A peek into A Dangerous Game

TROUBLE ALWAYS FINDS HER…

Wrapping up a normal day at the office, criminal psychologist Kieran Finnegan is accosted by a desperate woman who shoves an infant into her arms and then flees, only to be murdered minutes later on a busy Manhattan street.

Who was the woman? Where did the baby come from? Kieran can’t stop thinking about the child and the victim, so her boyfriend, Craig Frasier, does what any good special agent boyfriend would do—he gets the FBI involved. And asks Kieran to keep out of it.

But the Finnegans have a knack for getting into trouble, and Kieran won’t sit idle when a lead surfaces through her family’s pub. Investigating on her own, she uncovers a dangerous group that plays fast and loose with human lives and will stop at nothing to keep their secrets—and they plan to silence Kieran before she can expose their deadly enterprise.

Amazon | Books-A-Million | Barnes & Noble

About Heather Graham

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Heather Graham has written more than a hundred novels. She’s a winner of the RWA’s Lifetime Achievement Award, and the Thriller Writers’ Silver Bullet. She is an active member of International Thriller Writers and Mystery Writers of America. For more information on Heather and her work, check out her websites:  TheOriginalHeatherGraham.com, eHeatherGraham.com, and HeatherGraham.tv. You can also find Heather on Facebook, Twitter, and YouTube.

CHAPTER THREE

 

 

SO MUCH FOR WAKING UP EARLY AND BEING SO ANTSY she’d rushed through a shower.

It was frustrating as hell, but Kieran kept watching the news. She couldn’t stop herself. It was like the pre-election coverage of the last election. A train wreck. And she’d still felt compelled to watch.

Although, this was different. She had known the woman.

Well, she hadn’t known her, but she had spoken with her right before she had been murdered.

The more she watched—even though she didn’t see any­thing new reported—the more she began to wonder and try to figure out just what the hell was going on and how the police would try to put it together—try to find a murderer.

So far, they hadn’t talked about the knife on the air or in the paper—online or in physical print.

Where had the knife come from? The killer had to have had the knife on them. And if so, wouldn’t that mean there would be prints on the knife? Of course, those prints would need to be in the system. And what if the killer had been wearing gloves?

She itched to call Craig again—but she wouldn’t.

He would call her.

Would Richard Egan get the FBI on the investigation?

Kieran was well aware sometimes the different agencies working on a situation could be territorial—and not just cops and FBI. New York was filled with different organizations of law enforcement, including the cops and the FBI but ex­tending to the US Marshals Service and Homeland Security. Depending on who found what when, there could be some disputes.

She didn’t know anything about the detective who was in charge of the investigation so far on the NYPD side of it all. Drs. Fuller and Miro had a tendency to work amazingly well with all branches—and she knew that Craig and his partner, Mike Dalton, were both the type who worked hard to see that any rivalry was kept to a minimum—that the crime was of upmost importance, no matter who solved it.

She couldn’t help worrying about the case. She was on pins and needles, waiting to find out what was going on. And worse, she wanted to see the baby again. Though the child was being cared for by professionals, and Kieran assured her­self everything was fine, she couldn’t tamp down the urge to see the baby herself—just to make sure.

There was no way she could simply sit in her apartment and wait for Craig.

It was ridiculous that she had started watching the news at the get-go.

She’d known what she really needed to be doing. She forced herself up, forced herself to turn off the television.

Outside, she headed to the subway—finally determined on getting to the venue that was always her cure-all for being as antsy as the proverbial cat on the hot tin roof—without further delay.

The front door to Finnegan’s was locked when she arrived. She let herself in with her key.

The pub was getting ready to open for the day. Most of the time, Declan spent a good twelve to fifteen hours a day at the pub; it was easy for him since Mary Kathleen—the love of his life—worked there, as well.

Mary Kathleen had only been in the country about three and a half years. She’d come over to take care of an ailing grandmother, and a family friend had set her up at Finnegan’s. She and Declan were a perfect—and beautiful—couple, in Kieran’s mind, at least. Declan was tall with very dark auburn hair and the blue-gray-green eyes that characterized their fam­ily. Mary Kathleen had eyes that were huge and wide and the color of the sea. Her voice was musical and her accent truly charming—though she had found it funny one day when a patron had told her she didn’t need to pretend to be Irish to work in the pub—it was, after all, America.

The alarm had already been turned off when Kieran stepped in. The place was spotless; she was sure that their late-night cleaning crew had been in, one hired just for the weekends when the traffic at the pub was extremely heavy. They had an impressive row of taps; Kieran was proud the place never smelled like stale beer. They maintained it beautifully.

She walked up to the bar, thinking she could put away glasses or do something else useful, but as she was standing there, Declan stepped out from the hallway that led to the offices and the stock room down in the basement. He was wearing a white apron and evidently had been working be­hind the bar, setting up, and perhaps he’d been in back in the kitchen as well, checking with the chef on the daily specials. On Sundays, Finnegan’s always served a traditional roast with a choice of regular mashed potatoes or colcannon—potatoes and cabbage—and a special fresh vegetable. But on Saturdays, Declan and Chef liked to be adventurous—as in “Irish spicy tacos—trust us, the sauce is pure green!” Kieran wondered what delight he’d have prepared for today.

“I figured I’d see you,” Declan said.

“I couldn’t sit around,” she said.

“And you sent Craig off to see his boss, to try to get in­volved, didn’t you? And I know Craig. If he values his peace of mind, he’ll see to it that he’s involved.”

She made a face at her brother. She was glad, though, that Declan—and Kevin and Danny—knew Craig well and really liked him. They’d met Richard Egan, Craig’s boss, and Mike Dalton, his partner, too. All them had come into Finnegan’s at various times, whether having to do with a case, or simply to have some good Irish pub food.