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“For me at least. Not for you?”
She shrugged. “It’s nice to put a face with a name.”
“My apologies about the circumstances, but it was imperative that we meet.” He had a light Irish accent. Not as thick as Declan’s but just enough to make him sound foreign.
“Why is that?”
Lorcan just smiled, gesturing to a back table that was set with beautiful silver dishes. A bottle of wine was already open, with a generous pour of the red in each glass like blood set before a vampire’s feast.
“I’m not exactly dressed for dinner.” In fact, she was wearing workout clothes and sneakers. Her hair was in a ponytail. She barely had on a lick of makeup. This place was a five-star location, probably Michelin-starred in the times before. She hardly fit in.
“Ah. Luckily, the owner won’t mind,” he said cheekily. Then he saw that she was still staring blankly at him. “I think we . . . got off on the wrong foot.”
“You think?” she asked. “You tried to kill me.”
“A miscalculation. You’re perfectly safe with me.”
Why did men always say that? As if they thought that women would believe them. “You have a funny way of showing ‘safe’ after kidnapping me.”
“An invitation,” he amended.
“With armed guards,” she said. “An invitation you could have delivered yourself.”
“Graves’s reach extends through much of Manhattan. It was better for us to speak in Brooklyn, on my property. This way, I can guarantee we won’t be interrupted. But after we have dinner, I will have my people return you safely wherever you choose.” He pressed his hand to his heart. “I give you my word.”
Kierse wavered at the threshold of the restaurant. She didn’t want to have this meal with Lorcan, but she was curious about him and all the reasons he and Graves hated each other. He appeared earnest in his resolve to return her when he was done, but she wasn’t pleased with the circumstances.
“I realize that your word is valuable.” It was a guess based on the arrangement he had with Graves. Lorcan nodded. “So if you go against it, I will kill you.”
He laughed, loud and effortless. A man accustomed to laughing. So unlike her. So unlike Graves.
“I would expect little else,” Lorcan said.
She nodded. “So, I’ll eat, but don’t ever do this again.”
He bowed his head once. “Next time, I’ll come myself.”
She rolled her eyes but followed him to the table. Lorcan helped her into a chair and took the seat across from her. That was when the memory hit her. “Gregory Amberdash frequents this place.”
Lorcan tucked his chair in. “Ah yes, he is a client of mine.”
“He mentioned it in passing once.”
“That sounds like him.” He whipped out his napkin. “He loves the lamb, which is, coincidentally, what is on the menu tonight.”
“Amberdash is a wraith. He doesn’t eat lamb.”
“Wraiths can eat human food. It just doesn’t nourish them,” Lorcan countered.
Kierse grimaced. She did not want to think about that.
“And he worked with you?”
Lorcan gestured to her. “He was the one who gave me your name.”
“Wonderful.” Well, that explained the cryptic warning. Part of her should have anticipated Amberdash double-crossing her, but they’d known each other for so long that it still hurt. “So, why me?”
“I was looking for someone who could break into Graves’s house. Amberdash offered me a few unsuccessful candidates before we decided on you. If it makes you feel better, he seemed unwilling to offer you until all other options ran out.”
It didn’t.
“Doesn’t that go against your arrangement with Graves?”
“It toes a line,” he conceded.
“And why would you try to kill me after I got into the house? Doesn’t that seem counterintuitive to your plans?”
“You walked out the front door. I believed you were compromised.”
“But you don’t now, when you know I’m living there?”
“Oh, you certainly are,” he said with a wide smile, giving away nothing. “Do you like cabernet sauvignon?”
He swirled his wine around the glass and took a sip. He gestured for her to try her own, but she’d barely eaten anything since the party. She wasn’t sure wine was the right choice to start with.
She reached for the water instead. Fresh green salads and a basket of bread were placed before them. He picked up his fork.
“Not wine, then,” he said. “Hopefully the salad is to your liking.”
She stabbed her fork into the salad with relish but didn’t eat.
Lorcan sighed and set his fork down. “This is the point.” His tone softened. “I’m making conversation. I want to get to know you.”
She leaned her elbows against the table, bucking etiquette. “Why?”
“I was wrong about you. When I saw you walk out the front door of Graves’s house, I believed that he had gotten to you, that you were working together, or even that Amberdash had set me up. I didn’t want Graves to have a new pawn. I admit that I’m sometimes rash when it comes to Graves. But you and I are not enemies.”
