Dangerous Secrets

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Night had already fallen by the time Liam returned to the modest white Bel Air ranch home he shared with Conor. Though he slept in the detached in-law suite, he was never more than a minute away, should his services be needed. It was a comfortable arrangement for both men, giving Conor the privacy he so desperately required after a stressful day on site, but still providing him topnotch security or a friendly ear at a moment’s notice.

Fortunately for him, genuine threats were few and far between. He was well-liked by his peers, and the public fawned over his every move. The biggest danger he’d faced so far was from an overzealous fan who’d tried to sneak into his trailer in hopes of a personalized autograph.

She’d been summarily escorted off the set by security, and warned never to try it again, or she’d spend her next six months in jail. But since she’d been such a good sport about getting caught, she’d left clutching the cherished autograph, which he’d kindly scrawled on a rather good photo she’d taken the previous day. The following week, she’d sent him a very pretty letter of apology and thanks for his generosity. And that had been the end of that.

Conor had spent all afternoon with his agent, reviewing treatments for various new movie scripts he’d been offered. Already, in his heart, he knew which one would suit him best. And his agent, being one of the best in the biz, wholeheartedly agreed with his choice.

But—being one of the best in the biz—she also understood the need for tactical maneuvering. So now they were entering the long phase of contract negotiations with the studio’s agents. It was very much a game of cat and mouse, with each side playing coy until they could reach a satisfactory arrangement. She was a pro…and he’d long-ago decided never to play poker against her.

Liam was another pro, in his own specialized field. No one, looking at him, would have guessed he was one of the world’s finest professional bodyguards. His youthful freckled face and tousled sun-streaked hair made him look like an innocent choir boy. But no one was more skilled with weapons, or able to elicit information without seeming to ask a single question.

To the outside world, he was Conor’s efficient, devoted personal assistant. To those few who knew his reputation, he was Conor’s first line of defense against the myriad dangers of stardom. He spoke over a dozen languages fluently, could blend into any background with surprising ease, and—much to the dismay of various poor-spirited Hollywood celebs—could mimic any voice or personality with deadly or hilarious precision.

He was also a consummate tease. His puckish sense of humor was, in Conor’s opinion, one of his finest non-lethal qualities…when it wasn’t directed at him personally.

So the sight of his trusted aide leaning back in his comfortable leather recliner, shoveling in a huge bite of Off Vine’s exquisite berry pie—and purposely stalling over the info Conor knew he’d gathered that day—was slowly driving him insane.

“Damn, they make good food! Even if it is several hours’ cold.” Liam heaved a blissful sigh of delight, and savored the delicate blend of sun-ripened berries.

“Liam.” Conor’s deep voice held a subtle warning.

Deliberately the younger man took another slow, ecstatic bite, and rolled his eyes with pleasure.

“Liam…” The warning was stronger this time.

“Just one more bite. Mmmm!” His low moan held a distinctly erotic overtone. Liam loved to eat. And he never gained a spare ounce.

“Liam!”

Conor’s temper was rare, but notorious. And Liam figured he’d just about played the scene for all it was worth, anyway. So he capped his humorous little melodrama with an exasperated sigh, then reluctantly straightened and assumed a properly sober expression.

“Okay, okay. Here’s what the Dragon Eater gave me. And you owe her big-time for the info,” he warned, waving his fork at Conor. “Don’t think she won’t find a way to collect!”

That didn’t dismay Conor; he’d deal with the Dragon Lady (or Dragon Eater, as Liam insisted on calling her) in his own way. A few lengthy visits and lucrative purchases would settle the debt, and he’d had his eye on several of Amoeba’s more expensive collectible posters for a long time. “What did she say?”

“Her full name is Kiera Katherine Donovan.” Once Liam stopped fooling around, he was all business. “She does hail from a little town called Dunbur Park in Wicklow, Ireland. And she moved to the States about five years ago, for reasons Chandra didn’t know. Your little enigma is friendly with the other clerks, but doesn’t mingle much. And almost never talks about herself.

“According to her job application, which Chandra broke a dozen corporate rules to show me, she spent several months in New York City, working for a big-name record company. Then she transferred to their St. Louis branch—and when an opening came up at Amoeba Music, she moved to L.A. She’s been working full-time at Amoeba ever since.

“I’d say Chandra resents her, but then Chandra hates everyone,” he added with a mocking grin. “So that isn’t saying much. In this case, though, it’s probably because she came highly recommended by one of your favorite music groups, Inish Crossroads. Seems she’s in tight with the lead singer, Moira ní Cathmhaoil.”

Conor’s dark eyebrows rose in surprise. “Now how on earth would a tender young girl from County Wicklow be traveling in Moira’s circle?”

“I suppose you’ll have to ask her, next time your paths cross.” Liam’s voice was carefully neutral. Not under the direst torture would he admit that fiery Moira Campbell (as she was called by the world-at-large) had totally captured his heart one summer night, six years ago, at a party in Conor’s honor. And since that fateful night, every other woman had paled in comparison. His devotion was absolute—but since her path rarely crossed Conor’s, it was also unrequited. She had no idea he was deeply and irrevocably in love with her.

If Conor suspected his aide’s torn loyalties, he kept it well hidden. “Find out where she’s performing right now, will you? It’s been too long since we’ve tipped a glass together.”

That would take about five seconds, Liam estimated, if the group’s website had been updated lately. If not, he could reach Moira herself, anywhere in the world, in less than a minute. Piece of cake. And long overdue, in his humble opinion.

“Regardless of how she got the job,” he continued, ruthlessly pushing his tangled emotions into the background, “Kiera’s done well for herself there. She’s well liked, and has her own group of regular customers.

“Her personal information is sketchy, though.” And that was guaranteed to raise crimson flags in his security-conscious mind. He wouldn’t rest easy until he’d done a full background check on her—for Conor’s sake. “No siblings that Chandra knew of, though she did think there was a young cousin still living back home. Part of her salary goes into a minor’s savings account in Dublin, under the name of Melissa Delaney.

“Most recently, she lives in the converted Federal Reserve Building over on Olympic Blvd. It’s a nice place…the apartment lofts are all fairly new…and quite convenient, as she’s only eight miles from work.

“And by the way, toward the end of next month, she’ll be twenty-five.”

Thoughtfully Conor tipped back a frothy mug of Guinness, and drank deeply. “The Federal Reserve Building…wasn’t that originally a big bank back in the 1930's? Lovely stone carving over the main door. I considered renting a loft there myself, a few years back, while I was building my home overlooking Malibu Hills. But then I bought this place instead. Better privacy.”

“Not to mention better security, and more in keeping with the image you project,” Liam commented as he savored another hunk of pie. Bless Conor for bringing home several generous slices! “The Reserve is pricy digs for a*****e clerk. Tomorrow I’ll dig deeper into her family background and financials. If you’re seriously thinking about becoming involved with her, it’s only sensible to map out the land mines before you stumble over them.”

“No.” Conor set his empty mug down with a muted thunk, and reached into Liam’s well-worn pretzel bowl. “She’s not a drug dealer or p********e, and I doubt she’ll try to play me for my money.”

“And you base this on what? The fact that she’s Irish?”

Personally, Liam agreed with Conor. He’d seen Kiera before, and even talked with her a few times, during previous solo visits to Amoeba Music. Now that the boss was showing an interest, he’d watched her more closely while covertly chatting with the Dragon Eater.

His well-honed instincts affirmed that Kiera was hard-working, motivated, and honest to the point of naivety. There was a sweetness about her, too, that seemed too natural to be an elaborate act. But then, she seemed to get along well with everyone, even the pierced and plugged street gangs who often browsed the store’s busy aisles.

“I base it on my own instincts, which have served me well for over thirty years.” Conor waved a pretzel in the air to emphasize his point. “After a while, you get to recognize the type who wants to take advantage. She has none of the earmarks.

“Besides, if I knew everything about her beforehand, there’d be no intrigue, would there?” And he did find her intriguing—disturbingly intriguing.

It’s only because she looks so much like pretty Peg.

Or was it?

What an ironic twist his life had taken! He’d come to America to seek his fame, and build a fortune worthy of pretty little Peggy Malone. And the moment he’d been gone, she’d turned away and forgotten all about him.

The love they’d sworn would never end had died of bitter starvation as she’d ignored his frequent letters home. So after a while he’d stopped writing, and hoping, and yearning. And he’d turned his boundless energies into his blossoming acting career.

He’d made the right decision. Acting was his only true love. He came alive when the cameras started rolling. Peggy hadn’t really understood that, he supposed. And for all her talk of following him to America, the reality of leaving her aging father had obviously been too difficult. He shouldn’t blame her for not wholeheartedly sharing his deepest passion.

There had been women in his life since then, of course; he could hardly avoid them without being branded gay, or worse. And in any case, he was a healthy man with healthy appetites. He enjoyed women. And they enjoyed him. He’d just been careful never to offer his heart again. He didn’t need the distraction, or the inevitable pain.

“Con?” Across the low coffee table, Liam was eyeing him with veiled amusement. “Earth to Con!”

“Sorry.” Ruefully he snapped his attention back, and flashed his friend an apologetic smile. “What did you say?”

“I said, since you know where she lives and works, what are you going to do next?”

“I asked her out to lunch tomorrow, and she turned me down flat.” It should have been annoying, a grievous blow to his fragile actor’s ego—but instead Conor found himself amused by the girl’s wary caution.

“Maybe I should ask her out myself,” Liam teased. “See if she’s that skittish around all men, or just you. Or not,” he amended, when Conor aimed a dangerous glare in his direction. “It was just a thought.”

“Leave it as one.”

Touchy subject. Liam prudently changed course. “Send her some flowers. Women always get sappy over that kind of thing. Or look up her phone number, and call her. Even in downtown L.A., how many Kiera Donovans can there be?”

It was a good idea…and he was determined to hear her lovely voice again tonight.

If her number was unlisted, he’d just have to figure out some other way to make contact. Any excuse would do, as long as it worked.

And as it turned out, he had a perfect alibi in his agent, Angie Carson…

Home again. Kiera sighed with quiet relief as she closed and locked the door behind her, then pulled Phantom from her knapsack and set her on the polished tile floor. “Now you behave while I change my clothes,” she warned as the cat skittered on tiny feet toward her compact kitchen. “No teasing poor old Boulder. And then we’ll have something delicious for dinner.”