Ryan McKay’s bed was in shambles—and so was he.
With a groan of pleasure, he rolled onto his back, thinking that nothing, not even penetrating a highly secure corporate firewall, could come close to the high he felt when he had Claire Hedgleigh under him.
Hot as hell, their connection was made more intense by the fact that they were polar opposites. Ryan was the tech king, the gym rat, the robotics expert. Claire was all about yoga and herbal tea and was, in her words, a claircognizant, which to Ryan meant some kind of a psychic, although Claire described it as just inherently knowing things with no tangible explanation as to how. Ryan had been a skeptic from day one, but since then, he’d seen Claire in action enough times to make total disbelief an impossibility.
They were colleagues at Forensic Instincts, a high-profile investigative company that boasted, in Ryan’s opinion, the most awesome team members with a crazy number of skills to go around. Their success rate spoke for itself.
At work, Claire and Ryan argued about pretty much everything.
In bed, they were in total accord.
Which meant the past hour had been a roller coaster of pleasure.
Ryan raised the back of his head from the pillow just long enough to fold an arm beneath it. Claire didn’t even do that much. She was now lying on her side, her arm draped across his chest, her breathing still erratic.
“I was pretty amazing, wasn’t I,” Ryan said, a statement not a question.
Claire’s hand balled into a fist and she gave his chest a light punch. “Not bad. I’ll give you an A-minus.”
“What did I lose points for?”
“Lack of humility.”
Ryan chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time.” He tugged at her arm, intending to pull her over him. “Which, by the way, is now.”
He was startled when Claire’s hand abruptly flattened against him, pushing lightly as she moved away and sat up. “No.”
“No?” Ryan sat up, too, looking totally baffled. “Why not?”
“I’m not sure.” Claire was already on her feet, pulling on her yoga clothes. “But something…” She gave a puzzled shake of her head. “We can’t.”
“What the hell do you mean, we can’t? We just did.”
“We can’t… now.”
“Why not now?” Ryan was throwing back the covers, fully intending to coax Claire back into bed.
Claire didn’t give him time, nor did she answer his question. Leaving him gaping, she walked out of his bedroom, combing her fingers through her long, tangled blonde hair, somehow needing to make herself look presentable.
She realized she was heading for Ryan’s front door.
Without pause, she flipped the lock and pulled open the door.
A stunning young woman of about her age, maybe a couple of years younger, was standing there, her finger poised to ring the bell. Tall, with long wavy black hair and intensely blue eyes, she could have been a model. She was in a visibly distressed state, although she looked startled to see Claire there, doing a double take as she gazed from Claire to the doorbell, then back to Claire again.
“Who are you?” the woman asked. “And how did you know I was out here?” Without waiting for an answer, she peered past Claire, scanning the all-purpose room that was the heart of Ryan’s domain. Light on furnishings, devoid of people. Ryan was a minimalist—at least at home.
“I… I need to see Ryan right away.” She started to step around Claire and into the apartment.
Reflexively, Claire blocked her way. The woman was a stranger—a very beautiful, very territorial stranger who was clearly tight with Ryan. Claire felt a surge of angry betrayal. She and Ryan might never have assigned a name to what they had, but they’d long since agreed they were exclusive. And now, still warm from his bed, she was standing face-to-face with this female who was obviously very much an existing factor in his life.
What the hell?
She took a few deep, cleansing breaths—and abruptly pinpricks of insight began sparking in her mind, growing in number as they interspersed with her anger. They expanded into a kaleidoscope of contradictions, descending on her in a heavy cascade, awareness clashing with her jealousy.
She had to stem the jealousy and let the energy flow. Something was going on here, something she hadn’t been able to connect with because of her own emotional involvement. Forcibly, she shut down her hurt and channeled her insights. This woman needed to be here. She emanated an aura of intense upset and pain. And, yes, she had a powerful connection to Ryan, but it was one that bound her to him in a way that had nothing to do with romance or sex.
“Please,” the young woman reiterated, her voice quavering. “I have to see Ryan.”
The connection snapped into place, and it was Claire’s turn to do a double take. Stunned though she was, she knew that, whatever its purpose, this visit was imperative.
Without further thought, she stepped aside and let the woman enter. “I’m Claire,” she said, answering the original question. “And you are?”
“Fiona.” A single word, one that seemed to require no explanation. Yet, after looking at Claire and recognizing, on some dazed level, that an explanation was needed, she provided one. “I’m Ryan’s—”
“Fee?” Ryan emerged from the bedroom, wearing sweats and looking surprised and irritated. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to call first if you plan on dropping by, remember?”
Nodding, Fiona swallowed hard and dragged a hand through her hair. “I’m sorry. It’s just that something happened and I needed to see you.” She looked back at Claire, unnerved in a way that had nothing to do with her original shock by Claire’s foreknowledge of her arrival. She seemed to have totally forgotten about that in the wake of something far more significant. “I apologize for interrupting,” she said in a wooden tone—an apology uttered almost on autopilot.
Ryan seemed oblivious to the fact that Fiona was totally freaked out. He was watching Claire, quickly telling her what he thought she needed to know. “Fee is—”
“Your sister,” Claire finished for him. Even if she hadn’t felt it in her bones, she’d know it was true. Seeing them together, the resemblance was as striking as the realization. Those same drop-dead Black Irish good looks. She hadn’t even known Ryan had a sister, much less that she lived in New York. But even though Claire had a million questions, now was not the time to ask them.
She gestured at the cushioned sofa facing the screen of Ryan’s prized 4K OLED TV, which was mounted on the opposite wall. “Please. Come sit down.”
Fiona needed no second invitation. She made her way through the all-purpose living-dining-workroom. Other than the two-tiered coffee table that stood between the TV and the sofa and a ginormous workstation packed with tech equipment, the only other piece of furniture was Ryan’s pride and joy: a large homemade table, built of two oak casks that had once contained aged whiskey and an old mahogany door placed across them. The uneven, pock-marked surface always presented a challenge when trying to balance a glass on top. Ryan got a huge chuckle watching guests struggle and then give up as their glasses teetered across the surface, spilling beverages in their wake. But that table had served for years as Ryan’s office desk, workbench, and dining table. And he wasn’t about to trade it in for some IKEA thing made of sawdust and glue.
“Would you like something to drink?” Claire asked.
A faint smile touched the corners of Fiona’s lips as she sank down into the cushy sofa. “I hate beer. So I guess water.”
“There’s Chardonnay,” Claire replied, glad she kept a bottle here for herself. “I’ll get you a glass.”
As she headed into the tiny kitchenette, she heard Fiona start to cry. Stopping in her tracks, she turned. Tears were gliding down the girl’s cheeks—tears she dashed away with shaking hands. As much as Claire wanted to go to her, she knew that wasn’t what, or who, Fiona needed right then. She also knew that the person she did need was about to get the picture.
Sure enough, this time Ryan got it.
“Fee? What is it?” He crossed over and squatted down in front of her. “Are you hurt?” He was starting to sound alarmed. “Did someone do something to you?”
She shook her head. “Nothing like that. I just… I just…” Her jaw set and she got herself under control. “A little while ago, I found a dead body. There was so much blood, and… Ryan, it was horrible. There were cops and emergency responders and detectives who called for Crime Scene and a medical examiner. They said it was strictly procedural. Then they took me down to the precinct and asked me a million questions and… I kind of freaked out. So as soon as I could, I ran to my big brother. Pretty lame, I guess. It’s just that you work for a place that deals with this stuff. And I…” The bravado disappeared as quickly as it had come, and Fiona began openly weeping. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
“You found a dead…? Shit.” Ryan reached over and put his arms around her, pulling her closer and pressing her head to his shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay now. I’m here. Tell me what happened.”
Very quietly, Claire reappeared, handing Fiona her wine. “I’ll take off now so the two of you can talk.”
“No.” Fiona drew back and shook her head. “Please stay. I didn’t mean to screw up your evening.” She accepted the glass and took a sip, her trembling having subsided with Ryan’s presence. Abruptly, her brows went up. “Now I know why you look familiar. I saw your photo on the Forensic Instincts website. You’re the”—she paused, searching for the word—“claircognizant.”
“I guess your resemblance to Ryan ends at the physical.” Claire strove for a drop of levity to ease what this poor young woman was going through. “He still hasn’t memorized that term.”
Thankfully, Fiona gave a small laugh. “I’m not surprised. My brother’s not the metaphysical type. He still thinks that if a tree falls in the woods and he didn’t hear it, the standard question is irrelevant; it still fell.” She patted the cushion beside her. “I’d really like it if you stayed. Maybe you’ll pick up some positive energy that will tell me she didn’t suffer. I could really use that.”
“She,” Ryan repeated as Claire sat down. “So this dead body was a woman?”
“She wasn’t ‘this dead body,’” Fiona corrected. “She was Rose Flaherty, an antiquities expert I’ve worked with since college. She was my professional go-to source, more a mentor than a colleague. I had an appointment to meet with her. When I got to her antique shop, she was lying in a pool of her own blood.” A shudder. “I knew she was dead. She was so, so… still. Unnaturally so.”
“That’s horrifying.” Claire brushed her fingers across Fiona’s cold hand—and flashes of darkness slammed through Claire’s head. “So you knew Rose well. That makes this experience even harder. Walking into that kind of scene—a frail and elderly woman, a fatal head injury, that amount of blood—of course you’re a wreck.”
Ryan picked up on the new details Claire had provided, and he addressed them with his sister. “I take it that Rose Flaherty was old and that she died by hitting her head on the floor.”
“The fireplace hearth,” Fiona replied, visibly impressed by Claire’s awareness. “And, yes, she was nearing eighty. But there was still so much life left in her. This shouldn’t have happened. I don’t know why it did. She was using her cane.”
“Was it broken?”
“No. It was just lying there. I tripped over it right before I found her. She must have taken a misstep. The whole thing makes me ill.”
“She didn’t suffer,” Claire said quietly. “She died on impact.”
Fiona looked relieved.
Claire wasn’t. From the small contact she’d made with Fiona’s hand, she’d been besieged by heightened images and feelings—Rose backing away from danger… the icy sense of her sheer terror… and the agonizing pain from the impact of her head striking the hearth. Then… nothing. A fall? Yes. But an accident? Definitely not. Any more than it had been an accident that Crime Scene was called and that Fiona had been grilled with so many questions.
Claire didn’t doubt that Ryan was thinking similarly, even if he arrived there by different means. But like her, he knew that now was not the time to drop the bomb on Fiona. She’d had enough of a shock for one day. But Claire planned to talk frankly with him as soon as she could get him alone.
“I called 911,” Fiona was saying. “And the whole world descended. I was driven to the precinct and I answered all the detective’s dozens of questions. I doubt I gave her anything worthwhile. I didn’t see Rose fall and I was such a mess that all I could do was give stilted answers and cry. Poor Glenna, her assistant. I have to call her later, since I’m sure she’ll be a wreck. And I want to help with the preparations for the wake and the funeral.” Fiona broke off, shaking her head. “I can’t believe I’m saying all this. I can’t believe Rose is gone.”
She picked up her glass of wine, pausing to stare vacantly at it. “There was a splintered glass on the floor,” she murmured, “and some of Rose’s prized whiskey was splattered around it. She’d put out a second glass, clearly for me. That bottle was worth a fortune and she only took it out on special occasions. She was obviously waiting for us to celebrate something. Now I’ll never know what.”
Ryan’s brows knit in question. “Was she a drinker? Could that have dulled her senses?” His question was targeted, trying to determine if Rose had been in any condition to struggle. But he asked it offhandedly, so that it didn’t raise any red flags for Fiona.
“Absolutely not,” Fiona replied emphatically. “She never drank. That’s why the whiskey was so special. Not just because of its price tag but because of its significance. Like I said, it was for celebrating huge successes.”
“You don’t mean monetary successes, do you?” Claire asked.
Again, Fiona shook her head. “Money wasn’t Rose’s thing. She was all about connecting the right piece with the right person, or coming up with incredible findings in her research.”
“And she was researching something for you.”
“The background and significance of a specific tapestry. The largest of thirteen, eleven of which I found in my mom’s memory box.”
Again, Claire placed a gentle hand on Fiona’s arm, stopping her from going on. Ryan’s sister was exhausted and still in shock. There was a long story about to come out. And there’d be plenty of time for discussion later.
The instant she touched Fiona’s arm, Claire was once again besieged by an onslaught of painful auras—auras she was determined to put on hold. She shifted her hand and the feelings were exacerbated by her contact with a thick, hard object. She looked down, her eyes widening in awe at the breathtaking, and obviously uber-expensive, bracelet Fiona wore.
It was a wide, hammered gold cuff bracelet with a Celtic knot design around it in a three-dimensional raised pattern. Between each knot was a tiny round emerald, the color of the green gemstones against the bright gold striking and unforgettable.
“What a stunning bracelet,” Claire said.
“Thank you.” Fiona smiled. “It’s one of my high-end pieces that’s part of my new collection—Light and Shadows. It’s twenty-two-karat gold. I had to sell off a lot of my other gold pieces in order to afford making it, but it was worth every cent.”
Claire’s brows drew together in question.
“Oh, sorry. Judging from your earlier reaction, it’s clear you didn’t know I existed. So how would you know what I do?” Another pointed glare at Ryan. “I make jewelry. I’m a goldsmith, as well. And I specialize in Celtic design with a contemporary twist.” She gave a light shake of her wrist. “For example, for this I used an ancient technique called chasing and repoussé. I won’t bore you with the details. But the combination of metals and techniques I use would probably not be combined in ancient times. I also stylize the pieces to make them more appealing to today’s audience.”
“I’m totally blown away.” Claire was studying the design more closely. “I recognize the Celtic knots. As for the rest—you’re unbelievably talented.”
“Thank you.” Fiona looked flattered—and wiped out. “I try.”
“Why don’t you lie down?” Claire suggested. “It’s almost ten. Have you eaten?”
Fiona shook her head.
“Put your head down for a while. I’ll order some takeout in an hour or so and wake you when it gets here. We can talk while we eat.”
“That would be great.” Relief and gratitude flashed across Fiona’s face. “I’ve been flying on adrenaline for hours.” She slumped back against the cushions. “I think I’m about to crash.”
“Is the sofa okay?” Ryan asked, looking like a hopeful puppy.
A twinkle of amusement lit Fiona’s eyes, and she was the spitting image of Ryan at that moment.
“Why the sofa?” Fiona asked, her expression the picture of innocence. “Is the bed wrecked?”
Ryan’s eyes narrowed. “Not funny.”
“But true. I really did interrupt, big-time, didn’t I?”
“Actually, yeah, you did.” Ryan went to the hall closet and returned to toss her a blanket. “But I forgive you. Extenuating circumstances.” Reflexively, he glanced toward his bedroom, visibly remembering what had been going on before Fiona arrived.
The gesture did not go unnoticed.
Fiona’s gaze slid from her brother to Claire and back again, sizing things up with a woman’s intuition and a mixture of surprise and curiosity. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a girlfriend? As in singular?”
Claire inclined her head in Ryan’s direction, wondering how he was going to respond. He and she had never assigned an official label to what they had. And that tidbit aside, she had the same question about radio silence that Fiona did.
She spoke up, adding her voice to Fiona’s. “And while we’re at it, why didn’t you ever mention you had a sister?”
Ryan shot each of them an aggravated look. “I didn’t realize I had to report in. Fine. Fiona, I have a girlfriend, as in singular. Claire, I have a sister, as in family. And two brothers, too, while we’re at it. Anything else either of you needs to know about my life?”
Both women were reeling. Claire from the girlfriend word and Fiona from the emotionally charged reaction.
“Wow,” Fiona said, recovering first. “This really is a first. Ryan McKay with a serious girlfriend. Should I tell Mom to set an extra place setting at our next family dinner?”
“I’m not laughing, Fee,” Ryan said in a warning tone. “I feel bad about what you went through, so I’m being tolerant. But keep prying and I might toss you out. And don’t even think about mentioning this to Mom.”
“My lips are sealed,” Fiona replied, not looking the least bit worried.
She did, however, back off, more, Claire suspected, out of fatigue than out of being bested. No, Claire was quite sure that Fiona McKay gave as good as she got.
On a yawn, Fiona settled herself on the couch and tucked the blanket around her. “Just give me an hour before you order the food. I probably won’t be able to sleep anyway.”
Thirty seconds later, she was out cold.