we were almost identical. Your confusion is perfectly understandable.” He gestured toward the vandalized kitchen. “What’s going on here?”
Kat glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, surprised by the lack of emotion in his voice. He’d dismissed Sandy’s sympathetic remark about his brother’s death as if they discussed a stranger. This guy was definitely nothing like Riley.
“Kat’s got a stalker.” The police captain frowned, his frustration evident. “We figure it’s someone she helped arrest somewhere along the line . . . there’s been reference to a few things in his, um, writing.”
Seamus glanced once again at the stained walls, the room littered with filth. Anything to take his mind off thoughts of Riley. His brother had obviously spent time here, in this room. Had most likely made love to the beautiful blonde. Maybe there, on the couch? Seamus blinked away the image just as Wilson patted Kathleen on the back. The friendly act made him bristle.
“You got someplace to go tonight, kid?” Wilson’s hand still rested, much too comfortably, on Kathleen’s shoulder. “You can’t stay here until it’s cleaned up and the fire damage repaired.”
She shook her head. The thick blond hair swung softly with the slight motion. “I’ll get a hotel room. Thanks anyway, Sandy.”
“You know you’re welcome to stay with us. Jane loves having someone to fuss over.”
Kat smiled sadly at the captain and shook her head once again. Sighing audibly, she turned away to inspect the damage.
“How about you, O’Rourke? Got an extra room at your place?” Sandy watched Kat as she poked aimlessly through the mess. “I worry about her. This guy’s scary and I don’t think she appreciates the danger she’s in. Kat’s too damned stubborn for her own good.”
“What? You want me to take her home? I hardly know the woman.” Seamus stared at her a moment, trying once more to fathom the relationship between his irascible twin and the tall blonde.
The tall blonde who might possibly be carrying his brother’s child. The odds were against it, but what if . . .
“That’s your loss, then, isn’t it, Mr. O’Rourke?”
Hell, now even the police captain was pissed at him. Seamus clenched then unclenched his fists, finally accepting the inevitable. “You’re right. She can’t stay by herself.” He glanced down at his spotless black shoes and shook his head. “She’s had a pretty harrowing day.”
Why did he feel as if he were making the gravest error in his life? Before he could stop himself, Seamus glanced back at the captain. “She’ll stay with me until she finds someplace suitable.”
“Excuse me?” Kat swung around from her inspection of a pile of burned books. Ice formed on her clipped words.
“I said, Ms. Malone will come with me.” Seamus stepped over the rubble and offered a helpful hand to her arm. She jerked out of his grasp and glared at him. He backed away.
“Over my dead . . .”
“It very well could be.” Wilson spoke to Kat, but it was obvious his words were meant for Seamus. “The attacks are growing more violent, Kat. More personal. You can’t deny that. It’s risky, you being here alone and all. It was different with Riley in and out of the place like he was. This pervert could never know for certain you were alone. That’s changed. If I were you, I’d take Mr. O’Rourke up on his offer.”
“Well, you’re not me, damn it.” She glared at both men.
Seamus thought he’d never seen bluer eyes in his life. Riley’d always been a sucker for blue eyes.
Hell, Riley’d been a sucker for anything in a skirt. The legs sticking out from under her short little black number were as long and sleek as any Seamus had ever seen. Riley hadn’t stood a chance.
Thank goodness Riley and Clarisse had reached a mutual agreement in their marriage long ago. Clarisse had her affairs, Riley had his and no one got hurt.
Yeah. Right. Seamus hadn’t given Riley’s women much thought. Now that he’d actually seen one, touched her, looked into her angry blue eyes, he was suddenly aware of the human toll.
This woman had most likely gone into the relationship with her heart wide open. Riley’d always been a silver-tongued devil, the kind of man women loved to love. Usually, though, the women he chose were worldly enough to understand that for all his flowery words and lofty promises, he’d be gone the moment the winds changed.
But not this one, this tall, cool blonde with crystal blue eyes and the face of an angel. She’d believed his brother, believed in the dream. Not only had she believed—if what she said was true, she’d accomplished the impossible.
She carried Riley’s child. The child neither brother had ever imagined would exist.
It changed everything. This angry woman, obviously a cop of some kind, had accomplished something Seamus and his brother had never, not in their wildest fantasies, dreamed could happen.
If she was telling the truth, she was pregnant with Riley’s child.
Hope blossomed where only loss had survived. If she was telling the truth . . . Stunned with the potential of his changing reality, Seamus finally accepted unimagined possibilities.
He was no longer the last of the O’Rourkes.
~~*~~
At least her stalker hadn’t found the new toothbrush she kept in the medicine cabinet. It was about the only thing he hadn’t ripped, burned, painted, pissed or defecated on in her home. Kat squeezed her eyes shut. Her stalker. She had to quit thinking of him like that . . . proprietary, almost as if he belonged to her. Hell, nothing belonged to her anymore. The bastard had methodically destroyed what few personal belongings she’d brought to San Francisco during the past three break-ins at her last two residences. She couldn’t let herself think about the past, the small treasures she’d lost, the mementos she’d never be able to replace.
It was almost as if he was systematically removing every trace of Kathleen Margaret Malone from the planet. When all her things were gone, she’d be next.
Without warning, Kat leaned over and threw up in the sink.
Shuddering, she raised her head and stared at herself in the mirror. The fingers of her left hand traced the firm contours of her belly and ordered herself to get a grip. He hadn’t killed her yet.
Kat rinsed her mouth and brushed her teeth. Carefully she washed her face and hands. She knew she’d never feel clean as long as she stayed in this house, but still she lingered. She was very aware of Seamus O’Rourke waiting, probably impatient as hell, in the main room. Why did he bug her so much? Her rational mind appreciated the fact he’d offered her a place to stay until she could get something more permanent, but the rest of her brain found him overbearing and arrogant as all get out. As irritating as Riley’d been easygoing.
However, unless she wanted to spend the next few nights in some motel room, Kat figured she might as well take him up on his offer of a place to sleep. At least until she could find an apartment. Hopefully, one with a decent security system and a landlord who didn’t get his kicks staring through window blinds.
Riley’d never mentioned a brother. Now that she thought of it, Riley hadn’t mentioned a lot of things. Her mind kept straying back to the wife. The tall, gorgeous blonde wearing the designer suit, standing less than grief-stricken at her husband’s graveside. She’d been leaning heavily on the arm of an equally gorgeous man. From the vibes Kathleen had picked up, she didn’t think Riley would be mourned too long from that quarter.
Well, damn it, she’d mourn him. He’d given her the best months of her life. She’d even been excited when she found out she was pregnant, though she’d been almost four months along before the changes in her body, the slight thickening of her waist, the persistent nausea, had made her suspect anything. Kat grimaced at her pale reflection in the bathroom mirror. “You always were a bit slow on the uptake, Malone.” She glanced down at her flat belly, amazed there could be a new life growing there. She still couldn’t think of it as a real baby, a child she would someday hold in her arms. In her mind it was just “whatsit.” An anonymous little thing that made her feet and waist swell in what felt like equal proportions. An intruder that activated her barf reflex on a regular basis.
She’d waited almost a month to tell Riley.
To be honest, she hadn’t believed it herself. They’d been so careful with protection, the thought of pregnancy hadn’t entered her mind. She’d planned to tell him, though, that last evening when Riley had called and said he was on his way over. Planned to tell him, not certain if he’d be upset or thrilled.
Still not certain if she was upset or thrilled.
She’d been hurt when he didn’t show up, but not worried. Riley’d broken dates before but he always had an acceptable excuse, a reason, she realized now, that usually made her feel guilty for mistrusting him. After their missed dinner engagement she’d spent the next three days in court giving a deposition on that damned hijacking case . . . and then she’d picked up the morning paper.
Picked up the paper and read that Riley James O’Rourke, beloved husband of Clarisse, brother of Seamus, son of the late Mary and Alfred, was dead.
Another head-on collision on the freeway. Just one more messy accident to tie up the rush-hour traffic and inconvenience hundreds of tired commuters trying to find their way home. With his death, everything in Kathleen Margaret Malone’s world suddenly shifted. The tiny being growing inside her no longer had a father. The future Kat had nearly fantasized into reality had suddenly, like so many of her dreams, disappeared into thin air.
Once again, she faced the world alone.
She picked up the foamy toothbrush and realized her fingers were steady. In fact, she felt almost preternaturally calm, as if this were just another day in a humdrum world, or as the old cliché went, the first day of the rest of her life.
Which it was.
She took a deep breath, rinsed off the toothbrush, stepped out of the tiny bathroom and walked into the studio beyond. Seamus O’Rourke turned and nailed her with a piercing gaze. Kat hesitated, then took another deep breath. She’d faced down killers, disarmed smugglers, even caught a murderer or two. Riley’s brother actually seemed to think he could order her around. Kat almost smiled with her recovered sense of self. She was not a victim. Never had been, didn’t intend to be. Seamus O’Rourke appeared to be under the impression he was calling the shots. It was going to be interesting when he finally figured out she’d been letting him get away with it all morning.
Kat met his glare with one of her own, then tucked her toothbrush into the breast pocket of her suit and picked up her handbag.
It was time for Mr. O’Rourke to learn that life, as he expected it, was about to change.
~~*~~
He turned his head as the dark green Jag sped past, though he doubted the bitch would recognize him, especially in this nondescript Buick. Of course, it wouldn’t do to be spotted right now, right here . . . not with red paint staining his slacks. Too bad they were ruined, but it was worth the loss. Turning the key in the ignition, he took a deep breath and grinned in anticipation. This was too good to be true. Another O’Rourke, identical to the first. A sobering thought, though. He hadn’t known there was another one. Success depended on knowledge. Knowledge required study.
He pulled in behind the Jag and followed at a discreet distance. There was no rush. None at all. After all the months of planning, of dreaming about this moment, he’d never once considered how much he would enjoy himself.
Smiling broadly, he followed the dark green sedan through the rolling streets of San Francisco.
~~*~~
“Make a list. I’ll send the housekeeper out for whatever you need for the next couple of days, at least until you’re in condition to shop for yourself.”
Seamus turned off the ignition and stepped out of the car before Kat had a chance to respond. She’d been fuming throughout the entire ride from her house to his. By the time he opened her door and reached down to give her a hand she was ready to explode.
She ignored him, stubbornly folding her arms across her middle. Damn him. She’d wanted to drive her own car, but do you think he’d take her by the cemetery to pick it up? “I’ll do my own shopping as soon as you take me to my car. I’m not getting out until you do.”
“Your car will be delivered within the hour. I’ve already sent for it.”
“How?” She glared out of the corner of her eye. He glared back. “You don’t have the keys.”
“I took them out of your purse.”
“You what?” She unzipped her bag and scrambled through the garbage that seemed to collect in there of its own volition. No keys. “You had no right to go through my bag.”
“It was done under the watchful eye of the police captain. In fact, it was his idea. He didn’t want you driving, not after the emotional strain you’ve been through. Now please get out of the car.”
She figured she could sit here a while longer to make her point, but it wouldn’t prove a thing. Besides, if she didn’t find a bathroom soon she’d probably wet her pants. It was truly amazing what pregnancy did to a perfectly healthy body. She didn’t see Mr. O’Rourke taking lightly to pee stains on his expensive leather upholstery. She swung her legs around and stepped out of the car before Seamus could once again offer his hand. For some reason it felt like a victory. A very small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
A strident voice in the back of her mind reminded Kat she was the one supposedly calling the shots. She pushed the voice aside, grabbed a tight hold on her tiny victory and followed Seamus into the house.
“This will be your room.” Seamus opened the door and stepped back, waiting for her comment of appreciation, her acknowledgment of the tasteful decor.
Instead she brushed by him and headed directly for the bathroom, as if she’d been here a thousand times before.
“You’re not going to be sick again, are you?” Please, he thought. Not here. He glanced at the toe of his shoe, wiped clean after this morning, and wondered if he’d ever wear this pair again.
He heard the toilet flush, the sound of running water, then she was standing in the doorway wiping her hands on one of his grandmother’s delicate hand-embroidered towels. “Thought I was gonna pop.” She tossed the towel on the counter behind her. “Nice room.” Kat looked around as if she’d just stepped into a Motel 6. She dumped her bag on the bed and slipped her fitted black jacket off her shoulders, then casually removed a lethal-looking pistol from a previously unseen shoulder holster.
Seamus thought for a minute he might be the one to throw up. “What in God’s name is that?”
“It’s a pistol, nine-millimeter Ruger, to be exact.” She carefully unfastened the holster, slipped the harness down her arm and folded the whole contraption into a neat bundle. “Riley carried a gun. You knew that. We have very similar jobs, the same kinds of risks. So what’s the big deal?”
“Riley wasn’t pregnant,” was all he could think to say.
“Well of course not.” She rolled her eyes. “Look, if it’s a problem, I’ll leave. I can find a room in town, but the gun stays with me. I’ve had three attempts on my life in the last year alone. You saw what my apartment looked like.”
“Just what is it you do, Ms. Malone?” He knew, as with Riley’s work with the FBI, she was some kind of investigator, at least that’s what the police captain had alluded to. Somehow, though, the reality of a loaded gun tucked neatly under the arm of this tall, slim blonde with the look of a fashion model and the mouth of a street walker wasn’t all that easy to digest. Neither was the stark image of the weapon lying on his grandmother’s crocheted bedspread.
“I’m a field agent for the Department of Transportation. Or was, that is, until I barfed in my partner’s car on stakeout. I’ve since been assigned desk duty for the duration of my pregnancy.” She flashed him a dry but tired smile. Seamus had the odd sensation of having been punched in the gut while tumbling down Alice’s rabbit hole.
Not a particularly pleasant feeling, but Lord Almighty, the woman was magnificent when she smiled. “That doesn’t tell me what you do, though, does it?” He struggled for a sense of balance. “Do you have to carry a gun?”
“You are an uptight fish, aren’t you?” She smiled again, and once more he felt dizzy with the glory of it. “I guess, to be perfectly explicit, my job requires me to track down crooks within our transportation system. Truck drivers embezzling goods, smugglers bringing things in or taking them out of the country, mob activity, whatever illegal actions someone can think of that affects how goods are moved.” She smiled again, holding her hands out as if for understanding. “When you deal with crooks, it’s a good idea to at least match their firepower.”
“I see. I guess you surprised me. To be quite honest, you don’t look the part.”
“No, actually, I look like a hooker. A high-class hooker is how my supervisor describes me, but still a hooker. I think that’s what got me the job in the first place. I do a lot of undercover work.”
She said it with a twinkle in her eye, but her play on words still made his palms sweat. Leave it to Riley to fall for a street walker, or someone who made her living looking like one. “Is that how you met my brother? Working undercover?”
“No. I met Riley on a job in Utah. My partner was the one working undercover. I was his backup. We were out from the office in Pittsburgh. Riley was brought in from the San Francisco bureau. We hit it off.” She glanced down at her perfectly flat middle. “Yeah, you might say we hit it off real well.”
“You don’t act like a woman in love.” Her choice of words grated over raw nerves. Seamus stepped closer. “How do I know you’re telling the truth? How do I know you’re carrying Riley’s child, not some other man’s bastard? Hell, how do I know you’re even pregnant?”
Seamus knew how to use his size and presence, but instead of backing away from him as he expected, she stood her ground. Her stubborn poise infuriated him. Seamus felt his muscles tense, knew his control was ready to snap.
“Good Lord, O’Rourke. You think I go around puking on people for fun?” Her tired reply undid him.
He practically shouted at her, “My brother was the one with the fertility problems, Ms. Malone. Didn’t Riley tell you? It wasn’t Clarisse’s fault they couldn’t have children. It was his. Now you come along out of the blue and tell me you’re pregnant and Riley’s the father and you expect me to just swallow your story?” He reached out for some inexplicable reason and raised her chin with his fingers. “Hell, you don’t even look pregnant.”
He wasn’t sure what he expected to see, but it certainly wasn’t the flash of vulnerability followed by a rush of blazing anger. “I don’t give a rat’s ass whether you believe me or not, O’Rourke.” She slapped his hand aside. “I may look like a whore but I don’t act like one. As for mourning your brother, well, it’s difficult to mourn a man who didn’t exist. I fell in love with Riley O’Rourke, a fun-loving, sweet-talking Irish devil who promised me the stars, who swore undying love and said we’d always be together. I don’t have affairs with married men, Mr. O’Rourke. I didn’t fall in love with a liar and a cheat. That man can go to hell for all I care and I’ll not mourn him.”
He felt like a deflated balloon, all the fight gone out of him. “Sadly, Ms. Malone, neither will I.” Seamus bowed his head and turned to leave the room. Guilt twisted his gut and clamped a cold, hard fist over his heart. He’d spent his life covering up for his twin, pulling him out of one scrape after another, making excuses for him, compromising his own values to save Riley’s tail, wishing him dead more often than not.
One thing he’d learned, Seamus realized. He’d never wish anyone dead again because the guilt was almost unbearable.
He would, however, do one more thing for Riley. He took another long look at Kathleen Malone. She stood in the middle of the room he would always think of as “Gran’s room,” one hand protectively covering her flat stomach. Silently Seamus vowed he would watch over her. He’d watch over the sassy blonde with the face of a saint and he’d be there for the child she carried. Riley’s child. As close to his own as any child would ever be. That brief flash of vulnerability had told him more than any lie detector, any blood test, ever could. There was no reason to doubt her word.
She did indeed carry Riley’s child.
He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “You must be tired.” He paused, one hand on the doorknob. “Why don’t you rest. Come down when you feel like it and have some dinner. If you like, I can take you into town later to shop for a few things to replace what was . . . damaged. Or take your own car. It’s entirely up to you.”
“You’re damned right it’s up to me.” She held his gaze a moment, clear-eyed and steady, then abruptly turned away and stared out the window.
Women. Seamus glared at her rigid back, searching unsuccessfully for the trace of vulnerability he was certain he’d seen earlier. Shit. You try to be nice . . . He turned and stalked out of the room.
The door clicked behind him and Kathleen burst into tears. Damn, it had been one hell of a day. And damn it again, but she didn’t want to cry. But her hormones were totally screwed, she was tired and pregnant and sick to her stomach and Riley was dead.
She hadn’t been telling the truth when she said she wouldn’t mourn him. She would. She’d miss his laughter and kindness and the plans they’d made. Plans he’d obviously never intended to keep, damn him. And damn his insufferable brother Seamus as well. For being kind, for worrying about her, for giving her refuge when she needed it most. She didn’t want to owe him a thing. Nor did she want to be intrigued by a man who epitomized all the uptight personality traits she despised. A man who looked exactly like the one she thought she’d loved.
That man obviously never existed at all.
Damn. Damn. Damn it all to hell.
Kat stripped her clothes off and crawled between the sheets, too tired to shower, too emotionally exhausted to care. One hand rested protectively over her belly, protecting her child. Riley’s child. The child Seamus told her was impossible. Later, she thought. She’d worry about it later.
~~*~~
Oh, this was actually fun . . . and so easy. There was no need even to stop the car. He merely noted the location and glided quietly past the mansion.
Prologue
Satisfaction, a sense of completion . . . satiation tempered with desire, so much like the aftermath of orgasm. It should not have been so easy . . . he fought the urge to laugh aloud, recalling his gut-clenching fear, his trembling fingers as he’d grasped the steering wheel, yanked hard and veered the car tightly to cut the other motorist off at precisely the right moment.
Precision counted. Precision and planning. He’d relish that moment forever, the shocked expression in his victim’s eyes, the brief flash of recognition, the terror of impending, unalterable death.
If only he’d known . . . he’d never once imagined the gratification, the power, the unbelievable sense of control.
His first kill.
Now this pleasure . . . watching from the shadows, relishing the aftereffects of his deed, visualizing the next steps in this most thrilling game of cat and mouse.
Kat and mouse? No . . . he was the cat . . . feral, a killer. A killer who had tasted first blood.
He’d toyed with his prey long enough.
Smiling in anticipation, gliding silently through the grove of ancient olive trees, he disappeared into the shadows.
Chapter 1
A breeze. Finally a faint breath of air, barely enough to lift away the cloying scent of incense and flowers, but sufficient to stave off the persistent nausea for another moment. Kat Malone leaned against the rough trunk of a twisted olive tree, doing her best to remain at least partially hidden in the shadows of the small grove. She watched silently as, inch by inch, the simple oak casket disappeared into the freshly dug grave, all the while wondering if there wasn’t some way to speed up the process short of goosing the pallbearers. She’d managed to get through the interminably long High Mass and the equally lengthy graveside service, but she knew she couldn’t last much longer.
Her skin felt clammy and her stomach churned. The old tree offered welcome support, but if she didn’t find a place to sit down soon she’d probably pass out right here in the cemetery. Of course, at this point it probably wouldn’t make any difference.
She closed her eyes, swayed slightly, swallowed past the foul lump in her throat.
Fingers clamped about her arm, vise-like, startling her, but steadying her as well. She looked up, up into the icy green eyes of Riley O’Rourke.
The man who’d just been buried.
No. Riley’s eyes are blue . . . they’ve always been blue . . .
She fainted.
~~*~~
Her world gradually expanded from dark to light, opening like the aperture of an old camera. Her initial fear subsided, giving way to confusion. Riley held her firmly in his arms, his brisk steps carrying her back into the olive grove, out of sight of the other mourners.
No! This wasn’t Riley. It couldn’t be. Riley was dead, buried moments ago. Riley of the sparkling blue eyes.
I saw them bury you, damn it! She thought of breaking free of the man’s steady grip, but lethargy held her arms and legs immobile. Instead, she absorbed what information she could about him. Know your enemy. One of the first rules she’d learned. An important lesson, it had saved her life more than once.
A stray thought intruded—why did she immediately think of him as the enemy?
Bemused and disoriented, Kat studied her captor. This stranger, this image of the gentle man she’d loved, was subtly different from the easygoing FBI agent. It was more than the eyes . . . much more. If possible, his hair was even darker, a little bit longer, his demeanor more intense, his scent . . . she took a deep breath, inhaling an intoxicating blend of expensive aftershave and man that made her want to shut her eyes and inhale all over again.
Geesh, Malone. Get a grip! She jerked fully awake and struggled enough that he loosed the arm under her knees until her feet touched the ground. He steadied her with one hand while his other arm lightly supported her at the waist.
She inched away, out of his reach. Confusion sharpened by a brief stab of pain followed her. Riley’s dead. He’s dead. He’s...
“You’re not going to keel over again, are you, ma’am?”
Kat shook her head in quick denial. She keyed on his voice. It was different, definitely not Riley’s. Deeper . . . softer. Almost threatening.
Kat Malone never backed away from a threat. Suddenly feeling as if she were back in familiar territory, she raised her chin and brushed a wisp of hair out of her eyes. “I wouldn’t have keeled over the first time if you hadn’t scared the crap out of me. I thought you were Riley.”
“My brother’s dead.”
“I’m well aware of that fact.” Kat stared at him a moment, quickly assimilating the almost imperceptible differences between this man and the man she’d loved. So, this was Riley’s brother. The one she’d learned about in the obit.
One more thing he’d neglected to tell her.
She sighed, closed her eyes and swallowed. “I’ve spent the morning watching his grieving widow and loving family and friends bury him.”
“From the tone of your voice, I assume you’re not a close friend of the family.” He cocked his head and looked down at her as if she were some sort of bug on the ground.
She studied him a moment before answering, noting the impeccable fit of his black suit, the crisp white collar and cuffs, the perfectly knotted tie. Definitely not Riley. The resemblance was uncanny, but Riley couldn’t have acted this arrogant if his life depended on it.
“Until I read his obituary,” she said, watching for his reaction, “I didn’t even know there was a family. At least, to be specific, a wife.”
“Ah. This is beginning to make sense.”
“Are there children, too?” she asked, swallowing the bile that wouldn’t stay down. She’d really make this guy’s day if she puked all over his shiny black shoes.
“Riley and Clarisse were unable to have children.”
“I see.” Kat swallowed again. “Well, it certainly wasn’t Riley’s fault.”
“What do you mean?”
Even the way he tilted his head as he waited for her answer reminded Kat of Riley, reminded her of the sweetness of the man, the humor . . . the duplicity. Kat blinked herself back to the present. “I mean, Mr. O’Rourke, that I loved your brother. I’ve loved him since the day I met him during an investigation we both worked on well over a year ago. I thought he loved me, too. I changed jobs and transferred out here from Pennsylvania because he asked me to. We talked about marriage, about settling down and raising a family, all the things couples in love generally discuss. Only he neglected to tell me he was already married. In fact, he never said a word about the wife. Who, by the way, must be the one with the fertility problems, because it certainly wasn’t Riley.”
He stared at her as if she’d suddenly grown a third eye, then lowered his gaze to her flat stomach. “Why would you say something like that?”
“I say that, Mr. O’Rourke, because I’m pregnant with Riley’s child.”
His reaction stunned her.
“You lying little . . . ! How dare you . . .” He clenched his fists as if he might take a swing.
Kat stood her ground. She’d stared down larger, angrier men than this, though she didn’t have a clue why he was so upset. It wasn’t like she was accusing him of fatherhood. “Put a sock in it, O’Rourke. I have no reason to lie. Your brother and I had an affair and I got pregnant. It happens all the time. I just didn’t expect it to happen to me.”
“Not to my brother, it doesn’t. Just what kind of scam are you trying to pull?”
Scam? Kathleen stared intently at the man glaring back at her. What in the hell was this jerk’s problem? She swallowed and took a deep breath to give herself time to think of a fitting answer. She blinked and swallowed again.
Then the need for a snappy comeback disappeared entirely. Kat leaned over and puked all over Mr. O’Rourke’s fancy black shoes.
~~*~~
Kat wasn’t certain if it was humiliation or shock that kept her quiet when Riley’s brother pulled his Jaguar up in front of her little bungalow just as the fire truck was leaving. She didn’t say a word when Mr. O’Rourke opened the car door for her and helped her out of the low-slung Jag. She even managed to accept, with what she considered remarkable aplomb, the presence of three squad cars and a phalanx of uniformed police officers hovering about her front door.
Then her landlord barred her way at the bottom step and refused to let her pass. Kat saw red.
“Bug off, Morton. You’d better get out of . . .” She lunged at the little weasel.
O’Rourke grabbed her elbow and stopped Kat dead in her tracks. “What’s going on here?” he demanded, looking down on Mr. Morton even though the landlord stood a step above. Kat tried to jerk her arm free.
O’Rourke’s grip tightened, firm but not bruising.
She glared at him.
He ignored her.
“I told you the last time this happened I wanted you out of here, lady. This time you pack your bags and get.” Morton pointedly avoided eye contact with O’Rourke. He scowled at Kathleen. She noticed a tiny fleck of saliva at the corner of his mouth and wished her stomach hadn’t chosen this moment to finally settle down.
She’d really love to puke on his shoes.
“The last time?” O’Rourke’s gesture encompassed the squad cars as well as the smoke still drifting out of the side window of the little house. His grip on Kat’s elbow tightened. He tilted his chin and looked down his rather patrician nose at her. “This isn’t the first time for what?”
The patronizing look on his face fired Kat’s adrenaline into overdrive. Damn, the man was infuriating! Just who did he think he was, talking to her like that? He might be Riley’s brother but the two obviously had nothing in common. His disparaging attitude gave her the strength to yank her elbow out of his grasp. She flashed him one of her famous “if looks could kill” stares.
He didn’t flinch.
In a brief flash of insight, she realized she really did owe him an explanation. He had, after all, come to her rescue this morning, whether she’d needed it or not. Kat took a deep breath, turned her back on her sputtering landlord and gestured toward the police captain coming their way.
“Follow me.” She brushed past O’Rourke and reached out to shake hands with the officer. “Hey, Sandy.” She grabbed his outstretched hand. “I take it my stalker’s back?”
“I’m sorry, Kat. We had the place staked out and everything. He must’ve gotten in during the shift change. Torched the place this time. Really trashed things.”
The landlord shoved himself in front of Kathleen again. “I repeat, Ms. Malone, I want you out of here. Today. Don’t plan on getting your deposit back.”
“Stuff it, Morton. You owe me twice that deposit for all the times I’ve caught you peeking through the blinds. I don’t give freebies. Now out of my way.” Kathleen was aware of O’Rourke standing off to one side quietly taking in all the commotion. She turned her back on the landlord and tried to push the image of the tall, raven-haired Irishman out of her mind as well.
Damn, he looked so much like Riley it gave her the creeps. But there was none of Riley’s easygoing style, none of the loose-limbed awkwardness or easy manner she’d found so endearing.
A wave of nausea swept through her. Look where endearing got you this time, sweetheart. Well, she’d never been known for her intelligent decisions regarding men.
“You probably ought to come in and take a look, let us know if he took anything,” Sandy was saying. “Be prepared, though. It’s bad. Really bad.” Still muttering about the damage, he turned and led the way to the front door.
Kat followed Sandy down the walk to her tiny studio behind the landlord’s house and ducked under the yellow caution tape stretched across the front porch. She was aware of O’Rourke following silently behind her and had to stifle a grin when one of the officers allowed him through but restrained the fuming landlord.
She wasn’t prepared for the mess that greeted her. “Oh my God.” Once again a strong hand at her elbow steadied her. She heard the sharp hiss of in-drawn breath.
“You’re not going to be sick again, are you?” His voice was so close she almost jumped.
She shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “I’m okay.”
“That’s a relief. Though I wouldn’t blame you if you did throw up. This kind of wanton vandalism would make anyone ill.”
“Gee, thanks.” She tugged her arm free of his grasp and stepped away. Damn! She’d loved this place in spite of her slimy landlord. A quiet, furnished little house that actually had some character to it. Now it was splashed throughout with painted vulgarities and threats, not done with a spray can but brushed on thickly, red paint over wallpaper and cabinets, across the appliances in the kitchenette.
Red paint. Dripping blood red paint.
A fire had melted the small plastic trash can near the sink and black soot streaked the walls. Long cobwebs hung from the ceiling, invisible until the soot had given them substance. Greasy black smears covered every unpainted surface where investigators had dusted for prints.
Sandy tapped her on the shoulder. “We’ll need to get Mr. O’Rourke’s prints so we can figure out which ones don’t belong here.”
“Different O’Rourke.” Kat’s hand went to her belly, consciously cradling the life she carried. “Sandy, meet Riley’s brother, the other Mr. O’Rourke. Riley was killed in a car accident four days ago.”
“Ah, gee, Kat. I’m sorry to hear that.” He held his hand out to the man beside her. “Sandy Wilson, SFPD,” he said. “Kat and I have worked on a number of cases together since she transferred to the San Francisco office. I assumed you were Riley. You look just like him . . . we only met once before. I didn’t know he’d been killed. I am truly sorry for your loss. He seemed like a helluva nice guy.”
“Seamus O’Rourke.” O’Rourke shook hands with the officer. “Riley and I are . . . were fraternal twins, but other than our eye color we were almost identical. Your confusion is perfectly understandable.” He gestured toward the vandalized kitchen. “What’s going on here?”
Kat glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, surprised by the lack of emotion in his voice. He’d dismissed Sandy’s sympathetic remark about his brother’s death as if they discussed a stranger. This guy was definitely nothing like Riley.
“Kat’s got a stalker.” The police captain frowned, his frustration evident. “We figure it’s someone she helped arrest somewhere along the line . . . there’s been reference to a few things in his, um, writing.”
Seamus glanced once again at the stained walls, the room littered with filth. Anything to take his mind off thoughts of Riley. His brother had obviously spent time here, in this room. Had most likely made love to the beautiful blonde. Maybe there, on the couch? Seamus blinked away the image just as Wilson patted Kathleen on the back. The friendly act made him bristle.
“You got someplace to go tonight, kid?” Wilson’s hand still rested, much too comfortably, on Kathleen’s shoulder. “You can’t stay here until it’s cleaned up and the fire damage repaired.”
She shook her head. The thick blond hair swung softly with the slight motion. “I’ll get a hotel room. Thanks anyway, Sandy.”
“You know you’re welcome to stay with us. Jane loves having someone to fuss over.”
Kat smiled sadly at the captain and shook her head once again. Sighing audibly, she turned away to inspect the damage.
“How about you, O’Rourke? Got an extra room at your place?” Sandy watched Kat as she poked aimlessly through the mess. “I worry about her. This guy’s scary and I don’t think she appreciates the danger she’s in. Kat’s too damned stubborn for her own good.”
“What? You want me to take her home? I hardly know the woman.” Seamus stared at her a moment, trying once more to fathom the relationship between his irascible twin and the tall blonde.
The tall blonde who might possibly be carrying his brother’s child. The odds were against it, but what if . . .
“That’s your loss, then, isn’t it, Mr. O’Rourke?”
Hell, now even the police captain was pissed at him. Seamus clenched then unclenched his fists, finally accepting the inevitable. “You’re right. She can’t stay by herself.” He glanced down at his spotless black shoes and shook his head. “She’s had a pretty harrowing day.”
Why did he feel as if he were making the gravest error in his life? Before he could stop himself, Seamus glanced back at the captain. “She’ll stay with me until she finds someplace suitable.”
“Excuse me?” Kat swung around from her inspection of a pile of burned books. Ice formed on her clipped words.
“I said, Ms. Malone will come with me.” Seamus stepped over the rubble and offered a helpful hand to her arm. She jerked out of his grasp and glared at him. He backed away.
“Over my dead . . .”
“It very well could be.” Wilson spoke to Kat, but it was obvious his words were meant for Seamus. “The attacks are growing more violent, Kat. More personal. You can’t deny that. It’s risky, you being here alone and all. It was different with Riley in and out of the place like he was. This pervert could never know for certain you were alone. That’s changed. If I were you, I’d take Mr. O’Rourke up on his offer.”
“Well, you’re not me, damn it.” She glared at both men.
Seamus thought he’d never seen bluer eyes in his life. Riley’d always been a sucker for blue eyes.
Hell, Riley’d been a sucker for anything in a skirt. The legs sticking out from under her short little black number were as long and sleek as any Seamus had ever seen. Riley hadn’t stood a chance.
Thank goodness Riley and Clarisse had reached a mutual agreement in their marriage long ago. Clarisse had her affairs, Riley had his and no one got hurt.
Yeah. Right. Seamus hadn’t given Riley’s women much thought. Now that he’d actually seen one, touched her, looked into her angry blue eyes, he was suddenly aware of the human toll.
This woman had most likely gone into the relationship with her heart wide open. Riley’d always been a silver-tongued devil, the kind of man women loved to love. Usually, though, the women he chose were worldly enough to understand that for all his flowery words and lofty promises, he’d be gone the moment the winds changed.
But not this one, this tall, cool blonde with crystal blue eyes and the face of an angel. She’d believed his brother, believed in the dream. Not only had she believed—if what she said was true, she’d accomplished the impossible.
She carried Riley’s child. The child neither brother had ever imagined would exist.
It changed everything. This angry woman, obviously a cop of some kind, had accomplished something Seamus and his brother had never, not in their wildest fantasies, dreamed could happen.
If she was telling the truth, she was pregnant with Riley’s child.
Hope blossomed where only loss had survived. If she was telling the truth . . . Stunned with the potential of his changing reality, Seamus finally accepted unimagined possibilities.
He was no longer the last of the O’Rourkes.
~~*~~
At least her stalker hadn’t found the new toothbrush she kept in the medicine cabinet. It was about the only thing he hadn’t ripped, burned, painted, pissed or defecated on in her home. Kat squeezed her eyes shut. Her stalker. She had to quit thinking of him like that . . . proprietary, almost as if he belonged to her. Hell, nothing belonged to her anymore. The bastard had methodically destroyed what few personal belongings she’d brought to San Francisco during the past three break-ins at her last two residences. She couldn’t let herself think about the past, the small treasures she’d lost, the mementos she’d never be able to replace.
It was almost as if he was systematically removing every trace of Kathleen Margaret Malone from the planet. When all her things were gone, she’d be next.
Without warning, Kat leaned over and threw up in the sink.
Shuddering, she raised her head and stared at herself in the mirror. The fingers of her left hand traced the firm contours of her belly and ordered herself to get a grip. He hadn’t killed her yet.
Kat rinsed her mouth and brushed her teeth. Carefully she washed her face and hands. She knew she’d never feel clean as long as she stayed in this house, but still she lingered. She was very aware of Seamus O’Rourke waiting, probably impatient as hell, in the main room. Why did he bug her so much? Her rational mind appreciated the fact he’d offered her a place to stay until she could get something more permanent, but the rest of her brain found him overbearing and arrogant as all get out. As irritating as Riley’d been easygoing.
However, unless she wanted to spend the next few nights in some motel room, Kat figured she might as well take him up on his offer of a place to sleep. At least until she could find an apartment. Hopefully, one with a decent security system and a landlord who didn’t get his kicks staring through window blinds.
Riley’d never mentioned a brother. Now that she thought of it, Riley hadn’t mentioned a lot of things. Her mind kept straying back to the wife. The tall, gorgeous blonde wearing the designer suit, standing less than grief-stricken at her husband’s graveside. She’d been leaning heavily on the arm of an equally gorgeous man. From the vibes Kathleen had picked up, she didn’t think Riley would be mourned too long from that quarter.
Well, damn it, she’d mourn him. He’d given her the best months of her life. She’d even been excited when she found out she was pregnant, though she’d been almost four months along before the changes in her body, the slight thickening of her waist, the persistent nausea, had made her suspect anything. Kat grimaced at her pale reflection in the bathroom mirror. “You always were a bit slow on the uptake, Malone.” She glanced down at her flat belly, amazed there could be a new life growing there. She still couldn’t think of it as a real baby, a child she would someday hold in her arms. In her mind it was just “whatsit.” An anonymous little thing that made her feet and waist swell in what felt like equal proportions. An intruder that activated her barf reflex on a regular basis.
She’d waited almost a month to tell Riley.
To be honest, she hadn’t believed it herself. They’d been so careful with protection, the thought of pregnancy hadn’t entered her mind. She’d planned to tell him, though, that last evening when Riley had called and said he was on his way over. Planned to tell him, not certain if he’d be upset or thrilled.
Still not certain if she was upset or thrilled.
She’d been hurt when he didn’t show up, but not worried. Riley’d broken dates before but he always had an acceptable excuse, a reason, she realized now, that usually made her feel guilty for mistrusting him. After their missed dinner engagement she’d spent the next three days in court giving a deposition on that damned hijacking case . . . and then she’d picked up the morning paper.
Picked up the paper and read that Riley James O’Rourke, beloved husband of Clarisse, brother of Seamus, son of the late Mary and Alfred, was dead.
Another head-on collision on the freeway. Just one more messy accident to tie up the rush-hour traffic and inconvenience hundreds of tired commuters trying to find their way home. With his death, everything in Kathleen Margaret Malone’s world suddenly shifted. The tiny being growing inside her no longer had a father. The future Kat had nearly fantasized into reality had suddenly, like so many of her dreams, disappeared into thin air.
Once again, she faced the world alone.
She picked up the foamy toothbrush and realized her fingers were steady. In fact, she felt almost preternaturally calm, as if this were just another day in a humdrum world, or as the old cliché went, the first day of the rest of her life.
Which it was.
She took a deep breath, rinsed off the toothbrush, stepped out of the tiny bathroom and walked into the studio beyond. Seamus O’Rourke turned and nailed her with a piercing gaze. Kat hesitated, then took another deep breath. She’d faced down killers, disarmed smugglers, even caught a murderer or two. Riley’s brother actually seemed to think he could order her around. Kat almost smiled with her recovered sense of self. She was not a victim. Never had been, didn’t intend to be. Seamus O’Rourke appeared to be under the impression he was calling the shots. It was going to be interesting when he finally figured out she’d been letting him get away with it all morning.
Kat met his glare with one of her own, then tucked her toothbrush into the breast pocket of her suit and picked up her handbag.
It was time for Mr. O’Rourke to learn that life, as he expected it, was about to change.
~~*~~
He turned his head as the dark green Jag sped past, though he doubted the bitch would recognize him, especially in this nondescript Buick. Of course, it wouldn’t do to be spotted right now, right here . . . not with red paint staining his slacks. Too bad they were ruined, but it was worth the loss. Turning the key in the ignition, he took a deep breath and grinned in anticipation. This was too good to be true. Another O’Rourke, identical to the first. A sobering thought, though. He hadn’t known there was another one. Success depended on knowledge. Knowledge required study.
He pulled in behind the Jag and followed at a discreet distance. There was no rush. None at all. After all the months of planning, of dreaming about this moment, he’d never once considered how much he would enjoy himself.
Smiling broadly, he followed the dark green sedan through the rolling streets of San Francisco.
~~*~~
“Make a list. I’ll send the housekeeper out for whatever you need for the next couple of days, at least until you’re in condition to shop for yourself.”
Seamus turned off the ignition and stepped out of the car before Kat had a chance to respond. She’d been fuming throughout the entire ride from her house to his. By the time he opened her door and reached down to give her a hand she was ready to explode.
She ignored him, stubbornly folding her arms across her middle. Damn him. She’d wanted to drive her own car, but do you think he’d take her by the cemetery to pick it up? “I’ll do my own shopping as soon as you take me to my car. I’m not getting out until you do.”
“Your car will be delivered within the hour. I’ve already sent for it.”
“How?” She glared out of the corner of her eye. He glared back. “You don’t have the keys.”
“I took them out of your purse.”
“You what?” She unzipped her bag and scrambled through the garbage that seemed to collect in there of its own volition. No keys. “You had no right to go through my bag.”
“It was done under the watchful eye of the police captain. In fact, it was his idea. He didn’t want you driving, not after the emotional strain you’ve been through. Now please get out of the car.”
She figured she could sit here a while longer to make her point, but it wouldn’t prove a thing. Besides, if she didn’t find a bathroom soon she’d probably wet her pants. It was truly amazing what pregnancy did to a perfectly healthy body. She didn’t see Mr. O’Rourke taking lightly to pee stains on his expensive leather upholstery. She swung her legs around and stepped out of the car before Seamus could once again offer his hand. For some reason it felt like a victory. A very small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
A strident voice in the back of her mind reminded Kat she was the one supposedly calling the shots. She pushed the voice aside, grabbed a tight hold on her tiny victory and followed Seamus into the house.
“This will be your room.” Seamus opened the door and stepped back, waiting for her comment of appreciation, her acknowledgment of the tasteful decor.
Instead she brushed by him and headed directly for the bathroom, as if she’d been here a thousand times before.
“You’re not going to be sick again, are you?” Please, he thought. Not here. He glanced at the toe of his shoe, wiped clean after this morning, and wondered if he’d ever wear this pair again.
He heard the toilet flush, the sound of running water, then she was standing in the doorway wiping her hands on one of his grandmother’s delicate hand-embroidered towels. “Thought I was gonna pop.” She tossed the towel on the counter behind her. “Nice room.” Kat looked around as if she’d just stepped into a Motel 6. She dumped her bag on the bed and slipped her fitted black jacket off her shoulders, then casually removed a lethal-looking pistol from a previously unseen shoulder holster.
Seamus thought for a minute he might be the one to throw up. “What in God’s name is that?”
“It’s a pistol, nine-millimeter Ruger, to be exact.” She carefully unfastened the holster, slipped the harness down her arm and folded the whole contraption into a neat bundle. “Riley carried a gun. You knew that. We have very similar jobs, the same kinds of risks. So what’s the big deal?”
“Riley wasn’t pregnant,” was all he could think to say.
“Well of course not.” She rolled her eyes. “Look, if it’s a problem, I’ll leave. I can find a room in town, but the gun stays with me. I’ve had three attempts on my life in the last year alone. You saw what my apartment looked like.”
“Just what is it you do, Ms. Malone?” He knew, as with Riley’s work with the FBI, she was some kind of investigator, at least that’s what the police captain had alluded to. Somehow, though, the reality of a loaded gun tucked neatly under the arm of this tall, slim blonde with the look of a fashion model and the mouth of a street walker wasn’t all that easy to digest. Neither was the stark image of the weapon lying on his grandmother’s crocheted bedspread.
“I’m a field agent for the Department of Transportation. Or was, that is, until I barfed in my partner’s car on stakeout. I’ve since been assigned desk duty for the duration of my pregnancy.” She flashed him a dry but tired smile. Seamus had the odd sensation of having been punched in the gut while tumbling down Alice’s rabbit hole.
Not a particularly pleasant feeling, but Lord Almighty, the woman was magnificent when she smiled. “That doesn’t tell me what you do, though, does it?” He struggled for a sense of balance. “Do you have to carry a gun?”
“You are an uptight fish, aren’t you?” She smiled again, and once more he felt dizzy with the glory of it. “I guess, to be perfectly explicit, my job requires me to track down crooks within our transportation system. Truck drivers embezzling goods, smugglers bringing things in or taking them out of the country, mob activity, whatever illegal actions someone can think of that affects how goods are moved.” She smiled again, holding her hands out as if for understanding. “When you deal with crooks, it’s a good idea to at least match their firepower.”
“I see. I guess you surprised me. To be quite honest, you don’t look the part.”
“No, actually, I look like a hooker. A high-class hooker is how my supervisor describes me, but still a hooker. I think that’s what got me the job in the first place. I do a lot of undercover work.”
She said it with a twinkle in her eye, but her play on words still made his palms sweat. Leave it to Riley to fall for a street walker, or someone who made her living looking like one. “Is that how you met my brother? Working undercover?”
“No. I met Riley on a job in Utah. My partner was the one working undercover. I was his backup. We were out from the office in Pittsburgh. Riley was brought in from the San Francisco bureau. We hit it off.” She glanced down at her perfectly flat middle. “Yeah, you might say we hit it off real well.”
“You don’t act like a woman in love.” Her choice of words grated over raw nerves. Seamus stepped closer. “How do I know you’re telling the truth? How do I know you’re carrying Riley’s child, not some other man’s bastard? Hell, how do I know you’re even pregnant?”
Seamus knew how to use his size and presence, but instead of backing away from him as he expected, she stood her ground. Her stubborn poise infuriated him. Seamus felt his muscles tense, knew his control was ready to snap.
“Good Lord, O’Rourke. You think I go around puking on people for fun?” Her tired reply undid him.
He practically shouted at her, “My brother was the one with the fertility problems, Ms. Malone. Didn’t Riley tell you? It wasn’t Clarisse’s fault they couldn’t have children. It was his. Now you come along out of the blue and tell me you’re pregnant and Riley’s the father and you expect me to just swallow your story?” He reached out for some inexplicable reason and raised her chin with his fingers. “Hell, you don’t even look pregnant.”
He wasn’t sure what he expected to see, but it certainly wasn’t the flash of vulnerability followed by a rush of blazing anger. “I don’t give a rat’s ass whether you believe me or not, O’Rourke.” She slapped his hand aside. “I may look like a whore but I don’t act like one. As for mourning your brother, well, it’s difficult to mourn a man who didn’t exist. I fell in love with Riley O’Rourke, a fun-loving, sweet-talking Irish devil who promised me the stars, who swore undying love and said we’d always be together. I don’t have affairs with married men, Mr. O’Rourke. I didn’t fall in love with a liar and a cheat. That man can go to hell for all I care and I’ll not mourn him.”
He felt like a deflated balloon, all the fight gone out of him. “Sadly, Ms. Malone, neither will I.” Seamus bowed his head and turned to leave the room. Guilt twisted his gut and clamped a cold, hard fist over his heart. He’d spent his life covering up for his twin, pulling him out of one scrape after another, making excuses for him, compromising his own values to save Riley’s tail, wishing him dead more often than not.
One thing he’d learned, Seamus realized. He’d never wish anyone dead again because the guilt was almost unbearable.
He would, however, do one more thing for Riley. He took another long look at Kathleen Malone. She stood in the middle of the room he would always think of as “Gran’s room,” one hand protectively covering her flat stomach. Silently Seamus vowed he would watch over her. He’d watch over the sassy blonde with the face of a saint and he’d be there for the child she carried. Riley’s child. As close to his own as any child would ever be. That brief flash of vulnerability had told him more than any lie detector, any blood test, ever could. There was no reason to doubt her word.
She did indeed carry Riley’s child.
He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “You must be tired.” He paused, one hand on the doorknob. “Why don’t you rest. Come down when you feel like it and have some dinner. If you like, I can take you into town later to shop for a few things to replace what was . . . damaged. Or take your own car. It’s entirely up to you.”
“You’re damned right it’s up to me.” She held his gaze a moment, clear-eyed and steady, then abruptly turned away and stared out the window.
Women. Seamus glared at her rigid back, searching unsuccessfully for the trace of vulnerability he was certain he’d seen earlier. Shit. You try to be nice . . . He turned and stalked out of the room.
The door clicked behind him and Kathleen burst into tears. Damn, it had been one hell of a day. And damn it again, but she didn’t want to cry. But her hormones were totally screwed, she was tired and pregnant and sick to her stomach and Riley was dead.
She hadn’t been telling the truth when she said she wouldn’t mourn him. She would. She’d miss his laughter and kindness and the plans they’d made. Plans he’d obviously never intended to keep, damn him. And damn his insufferable brother Seamus as well. For being kind, for worrying about her, for giving her refuge when she needed it most. She didn’t want to owe him a thing. Nor did she want to be intrigued by a man who epitomized all the uptight personality traits she despised. A man who looked exactly like the one she thought she’d loved.
That man obviously never existed at all.
Damn. Damn. Damn it all to hell.
Kat stripped her clothes off and crawled between the sheets, too tired to shower, too emotionally exhausted to care. One hand rested protectively over her belly, protecting her child. Riley’s child. The child Seamus told her was impossible. Later, she thought. She’d worry about it later.
~~*~~
Oh, this was actually fun . . . and so easy. There was no need even to stop the car. He merely noted the location and glided quietly past the mansion.
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for re-sell or re-print either digitally or in print format by ANY entity other
than the legal publisher of this work listed above. Re- sell or re-print of
this work may not be used without the written permission of the author
AND the publisher or without full monetary compensation of the work
to both the author and legal publisher. Any infringement upon this
copyright will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. If you have
purchased this novel in a `re-sell packet', please inform the author and/or
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