"Ten thousand shares." Gray pursed his lips. "That's not chump change."
"It is, if I think I know what you're saying. You had to know my father-he was always after a new moneymaking scheme that cost more than it would ever earn. Still, this needs to be done." She held out a hand. "That's just a copy. Rogan took the original for safekeeping and made that for me."
"You should have him check it out."
"I don't like to bother him with it. His plate's full with the new gallery-and with Maggie."
He handed her back the copy. "Even at a dollar a share, it's fairly substantial."
"I'd be surprised if it was worth more than a pence a share. God knows he couldn't have paid much more. More likely it is that the whole company went out of business."
"Then your letter would have come back."
She only smiled. "You've been here long enough to know the Irish mails. I think-" They both glanced over as the dog began to growl. "Con?"
Instead of responding, the dog growled again, and the fur on his back lifted. In two strides Gray was at the windows. He saw nothing but mist.
"Fog," he muttered. "I'll go look around. No," he said when she started to rise. "It's dark, it's cold, it's damp, and you're staying put."
"There's nothing out there."
"Con and I will find out. Let's go." He snapped his fingers, and to Brianna's surprise, Con responded immediately. He pranced out at Gray's heels.
She kept a flashlight in the first kitchen drawer. Gray snagged it before he opened the door. The dog quivered once, then as Gray murmured, "go," leaped into the mist.
In seconds the sound of his racing feet was muffled to silence.
The fog distorted the beam from the flash. Gray moved carefully, eyes and ears straining. He heard the dog bark, but from what direction or distance he couldn't say.
He stopped by Br
ianna's bedroom windows, playing the light on the ground. There, in her neat bed of perennials, was a single footprint.
Small, Gray mused, crouching down. Nearly small enough to be a child's. It could be as simple as that-kids out on a lark. But when he continued to circle the house, he heard the sound of an engine turning over. Cursing, he quickened his pace. Con burst through the mist like a diver spearing through the surface of a lake.
"No luck?" To commiserate, Gray stroked Con's head as they both stared out into the fog. "Well, I'm afraid I might know what this is about. Let's go back."
Brianna was gnawing on her nails when they came through the kitchen door. "You were gone so long."
"We wanted to circle the whole way around." He set the flashlight on the counter, combed a hand through his damp hair. "This could be related to your break-in."
"I don't see how. You didn't find anyone."
"Because we weren't quick enough. There's another possible explanation." He jammed his hands in his pockets. "Me."
"You? What do you mean?"
"I've had it happen a few times. An overenthusiastic fan finds out where I'm staying. Sometimes they come calling like they were old pals-sometimes they just trail you like a shadow. Now and again, they break in, look for souvenirs."
"But that's dreadful."
"It's annoying, but fairly harmless. One enterprising woman picked the lock on my hotel room at the Paris Ritz, stripped, and crawled into bed with me." He tried for a grin. "It was... awkward."
"Awkward," Brianna repeated after she'd managed to close her mouth. "What-no, I don't think I want to know what you did."
"Called security." His eyes went bright with amusement.
"There are limits to what I'll do for my readers. Anyway, this might have been kids, but if it was one of my adoring fans, you might want me to find other accommodations."
"I do not." Her protective instincts snapped into place. "They've no right to intrude on your privacy that way, and you'll certainly not leave here because of it." She let out a huff of breath. "It's not just your stories, you know. Oh, they draw people in-it all seems so real, and there's always something heroic that rises above all the greed and violence and grief. It's your picture, too."
He was charmed by her description of his work and answered absently. "What about it?"
"Your face." She looked at him then. "It's such a lovely face."
He didn't know whether to laugh or wince. "Really?"
"Yes, it's..." She cleared her throat. There was a gleam in his eyes she knew better than to trust. "And the little biography on the back-more the lack of it. It's as if you came from nowhere. The mystery of it's appealing."
"I did come from nowhere. Why don't we go back to my face?"
She took a step in retreat. "I think there's been enough excitement for the night."
He just kept moving forward until his hands were on her shoulders and his mouth lay quietly on hers. "Will you be able to sleep?"
"Yes." Her breath caught, expelled lazily. "Con will be with me."
"Lucky dog. Go on, get some sleep." He waited until she and the dog were settled, then did something Brianna hadn't done in all the years she'd lived in the house.
He locked the doors.
The best place to spread news or to garner it was, logically, the village pub. In the weeks he'd been in Clare County, Gray had developed an almost sentimental affection for O'Malley's. Naturally, during his research, he'd breezed into a number of public houses in the area, but O'Malley's had become, for him, as close to his own neighborhood bar as he'd ever known.
He heard the lilt of music even as he reached for the door. Murphy, he thought. Now, that was lucky. The moment Gray stepped in, he was greeted by name or a cheery wave. O'Malley began to build him a pint of Guiness before he'd planted himself in a seat.