“Hey, what do you think? Maybe we should have gotten some surfboards, eh?” Mike asked Craig.
There were a few boards leaning against the wall in the Cranky Crab. The place was something of a tiki hut, large and sprawling, up on wooden pilings, and actually on the beach. It was large, with a seating capacity of about four hundred.
“Maybe we should have,” Craig said.
“I was being a wiseass.”
“So was I.”
The clientele of the restaurant was intriguing and included young women with cover-ups over scanty bikinis that didn’t really cover up much accompanying muscle-bound young males, all the way up to older folks, some of the men with traditional Hasidic locks and facial hair and some of the women in wigs or scarves and long black dresses that concealed them almost entirely. And there was every mode of apparel in between, as well. And still, the place advertised very importantly that it was completely kosher.
Mike was glad that the two of them hadn’t gotten carried away. They were in board shorts and T-shirts, just a couple of guys out to catch one of the first days of nice warm spring sun. It was that time of year when the weather could come and go quickly...winter not so far past that it didn’t whisper now and then about a return to cold and ice. They ordered light beers and a house specialty—borscht—and kept their conversation to sports. How about those Jets? And what was going on with the Yankees and the Mets? Of course, then, well, hell, they could talk about the Giants...
Mike went passionately into hockey as their food arrived. It was about then that Craig saw Jacob bussing a table and knew Jacob had seen them, as well. He headed over to their table, clearly ready to join the passionate hockey discussion. If they were noted by others in the restaurant, they were quickly dismissed.
Before Jacob walked away—after vociferously agreeing with every word Mike had to say about hockey, but quietly imparting plans—they knew to meet in an hour in a safe house about two blocks away.
They rose to leave; Craig thanked their pleasant waitress.
“Spasiba,” Mike said. “Do svidaniya.”
He actually sounded damned good. Almost as if he had an edge on the accent.
She smiled and returned his words.
“Thank you and goodbye,” Craig said. “A little Russian, huh?”
“It never pays to give away everything you know—haven’t I taught you that, kid?” Mike teased.
“A good lesson to remember,” Craig assured him.
They wandered the streets for a bit, and as they did so, Craig thought about the city and realized that he was a New Yorker through and through—passionate about his home. Prejudice had probably existed since Homo sapiens had first met another tribe of Homo sapiens. And it had seldom been easy for the different nationalities that had poured into New York, nor was it easy now. So many different nationalities and ethnicities came, and they often came in great waves. At the moment, one of the largest influxes comprised various Asian countries, but that didn’t mean that many others weren’t coming at tremendous rates, including those from Eastern Europe and many war-ravaged areas of the Middle East.
“Land of dreams and nightmares,” Craig murmured under his breath.
“Pardon?” Mike said.
“I keep thinking—I love this city. I love our country. We’re a work in progress, always, and we’re where you come to escape poverty, war, persecution, and so on. But I have friends working down in the Florida area who in their work have witnessed the tragedy of refugees drowning in the Florida Straits trying to get to the States on rafts made out of anything they can find. Other friends in Texas tell me about Mexicans and other Central Americans and South Americans who are taken for everything they’ve got by scammers charging impossible fees to get them into the country—and then deserting them.
“And then there are those who manage other rackets—as in selling beautiful brides to American men. Some of the guys are just desperate dudes. Some of them are sick as shit and happy to take in a foreign bride with no papers so that if something bad happens to her, well, she never existed.”
“Yeah,” Craig agreed. “There’s that.”
“Life—and dreams—for sale.”
“Okay, is it possible that we’re dealing with something that has to do with immigration, and God knows, maybe human trafficking or illegal adoption? No one has come forward,” Craig pointed out. “What happened has been in the news, on every screen in the city. A woman is dead—and a beautiful baby girl has just been abandoned.”
“So people are afraid to speak out. I think that we’re on the right track,” Mike agreed.
“Okay. So going with that, here’s a theory. Someone is trafficking young women. God knows—probably more than one ‘someone’ in a city the size of New York. Maybe they discovered the baby market on the side. Even good people—desperate for a child—might be willing to go the illegal adoption route.”
“But, no one has come for the baby,” Craig said.
“Well, not yet, anyway,” Mike agreed. “They can’t—if they try to claim the baby, there are a million questions. You think the mother is dead?”
“Possibly. I think that the woman who handed the baby to Kieran was trying to save it—and maybe because she believed she could somehow save the mother, as well? I don’t know. Maybe it was her way to stop everything that was going on. Hopefully our friend Jacob knows something that can help,” Craig said.
Mike shrugged. “I guess we have to start somewhere. But there are a lot of factors to consider, you know.”
“As you just said, we have to start somewhere,” Craig said. “And Jacob is damned good at his job—he’s taken down members of the Russian mob repeatedly without ever being caught. He has his eye on anything coming from Eastern Europe. And—through other contacts—he seems to have a handle on Asian crime and Central and South America, as well. He’s definitely our best help for some kind of help on this.”
Craig’s phone was ringing. He pulled it from his pocket and winced. Kieran. He hadn’t talked to her yet. “Hey,” he said into the phone.
Mike waved a hand at him dismissively and walked a few steps ahead.
“Sorry—I couldn’t wait anymore. I have to know—you’re at least on it, right?”
“We’re in,” Craig said. “I just...well, at this moment, we’ve still got nothing. No, not nothing. The autopsy did give us information. The dental records suggested that the woman grew up in Eastern Europe, probably the former Soviet Union.”
“See! That’s something already.”
“Yes, it gives us a direction, but we need to move along carefully with open minds. Theories are great. But we can’t put on blinders to other ideas—we need a great deal more.”
“That’s fine. You’re in. That’s the most major step.”
“Yes, so...what are you doing? Not going crazy? Not obsessing?”
“Not at all. I promise. I helped Mary Kathleen out at her soup kitchen, ran some lines with Kevin, and then worked the bar for a while. I’m heading home, though. I’ll see you there, okay?”
He didn’t answer her right away; she sounded far too easy with what was going on.
“Craig? See you at home—that okay with you? Oh, if you and Mike are working...did you want me to hang out at the pub and wait for you?” she asked.
“No, no, that’s fine. We ate. I’ll see you later.”
“Great. You...really don’t have anything, huh?”
“No, but we are working, Kieran. You know that—”
“Cases can take weeks, months, years—and sometimes, they’re never solved. I know. But you and Mike won’t let that happen.”
“Mike and I try not to let it happen. Anyway...”
“I’m good. Honestly,” Kieran promised.
“I’m checking in with an old friend who works a cop beat. Hopefully, if we put out enough feelers in enough places, someone will pick up on someone. Even in this city, people have neighbors. And sometimes, people are even decent enough to report what they see.”
“Yep,” she said cheerfully. Too cheerfully. “We’ll count on it,” she added. “See you soon, huh?”
“Few hours, at least, I think. Lock up, you know, when you’re home.”
“I will,” she promised.
They hung up. Mike walked back over. “What’s wrong?” he asked Craig.
“Nothing,” Craig said. “Kieran said that she kept busy all afternoon. Everything is fine.”
“Yeah, right. And that’s what worries you, huh?”
“Exactly.”
* * *
Kieran sat at her computer again, going through her current client files.
She just couldn’t find anything that would lead to someone handing her a baby. At least, nothing that she could figure out.
“Forest for the trees?” she asked herself aloud. Was there something she should be seeing that was so obviously right in front of her face?
There was a faint pounding sound. She smiled—the nightly karaoke was starting up at the restaurant downstairs. Not all the music came through. Someone was singing Aerosmith. One of the top ten songs people picked.
On a whim, she shut the computer and left the apartment, making sure that she did lock her door behind her. She walked downstairs, then slipped into the restaurant, heading for the sushi bar.
Lee Chan—one of the sushi chefs—was a friend of hers. They had a lot in common. His family owned and operated the restaurant. His great-grandparents had been born in China, but every generation since had been born in the USA.
His wife’s grandparents, who were Japanese, still remembered being in an internment camp—in the States—during World War II. They’d both been teenagers and they’d suffered a great deal of prejudice, but they had apparently never held it against anyone. Sung Chan—Lee’s grandfather, a man who still worked as a waiter in the family business—waved at Kieran as she entered.
Every now and then, he liked to belt out a Sinatra number—with a fine voice and pretty good Ol’ Blue Eyes inflection to his lyrics.
“What? You’re on your own? Where’s tall, dark and lethal?” Lee teased Kieran, handing her a menu, but then lifting it away before she actually touched it. “Wait, you have the menu memorized. What can I get you?”
Actually, sushi did sound good. She’d been too busy at the soup kitchen to eat, and she’d barely touched her food when she’d been helping Kevin.
“How about a sashimi boat—mostly tuna and salmon?” she asked.
“Whatever you want.” He winced suddenly as someone screeched out a few notes in an attempt to emulate Whitney Houston. “Except,” he added in a whisper, “I’m not allowed to get a hook to pull singers offstage. Thought about it once. My dad shut me down.”
Kieran laughed. “Hey, I always say, if you want to go for a Whitney Houston number, go for it.”
“So you really came just to eat?” he asked her, passing her order over to one of his fellow chefs and leaning on the counter.
“I think so. I don’t know.”
“Did you hear about that murder that happened right on the street in broad daylight? You know, the city gets a bad rap, muggings and pickpockets and that sort of thing. But that murder—I think it happened right by where you work,” Lee said. She didn’t have to answer. “Oh, you know all about it!” he said.
“I don’t know all about it—but I do know that it took place.”
“You were there!”
“I was. And here’s the thing, Lee—the woman had no identification on her. No one knows who she was. She didn’t have much of an accent, but I thought she was foreign.”
“This is New York,” he noted drily.
“Right. And the medical examiner told Craig that her dental work suggested Eastern Europe. I don’t know where she was born, but I can’t help wondering if her situation has something to do with her being an immigrant. An illegal immigrant, I think.”
“We do get illegals asking for work—my dad has given out lots of food and money,” Lee told her. “But we don’t do business under the table, you know.”
“Of course not!”
“Anyway, you’re looking for newcomers. But not Irish?”
“Correct...this woman wasn’t Irish.”
“Or Japanese, I take it,” Lee said.
“Or Japanese,” Kieran said, smiling at his gentle stab.
Lee laughed. “I think my family has been in the country longer than yours, though that bar has been around since right before or after the Civil War, from what I understand. But wasn’t your grandfather on your dad’s side born in Ireland? I thought I read that when the paper did a little write-up on old city pubs.”
“Grandfather and grandmother,” Kieran added. “Somehow, American Finnegans and Irish Finnegans have stayed in touch. The pub came into the family after the Civil War. The Irish-American who’d actually inherited when they came to the States had been a bachelor and he was glad to see it go to his cousins who were coming in from ‘across the pond.’”
Lee grinned. “So I’m more American than you are. And still sometimes people speak to me slowly, hoping that I understand English.”
“Well, not everyone learns English to come here. I bet you can get by okay without it in a city like New York.”
“Still, it’s a foolish assumption. Reveals prejudice.” He shrugged. “The American experience isn’t always a good one, you know. I have seen good people caught up in bad stuff.” He hesitated. “Karaoke can be an intimate experience—I mean, people open up, start talking. And you hear a lot of stories. Too many women come here all starry-eyed and end up falling into strip clubs, and from there into the drug trade or prostitution.” He shrugged again. “I guess too many men become criminals.”
“Or become strippers and junkies, too—and sometimes prostitutes. It happens to men, too,” Kieran reminded him.
“Touché!”
“I’m not on a soapbox, I swear.”
“I know, you’re just normal about social issues, and we’re in a city where we are accepting of race, nationality, sex...whatever. I mean, here, if one guy doesn’t like you, you’ve got millions more to choose from! And immigrants also wind up being housekeepers, cabdrivers, busboys, dishwashers—let’s face it, you come in, and you take what you can get. But, Kieran, this city is huge, remember. People can hide in plain sight—or disappear down a zillion dark alleys. So what are you thinking?”
“I guess I’m thinking that I do know your family tries to help people and that you hire all kinds of folks new to the States. If you hear anything...”
He nodded gravely. “Of course. And I’ll try to think if I know of anyone who can help you. But in the meantime, I’ll check on your food?”
She laughed. “Yeah, thanks. I’m really hungry.”
“Good. We have some amazing tuna tonight. Want to do a Carpenters number with me?” he asked her.
“What?”
“Carpenters—you know. ‘We’ve Only Just Begun?’ No, huh. What about Kid Rock and Sheryl Crow?”
Kieran started to laugh. “No!”
“Yes...there’s nothing like a karaoke song to get people talking.”
“Maybe. Except... I think that means I’d better have sake with my sashimi boat.”
* * *
Down a dark alley filled with trash from a number of tenements, and then beneath an archway that led into a half-derelict building, Mike and Craig came to Jacob Wolff’s “safe house.”
They pushed open the beat-to-hell door; Jacob was waiting directly on the other side.
He was expecting them.
Once they were in, bolts went sliding against the door. There was no way that they would be surprised in the middle of their meeting.
“Hey, have a seat. This safe house is my apartment while working this operation,” Jacob told them.
The room offered a cot, a desk that held a computer and some other office supplies, one dresser, and a little kitchen area with a Formica table, all in about thirty square feet of space. There was also a trunk at the foot of the bed. While Craig was sure that Jacob was armed—even though whatever weapon he was carrying was tucked into the waistband of his jeans, covered with his T and completely hidden from view—he also kept other weapons, and they were most probably stashed in the trunk.
“A little cramped,” Craig said.
“A little tawdry,” Mike said, making a face. But then he grinned at Jacob. “We’ve all had worse.”
“Yeah? I guess we have,” Jacob agreed. He was a tall, wiry man with eyes so blue that they were startling against the darkness of his mustache, beard and long hair, kept somewhat scraggly as befitted his chosen look for the time. A grin touched his lips.
“I heard you’re living it up pretty nicely, Frasier,” Jacob said.
“Yeah? I haven’t moved into the Taj Mahal or anything,” Craig assured him.
Jacob laughed. “Oh, my friend. It’s not the trappings of grandeur to which I refer. I’ve heard you’ve got a lovely thing of some kind going on with a young woman named Kieran Finnegan. I’ve seen pictures—she’s a beauty. And she’s a criminal psychologist. And if that weren’t enough, she’s part-owner of Finnegan’s. Not only do you get brains and beauty, you get some of the finest Guinness on tap in the city!”
Mike was already laughing; Craig shrugged and joined in. “And how the hell do you know all that?”
“I actually get by headquarters now and then. Egan had a picture with you all at the pub on his desk. He’s pretty impressed with your girl—says you’re a lucky stiff who’d best keep his head in place and make it last. When I heard about the murder the other day and how and where it happened, I wondered if she might be connected in some way.”
Craig found himself irritated again—not with Jacob, just with life. He was grateful that they’d gotten Kieran and the baby off the sidewalk before reporters had arrived. He was alarmed at the amount of people—even if they weren’t average Joes out on the street—who seemed to know that Kieran had been involved.
“So what kind of chatter have you heard?” Craig asked him.
“Questioning,” Jacob said. “People have been asking each other if they know who the woman is, if they’d seen her.”
“We had a sketch artist work on a likeness,” Mike said. “I believe the powers that be have released it. That should help.”
“Well, everyone is appalled and asking if they know of anyone missing a baby. Naturally, there are a dozen organized crime families—one for the mother country and one for every satellite that ever existed in any form. Some get together and belong not to just one mob, but two mobs. Thing is, word on the street is that something is going down. Someone is cashing in.”
“And every smaller faction is blaming it on every other gang?” Craig asked.
Jacob shook his head. “They say it’s a local, American as apple pie. But who he might be, or how he’s calling the shots, I don’t know. Frankly, I don’t even know what this supposed crime boss is actually doing, whether its illegal gambling, drugs, heists, prostitution or something else. I keep listening. He runs something big, always keeping at a major distance. In other words, he has middlemen, he uses threats, and he’s a king who sacrifices pawns as if people were toilet paper. I hear that there is a boss, but, while I’m using the word he and I’ve heard the word kingpin used, at this moment, I don’t even know if it’s a man or a woman.”
“Okay. Thanks. This was a long shot,” Craig said.
Jacob looked at him earnestly. “I swear, I will do my best to help out. You did save my skin, you know.”
Craig was surprised.
He didn’t know.
Jacob must have read the confusion on his face. “Five years ago,” Jacob elaborated. “That kidnapping detail. The goon nearly stabbed me—you brought him down in one tackle. Thanks.”
“No thanks needed, Jacob. It’s what we do—and it is damned good to know that we have one another’s backs.”
“Yeah,” Mike put in. “He saved your life. He let me get a bullet—in the butt!”
“Hey!” Craig protested.
“Just kidding—the bullet had my name on it. At least, the way that we do cover, my partner was out there, and I was just grazed.”
“See, there you go,” Craig said.
“Did make for one hell of a sore butt!” Mike said.
Jacob grinned. “Okay, I need you to leave out the front so I can take off out the back. But just let me say—I like your board shorts. Nice legs, Mike.”
“Nothing like working with wiseass kids!” Mike said, shaking his head wearily.
“Who said he was being a wiseass?” Craig asked. “You have good legs.”
“Pity he injured the ass, huh?” Jacob asked.
“Downer,” Craig agreed.
Jacob grinned and then sobered. “I’ll get a message to you if I learn anything else.”
They thanked him and left. The sun was going down, and Craig knew Jacob Wolff would use the dusk to his advantage. He knew how to move within it.
“Let’s hope it was a productive day,” Mike said.
“It’s going to prove to be,” Craig said with certainty. “He’s good. He hears things.”
“Yeah—and it will be great as long as we don’t get mugged on our way out of here.”
* * *
Kieran didn’t hate karaoke. After all, she lived over a karaoke bar. Her brothers could be hysterical at it. Declan tended to be a listener, sitting in a room with an arm around Mary Kathleen. Kevin—naturally, the actor—and Danny—the tour guide, a total performer in his own right—could be very funny. They liked to sing “Barbie Girl” by Aqua, except that neither Kevin nor Danny would sing the part of “Barbie” and as they played it up, even stone-cold sober, people in the room wound up laughing. They also did a wonderfully theatrical rendition of “Purple Rain” by Prince, with Danny falling on his knees to slide across the room, given the space.
Lee waited until Kieran’s boat of delicious fresh fish had been delivered and consumed, and then she heard him announce the two of them. He wanted to do Kid Rock and Sheryl Crow; that was fine. She knew the song. And there was no way to grow up Irish American—owning an Irish pub, no less—without being coerced or bullied into singing here and there. The song wasn’t funny, but she hoped she did Sheryl Crow some justice.
And, as Lee had suggested, it was an icebreaker.
A couple people complimented her after her performance. One woman walked up to her, grinning.
“That was pretty cool—wouldn’t have imagined it! A criminal psychologist, belting away!”
Kieran must have made some kind of a movement or sound of surprise. The young woman quickly went on.
“Sorry, sorry! You probably don’t remember me. You worked with a young woman I was helping a few years ago—the husband was a monster. She needed therapy. You were wonderful with her.”
“That’s great to hear,” Kieran noted.
“This place is fun. You know the guys who own it, I take it? It’s my first time in the neighborhood.”
She offered Kieran a hand, and Kieran took it. “I’m Esperanza Rodriguez.”
“Nice to meet you again,” Kieran said. “Esperanza—that’s a pretty name.”
“Thanks. My grandfather is Colombian. But he married a Frenchwoman. She was a huge Victor Hugo fan, but in my family, no one remembers names properly, and that’s how it came out by the time my mom named me.”
Kieran laughed softly. “French and Colombian is an interesting combination.”
“And Dad was from here in New York, but his dad was Puerto Rican and his grandmother was from Mississippi. I’m a big mix, I guess. But it works out well for me.”
“How’s that?”
“I’m an immigration officer,” Esperanza said. “I speak three languages and bits of others. I understand the experience so I’m good with people—and with picking out liars.”
Something inside Kieran seemed to go ting.
“Immigration. How interesting. And with your background, it does sound perfect. So what’s the buzz these days?”
“The same and not the same—as always,” Esperanza said. “There’s constantly a new wave. Though, this is interesting at the moment, the tide from Central and South America is slowing. By the middle of the century, census reports show that the largest group of immigrants will be Asian. Of course, we’re talking about places that have massive populations in their homelands. That affects the statistics.”
“And what about undocumented immigration?”
“Inevitable. And sometimes people with good intentions are scammed. I have a friend who came in from Nicaragua when she was a child. Her mother was escaping some horrible circumstances and paid every penny she had to someone to get her legally into the States. The man got them into Texas—and dumped them. She worked two jobs for years to get a proper immigration attorney and make herself and her children legal. So, yes, there are flaws in the system.”
“Mail-order brides?” Kieran asked.
“And far worse. ‘Nannies’ or ‘housekeepers’ who basically become slave labor, many of them abused.”
“Have you heard anything about women being used as surrogate mothers? About babies being taken for sale, or anything like that?”
“You’re talking about the incident the other day in Midtown, right?”
“Indirectly. It’s...heartbreaking. That poor woman. She was stabbed and killed in one violent motion in the street—and no one saw anything.”
“Terrible, I agree.”
“I can’t help but think it has to do with illegal immigration.”
“Maybe.”
“But you haven’t heard anything?”
“I haven’t, but I’ll ask around,” Esperanza told her. She hesitated. “Sometimes, you know, people who aren’t involved but who do know something keep quiet because they’re afraid.”
“Isn’t that often the case with anything,” Kieran said lightly.
Esperanza produced a card from her bag and handed it to Kieran. It had her name, her title, email and other pertinent business information.
“Thank you,” Kieran said. “I’m sorry, I don’t have my card. I left my purse—I can write down my phone number for you...”
“Oh, it’s okay. I think I remember. Are you still with Fuller and Miro?”
“I am. Your memory is amazing.”
Esperanza smiled.
They said goodbye.
Lee, grinning with an annoying I-told-you-so expression, swept by her. “See. You must always do karaoke with me when you’re at a crossroads in life.”
“I’m not actually at a crossroads.”
“Ah, but a wise man said that karaoke is good for the soul.”
“And which wise man was that?”
“I consider myself a very wise man.”
She laughed, shook her head, and asked for her bill. He wouldn’t give her one.
She gave up and headed out and back up to her apartment. She wondered if she would learn anything from Esperanza Rodriguez. At the least, she now had two contacts on her own, Sister Teresa and Esperanza Rodriguez. And she knew the woman with Child Services.
Kieran wanted to see the baby. Little Baby Doe. She wasn’t sure why; there was just something about that little girl. Maybe it was because Kieran had been trusted with the baby when her life might have been threatened.
She could just ask Craig.
No. She didn’t want Craig worrying about her and thinking that she was getting too personally involved.
She’d deal with it in the morning. She very badly wanted him working the case, wanted to know what was going on.
But she wasn’t obsessing.
Was she?
If so, she couldn’t help it.
* * *
Craig thought Kieran was an amazing woman. Spectacular in so many ways.
She was always a sensual lover, her very smile something erotic enough to create an instant burst of heat within him. They had been together awhile now, and somehow, it was always fresh and exciting.
That night, however, she seemed on fire.
When he first arrived at the apartment, he thought that she was sleeping. And he meant to leave her undisturbed.
But she turned to him in the darkness, arms outstretched. When he moved to her, she curled against him, as sleek as a cat. Simply moving her body against his, she could awaken every ounce of desire within him into an ache, an agony and finally ecstasy.
Her lips, teeth and tongue over his body were magic. She had a gift for a light touch mixed with a rougher brush of lips and tongue that was completely delicious, and a way of moving the length of her that was vibrant and wicked.
Tonight, she teased, they laughed, they grew passionate. Afterward, they lay tangled together.
* * *
It was incredibly late when he murmured, “And I thought you’d be distracted.”
“Me? About what?” Her whisper was nearly a kiss.
“The case.”
“Oh. No. You’re working it, and I know you’ll tell me when you find something, right?”
“Of course.”
“So?”
“So?”
“What can you tell me?”
“Kieran.” He rolled her over and looked down at her in the dim illumination seeping in from the hallway light. “I’m looking into it, I swear. We’ve got some contacts kind of in the underbelly of the city—they’re investigating.”
“You won’t stop just because it’s a weekend?”
“Of course not.”
“Oh, I just remembered—I told one of the nuns I met that I’d help her again tomorrow.”
“You’re going to help a nun?” he asked skeptically.
“You don’t believe I’d help a nun?” She was definitely indignant.
“No, no. I just...”
“I didn’t realize what Mary Kathleen’s volunteering was about before. It’s pretty amazing.”
“You know you need time off, too. Time to breathe. Kieran, it’s barely been a day since that woman was killed.”
“Forty-eight hours means a lot, right? At least they say so on television.”
“It means a lot, but not everything,” he said quietly. “You’ve been working with Fuller and Miro a long time—you’ve seen that justice can take years.”
“Justice, yes. But this killer...he has to be caught!” she said passionately.
“Hmm.”
“What?”
“And I thought you had just been missing me!” he teased her.
Even in the shadows, he knew that she blushed.
“I will leave it all alone and just dish out soup with my new nun friend, okay?”
“Gotcha,” he said, and then he added seriously, “Kieran, I won’t let it go.”
“I know,” she said. She curled up against his chest.
Eventually, he felt her ease beside him, asleep at last.
Then he allowed himself to drift off, as well.