I unlocked the triple bolt lock and disarmed the alarm to my shoebox apartment. “Wait in there.” I pointed toward the sitting room and set Max on the floor. “And don’t touch anything.”
The dog scampered into the sitting room and flopped onto his makeshift teddy bear bed. Keegan stood at the threshold and glanced at several precariously stacked boxes.
“Moving?”
“They’re from my old office.” I shoved a wavering stack against a wall to prevent a flood of paper. “I haven’t had time to go through them.” Satisfied they wouldn’t fall, I turned to Keegan. “Give me a few minutes to get packed.”
He nodded, but his attention was on the boxes I’d pushed against the wall.
I left him alone and went into my bedroom. The damp room, a few steps from the sitting room, held nothing to show the place was my home.
Torture would’ve been preferable to unpacking. Too many painful memories showing my failed business and failed relationship were wrapped up in old newspapers and stored inside cardboard boxes, and that was where they would stay until I had the courage to deal with them.
I closed the door and flopped onto my unmade bed.
Who exactly was Keegan Devlin? I slid my phone from my bag and Googled his name. Hundreds of articles about him flooded the screen. Devlin Events were goliaths in event planning. Compared to them I wasn’t even a gnat. Going up against him was moronic, but I had to try. With a resigned sigh, I threw my phone back into my bag and started to pack.
Chapter Six
Keegan
If there was an uglier dog alive, I hadn’t seen it. The mutt, who now lay on his back snoring, was obviously at home in Tessa’s apartment.
How often had she helped the kid and dog out? I hadn’t missed how she tucked the money the kid had refused into his backpack. Was she the Robin Hood of con artists? Someone who justified her actions of robbing from the rich to give to the poor? I gave my head a quick shake. A scam artist with a heart of gold. There was a Hallmark movie somewhere in Tessa’s future.
I leaned against the doorjamb and examined Tessa’s home. Her professional and sexy appearance suggested an upscale apartment in a trendy part of town. Instead, she lived in an old public housing building that was as impersonal and as welcoming as the DMV.
Limp green and yellow plaid curtains hung by grimy patio doors that led to a small balcony. Bare cream walls held no pictures of friends or family, and piles of unopened moving boxes occupied every available space.
A chipped Formica table drowned in paperwork beside a postage-stamp-sized kitchen. I walked over to the table and used the edge of my phone to shuffle the papers around. Nothing but bills and threatened legal action. A few handwritten letters cursing her to hell. I now understood the hissy fit in the car when she thought I was going to open her mail. She was in it up to her neck.
Based on the numbers scribbled on a legal pad, I calculated she owed half a million euros, maybe more—a hundred grand in back rent for an office. Something—a lot of things—weren’t adding up. I needed a few more answers, and to get those, I had to talk to Shane, because the femme fatale picture he’d painted wasn’t the same Tessa I’d met.
I scrolled through my phone and redialed the number Shane had called from. Disconnected. Not surprising. An uneasy sensation crawled up my spine. What the fuck was Shane’s plan and what was my part in it?
If I screwed this event up for Tessa, she’d be bankrupt by the New Year. A desire to jump on the next flight back to New York and let her sink or swim yanked at me. But I couldn’t do that. If I left now, she’d suffocate. But maybe she was playing me for a fool. What if she’d planted the numbers and letters to make me think she was in trouble? Was I a pawn in a long con mapped out by Shane? Or was she the brains of the operation? With another shake of my head, I blew out a slow whistle and went to the balcony doors. She hadn’t expected me to come to her apartment, so the scribbled numbers and letters demanding money had to be genuine.
I drew back the curtains and unlatched the lock. A small mezzanine overlooked the neglected, snow-covered street. I slid the door open and stepped into the cold. Swollen clouds loomed over the town and promised a heavy snowfall. In a few hours, no one would get in or out of the airports. Both Dublin and Belfast would shut their doors to incoming and outgoing flights. Even if I decided to go back to New York, my chances of getting there were slim and none.
The five-hour time difference meant it was a few minutes past 8 a.m. in New York, and Brody was probably wondering why I hadn’t stopped by the construction site on my way to the office for my usual cup of coffee and catch up.
I pulled my cell from the depths of my coat pocket and dialed Brody’s number. My brother would accuse me of losing my ever-loving mind, and maybe I had.
“The invisible man reappears.” Brody’s voice crackled over the miles. “Where are you, you muppet?”
“Home.”
“Home, home? As in the place we grew up home?”
“A few miles from there.”
“Ah, for feck’s sake. Does Ma know?”
“She’ll know when I show up on Christmas Eve as planned.” I slid my shoes over
