comprehend this strange meeting and cool woman. “Look, do you suppose you could just get to the point? Why’d you call me?”
Seemingly of their own volition, his eyes flickered down again over her breasts when she inhaled.
“I’d like to hire you,” she said.
He raised an eyebrow. “Hire me? For what? I love my sister-in-law like crazy, but if Mari gave you the impression I’m up for spying on cheating boyfriends or roughing up someone who owes you money, she’s dead wrong. Besides, I’m on vacation.”
“I don’t want to hire you to rough up anyone.” He couldn’t fully make out her expression, but from the sound of her voice, she was frowning. “You’re a detective, aren’t you? I’d like to hire you to do some investigative work. It shouldn’t take much more than a few hours every day—probably less—and I understand you won’t start your new job until next month.”
“Oh, you’ve got it all figured out, do you?” he asked with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. “Do you mind if I ask just what it is you think I’m going to investigate?”
“The crash.”
A silence settled between them like hot, flowing lead. It seemed to burn her cheeks, but her gaze didn’t waver. She did start when Liam leaned forward suddenly, his elbows on his jeans-covered knees.
“The crash?” he clarified bluntly.
She nodded.
“Is this some kind of a joke?”
“No. I assure you I’m very serious. If you don’t take the job, I’ll hire another investigator.”
A bark of laughter erupted from his throat. “Maybe you were too young to realize it at the time, but the state police conducted a full investigation of the crash.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?” he asked sarcastically. “Then what is it that you expect me to investigate? What do you imagine I’ll find, exactly?”
“I want to know why he did it.”
He gaped at her. “Why who did what?”
“Your father. I want to know what was going through his head that night. I need to know.”
He’d been insulted by plenty of men in his day, but not in such a personal way, and never by a woman who probably weighed a hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet. The fact that her voice never wavered, never trembled once, infuriated him.
“Do you really believe my father got in that car with the intention of causing a crash and killing all those people?”
She leaned forward, apparently affected by his low, dangerous tone. “No—”
“What, do you think he had some deep, dark suicidal and homicidal wish? You’d be better off hiring some crackpot psychiatrist if those are the type of crap answers you’re looking for.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you.”
“You’re doing a pretty great job of it, nonetheless,” he muttered through a clenched jaw. He stood, ignoring the fact that she started in alarm at his abrupt movement. “Look, I know what my father did to you and your family. My dad made the hugest, most horrible mistake of a lifetime. He paid for it with his life, and my family has paid for it every day since then. I know yours has, too. That doesn’t give you the right to ask me here and make nasty insinuations about his motivations. He was drunk. He caused an accident. End of story.”
“Are you sure about that?”
He started. She either was the ballsiest woman he’d ever run into, the craziest or the meanest. Quite possibly she was all three.
“Yeah. I’m sure about that.” Turning, he walked out the door without looking back. But he had the impression that she remained behind her desk, frozen in the shadows.
Brigit Kavanaugh invited Liam and his sister Colleen to dinner at the house on Sycamore Avenue the next evening. After he’d filled up on his mom’s fried chicken, Liam retired to the front porch.
He brooded as he listened to the familiar sounds of the neighborhood evening tree frog orchestra and the waves hitting the beach at the end of the street. When his sister joined him on the front porch, he couldn’t help but notice she looked as irritated as he felt.
“Where’re the kids?” Liam asked, referring to Colleen’s two children, Brendan and Jenny. Colleen was a widow. Her husband, Darin, had been killed in service in Afghanistan three years ago.
“They’re watching that new video Mom got them. So what’re you frowning about?” Colleen asked grumpily before she plopped down on the porch swing.
“I was just thinking about the fried chicken. Do you think Mom is actually following her diet?”
Colleen’s grimace told him she’d been wondering the same thing. Their mother had had a mild heart attack last year. At Brigit’s latest checkup her doctor had told Colleen her mother had been neglecting her medications and ignoring her dietary restrictions. The news had stunned the Kavanaugh children, who had thought their mother was perfectly healthy.
“I think she is.” Colleen gave the screen door a furtive look. “I check with Margie at the pharmacy, and she says Mom has been picking up her medicine regularly. She only had one piece of chicken tonight, and she used vegetable oil to fry it.”
Liam sighed. They couldn’t follow their mom around like she was a two-year-old and make sure she followed doctor’s orders, after all. Brigit Kavanaugh was a warm, caring mother. She was also a well-guarded fortress when it came to her private life.
“I told you why I was frowning, so you spill about why you’re in such a bad mood,” Liam challenged his sister. “Oh, wait…I’ve got it. It’s Wednesday evening.”
Colleen pulled a face as she twisted her blond hair and clipped it at the back of her head. She didn’t respond, but she didn’t have to, really. His comment explained everything. Eric Reyes, Natalie’s older brother, volunteered at the facility where Colleen worked as a clinical social worker. Being around Eric tended to make Colleen a tad tetchy.
It wasn’t that Liam or Colleen didn’t understand Eric’s and Natalie’s anguish over the loss of their mother. It wasn’t even that they begrudged them for their suit against their father’s estate or the court order that resulted, whereby the majority of Derry Kavanaugh’s savings and property had to be liquidated to pay the Reyes and Itani families for damages. It was Eric Reyes’ insolent attitude whenever he encountered a Kavanaugh that really got to Colleen—and Liam, for that matter.
Unfortunately, Reyes volunteered at the Family Center—the treatment facility and organization for victims and survivors of substance abuse that Mari Kavanaugh had opened last year. Liam had learned from experience that his sister would likely be in a bad mood on Wednesday evenings, since Eric worked at the center on Wednesday afternoons.
“What’d the prince of physicians do this time to get your knickers in a twist?” Liam asked.
“He trumped me with one of my clients.”
