“Yeah, but that comes later. I’m not supposed to tell that part first.”
Liam snuggled down on the sofa, distractedly examining a Bucky Dent card as his brother’s voice wove the familiar tale. He loved the Mighty Quinn stories, especially this one. When his father or one of his older brothers decided to tell a story, Liam could almost picture Ireland. Brendan was the best storyteller and then his da. But in his da’s stories, the women were always the enemy and Liam wasn’t sure he liked that.
“One day, a poor beggar woman wandered into the forest, looking for food for her starving family and she came upon the wee child. But where were the babe’s parents? she wondered. They were probably doing the same thing she was, gathering food in the forest. So she sat and waited for them to return.”
“But they never came because Riagan didn’t have parents,” Liam said.
“He did. No one knew who they were,” Brian said.
“No, he didn’t. He was an orphan,” Liam said.
“If you know the story so good, then why don’t you tell it?” Brian snatched the Bucky Dent card away. “You can’t have that one. Take the Carlton Fisk.”
“As darkness fell, the woman began to worry,” Liam said, prompting him to continue as he clamped his fingers on the Bucky Dent card and pulled.
Brian gave up the card. “She couldn’t leave the baby in the woods for surely he’d be eaten by the wolves. But she already had seven children to feed at home. She walked away, but her heart had been captured by Riagan’s sweet smile. In the end, she returned and carried him out of the woods. The fairies watched from the shadows, happy to see that Riagan had found a loving home.”
Just then, the front door opened and Conor stepped inside. He shrugged out of his jacket, then glanced over at his brothers, giving them a suspicious look. “What are you three up to? You’re supposed to be doing your homework when I come home.”
“A story,” Liam said. “A Mighty Quinn story. Come and tell it. Brian doesn’t do it the right way. It’s the one about Riagan and the silver tongue.” Conor groaned, but he didn’t refuse. In truth, Conor rarely refused Liam anything. “The lady found him in the forest and took him home. That’s where we are,” Liam prompted.
Conor sat between Brian and Liam, throwing his arms along the back of the sofa. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes, then began to spin the tales that had become a regular part of their evenings together. There were so many Mighty Quinn tales to choose from, all of them featuring one of their long-ago ancestors, all of them exciting and heroic.
“Riagan settled into his new family,” Conor said. “And soon their fortunes seemed to change. Everyone in the village came to see the baby and were so captivated by him that they left small gifts of food and clothing. And as Riagan grew, he became more and more handsome. And the drops of dew that the fairies had fed him had given him a silver tongue. Riagan could talk anyone into anything.”
Liam snuggled against his brother’s side, his earlier fears fading. Everything would be all right. Conor would make it right.
“Around the time Riagan was growing tall and strong, the king died and Queen Comyna came into power over the people of Ireland. She was greedy and suspicious and coveted all things of beauty and value, believing these things to be reserved for those of noble birth. And while her husband was generous with the poor people of his kingdom, his queen wasn’t. She went through the kingdom, stripping her subjects of even the tiniest valuables. Times were hard and many people went hungry.”
“But Riagan was a clever boy,” Liam continued.
“Yes, he was. One day, while he was fishing in a stream, he came across a shallow pool, the bottom lined with pretty pink stones worn smooth by running water. He gathered them up and when he got back to his village, he sought out one woman in town, a woman known as a gossip. Riagan showed her one of the stones and told her that a fairy had given it to him and that it was more valuable than gold.”
At that moment Dylan and Brendan came bursting through the front door, joking and laughing. They caught sight of their four brothers lined up on the sofa. “What’s this?” Dylan asked.
“A story,” Liam said. He motioned them over. “Brendan, you tell now.”
Of all the Quinn brothers, Brendan had a special way with words, and if Liam closed his eyes and listened to Bren, he could see the story as if it were a movie in his head.
Conor continued, giving Brendan his cue. “Of course, the story about the pink stone spread quickly around the kingdom and, a few days later, Queen Comyna’s soldiers showed up at Riagan’s door, demanding that he turn over the fairy stones he’d found. But Riagan told them that the fairy had only given him one.”
Brendan sat on the floor and stretched his legs out in front of him. “The next day Riagan retrieved another pink stone from his hiding place and took it to town, telling the gossip that the fairy had visited him again. This time, a local merchant paid him a tidy sum for the fairy stone, but, as expected, the queen’s soldiers soon came to collect the stone from the merchant. Time passed, and again and again, Riagan brought the fairy stones to town. And each time, the wealthy merchants fought to buy them from Riagan, certain that if the queen was collecting the stones, they must be of great value.”
“I love this story,” Liam murmured.
Bren smiled. “Finally, the day came when the queen’s soldiers came to Riagan’s house again and took him away to the palace. Queen Comyna demanded that Riagan give her all the stones he possessed, but Riagan told her that the fairy only gave him one stone at a time, for these stones were very powerful. Once a person possessed them all, they would be granted anything they wished for—wealth, beauty, youth, happiness.”
Liam wondered where he might be able to find a stream in Boston. All he and his brothers needed were a few pink stones. They could use them to keep the family safe. And they could use them for food and to pay the heating bill.
“Now, no one knew how Riagan was able to convince the queen of this fantastic tale, but, many years later, they said it was his silver tongue, which he’d gotten from drinking the dewdrops from the tips of the fairies’ wands. But many believed that Riagan was just a very clever boy, for he not only convinced the queen that the pink stones were more precious than diamonds or gold, he convinced her that trading all her possessions for the remainder of the stones could only increase her wealth a hundredfold. For all those possessions could be immediately replaced simply by wishing for them and so much more.”
“So the greedy queen offered him everything,” Liam said.
“Riagan walked home to retrieve the rest of the stones and, on they way, had to walk through the deep woods where he’d been found as a baby. There he met a fairy who appeared before him in a beam of light.”
“Riagan, you have returned,” Dylan interrupted in a high, squeaky voice. “You have shown yourself to be a kind and clever lad, but now you must become a man and take your rightful place as king. Give the stones to Comyna and she will offer all she owns. Take it. It is your birthright, but you must rule as King Ail-frid did, with compassion and a generous spirit.”
This was the part in which their father usually launched into a long lecture about trusting women, about how all women were greedy and deceitful at heart, and how Ailfrid met his ruin because he loved Comyna and was blinded to her evil side. But Conor and Brendan usually left those parts out.
“And so the charming boy learned of his charmed life,” Brendan said. “Riagan took his place on the throne, and during his reign, the kingdom flourished. And in a crofter’s cottage at the edge of the dark forest, the greedy Comyna lived out her days, with only a bagful of pink stones found on the bottom of a small stream, knowing she had been bested by the boy with the silver tongue.”
Brendan reached over and ruffled Liam’s hair. “How was that?”
“Good,” Liam murmured with a smile. “I feel better now.”
Conor frowned. “What was wrong before?”
Liam heard Sean suck in a sharp breath and Brian nudged him in the ribs, a silent plea to keep his mouth shut. But Liam knew better. Conor was the only one who could keep them all safe. He was the Mighty Quinn and he’d find a way to keep the dragons from descending on the house.
“We skipped school today,” Liam said. “And a social worker came to visit.”
L
IAM
Q
UINN’S NOSE
itched as he stepped into the musty attic, dust kicking up with every step. The place smelled of old wood and the floorboards creaked beneath his feet. A decrepit horsehair couch sat in the corner, and against the far wall he saw a tiny abandoned fireplace, probably used by a former household servant. The first three stories of the Charlestown home were in the midst of renovation, transformed into condos, like so many in this old neighborhood of Boston. But the attic held clues to a different past, when Irish immigrant families had replaced the wealthy shipbuilders who had founded the neighborhood.
Liam glanced into the shadows behind airy cobwebs. Somewhere in the dark corners he knew there were bats waiting to swoop down on him. Hell, he hated bats. “Could it be any colder in here?”
“The presidential suite at the Four Seasons didn’t happen to be on the right street,” Sean muttered.
“I had a date tonight, you know. Cindy Wacheski was supposed to meet me at the pub at ten.”
“You’re going to run out of women in Boston to charm,” Sean muttered.
“Luckily, new women arrive every day,” Liam teased. “I could introduce you to a few, boyo. How long has it been?” He picked up the camera he had hanging from a strap around his neck, peered through the lens at his older brother and snapped the shutter. “You look like a guy who needs sex and a lot of it.”
The flash illuminated the dark attic and Sean cursed vividly, holding his hand up to his eyes. “This is a stakeout. Anyone on the street can see that flash.”
“I’m sure there are hordes of tourists on the street looking up at this place. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was on the historic Boston tour.” He shook his head in derision. “Couldn’t you have found a place with heat? What could possibly be worth photographing in this attic?”
“It’s not here. It’s across the street. Take a look.”
Liam reached down into his camera case and pulled out his telephoto lens, then exchanged it with the one on his camera. He walked to the grimy attic window and looked out at the street. To his eye, there wasn’t anything worth watching outside. The sidewalk below was empty, the narrow street lined with parked cars.
“This is an important case,” Sean said. “If you’re in, you’re in for good. No backing out later.”
“You could at least start acting like you appreciate me more,” Liam muttered. “I’m your brother and your roommate. I pay half the rent, and tidy up after you and collect your messages when you’re out of town. I don’t have to help you out with this case. I have important work of my own to do. What if I get an assignment from the
Globe?
Being a stringer means that I have to be available. I had a nice photo on page three of the sports section last week. Did you see it?”
“They pay you pennies. And you haven’t paid the rent in three months.”
“So, I’m a little short right now.”
“If you do this job for me, I’ll split my fee with you.”
Sean had been working on and off as a private investigator for nearly four years, starting right after he’d washed out of the police academy—or, more accurately, got kicked out for chronic insubordination. Of the six brothers, Sean was the odd one, quiet, reserved and fiercely private. The only people he truly felt comfortable with were his brothers, and half the time they couldn’t figure out what was going on in his head—especially in the past year or so.
Sean had built his business on tailing cheating spouses and deadbeat dads. He supplemented his income by tending bar at their father’s South Boston pub. And when he needed help, he usually called on his little brother. Liam could always use an extra buck or two.
Sean made a perfect P.I. He was always silently watching those around him. Their eldest brother, Conor, was known as the steady one, and Dylan, the strong one. Brendan had always been a dreamer, an adventurer. Sean’s twin, Brian, liked the spotlight, and was confident and gregarious.
And then there was Liam. His place in the family had been carved out early on. Liam was known simply as the charmer, the pretty boy who breezed through life with more friends and admirers than he could count. Though Liam had always considered his social skills rather ordinary, people just seemed to be drawn to him. Early on, he had learned how to read people. He could see inside their heads and understand exactly what they wanted from him. And if he needed something in return, he would give them what they wanted. Sometimes it was nothing more than a smile or a compliment or simple reassurance. His brothers called it charm.
Maybe that’s what made him a good photographer. He could look through a lens and see a story inside the people he photographed—all their fears and conflicts and doubts. He knew what the public wanted to see in a photograph and he gave that to them. Unfortunately the photo editors at the Boston
Globe
considered his work a bit too “artistic” for a daily newspaper. “Just give me a news photo,” his editor would say, “not a damn masterpiece.”
“So just how much am I going to make on this job?” Liam asked.
“We’re working for a bank,” Sean replied. “Management found a quarter million missing. They think a pair of employees embezzled it, then took off. After tracking one of them to Boston, they called me. If we find the money, we get ten percent.”
Liam blinked in surprise. Split in two, that was over twelve thousand dollars! He barely made that in a year as a stringer. Twelve thousand would buy a lot of film and lab time. “Why don’t they just call the police?”
“Bad P.R. for the bank. They brag about security on all their television commercials. It would look bad to admit the money is missing.”
“All right. I’m in. What am I looking for?”
Sean stepped up to the window and pulled the moth-eaten curtains back. “She lives there,” he said, pointing to a window across the street.
“She?” Sean handed Liam a photo and he held it up to the light from a streetlamp outside. It revealed a rather plain-looking woman wearing glasses. Her hair was pulled back from her face and she wore a starched shirt with a scarf artfully tied at the neck. “She looks like my third-grade teacher, Miss Pruitt. We used to call her Miss Prunes.”
“Eleanor Thorpe, twenty-six, graduated summa from Harvard business school. Took a job as an accountant at Intertel Bank in Manhattan right after graduation. Considered a stellar employee. Six weeks ago she quit without giving any reasons and showed up here in Boston. She’s looking for another job in banking. She went back to Intertel for references.”
“Isn’t that a little odd for an embezzler to ask for references?” Liam questioned.
“It diverts suspicion. She lives there.” He pointed in the direction of the place across the street. “Third floor in that redbrick, three-flat. All the windows are hers, bedroom on the right, living room on the left. Watch her, keep track of her visitors, keep a schedule of her movements.” He handed Liam another photo, this time of a conservative-looking man. “Her partner, Ronald Pettibone, thirty-one, a co-worker at the bank. I want to know if he shows up. I need photos of them together.”
“That’s it? I’m just waiting for him?”
“Yep. If they were in it together, they should make contact so they can divide up the loot. When I get back from Atlantic City—”
“What’s in Atlantic City?”
“A cheating husband,” Sean said. “Big money and an infidelity clause in the prenup. She needs proof.”
“Why don’t you let me take that job and you can stay in this freezing attic and spy on the bean counter?”
“I wanna know who she sees, where she goes,” Sean said.
“Why don’t you just bug her apartment?”
“You can go to prison for that.”
“And not for spying?”
“Nope.”
“So, how long are you going to be gone? If I were going to Atlantic City, I’d have a little fun, meet some pretty girls, do a little gambling. I know this one lady down there who has a killer—”
“It’s strictly business,” Sean muttered.
Liam laughed. “It’s hard to believe you’re a Quinn. When they were handing out the hound-dog gene, they skipped over you.”
“I don’t spend every spare moment chasing woman,” Sean murmured. “I have better things to do with my time.”
“Hey, I don’t chase women. They just happen to chase me. And why they keep chasing you, I’ll never understand. Maybe they like that aloof, silent act of yours. Or maybe they enjoy the challenge. I can hardly wait for the Quinn curse to catch up to you.”
“It won’t if I stay away from women,” Sean murmured. “You’re the one who should worry.”
Liam frowned. “I happen to love women. All kinds of women. And if I keep moving from one to another, none of them will catch me.”
Still, Liam’s joking about the Quinn curse could only go so far. Throughout their childhood, their father had warned them of the dangers of love, hiding his own mistrust of women in the tales of the Mighty Quinns. But now that three of Seamus’s sons had fallen under a woman’s power, Seamus had declared that they’d been the victim of a long-ago curse.
He’d told the new tale to his sons one night when they were all gathered around the bar at the pub. And though the three oldest brothers scoffed at the idea, the three youngest weren’t so skeptical. Liam wasn’t about to be caught in the same trap that had caught Conor, Dylan and Brendan. In truth, he knew the secret, the reason Olivia, Meggie and Amy had managed to snare themselves a Quinn. “Never ride to the rescue of a damsel in distress,” Liam murmured. For some reason, once a Quinn came to a woman’s rescue, it seemed he was doomed.
He glanced down at his watch. Had this been a normal Friday night, he would have been behind the bar at Quinn’s, scoping out the female clientele and deciding exactly which women he was going to charm that evening. Just because the three eldest Quinn brothers were off the market, women hadn’t given up on the younger trio.
“I bought you beer and sandwiches,” Sean said. “In the cooler. There’s take-out Chinese just down the block. Coffee shop on the corner. If you need to leave, set up the video camera. I’ll be back Sunday night, Monday night at the latest.”
“What am I supposed to do if this guy shows up? Do I tail him or her?”
“Call me. You’ve got your cell phone and my number. Then get as much on him as you can, the make of his car, his plate number, anything that we can use to track him down. Hell, break into his car if you have to.”
“Can’t they put me in jail for that?” Liam asked with a grin.
“Only if you get caught,” Sean said as he walked to the door.
Liam watched as his brother closed the attic door behind him, then turned back to the job at hand. Though the conditions weren’t ideal, his side jobs for Sean were usually pretty easy. He turned back to the window and focused his telephoto lens on the third-floor apartment. The lights were on in all the rooms and he found the subject of their surveillance sitting in the living room. Her back was turned to Liam but he could tell she was reading a book.
Suddenly she stood, holding the book in one hand and gesturing wildly with the other. He quickly scanned the apartment, wondering who the hell she was talking to. Then he realized she was talking to herself. “Ground control, we have a loony here,” he murmured.
Liam let the lens move along the length of her body. She was tall and slender with dark hair that fell to the middle of her back. A pair of faded jeans hugged her backside and her T-shirt was tight enough to reveal delicate shoulders and a narrow waist. “Come on, Eleanor,” he murmured. “Turn around and give us a look. I’m not used to spending Friday night without some feminine companionship.”
But she didn’t turn. Instead she dropped her book and walked into the bedroom, too fast for him to focus on her face. When he caught her there again, Liam watched as she stood in front of the closet. Then, in one slow, sinuous movement, she grabbed the hem of her T-shirt and pulled it over her head. Liam held his breath for a moment, then let it out slowly. “Wow,” he murmured.
Though he felt a bit like a peeping Tom, he couldn’t drag himself away from the telephoto lens. He snapped a picture and the autowind on his camera whirred ahead to the next frame. “Turn around, turn around,” he whispered.
But as if she were teasing him, she refused. Her jeans were next and she skimmed them off her hips and kicked them away. Dressed only in her bra and panties, she bent to pick up the jeans off the floor, offering Liam a tempting view of her backside. “Hmm, black underwear. Pretty racy for an accountant.” He snapped another photo.
Suddenly the damp chill in the attic didn’t seem to bother him. His blood pumped a little quicker, warmed by the subject in his viewfinder. He leaned forward, pressing the camera even closer to the grimy window. “Now the bra,” he murmured. “Or the panties. I’m easy. You choose.” And then she turned around and seemed to look directly at him, her dark hair tumbled around an exquisite face.
With a soft curse, Liam jumped back from the window, letting his camera drop against his chest. She was beautiful, nothing at all like the photo he’d been given. “Oh, hell,” he muttered, raking his hand through his hair. He’d probably been watching the wrong window. He snatched up his camera and focused it on the building, counting the floors, reviewing the description his brother had given him.
But he was trained on the right place, and when he found her, she had turned again, reaching around for the hook on her bra. He swallowed hard. He’d been to strip clubs before and watched women take off their clothes for entertainment. But this was something more than just a gorgeous body, it was almost…intimate. And when she slipped into a silk robe, he breathed a long sigh of relief.
Who was this woman? She certainly wasn’t the woman in the picture, all conservative and efficient-looking. But maybe that was all a part of it. Sean had said Eleanor Thorpe was a suspect in the embezzlement of a quarter-million dollars. What better way to pull off a crime like that than to play the part of the dependable, quietly forgettable employee?
She moved to the window. “No,” he murmured. “Not the curtains. Leave them open.” But his plea went unheard.