parents' love. But that had all changed one fall day, much like this one. Even now, a sick feeling twisted his gut at the memory of his father's friends-the men who had worked the swordfishing boats with Sam Kendrick-walking up the front steps of their tiny house in Gloucester.
They hadn't had to speak. Rafe knew what they'd come for. But still, he listened to the details of how his father had met with an unfortunate accident at sea. His father had been caught in a long line and yanked overboard on the
That day had marked the end of Rafe's childhood. Lila Mirando Kendrick, already frail of mind and health, took the news badly. Though she'd hated her husband's choice of occupation, she'd loved Sam Kendrick. It had been an odd match, the rough-and-tumble Irish American and the delicate Portuguese beauty. But they had adored each other and the loss of him was more than she could bear. What emotional stability she had left was shattered along with the family's financial stability.
Rafe had immediately gone to work to help supplement the insurance settlement his mother received. He had worked from the time he was nine years old, first delivering papers and collecting aluminum cans, until he could get a real work permit. After that, he took anything that would pay at least minimum wage. He worked construction to put himself through college, then parlayed a small investment in a crumbling storefront into a fortune in Boston's booming real estate market.
By the age of twenty-five, he'd made his first million. And now, at thirty-three, he had more money than he could ever spend. Enough to make his life easy. Enough to buy his mother all the help she needed. And plenty of money to make revenge a simple matter. After all, that's why he'd come to Quinn's Pub-to avenge his father's death and his mother's grief.
Rafe turned back and looked down the darkened street to the neon lights blinking from the pub windows. He wasn't sure why he had to do this. A shrink might say he had a need for closure, or a desire to work out his childhood rage. But Rafe didn't put much stock in the science of psychiatry, even though he'd spent a fortune supporting the profession on behalf of his mother. His motive was much simpler.
He'd find a way to take something away from Seamus Quinn, the same way Quinn had taken something from him. An eye for an eye, wasn't that how it was supposed to be? Maybe he'd find the means to buy the pub out from under him. Or maybe he'd get to Quinn through his sons. Or maybe he'd finally find the proof he needed to put Quinn in jail for the murder of Sam Kendrick.
Whatever it was, Rafe was determined to make it happen. Once he rid himself of the demons in his past, maybe he could finally get on with his future.
THE LIGHTS OF New York glittered against a carpet of black night. Keely stared out the window of the 747, her cheek pressed against the cool surface. She'd left Ireland five hours ago and somewhere over the Atlantic she'd come to the realization that her life had changed forever.
Her visit to the parish priest had been even more illuminating than her tea with Maeve Quinn. Though he couldn't tell her if her father was still alive, Keely left believing that somewhere in the world, she at least had five brothers, and probably six. The baby that her mother was carrying when she left Ireland was more than a year older than Keely. She didn't want to believe that the baby had been a girl and her mother had kept a sister from her for all these years.
Her thoughts wandered back to all the romantic stories she made up about her parents, their enduring love, his tragic accident, her mother's grief. So what had really happened? If her father was still alive, he would have made some attempt to see her, wouldn't he have?
'So, he's not alive. That part of the story is the truth,' she told herself. 'He would have made an attempt to see me if he could.' Seamus Quinn had died and her mother was left with five, or maybe six children. She couldn't take care of them and she…put them into foster care? That would explain her mother's melancholy moods. But why keep that all from Keely? And why, once she made a decent living at the cake shop, didn't she find her sons?
Keely moaned softly, then rubbed her temples, working at the knots of tension that kept her head in a vice.
'Are you all right?'
She turned and looked at the businessman who sat next to her in first class. She hadn't even noticed him, so preoccupied was she with her thoughts for the past five hours. 'No,' she murmured.
'Can I get the flight attendant for you?'
'No,' Keely said. She forced a smile. 'I'll be fine, once we land.'
'It'll be good to be home,' he said. 'I don't know about you, but I hate traveling. Not in the U.S., but this foreign travel is too much. The hotels are too small and the food is the worst. And I have to tell you…'
Keely smiled and nodded as the man prattled on and on, but she wasn't listening to a word he said. She pulled the photo out of her purse and stared down at it. Where were her brothers now? Had they all been split up after her father had died? Did they remember her or had they been too young?
A tiny smile curled the corners of her mouth. They were handsome boys. No doubt they'd be handsome men. 'Conor, Dylan, Brendan,' she murmured. 'Brian and Sean.'
'Is that your family?'
Keely dragged her gaze from the photo. 'What?'
The businessman pointed to the picture. 'Your family?'
'No,' Keely said. She swallowed hard then forced a smile. 'I mean, yes. This is my family. My brothers. And my parents.'
He took the photo from her fingers and she fought the impulse to snatch it back and hide it away where it would be safe. For now, all she had was the photo. But the idea of family-her family-belonged out in the open. She wanted to know these brothers she had lost. She wanted to know what really happened to her father and why she'd been forced to grow up an only child.
A different person would be stepping off the plane in New York. She'd gone to Ireland believing she knew who and what she was. She'd been content with her life. But now she was more than just Keely McClain-she was a sister and an only daughter to a man she didn't know. She was a Quinn.
But she was also less. Everything she'd believed she was had been negated within the span of a few hours. All her memories of her childhood were now tainted with her mother's betrayal. The woman she thought she knew better than anyone in the world had become a complete enigma.
'Ladies and gentlemen, we're cleared for landing at JFK. We'll be on the ground in about fifteen minutes.'
The flight attendant leaned over and grabbed the wineglass from Keely's tray table, then asked her to fasten her seat belt. Keely accepted the photo back from the man next to her, feeling her stomach flutter nervously. For a moment she thought she might get sick the way she had that day outside Maeve Quinn's cottage. She grabbed the airsickness bag from the pocket in front of her. But she couldn't face the humiliation of losing her honey-roasted peanuts in front of everyone in first class.
Keely pushed out of the seat and hurried to the bathroom. The flight attendant tried to stop her, but she waved her off and locked herself inside. Leaning over the sink, she drew a deep breath and tried to calm her nerves. This was the second time this had happened! It had been years since her nerves had gotten the best of her. But now panic and nausea seemed to descend on her without warning.
'Calm down,' she murmured, staring at her reflection in the mirror. 'No matter what the truth is, you'll deal with it.'
She splashed some water on her face and ran her fingers though her short dark hair. She hadn't told her mother that she was coming home early. Right now, she could only think a few minutes ahead. Once they landed, she'd decide how to approach Fiona.
A knock sounded on the bathroom door. 'Miss? We're on our final approach. You have to take your seat.'
Keely closed her eyes and took a deep breath. 'I'll be right out.' She reached for the latch, then pasted a smile on her face.
She found her seat moments before the plane descended to the runway. The next hour passed in a blur, her mind numb with fatigue and pent-up emotion. Like a robot, she walked through customs and immigration, flipping open her passport only to wonder whether she was reentering the country illegally. After all, her name wasn't really McClain but Quinn. Then she dragged her luggage down the concourse to the taxi stand.
