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She parked, got out, and had her ears assailed by shouting, hoots, insults—delivered with oddly musical accents in two languages.
“There’s herself!”
Despite the dirt on his face, Eve recognized the boy Sean. Sinead’s grandson had, for some reason, developed an unshakable attachment to Eve. And that even before he’d discovered a body in the woods outside his quiet village the summer before.
“We’re losing terrible,” he told her, as if they’d just spoken an hour before. “Uncle Paddy cheats something fierce and Aunt Maureen’s no better come to that.”
“Okay.”
“You’ll come onto our side. You can take the place of my cousin Fiona. She’s useless as teats on a billy goat, and does nothing but squeal when the ball comes within a bleeding kilometer of her.”
She found herself flattered on some strange level that he’d assume she could save the game for his side. But.
“Can’t do it, kid. I don’t even know how it’s played.”
He laughed, then goggled. “Is that the truth then? How can you not know how to football?”
“Over here it’s soccer—sort of.” But meaner, she decided, which was a point in its favor. “And it’s not my game.”
“Sean!” From the doorway, Sinead shouted. “Leave your cousin alone, pity sakes. She hasn’t so much as gotten in the door yet, and you won’t let her come in out of the rain.”
“She’s saying she doesn’t know how to play football!” Absolute shock vibrated in his voice. “And she’s heart-stopping serious! That’s all right then,” he said kindly to Eve. “I’ll teach you.”
Damn, the kid had a way about him. If she hadn’t had a killer to find, she’d have taken him up on it. And enjoyed it.
“Appreciate it, but …” She trailed off, her shock as vibrant as Sean’s at her lack of essential knowledge as she saw Roarke break from the pack and walk her way.
He was every bit as wet and filthy as his young cousin. Grass stains smeared the elbows of his shirt, with some bloodstains mixed on the left. Light but distinct bruising colored the side of his jaw.
He gave Eve a cheeky grin, then slapped a hand on Sean’s shoulder.
“You’re needed, mate. It’s near do or die now.”
“I’m off!”
“What the fuck?” Eve said the minute the boy ran off bellowing a war cry.
“Don’t ask. We’re all but done for in any case, taking that Fiona couldn’t hit a cow’s arse with a banjo, and Paddy and Maureen both cheat like tinkers at a fair.”
“What are you talking about? Why would anybody hit a cow with a banjo?”
He only smiled. “The point is, Fiona couldn’t, so we’ll be done soon enough. I’ve a report for you, and it’s already on your unit. And I’ve got some programs running, but the sad truth of it is, it’s taking all the time I said it would. Little bits, but not enough, not yet. It’s there, that’s certain. The clever Ms. Farnsworth slipped some sort of code by him. But we don’t have it yet.”
“Okay, any progress is good progress at this point. I’ve been working on something, and I’ve copied it to you. We’ll get to it.”
They were shouting for him, she thought. The family he’d lived his life without. “Go hit some cow in the ass with a banjo or whatever. And try not to bleed too much.”
He laughed, grabbed her, spun her, kissed her hard to the cheers of the players before she could struggle free and swipe at the wet and dirt he’d just transferred.
“God,” she muttered as she strode to the house. “Irishmen are crazy.”
She’d barely stepped in, shrugged out of her coat, when Sinead was there taking it from her and handing her a glass of wine.
“Welcome home and to considerable bedlam. It’s been a long day for you from what I’m told. Can you take a minute to sit, catch your breath? Those of us who aren’t outside or off adventuring in the city or scattered someone else are in the parlor.”
She could escape, Eve thought. Sinead would make excuses for her. She heard laughter from the parlor, murmuring voices, the fretful cry of an infant—they were always popping out more infants, Eve thought. And she could escape all of it, and close herself in with murder.
And she thought of Roarke’s quick grin and filthy shirt.
