Page 22 of Sins of Arrogance (Syndicate Sins #1)

MICK

Dierdre's not in her room and her security is nowhere to be seen when I come out of my office.

Frustrated that it's closing in on Fitz's bedtime, I search the ground floor of the mansion.

Moonlight filtering through the windows gives the only illumination to the sunroom. So, it's the last room I check. Assuming Dierdre would not be sitting in the dark I almost miss her because I only give it a cursory once over.

I'm wrong. Slight movement catches my eye. Dierdre's curled in the chair that Kara favors, knees tucked beneath her, glass of wine in hand.

The French doors to the balcony are open as are the interior doors to the entrance hall. Is she hoping to overhear conversations?

That would make sense of the lack of light in the room.

With no desire to have this conversation, or any other, with this woman in the dark, I flip on the lights. The standing lamp beside Kara's chair has a full spectrum bulb so my wife can read without straining her eyes.

I had it installed after I found her reading in here with nothing but a small table lamp to illuminate the book's pages.

Bright light reveals Dierdre's startled face and the way her entire body tenses.

But when she sees it's me, her expression shifts into calculated welcome.

I've only got twenty minutes before Fitz's bedtime. So much for a prolonged soft interrogation, but there's enough time to lay some groundwork.

Leaving the door open, I cross the room toward Dierdre. "What are you doing in here?"

"Am I not allowed? Only Kara didn't say anything like that earlier."

"You mean when she was supposedly making you feel so unwelcome, you thought you had to leave the mansion?" I shut the door to the patio and the still warm, muggy air from outside, but don't take my eyes off Dierdre.

So, I see the way her mouth tightens in consternation at being caught in her lie.

But almost immediately, her lips turn down at the corners and she tries to reflect sad vulnerability with her eyes. "I may have taken her words more to heart than I should have."

Too bad for Dierdre, even if her dejected demeanor is real, I don't care. But that doesn't mean I'll let her know that.

I allow a mask of understanding to settle over my features before taking a seat close to her, my posture relaxed and open. I've practiced this posture-expression combo just like so many others and have never had anyone doubt my sincerity.

It is easy to project because most people want to believe you are sincere. Even other syndicate members.

"Why were you sitting here in the dark?" I ask Dierdre.

She shrugs. "Just wanted a quiet place to think."

And she just happened to want to do that thinking in the dark, while sitting in Kara's chair? Dierdre is fully self-involved, but she does not lack most emotions like I do.

Is she jealous? She said this morning that me marrying Kara was hard on her. That she couldn't stand to attend the wedding.

I assumed she was playing for sympathy. However, she didn't attend the wedding, even though the rest of our families flew to New York to be there.

If she has more feelings for me than I gave her credit for, it should be easier to get the information out of her that I want.

"Thinking about what?" Broad open ended questions are the mainstay of soft interrogation, often revealing more than pointed questioning would.

People go on their guard when answering questions they think could trip them up, but since most people like talking about themselves, broad questions lubricate their vocal cords.

"Memories," Dierdre replies and then sighs artfully. "Your wife has excellent taste in furniture. This is the most comfortable chair in the house."

"Aye." That's on purpose.

Kara told me it's her cozy reading chair. I didn’t pay much attention at the time to the width of the chair and the generous matching ottoman.

But now, details about the piece of furniture take on significance my gut says not to ignore.

The fact that Dierdre's feet are curled under her, rather than resting on the ottoman where they would more likely be seen from the doorway. The way the large ottoman blocks the sight of her shoes on the floor from the same vantage point.

She's got her glass of wine to sell her presence in case she's caught, but unless she overpoured to begin with, she hasn't taken a sip from it.

She was definitely sitting in the dark hoping to earwig.

Too bad for her, all our men know better than to discuss anything sensitive in any of the public areas of the mansion, whether they think they're alone, or not.

I've proven to them enough times that they weren't in fact alone and that the punishment for sloppy chatter isn't worth indulging in. Now, our men rarely talk at all when they are in the main areas of the house.

Dierdre makes a sound between a sigh and a hum. "She's a lucky woman."

She's not talking about the chair, but I don't take the bait and pretend like I think she is. "I'm sure Kara would tell you where to buy one just like it to be shipped back to Dublin, if you asked."

Dierdre draws her finger slowly around the rim of the wine glass, making the crystal sing. "I wasn't talking about the chair, Micky."

"What were you talking about then?" I prepare myself for more melodramatic claims about missing me, with the hope it will lead to more substantial topics.

Soft interrogation is all about patience and taking the circuitous route to information.

"I just needed some quiet after dinner. I told you it would be hard for me, and it was. If Brogan hadn't talked to me, I wouldn't have anyone to talk to at all."

"That's a bit of an exaggeration." She'd done her best to monopolize the conversation at the dinner table and no one had made any effort to stop her.

Certainly not my wife, who sat in near total silence throughout the meal after her confrontation with Brogan.

"You think so?" Dierdre wipes at her eyes, like she's hiding tears.

The lack of moisture on her fingertips is apparent in the bright lamplight. I wonder if she realizes that?

The way she wipes them against the skirt of her dress says she's still trying to sell it.

I don't call her on it. "I was glad you joined us for dinner."

Which is true, if not for the reasons she'll assume.

The sound of a soft footfall near the door alerts me to the presence of someone else in the entrance hall. A couple of seconds later, the soldier responsible for locking up at night looks into the room.

I flick my hand at him, telling him to get lost. Like the well-trained soldier he is, he quickly walks away.

"I'm glad, Micky. I feel like we've barely had any time together since I arrived."

"You've only been here a few days," I remind her.

She sighs again and looks at me through her lashes. "Maybe we could have lunch tomorrow, just the two of us? I know family dinner is sacrosanct."

"It's important to Maeve." And I respect that.

Kara's grandmother is a plainspoken Irishwoman who does not suffer fools.

I have no doubt that if I had ever harmed her granddaughter, she would not have hesitated to try to kill me. She might even have succeeded.

"Kara's grandmother doesn't like me. No one here likes me, except you, Micky."

"No one knows you well enough to like or dislike you." Which is a blatant lie.

Sure as certain, Dierdre has managed to get the back up of every woman living in this house, not to mention my son.

But her ego will allow her to believe my words.

"I guess." She shrugs. "I'd still like to have lunch though. Can you make time tomorrow?"

Not usually, no. But this is business. Lunch with her is exactly what I need to lull Dierdre into complacency and letting things slip.

"Aye. Be ready at two o'clock." Getting her away from the house will both feed her ego and provide an environment more conducive to her talking.

One of our businesses is an Irish pub in Queens. I'll send Rory over in the morning to doctor a wineglass and water glass for her use at lunch.

A single drop of a benzo compound developed by one of our Triad connections lowers inhibitions better than a shot of sodium pentothal.

Administered orally, it takes about ten minutes to kick in. Mixing it with alcohol enhances the speed and effectiveness though. Rory can make sure the pub has a bottle of Dierdre's favorite wine on hand.

And we'll have plenty of time for it to reach full efficacy over lunch.

I stand. "I'll see you tomorrow."

She stands with me, stepping into my personal space and lays her hand on my chest and reaches up to kiss my cheek. "I'll look forward to it."

I step back before her lips connect to skin.

Her laugh tinkles, but her eyes don't show amusement. "That's right, you don't go in for the traditional kiss on the cheek."

I don't go in for being touched by anyone but my wife and son.

I lock the door to the patio in case our soldier forgets to check this room now that he's done his usual rounds. "Goodnight, Dierdre. Don't go outside now the house is locked up."

"Am I in danger here?" she asks like she's not a shark in a tank full of goldfish.

I answer with truth. "Only if you lie to me."

Dierdre laughs like I'm joking. I don't laugh with her. I don't even give her one of my fake smiles.

She should know better than to believe I'll show any mercy if she's here to harm my family. In any way.