And he was in love with a dead woman.
She tried to dismiss the thought. She and Joe were just friends precisely because of what had happened. They had seen one another through the hard times and come away good friends.
Yes, she had a multitude of emotions raging within her where Joe was concerned. But what was becoming a growing fear for her mothers safety was the driving force in her desire to see him now.
She rose, kissing her mothers cheek. Ill be at OMalleys. Ill call when Im leaving, and Ill call when I get home, all right?
Eileen flushed, then nodded. Did you enjoy the exhibit?
Genevieve nodded. I think we raised a lot of money. I think Leslie would have been happy. Leslie, who had been either gifted or cursed with extraordinary powers, had been an archeologist. She had loved history; she had revered it. Tonight had been planned in her honor, and they were going to use some of the funds raised this evening to respectfully reinter some of the bones Leslie had dug up on her last dig, the one that had ended up costing her life.
Genevieve dropped another quick kiss on her mothers cheek, then hurried out.
The night was a little cool, making her glad she had chosen a jacket rather than a dressier stole. Not so much because it was warmer, but because it would fit in a hell of a lot better at OMalleys.
The attendant brought her car, and in minutes, she was taking the streets downtown. As she drove, she turned on her radio.
She was in time to catch the news, and the topic was that evenings accident on the FDR, which was still being sorted out. There were brief interview snippets with several of the survivors, and Gen sat up straighter, alarmed, at the sound of one name.
Sam Latham.
CHAPTER 2
Sam Latham.
Another Raven.
Coincidence?
How many millions of people were there in the city?
Gen frowned as the newscaster went on to talk a bit about the man that had been killed, though she was relieved to hear that his young niece had been saved by a man who had left the scene after rescuing the little girl and pulling her uncles body from the car moments before the explosion that had destroyed it.
Joe?
How many millions of people in the city? she taunted herself.
No way.
That would be too much of a coincidence.
But Joe should have been on the FDR right around that time, on his way to the Met.
As she neared OMalleys, she noticed a number of people on the streets and was grateful to see that the lights in the area were bright. Maybe she was more spooked by what had happened to her than shed thought. She parked, pleased to find a spot right outside the bar.
At the door, she hesitated.
Shed been coming here what felt like all her life. It was an authentic Irish pub, and her family was authentic New World Irish. This was pretty much the first place she had come after she was rescued, and it was one of the few places where she had felt truly comfortable, one of the few places where people hadnt stared, where she hadnt felt as if she needed to describe her ordeal in detail, so that people would save their pity for the dead women and not waste it on her.
She wasnt uncomfortable about going into OMalleys.
She was uncomfortable about confronting Joe.
What if he was with a woman? He might not have skipped the Met just because of traffic.
Then she would sit at the bar, have a soda and chat with the bartender. She didnt know who was on, but whoever it was, she would know him. Just as she would know a dozen of the old-timers who came here. Guys who had long since retired. Perhaps they had lost their wives, perhaps theyd never been married, but they liked to come to OMalleys. It was comfortable. The beer was good, the food was tasty and the prices were reasonable.
No matter what was up with Joe Connolly, she would be fine.
She pushed open the door.
Joe wasnt with a date. At least, she didnt think so. He was leaning against a bar stool, shirtsleeves rolled up, tie loosened.
Hey, Joe. She walked over to him.
Joe was a regular at the pub, too. She knew that he spent a lot of time here because he liked it. Because the beer was good, and the food was tasty and the prices were reasonable. But it was still more her place than his, she told herself. Even if he fit in just fine.
He was playing darts with Paddy OLeary and Angus MacHenry. Regulars. Neither one of the octogenarians really drank much. She usually found them drinking soda, water or teahot Irish breakfast tea, always with sugar and milk.
She greeted both of them as she got closer.
The older men paused to kiss her cheek and offer her giant smiles. Y doin okay? Angus demanded.
On top of the world, she assured him.
Y sure, lass? Paddy demanded, searching out her eyes.
Im just fine.
Shed been saying the same thing for a year now, but with Angus and Paddy, it was all right. They asked after her every time they saw her, took her word that she was doing fine and moved on.
Joe threw his dart. It was just shy of a bulls-eye. He walked over, and also offered a hug and a kiss on the cheek. It was awkward, though. As if he were simply going through the expected motions.
They were friends, she told herself. Like she was friends with Paddy and Angus.
Except that Paddy and Angus could have been her great-uncles, while Joe was young and straight and pretty much the perfect man.
Too damned perfect.
Arent you supposed to be up at the museum, girl? Paddy asked.
I was at the museum, she said. Now Im here. She smiled to take any sting out of the words.
Ah, a great night, eh? Angus asked, rubbing his white-bearded chin.
It was a very good night, she agreed. Then she hesitated. I need to speak with Joe, she said. I dont mean to mess up your game or anything.
Ah, dont be silly, child, Paddy told her.
Get on over there with the girl, Joseph Connolly, Angus said cheerfully. Ye can knock the socks of the both of us old geezers later.
Joe arched a brow, but he didnt complain; he just reached for his jacket and said, Certainly, gentlemen. Im delighted to speak with Genevieve. At any time.
His words were polite, almost gallant, but then, Joe was always polite. It seemed to come naturally to him.
But he seemed distant. He indicated an empty booth, and she took a seat. He sat across from her and ordered another beer as soon as the waitress arrived. Gen asked for a soda and frowned. Joe had apparently had a few drafts already.
Are you driving? she asked him.
He shook his head. Nope. Dont worry. I came by subway. You know me.
Do I? she wondered.
So how was the party? he asked her.
Great. I actually think you would have enjoyed it.
He shrugged. Im sorry. I intended to come.
She nodded. My mother wanted to see you. Oh, that was horrible. Laying a guilt trip on him when she knew how much he liked Eileen.
How is she?
Fine. Not as worried as I think she should be.
He arched a brow. Ah. The Poe Killing.
You dont appear to be too concerned, either.
Again, he shrugged. It bothered her that he seemed so distracted. I wish I could lose sleep over every terrible thing that happened, but I cant. We all need to keep a certain distance. Its the key to sanity and survival.
Again, he shrugged. It bothered her that he seemed so distracted. I wish I could lose sleep over every terrible thing that happened, but I cant. We all need to keep a certain distance. Its the key to sanity and survival.
I want you to take the case.
He drummed his fingers on the table for a moment. Gen, he said softly, giving her his attention at last, your mom isnt one of the key players in that organization. She doesnt write about Poe. Hell, she belongs to a zillion clubs, most of them trying to make the world a better place. I cant see her as a target. His argument was rational, and the same one Eileen had given her.
You cant know that, Genevieve said.
He inhaled, looking off into the distance. Gen, Im thinking about heading out to Vegas.
She was stunned, and upset that his sudden announcement hurt her so badly. Sure, he was tall. Rugged, handsome. Frigging charming, even.
But she had led a life that didnt include a lot of wild dating, and that was by choice. If she had wantedwell, there had been plenty of willing men out there, if for no other reason than that she was rich. She had just thought that
She shook her head. Fine. Move to Vegas, she said with a shrug. But take this case first.
Gen, Im willing to bet this murder was committed by someone who just wanted to kill Thornethe Poe angle was just a convenient smoke screen.
Prove it.
He looked away for a moment.
She leaned forward urgently. Joe, did you know that Sam Latham was driving the first car that got hit in that accident on the FDR today?
What? He looked at her with a frown.
Sam Latham. Hes a member of the New York Poe Society, another Raven.
And Ill bet that at least two-thirds of the other people involved were all members of some society or other. Were social creatures. Usually, he added.
She shook her head, irritated. Joe, the New York Poe Society is not a huge group. The local membership is pretty small. Both Thorne Bigelow and Sam Latham arewere on the board. As is my mother.
For a moment, at least, that seemed to pique his interest.
Joe, there are only nine other board members, and two are Bigelows family members. Jared, his son, and Mary Vincenzo, his sister-in-law. Then there are Brook Avery, Don Tracy, Nat Halloway, Lila Hawkins, Larry Levine, Lou Sayles and Barbara Hirshorn. There were twelve in all, but Thorne is dead. And now Sam is in the hospital.
Genevieveit was an accident. Im sure I dont know Poes stories as well as the Ravens do, but since he died in the middle of the nineteenth century, I dont think any of his characters murdered anyone with a car. Somebody was probably driving recklessly, might have been drunk, might have been an asshole, but it was an accident.
Or maybe the driver was pretending to drive recklessly, but he was really trying to hit Sam.
No, he told her firmly. I saw it, and it was an accident.
You saw the whole thing?
He hesitated. I saw a lot of it.
A lot of it?
He didnt answer her at first. It was as if he hadnt even heard her. He was frowning, as if he were deep in thought. Joe?
I told you, I saw most of it. And before thatbefore that, I saw the guy who probably caused it. He could have hit any car on that highway. He was driving like a maniac.
Did you get a look at him?
A saw a car weaving through traffic, and my instinct was to stay the hell away from it. Genevieve, Im not a traffic cop.
He was irritated, which surprised her.
What did the car look like? she asked.
He shook his head, still looking irritated. Some kind of sedan. Black, dark blue, maybe dark green.
She wasnt sure why, but she was certain he was angry with himself, and not with her.
Because he should have noted the car. He should have known the exact color, make and model. He should have gotten the license plate. He was an ex-cop, and in his own mind, he thought he should have done all those things, because the driver had ended up killing someone.
It was you! she exclaimed suddenly.
What?
It was you. She knew it beyond a doubt, without need for verification. Oh, yeah. It sounded just like Joe, saving a life, then walking away. The man hated the limelight.
I was not driving drunk! he said indignantly.
Im not talking about the driver, she said.
A curtain seemed to drop over his eyes, along with a lock of his wheaten hair.
What was me? he asked warily.
The missing hero.
He waved a hand in the air, his gray-green eyes as expressionless as steel.
What are the odds? Im not sure myself. Eight million who live in the city, how many million more when the work force is at its peak? During rush hour
It was you, she said. There were eyewitnesses, and youll be identified eventually. She saw his hand where it lay on the table and grabbed it. He winced. She turned it over. There was a big scrape mark on his palm.
Look, I really dont want a media frenzy. You understand that.
Yes, I do, she said quietly. Life could be so odd. She had met Joe when he and Leslie MacIntyre had discovered the horrible pit in the subway tunnel where she had been taken after shed been kidnapped by the monster whod been stalking the streets of Lower Manhattan. His other victims had wound up dead. Leslie had been killed in the showdown.
Joe had been devastated.
But that day he and Genevieve had formed a certain bond. Maybe because they were both broken in a way.
Genevieve wasnt certain if she had made it through because she had been smart, because she had stroked the killers ego or only because her instinct for survival had been desperate and strong. She had relied on herself in the awful days when she had been a prisoner, and in the aftermath she had created a block against those memories.
What had been harder to handle had been the press. Finding the right words to say at all times. Her unclewho had raised her as his own childhad been a fierce taskmaster. She had been born to privilege, and he had taught her to be responsible. He had made her tough, had expected her to work hard and then harder.
After the rescue, she had been treated as if she were as fragile as a thin-shelled egg, though she had told the truth about her ordeal. Even so, rumors had found their way into the press that were more horrible than anything shed been through, and for much too long she had been an object of pity. She appreciated that people could be compassionate, but she loathed being pitied, loathed the possibility that she might end up in the papers again.
She looked at Joe. But it was you, on the highway, who saved that child, right?
Keep your voice down.
Joe, my voice is down.
I wont be able to work if this gets out. Come on, please. Dont say anything to anyone.
She lowered her head, smiling. Leave it to Joe. It was all about the work. She forced the smile to go away. Take this case, Joe.
He groaned. Are you blackmailing me? he demanded.
Her smile deepened. She hadnt thought of that, but it wasnt a bad idea. Maybe. Now, come on, Ill drive you home. Its late.
No, but Ill see you home.
Joe, youve had a few.