perched
on the top of his head. He half-smiled at her.
“What the hell are you doing?” Star asked despite wanting to kick herself for
speaking to him at all.
“My keycard is in my wallet,” he answered. “My wallet is in the bedroom. The
bedroom is behind a locked door.” He lifted his hand. “Thus, I am awaiting rescue.”
“Where’s Jackson?”
“On his way to his next assignment.”
“Then how did you get up here?” she demanded.
“They were vacuuming the floors in the elevator. Consuelo’s already gone I guess.”
Pursing her lips, Star turned around, ran her keycard down the entry box and
disappeared back inside her home. She was gone a minute or so then came back, tossing
a keycard toward Dáire. “Keep it,” she snapped, about to shut the door when her phone
started ringing.
Dáire smiled at the vulgar word that exploded from Star’s lips. With the keycard in
hand, he pushed his back up the wall and got to his feet as she went back into her
condo. He heard her growl an answer into the phone then stilled when he heard her
next words, asked with obvious concern.
“Is she all right?”
Thinking it might be bad news concerning Star’s older sister—her only living
relative—he turned around and stood there listening to her end of the conversation.
“Did you take her to the doctor?” She was silent for a moment then asked, “What
did he say?” Another moment of silence stretched out before Star said, “I’ll be right
there!”
31
Charlotte Boyett-Compo
Star’s face was ashen when she came rushing out of her home. She barely glanced
Dáire’s way when he asked if the call had been about Sophie, Star’s sister.
“What?” Star asked, staring at him as though she didn’t know him.
“Was the call about Sophie? Is she sick?”
“No,” Star answered, shaking her head. “It had nothing to do with Sophie. Just
leave me alone, Cronin.”
He watched her stabbing at the button on the elevator panel until the doors opened
and she raced inside. The pallor of her face was even more noticeable as she slapped at
the lobby button inside the cage.
“Is there anything I can do?” he called out to her as the doors began to close.
“You’ve done more than enough already,” he heard her grumble before the copper
panels slid shut, hiding her beautiful face from view.
Sighing heavily, Dáire swiped his card down the entry box and went into his home.
The air was rife with the pleasing scent of lemon, which told him Consuelo had worked
her magic on his soiled bedroom. He didn’t need to check on the cleaning woman’s
labors for she was by far the best housekeeper there was at the Farraige, if not the
costliest.
Kicking off his shoes, he went to the triple doors that led out to the rooftop pool,
peeling away his shirt as he opened one of the doors and walked outside. The sea
breeze was stiff this high up and the shrill call of the seagulls stitching across the sky
made him feel at home. Tossing his shirt aside, he stretched out on one of the teakwood
chaise lounges that sat at an angle to the pool. The porotex fabric molded to his body as
he leaned back, crossing his ankles, lacing his hands behind his head as the wind played
over his bare chest.
Though he hadn’t been ready for his next assignment, he chafed at the thought of
being sidelined, leaving Jackson alone with some other operative. He couldn’t
remember when the last time was that the two of them hadn’t been partnered and a
part of him was tense over him not being there to protect the middle-aged man. Friends
since Dáire had saved the Fibber’s life during a heated gun battle with a suspected
terrorist, it was only natural three years later that Cronin introduced the government
agent to Gentry when Jackson retired from the FBI. The two men had been partners
ever since.
Jackson bore an uncanny resemblance to the television actor Lee Majors. The two
had the same height and build and
Marc Nager, Clint Nelsen, Franck Nouyrigat