Haunting Embrace (28 page)

For Meaghan, the words seemed to echo endlessly, a sonic bomb in a salt-laden lake, confirming things she didn’t want confirmed. Thick and catastrophic, it rippled innocently across the surface while beneath, it wreaked devastation beyond belief.

Dead.

Just as she’d seen him in the kitchen. In her mind, Meaghan saw those sightless eyes staring at her, staring
through
her. She pictured the grisly gash across his throat, the handle of the knife protruding from his chest. Like the dream about the woman in white, Meaghan had denied what she’d seen. She’d assumed her overactive imagination had cast him from the shadows, and when the
real
Mickey had come home, calmly eaten supper, and then departed again, she’d convinced herself that the dead man had been a waking dream.

Áedán pulled her back against his chest, her spine fit to the hard muscle, her bottom cradled against his thighs. The feel of him gave her strength when her legs turned rubbery and her insides shuddered.

“Dead?” Colleen repeated in a toneless voice. “No, I’m sure you’re wrong.”

And Meaghan heard in those words the truth. She did not deny his death because she couldn’t face it. On the contrary, Colleen could not imagine that life would allow something as final as death to save her from an eternity of suffering at Mickey’s hand. Death was too easy an out from a marriage she’d expected to torment her forever. Colleen thought death too kind a fate for the likes of herself.

“He was found murdered, Mrs. Ballagh,” Francis said, earning himself another cutting glance from the big man at his side.

Behind her, Áedán sucked in a soft breath, his hand moving across Meaghan’s stomach as he anchored her more firmly to him.

“I heard someone last night,” he whispered into her ear.

“Mickey coming home,” she breathed back.

“But then he left. There was someone out in the back. I heard but . . . I didn’t care who it was as long as he made Mickey go away.”

He’d heard someone out back? Meaghan hadn’t, but she wasn’t surprised. The raw truth of his words echoed what she’d been feeling at the time as well. She hadn’t cared for anything but Mickey’s absence. At least she hadn’t been alone in the consuming heat that had engulfed her—only in the motivation. That sobering thought brought her back to reality. Áedán had wanted Mickey gone for entirely different reasons than Meaghan. He’d wanted Mickey away from the pendant because Áedán wanted it for himself. Meaghan had been wrapped up in only the passion of the moment and the sweetness of his kiss.

She tried to put an inch between their bodies, quelling the desire to close the gap as soon as she’d made it.

Brion reached over and touched Colleen’s hand. “I know this must be a shock for you,” he said gently. “And I’m sorry, lass.”

He looked sorry. Not that Mickey was dead, but that Colleen might be hurt by it. Meaghan had a moment to feel pity for Brion MacGrath’s wife. She didn’t stand a chance against the adoration in Brion’s eyes as he gazed at Colleen.

Colleen nodded, the motion wooden and forced.

“We found him just before the sun came up. He’d been stabbed, Colleen.”

By her kitchen butcher knife. He didn’t say it, but Meaghan had no doubt it was true. How could it be that she’d seen him dead before it had happened?

Sick with uncertainty and fear, she watched Francis pull a bound object from the large pocket inside his jacket. He unwrapped the thick, stained canvas from around it and showed Colleen a knife.
Her
knife. The one Mickey had plucked from the counter and wielded against her at supper. Dried blood crusted the blade.

“Do you recognize it?” Francis asked.

Again, Colleen nodded. “Last night, Mickey became very angry with me,” she said in a wavering tone. “I shouldn’t have raised my voice to him, I know that. But I did and he threatened me with that knife. Mr. Brady stopped him before . . . before . . .”

“And that’s when the two of them went at it outside?” Brion asked.

“Yes. I don’t know when Mickey was killed, but I’ll tell you now, Mr. Brady only defended himself. Mickey was as violent as a half-gelded bull. He wanted blood. My blood was what he was after, but Mickey was deadly drunk, and he would have drawn a pint from anyone in reach.”

“So you believe Mr. Brady killed him, then?” Brion asked.

“No. I mean, well, who else would have done it?”

“’Twas my thought as well.”

“But that makes no sense,” Francis said, scowling. “I saw Mickey at the pub, and he wasn’t gnashing over that bone anymore. In fact, he was puffed up like a rooster over what a fine worker he had aboard his boat.”

Brion gave Francis another quelling look, but the thin man blustered on.

“Well, sure, and don’t we all know Áedán could be earning a full wage if he was of a mind to insist. Any of us would take him on and pay him right, but Mickey, he got him for a meal and a bed. We said as much to him, too, and so Mickey decided that Áedán was like a son to him and the ties of loyalty kept them together to hear him tell it. There was no anger in him. I’d swear to it.”

“And Mr. Brady? Where was he?” Brion asked.

“I don’t know, but not standing at the bar with a knife in his hand,” Francis answered indignantly.

“Perhaps not. But if Mr. Brady heard such talk, he would have felt powerfully wronged, I would think.” Brion paused.

Meaghan had the distinct feeling that the conversation had become a train with Brion skillfully laying the track in front of it.

“Witnesses say that Mr. Brady was in that bar and that he sat in a corner saying not a word and drinking nothing,” Brion went on. “And then what did he do but leave without saying good-bye? No one could say if he was in a temper or not. His leaving like that might have set Mickey off again.”

Meaghan glanced over her shoulder. Behind her, Áedán listened with his head cocked to one side, as if analyzing a piece of modern art that made no sense to him. His pupils had returned to their normal size, and the greens of his irises glittered with the myriad forest colors that made them so unique. The whites were clear and bright. He caught her staring and captured her gaze for a hot moment.

“Why would Mickey be angry because Áedán left?” Colleen asked softly.

“Well,” Brion answered, sounding suddenly discomfited. “What if your Mickey thought Mr. Brady had come back for
you
?”

The last was said in a harsh tone that brought Colleen’s head up. “Who would tell such a lie? Mickey trusted Mr. Brady. He’s a fine man.”

Brion’s jaw clenched. “Is he?” he said coldly. “And did you see him last night, after the fight with your husband?”

“No,” she answered.

“Do not lie to me, Colleen.”

“I am not lying, Mr. MacGrath,” she said, lifting her chin higher.

If she could see them, Meaghan was certain Colleen’s eyes would be sparking like striking flint. Brion MacGrath treaded dangerous waters, and Meaghan was not the only one who saw it. Francis shifted a bit away from the bigger man.

“You see,” Francis began, his voice consoling. He glanced at Brion as if he expected aggression from him and didn’t want to be caught in the backlash. Meaghan understood his concern. Brion looked like only a tenuous line held his control in place.

“Mrs. MacGrath told me yesterday she’d heard Mr. Brady begging Hoyt O’Shea to hire him.”

“What business is that of hers?” Colleen asked coldly, looking at Brion.

It was the big man’s turn to look uneasy.

Francis answered, “Just that she heard it and Hoyt turned him away. Said it wouldn’t be right to steal another man’s help.”

“And you’re about thinking that would be reason enough for Mr. Brady to murder my husband?” Colleen said with blatant disbelief.

Francis cleared his throat. “You see, Mrs. Harper told us—”

“Mrs. Harper?” Colleen demanded. The Harpers lived on the other side of Colleen, and Meaghan distinctly remembered them scurrying into the house when the commotion had begun. “What did she tell you? And shame on you both for believing it, whatever it was.”

Meaghan agreed wholeheartedly. The Harpers were notorious snoops. Even fifty years from now, everyone knew them as nosy gossips that used exaggeration as a measuring stick. The Mrs. Harper who lived there now had died when Meaghan was a baby, but they said she liked to spin a story so much that she couldn’t be counted on to tell the truth about the sky being blue and the sun yellow.

But that didn’t explain Mrs. MacGrath’s lie. Meaghan had been there when Hoyt O’Shea had all but begged Áedán to work for him. Even last night he’d repeated the bid. What possible motive would Mrs. MacGrath have for saying otherwise?

A chilling answer occurred to her. Perhaps Brion MacGrath’s wife knew who
had
killed Mickey. Perhaps it had nothing to do with Áedán at all and the skirmish they’d witnessed. Perhaps it was Brion who was at the center of it. Brion who’d held the knife . . .

He hated the man who’d wed Colleen. Had he taken advantage of the explosive argument and used it to kill him, knowing blame would automatically be placed on Áedán? And was his wife now covering for him?

Meaghan closed her eyes, thinking back. What about the voice she’d heard? Twice it had spoken in her head. Twice Brion MacGrath had walked through the door shortly afterwards. Meaghan’s skin raised in gooseflesh, remembering her conversation with Colleen the day before. She’d talked about Brion MacGrath and rumors over his luck. Meaghan had guessed then that Brion MacGrath was Cathán’s dad. Could Cathán be so twisted that he would corrupt his own
father
?

She stared hard, trying to make out the glitter in Brion’s eyes. Did they have that flat, unnatural look to them? She couldn’t tell, not from where she stood. But when Colleen’s visitor had come from the past to deliver a message, she’d specifically said that Cathán knew the future and would be trying to change it. Was this his first step to that end?

Had Cathán pushed his father to murder Mickey Ballagh? Meaghan knew her grandfather had died before she was born, but she had no idea when exactly, what had caused his death, or if history was playing out as it should.. . . Or if Cathán had already twisted its winding road. The Book was responsible for her presence here. That alone might be the only turn the past needed to skew it in a new direction. Perhaps all Cathán had to do next was sit back and wait for her to destroy her own future.

“Well, it wasn’t only Mrs. Harper who told us,” Francis was saying, bringing Meaghan back to the drama unfolding. “Mr. Harper concurred. They both saw Mr. Brady return here late last night and slip in through the back door.”

Meaghan felt light-headed. She swayed and only Áedán’s grip on her hip kept her from bumping into the wall and drawing the attention of the others in the front room. Áedán had been seen coming back. And she knew what the next words would be.

No one had seen him leave.

“It’s true, Colleen,” Brion said and now he looked like he had a better grip on himself. Perhaps he’d heard the outrage in Colleen’s words and it had soothed the beast inside him.

“They both saw Mr. Brady sneak in through the back door. He didn’t turn on the lights. Then not long after, Mickey came home.”

“He did not,” Colleen said emphatically. “I was upstairs the entire night through. He never came up.”

Brion nodded and spoke as if she hadn’t interrupted. “Then Mickey left again, along with Mr. Brady.”

Meaghan shook her head. What were they talking about? Áedán hadn’t gone anywhere.

“I don’t believe it,” Colleen said.

“We think Mr. Brady waited for him,” Francis said nervously. “Then lured him down to the docks and killed him there.”

The silence that followed was thunderous. Colleen shook her head, nervously bobbing the baby on her lap, who fussed and squirmed, preparing to throw the fit Meaghan knew he would if breakfast didn’t appear soon.

In a muted voice, Colleen asked, “But why would he do such a thing?”

“Are you so blind, Colleen?” Brion said, his words soft and raw. “A man will do most anything for a woman.”

Colleen stared at him blankly. “You mean for me?” she asked, incredulous.

A shudder went down Meaghan’s spine, spreading across her flesh like a winter frost. She knew Áedán hadn’t left the kitchen with Mickey. But if Áedán was right and he’d heard someone outside, then who had it been?

“Of course for you,” Brion said angrily. “This Mr. Brady wants you. How can you not see it?”

Francis startled at the rage in Brion’s outburst and eyed the other man with surprise.

Because she knew the truth, Meaghan had to wonder at Brion’s warped reasoning. As far as she knew, there had never been any hint of scandal regarding Colleen and Áedán. No gossip. Nothing. She wondered if the same could be said about Brion and Colleen. Had people guessed at their relationship and condemned Colleen for it?

Was Brion trying so hard to pin this murder on Áedán because
he
was the one who killed Mickey?

“We don’t want to jump to conclusions,” Francis said quickly. “Not until we know what happened for sure, of course. We’ll be needing to talk to Mr. Brady to sort it out.”

Colleen nodded stiffly. “He usually comes up for breakfast. He should be here in a bit. Did you not see him on
The Angel
?”

“No,” Francis said. “No one has seen him since last night.”

“He’s on the run,” Brion said. “He murdered your husband and now he’s hiding. Is he here, Colleen?”

“Here? Are you unhinged, Brion MacGrath? What in heaven’s name would he be doing here before I’m even up and around? With Mickey gone at that?”

“We have to say something,” Meaghan whispered to Áedán, seeing where the train was leading. Knowing the devastation that was sure to come. “Stay here.”

Áedán reached out to stop her, but when he did, the marking on his arm caught his eye. He pulled back, turning his wrist so he could see the spiraling symbol that had manifested beneath his skin. A look of disgust and horror masked his face.

Meaghan thought the marking had darkened since she’d first seen it, but she kept her opinion to herself. While Áedán continued to stare at his arm in shock, Meaghan stepped out from the kitchen, drawing Brion’s attention.