Sean had taken up the practice of calling him at regular intervals and reminding him to eat. Annoying, but he guessed he was lucky that somebody cared. Otherwise he would be lost in space.
His younger brother Sean’s Jeep was parked in the driveway. He was going to get lectured from both sides. They were talking on the back porch as he opened the door. Their voices suddenly ceased.
Two pairs of green eyes almost identical to his own scrutinized him as he stepped out onto the deck.
“You’re late,” Davy said. “We ate.”
“Novak’s busted out,” Connor told them. “With two of his goons. One was that guy I roughed up last November. Georg Luksch.”
They listened to the water lapping against the pebbles under the deck for a long moment.
“You think he’s going to want to play with us?” Davy asked.
Connor sank into a chair, bone tired. “It’s what he lives for.”
Sean buried his face in his hands. “God. I’m swamped trying to get this business off the ground. I don’t have time to play with Novak.”
“I’m less worried about us than I am about Erin,” Connor said.
Davy and Sean’s gazes narrowed in on him, like a couple of laser beams. He bore it stoically.
“What about Erin?” Davy’s deep voice was low and wary.
Connor folded a scrap of paper he’d found on the table into an origami unicorn. One of his bored-out-of-his-mind-in-rehab activities that had evolved into a full-blown nervous habit. “He had Erin in his clutches once. I pulled her loose. He’s not going to forget that. Georg Luksch won’t forget it, either. She’s pretty, and young, and clueless. He goes for that. And he’s going to want to punish Riggs for failing him.”
“Erin is not your problem,” Davy said. “You did your best for her. You didn’t get much thanks for it. The most you can do is warn her.”
“I already did.”
Davy and Sean exchanged meaningful glances.
“You talked to her?” Sean demanded. “Tonight?”
Connor braced himself. “I went to her place,” he admitted. “Followed her to her mom’s house. Gave her a ride home.”
Sean winced. “Uh-oh. Here we go again.”
Davy took a swig of beer, his hard, lean face impassive. “How’s she doing?” he asked.
“Not well,” Connor said. “Like hell, actually. Since you asked.”
“Look, Con,” Sean began. “Don’t bite my head off, but—”
“How about you don’t even start?” Connor suggested.
Sean barged on, undaunted. “I know you’ve been carrying a torch for that chick for years, but your testimony put her dad’s ass in jail. You cannot be her hero, dude. You’re just going to get hurt.”
Sean’s words made him feel bleak and sad, not angry. “Thank you for sharing your opinion,” he said. He unfolded the unicorn, and scribbled Claude Mueller’s name, e-mail address, and the flight information that he’d memorized onto the paper. He pushed it across the table toward Davy. “Would you check these out for me?”
Davy picked it up and examined it. “Who is this guy?”
“This is the mysterious millionaire who has recently developed a passionate interest in Celtic artifacts. Erin’s flying down to Portland, to be met and driven to Silver Fork Resort, where she will proceed to authenticate a mess of priceless relics for him.”
“And what is it exactly that bothers you about this?” Sean asked.
“Neither she nor anybody she knows has ever actually seen the millionaire,” he said. “He’s always been too busy to meet with her since he started hiring her. Four months ago.”
“Ah.” Davy’s voice was thoughtful.
“Find out who’s paying for those flights,” Connor told him. “And find out everything you can about the Quicksilver Foundation.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“She’s leaving tomorrow. I told her she needed a bodyguard, and she spit in my eye,” Connor said. “Threw me out of her apartment.”
“I don’t blame her,” Sean said. “A guy who looks like you is not a good fashion accessory for a bodacious babe.”
“Bite me,” Connor said wearily. He pulled his tobacco and papers out of his pocket.
“Did it occur to you to shave, or brush your hair before you inflicted yourself on her?” Sean lectured. “Jesus, Con. You barbarian.”
Connor nodded toward his older brother. “Davy’s got beard stubble. Bug him for a while.”
“Davy’s another story.” Sean’s voice was elaborately patient. “Davy irons his shirts. Davy eats. Beard stubble is a very different fashion statement on Davy.”
Davy stroked his stubble and gave Connor an apologetic shrug.
Connor looked at Davy. “Speaking of food. You promised me a steak.”
Davy looked startled. “You mean, you actually want some?”
“I’m hungry,” Connor said.
Sean’s jaw sagged. “So having Erin Riggs spit in your eye stimulates your appetite, huh?” He sprang to his feet. “One rare T-bone coming right up. I’ll nuke you a baked potato, if you want.”
“Make it two,” Connor said. “Lots of butter and sour cream and chives. And don’t forget the black pepper.”
“Don’t push your luck.” Sean’s grouching was belied by his huge grin. He kicked open the screen door and bounded toward the kitchen.
“When do you need the Mueller info?” Davy asked.
“Tomorrow morning. I’m taking a road trip down to Portland.”
Davy’s face darkened. “To meet her plane? Oh, Christ. Forget the hero routine just this once. Call Nick. They’re the ones who should—”
“I already tried Nick. They think Novak’s back in Europe.”
“They probably have good reason to think so,” Davy growled.
“I’ve got a bad feeling,” Connor said. “She can’t go meet this guy all alone. If Ed were around, it would be his job to look after her, but—”
“But Ed’s not around,” Davy cut in. “And that is not your fault.”
“It’s not Erin’s fault, either.” Connor avoided his brother’s gaze as he finished rolling the cigarette.
