Flawless. Heather Graham

“Yes, of course. But I was wondering...” He paused, surprised that the right approach came to him so quickly. “The thing is, the prosecutor wants to charge the men from last night with murder, but I don’t think they’re the killers.”

      “Yes, I know. I spent the morning studying video footage, remember?” she said, smiling for the first time since she’d come over to his table.

      “I’d like to get you to Rikers so you can speak with the men. They were held in lockup last night, but they were arraigned on grand larceny today. The prosecutor wants to add homicide charges right away. I’d like to counter him with more than grainy video, toy guns and my own gut feeling. Would you come with me to talk to them?”

      She seemed surprised—and relieved. And still uncomfortable.

      “Um, sure.”

      He saw the taller bartender heading in their direction. One of her brothers, but which one?

      The question was quickly answered.

      “Declan Finnegan,” the man said, holding out his hand.

      There was a definite family resemblance, at least in height and coloring, Craig thought, rising to offer his hand. “I’m Craig Frasier. Special agent, FBI.”

      “Pleased to meet you, and thank you for keeping Kieran safe and sending her back to us. Your meal is on the house. The least we can do,” he added, when Craig started to protest.

      “Kieran did extremely well on her own. She’s quite competent in a tough situation,” Craig said. “And thank you, but I need a bill. We’re not allowed to accept gifts, not even a meal.”

      Her brother shot Kieran a frown, but he didn’t object. “I’d love to hear more about what happened last night. If you’ve got some time, come on up to the bar when you’ve finished your dinner.”

      “Will do,” Craig promised.

      Kieran’s face grew a full shade paler. “Great,” she said, not quite managing a smile. Then she turned and walked away.

      Her attitude made him even more certain that something was going on, whether at the pub or just with her, and he was going to find out what.

      * * *

      Things had gone from bad to really bad.

      There was Craig Frasier sitting at the bar. And there were her brothers—all three of them—chatting with him as comfortably as if they’d known him all their lives.

      Danny didn’t have the sense to realize that a federal agent might, at any moment, ask him questions he might not be prepared to answer. Honestly, her baby brother could be so oblivious.

      She forced a smile each time she passed by them, determined not to be drawn into their conversation. But she couldn’t help overhearing, and she realized after a little while that they were talking about city politics, local sports, music and theater, and the newest exhibition at the Met.

      By about eleven, the place was almost dead quiet. It was a Tuesday night, and only some regulars were hanging around along with a smattering of tourists, all nursing their last drinks before their night’s rest and the workday or the exertions of touring the city come morning. Both Debbie and Mary Kathleen had called it quits earlier; the chef and his staff were cleaning up the kitchen, and Kieran knew there was no reason for her not to join her brothers and Craig Frasier.

      Declan slipped an arm around her when she walked over, studying her with pride in his eyes.

      “We heard you kicked butt yesterday,” he said.

      She shrugged and admitted, “I wouldn’t have had the chance if Agent Frasier hadn’t burst in the way that he did.”

      “And you’re still helping with the investigation, huh?” Danny asked.

      “Um, yeah. I guess so,” she said.

      “Immeasurably,” Craig said. “She’s very observant about people.”

      “Sounds like her,” Kevin said. “She was always psychoanalyzing us as kids. She had us pretty well nailed, too.”

      “I’m sure Agent Frasier doesn’t care about my childhood, and it’s getting late,” she said, embarrassed.

      “And I have an early call,” Kevin said. “Time to go.”

      He’d gotten the job he’d auditioned for. She wasn’t exactly sure what he was doing, but it had something to do with being a singing potato chip.

      “Wanna take me home on your way?” she asked her brother.

      “I’m not going home. I’m sleeping at your apartment,” he told her. “Early call, remember? And I didn’t drive in, because I didn’t want to deal with finding parking in the city.”

      “How about I get you both home?” Agent Frasier asked. “I have a car.”

      “Oh, really, that’s okay. We can hop a train,” Kieran said.

      “Works for me—thanks,” Kevin said, ignoring her.

      “You two get going now,” Declan said. “Danny and I can close up. I have the weekly pro cleaning crew coming in tomorrow, so there’s not much for us to do tonight anyway. And thanks, Craig.”

      So she was calling the guy Agent Frasier and her brothers were on a first-name basis with the man.

      She forced a stiff smile. “Well, thanks. I’ll get my things.”

      Kieran didn’t have to make small talk. Kevin talked all the way. Apparently Craig had expressed interest in Kevin’s career, and now Kevin was telling him how grateful he was that he had the family pub to fall back on. So many actors had trouble making it in the city because they couldn’t find jobs to keep them going while they went through the arduous audition process.

      They reached St. Marks and her apartment quickly; the traffic was light that time of night. She managed to jump out of the car before anyone could offer to help her. Her brother and Frasier exchanged goodbyes, and then Frasier told her, “I’ll pick you up here tomorrow around eight thirty.”

      “I need to talk to my bosses. I know they won’t protest, but—”

      “Don’t worry. My boss will take care of that,” he told her.