He only smiled and murmured, “But where would be the fun in that?”
Kathryn stood. “I’m not really here for fun, Mister Donlon.”
“Och, and don’t I know it?” he responded, with a very genuine-sounding Irish lilt flavoring his words for the first time. Was he Irish? For that matter, how old was he? Vampires lived a long time, if what she’d heard could be believed. She tended to think at least some of it was vampire disinformation. But if even part of it were true, Donlon could easily have been born in some long ago Ireland. The there-and-gone lilt was just one more piece of the mystery that was Lucas Donlon. And she’d always loved a good mystery.
She stood, as if to leave, then shifted her gaze deliberately to the photographs on the wall next to the fireplace. The ones she knew for a fact that her brother had taken, although that didn’t necessarily mean anything, since Dan’s work was sold in galleries worldwide.
“These are beautiful,” she said, crossing to the wall and moving from one photo to the next. “Ireland, isn’t it?”
“Éire we call her,” Lucas murmured directly into her ear.
Kathryn’s heart slammed against her ribs. He’d somehow come out from behind his desk and walked over to stand right behind her without her being aware of it. He stood looking over her shoulder, so close she could smell the spicy scent of his skin, could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek. She had to fight the urge to reach for her gun as she turned her head and found herself looking directly into his strange golden eyes.
He smiled, a bare upward tilt of his lips. He knew he’d startled her, and he took pleasure in it. Kathryn wanted to step away, wanted to ball up her fist and slug his beautiful, smug face. But she couldn’t do it. She could only stare and try to breathe.
“Have you been to my country?” he asked in a voice so soft she wouldn’t have heard him if they hadn’t been standing so close.
It took her a moment to find the words to answer. “Your country?” she repeated.
“Mo Éireann álainn. Mo Chroí mo go deo.”
The Irish words flowed like beautiful music. “What does that mean?” she whispered, unwilling to dispel the echo of the lovely sounds.
He leaned even closer, and for one wild moment, Kathryn thought he meant to kiss her. And the worst part was, she was pretty sure she’d let him. Fortunately, he spared her from making that terrible mistake by saying softly, “Someday maybe I’ll tell you.”
He straightened a little, putting just enough distance between them that she could think rationally again, and indicated the photo nearest to her left. Daniel had caught three horses in full movement, running over a grassy paddock, with trees closing in all around. The youngest was still a foal, his back legs kicked up in play.
“That’s Kildare,” Lucas murmured to her. “Heart of the Irish thoroughbred country. My grandfather had a place there. Nothing this grand, of course. Just a patch of dirt and an old plow horse. I only visited there once, but it was a memorable event in my too short childhood.”
Kathryn was surprised he’d told her that much. She glanced over her shoulder. “My grandparents had horses, too,” she offered, and was rewarded with the most glorious smile.
“Well, then . . . it seems we’ve something in common, a cuisle. You’ll have to come riding with me sometime.”
Kathryn’s cheeks heated with embarrassment. She didn’t know what he’d just called her, but she knew it crossed that invisible line between agent and witness. What was she doing? She wasn’t here to be romanced by Lucas Donlon, no matter how handsome and charming he was.
Lucas must have sensed that their moment of connection was over. He gave her an “oh well” kind of shrug, then stepped back a pace and studied the entire series of photographs. “I don’t know who took these. Magda found them for me. But the photographer has captured my homeland like no other I’ve ever seen.” He gestured at the images. “I’ll probably never live there again, so I’m grateful.”
Kathryn looked from her brother’s photographs to Lucas, trying to decide if he was genuine, or if he was playing her. But there was that comment about his grandfather between them, and his expression held such yearning as his gaze traveled from one photograph to the next, that she believed him.
“Then you should probably help me find him,” she said.
Lucas gave her a puzzled look. “Find whom?”
Kathryn tilted her head toward the photographs. “The photographer. Daniel Hunter.”
He regarded her blankly for a moment, then his eyes widened in surprise. “Your brother took these?” He grabbed one of the framed images from the wall and turned it over. Kathryn knew what he’d find. There was a label on the back with her brother’s name and contact information, as well as a statement of copyright.
Lucas read the label quickly, then turned the photograph over again and searched for a signature on the image.
“Lower left corner,” Kathryn said. “Very small, but it’s there. Just his initials, D H.”
She watched his eyes as they traveled over the print and saw the moment he found what he was looking for. “Son of a bitch,” he swore softly. “Nicholas,” he said without turning. “Get Magda in here now.”
Kathryn heard Nicholas on the phone, but her attention was all for Lucas, who was staring at the photos with new interest.
“What is it?” she asked. “What do you see?”
“It’s not the prints,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “It’s where she bought them.”