The Friday night crowd was diminishing, so Declan thanked her and told her to go on home.
She didnt 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 dont 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 days 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 mansor womanstalents 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 Dannys best-intended foibles had gotten him into the trouble when shed met Craig; now Kevins 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 restaurantkaraoke 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 wasnt surprised. Or disappointed. Sharing a shower with Craig, she wouldnt 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 cleanand 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 Kierans near-dark room, and back into one anothers 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. Hes a liar. I cant prove it. Theres no way, really. Jeannette Gilbert is dead. But, in my gut, I know it. Theres no way in hell that man is the mystery lover Jeannette alluded to in her interviews. Hes a liar. He smiled grimly as he stroked her face. I will, however, he assured her, discover the truth.
CHAPTER FIVE
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 hadnt been altered, then it seemed that Jeannette Gilberts killer had slipped into a cloak of invisibility that had covered her, as well.
Weve established that the killers not stupid, Mike said, watching Craigs expression. And, according to our good docs and Kieran, hes organized, and we know that hes killed before. According to the info we have on his first victim, he has a vision, a way of leaving his victims. Maybe hes even trying to learn how to preserve them. He just hasnt 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. Hes definitely been here. Hes a respectable man. He might have been meeting with Jeannette Gilbert for some kind of a publicity thing. Wasnt she part of a promotional event here?
Yes, I believe she was. We dont have anything on Roger Gleasonyet, 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 cant fathom how he got down here.
The security footage is somehow jimmied.
Craig looked over at him. Egan has our people working with their people. None of them can figure out how the tape was fixed. And if it wasnt fixed, theres another way in here.
Yeah? Under the ground? Mike asked.
Yeah, under the ground.
Mike groaned. He was older; he actually had the seniority. But the two of them had been working together for years, and they had a great relationship.
Mike walked down the rows of tombsthose sealed and those notmuttering as he leaned over the shelves of the dead, pushing at the walls.
Craig did the same. It was eerie work; he tried not to look at the skeletal remains beneath their decaying shrouds. He thought about Shaw and the historical people.
They probably wouldnt be happy. They worked with delicate chisels and tiny brushes, and he was pushing aside nearly two-hundred-year-old remains in his attempt to find what he was looking for.
It seemed, however, that he hit nothing but the solid granite on which the city sat.
Special Agent Frasier!
He nearly bumped his head, startled by the uniformed officer who had come to talk to him.
Theres a rep here from the mayors office. Shes with Henry Willoughby, Aldous Digby and Roger Gleason. Theyre waiting to talk to you in the storage area, the officer told him.
Yeah, of course, Craig said. He glanced at Mike and shrugged.
The body was gone. Jeannette had been taken to the morgue.
The forensic team had gone over the area with a fine-tooth comb.
The body was gone. Jeannette had been taken to the morgue.
The forensic team had gone over the area with a fine-tooth comb.
It had to be opened back up to the archaeologists, anthropologists and historians who would record the find and see that the remains were reinterred in a cemetery in Brooklyn or the Bronx.
He and Mike walked back out past the broken wall to where Roger Gleason was waiting with Henry Willoughby and Aldous Digby and a young woman in a smart pin-striped business suit. Her heels were too high for the marble steps that led to an uneven basement floor, but she represented the mayor, so he figured her attire had to be proper.
Special Agents, she said, addressing him and Mike and offering her hand in a shake. Im Sandra Adair from the mayors office. Naturally, were grateful for the federal interests here. And were appalled about the murder of Ms. Gilbert. But, gentlemen, weve spoken with Assistant Director Egan, and weve all agreed that its time to let the historians get back to work. Are we all in agreement?
Yes, I believe its all right for the work to continue, Craig said politely. With Ms. Gilbert now in the tender hands of the medical examiner, Professor Shaw and Professor Digby may continue their documentation of the long dead.
He kept his voice modulated, trying to hide his irritation.
Willoughby lowered his head, smiling, no doubt aware of Craigs feelings. Sandra Adair seemed oblivious, and Roger Gleason apparently didnt care one way or another; he wasnt reopening for business yet.
Well, then, thank you, and, naturally, well be anxious to hear that youve solved the murder of Ms. Gilbert, Adair said. Mr. Willoughby, Ill leave it to you to call the experts back in. Oh, by the way, Special Agent Frasier. I dont believe your phone has been working down here. I have a message for you from Detective McBride. He wants you to call him.
Thank you, Craig said.
She turned to head back up the old marble steps. He gritted his teeth and then stepped forward to help her. She was annoying, but he didnt want to see her flat on the ground with a broken ankle.
Were okay? Digby asked. He let out a sigh. To be honest, Im anxious to do this work, but Im equally anxious to get in and out.
Yes, well need John Shaw, Willoughby said as Craig headed up the stairs.
Craig turned back to Digby. Professor, you were here when Ms. Gilbert was found. Is there anything in particular you noted? Anything you could tell us that might help in any way?
Digby was thoughtful.
The floor, he said.
The floor?
People had already been in, of course. But, theres always a kind of a filmtime and decayon the floor. Now that Ive had time to think, there was something a little off. It seemed to me that much of it was...too clean.
Was that before or after the body was found? Craig asked him.
When we first came down, I thought it odd. The tombs, the shrouds, the coffins all had that film. But the floor seemed clean. Right at the start.
Before Craig could comment, Willoughby got down to business. Ill call Shaw so we can get moving. This is going to take weeks.
Yes, thank you, Mr. Willoughby, Craig said. He headed out then and didnt look back.
He heard Mike speaking with Gleason, thanking him for his concern for the city.
Then Mike headed up after him.
An officer was at the main Gothic-arched doorway, keeping watch over who entered and exited. Craig nodded and headed out to the street, aware that Mike was with him.
Rat terrier, Mike said.
Pardon?
Its not really her fault. I mean, theres no reason to stop the experts from their cataloging and corpse inspections, he said drily. Shes doing her job, that Ms. Adair. Shes just nervous-looking and yappylike a rat terrier.
Craig grinned. Yesterday we dealt with an assholeaccording to McBrideand today a rat terrier.
Yeah, but at least you dont have to pretend to be polite to an asshole! Mike said.