BANGED: Rock Stars, Bad Boys & Dirty Deeds Page 12

  “Not today. In Australia.”

  Fiona’s jaw dropped. “Wait a sec…you met Darko Dunne when you were in Australia?”

  She hiccupped a sob. “I thought I’d never see him again. And I certainly didn’t expect to meet him in Ballybeg.”

  Her cousin’s eyes widened. Fiona looked at James-David, then at Muireann. “Oh. My. God. Darko is his father, isn’t he?”

  Muireann inhaled sharply, then nodded.

  Fiona let out a low whistle. “Okay. This calls for coffee or whiskey or both. Come on through to the kitchen.”

  In the cottage’s tiny kitchen, Muireann unpacked the meal she’d prepared for James-David and popped it into the microwave. Once his food was the correct temperature, she held the little boy on her lap while he devoured his spaghetti bolognese.

  After performing a miracle with cream over the back of a spoon, Fiona placed two perfect Irish coffees—one minus the alcohol—on the table and slid into the seat across from Muireann. “All right. Spill. How did you meet Darko Dunne?”

  “Don’t you mean how did I end up pregnant by Darko Dunne?”

  Her cousin laughed. “I’d figured out the how part. You two just seem so…different. I can’t imagine the pair of you hooking up.”

  “I didn’t know we were all that different when we met. We were just two holidaymakers having a fling. I met him when I was touring the Great Barrier Reef after you crashed my wedding.”

  “Not one of my finer moments,” her cousin said with a grimace. “Can’t say I regret the outcome, though.” Fiona patted her baby bump on instinct and then caught herself, a flush staining her cheeks a rosy pink.

  “Ordering your Maid of Honor dress a size too small wasn’t one of my finer moments.” Muireann heaved a sigh. “It’s okay, Fiona. You don’t need to tiptoe around me. Gavin and I were going through the motions. It’s clear you two are the real deal. Besides, if we hadn’t broken up, I’d never have had James-David.”

  “Thanks. It means a lot to hear you say that.” Her cousin leaned forward. “Tell me more about Darko. Did you travel Australia together?”

  “Oh, no. It was two nights of no-strings-attached sex. Neither of us was looking for a relationship. We didn’t even exchange contact details.” She gave a bitter laugh. “Getting pregnant by him wasn’t on my itinerary.”

  Fiona’s eyes widened. “So he has no idea that he’s James-David’s father?”

  “None.” Muireann took a sip of Irish coffee and shuddered when the whiskey burned a path to her stomach.

  Her cousin toyed with her lip ring. “Are you planning to tell him about his son?”

  “I have no idea what I’m going to do. The situation is even worse than you realize: I’m due to start work as his housekeeper tomorrow.”

  Fiona’s hand flew to her mouth. “Fuck. Me. Bridie mentioned you had a job lined up, but I had no idea it was with Darko Dunne.”

  “Neither did I. The man who hired me turns out to be Damian—Darko’s—personal assistant.”

  “Wow. What are you going to do? Will you still take the job?”

  Muireann buried her face in her son’s hair. “I don’t know. It’s only a six-month position, but the pay is excellent and would allow me to save money and support myself and James-David.”

  “Speaking of which—” her cousin nodded at the baby, “—have you found a babysitter for this little guy?”

  “Not yet.”

  Fiona raised an eyebrow. “Cutting it a bit fine, aren’t you?”

  “My friend Brona was supposed to babysit him for me, but she bailed at the last minute. She’s gone to Magaluf with her new boyfriend instead.”

  Muireann tried and failed to keep the bitterness out of her voice. Brona and Karen—her so-called best friends—hadn’t made much of an effort after she’d moved to Clare. It had taken them seven months to visit her after James-David was born. Even Fiona and Gavin had shown up sooner than that.

  As if reading her thoughts, her cousin whistled. “Some friend.”

  “I’ll figure something out.”

  She had no choice. The original plan had been for Brona to babysit James-David during the day and for Bridie to take him overnight during the week. Muireann would be back each weekend to look after him herself. But taking the job on Inish Glas was entirely dependent on finding a childcare solution. The idea of leaving her son for a few days each week hurt like alcohol poured on an open wound, but the pay was excellent. She’d quickly save enough money to support herself and her son while she looked for new interior design clients in the spring. Screw Brona for leaving her in the lurch.

  A frown line appeared on her cousin’s forehead. “It’s not relevant to James-David’s paternity, but there is something you should know. Do you remember the nurse who helped your father forge Nana’s will?”

  She blinked. “Yes. Ann something-or-other.”

  “Ann Dunne,” Fiona said. “Darko’s mother.”

  Muireann’s hand flew to her mouth. “No way.”

  “Yes way. I didn’t make the connection when I met her. She showed me her son Damian’s artwork, but never mentioned he was a successful musician.”

  “He mentioned his art when we were in Australia. He’d made the most beautiful sketches and said he intended to paint them when he got home.” She frowned. “Why did his mother help forge Nana’s will?”

  “Money. When I confronted her, she refused to elaborate beyond saying she needed money for a family crisis. My feeling was that the crisis concerned her son.”

  “He would have been a teenager at the time,” Muireann mused.

  “Yes. Are you going to tell him about James-David. Surely he has a right to know he’s a father.”

  “Does he? I don’t know that having a rock star for a father is what I want for my son. In all likelihood, Damian—or Darko or whatever his real name is—isn’t going to want to have anything to do with him. Isn’t that what happens when rock stars impregnate random women?”

  “You don’t know that,” Fiona countered. “Regardless of whether he forms a relationship with James-David, he owes him child support.”

  Muireann jerked as though hit by whiplash. “I don’t want handouts.”

  Her cousin rolled her eyes. “Don’t be daft. You need cash. And if Darko got you pregnant, it’s his responsibility to support James-David.”

  She swallowed past the lump in her throat and hugged her son closer. “After what my father did, I never want to be financially dependent on a man again.”

  “Receiving child support from Darko isn’t being dependent on him. But it’s your life and your decision. All I’m saying is you should consider the big picture. This isn’t just about you and your pride.”

  “If I had any pride left,” Muireann said with a touch of asperity, “I wouldn’t be taking work as a housekeeper.”

  Her cousin dismissed the statement with a flick of her wrist. “Nonsense. Any fool can operate a vacuum cleaner. You’ll be fine. Working for Darko would give you a chance to find out what sort of man he is before you start talking DNA tests and child support.”

  Muireann blinked. “I assured Mr. Saunders I’d work out childcare for James-David. I can’t bring him with me.”

  “You’ve got to be ruthless, Muireann. You need money and you want to get to know Darko better. He needs a housekeeper and my guess is they’re not getting applicants. At the very least, you might be able to persuade the P.A. to bring you out to the island and have the opportunity to talk to Darko.”

  “What about Bridie? She’s been kind enough to offer me her house in return for me helping out the odd Saturday at the Book Mark.”

  “You can still do that. You’re not likely to be stuck on Inish Glas every weekend.” Fiona glanced at her watch and shoved back her chair. “I have to get back next door. Gavin is cooking lunch for a new business client, and I promised I’d put in an appearance. Do you need me to give you the grand tour of the cottage?”

  Muireann shook her head. “I�
��ll find my way around. I visited the house a few times before—”

  “Before Bridie found out that your father faked their mother’s will and cheated her—and me—out of our rightful inheritance?”

  “Yes.” Even though her cousin’s anger was entirely justified, Muireann struggled to keep an edge out of her tone. Why should she be blamed for her father’s actions? She’d never swindled anyone. Courtesy of his dodgy financial dealings, she’d lost her home and her interior design business. Muireann squeezed her eyes shut. “Look, I’m sorry for what my father did to you and Bridie. I knew nothing about it.”

  “I never said you did. I don’t hold you responsible for Bernard’s dirty dealings.” Fiona sighed and leaned against the kitchen counter. “Look, can we start over? If you’re going to be living in Ballybeg again, I don’t want…awkwardness…between us.”

  “Nor do I.” She extended a hand. “Will we shake on it?”

  Her cousin gave a wobbly smile. “We can do better than that.” She tried to pull Muireann into a bear hug, but her bump got in the way. “Oops.”

  Laughing, Muireann extracted herself from the embrace. “I remember forgetting how large I’d gotten.”

  “And it’s not like it’s evenly distributed,” her cousin replied with a laugh.

  “How’s the pregnancy going?”

  Fiona beamed. “This one is going great.”

  “This one?” Muireann asked in confusion.

  “Didn’t Bridie tell you? I had a miscarriage last April.”

  Muireann’s stomach lurched. “How awful. I had no idea.”

  “It was pretty rotten. Gavin and I were very lucky that I got pregnant again so quickly. Five months in, I haven’t had any issues”

  “Fingers crossed it stays that way.”

  A bark sounded from the room at the back of the cottage. A small dog erupted into the kitchen and bounded toward Muireann.

  “Looks like your snooze is over,” Fiona said in a dry tone.

  Muireann bent to stroke the dog’s curly fur. “Wiggly Poo has grown.”

  “So has your little guy,” Fiona said, nodding to James-David. “He’s got a few more teeth than the last time I saw him.”

  James-David beamed with delight. “Doggie.”

  Fiona bent down and clipped on Wiggly Poo’s lead. “I’d better get going. I’m sure you’ll find your way around the cottage.” Her lips twisted into a wry smile. “It’s a lot smaller than Clonmore House.”

  “Most houses are,” Muireann said and failed to keep the edge out of her tone. “The house we lived in when I was little was hardly a mansion.”

  Her gaze locked with Fiona’s. A tense silence borne of years of mutual resentment hovered in the air. Wiggly Poo tugged on his lead, dragging his mistress back down the hallway.

  “Bridie has stocked up the fridge for you,” Fiona called over her shoulder, “and I’ve left the house key and this week’s editions of all the local papers on the kitchen counter. Bridie said you want to rebuild your interior design business. I thought you’d like to scope out the competition.”

  Muireann blinked. That was thoughtful of Fiona. “Thanks. I’ll need to save a bit first.”

  Fiona wasn’t stupid. She had to know that only desperation would drive Muireann to slink back to Ballybeg and accept their aunt’s charity. “All the more reason to go to Inish Glas tomorrow and see if the housekeeping job is a goer. Good luck.”

  Fiona pulled the door shut and left Muireann alone in her temporary home. Ironically, the cottage she’d sneered at just a couple of years ago was the only place she could afford to live—rent didn’t come any cheaper than free.

  James-David rubbed his tummy and pulled at her skirt. “Ood.”

  “Okay, you savage. I’ll chop up a banana for you.” She patted his soft blond hair and inhaled his baby scent. Her little son was worth all the hardships and humiliations she’d endured and all those that were yet to come. Whatever she had to do to carve a future for them, she would do—even if it meant facing the man who’d forgotten her name.

  FIVE

  Two hours after dropping off Mary and the baby, Darko had enlisted the services of two skeptical police officers and rounded up his motley crew of servants and dog. The police borrowed a small boat from the Coast Guard, while Darko and the others returned to Inish Glas in the yacht.

  They docked at the pier on the north side of the island, beside the little yacht Jean-Baptiste used to travel around on his free weekends and Alan’s speedboat.

  At the end of the pier, an elevator ran from within the cliff right up into the house.

  The mood in the elevator was tense. Jean-Baptiste glowered at everyone beneath bushy eyebrows and muttered disparaging remarks in French about les flics. Alan fidgeted and bounced from one foot to the other. Peters, alone, was utterly unfazed. As long as his next meal wasn’t delayed, Bran was always in a good mood.

  The younger of the two policemen had quickly established that he was the superior officer. “None of you recognized the dead man?” he demanded, pinning each of them in place with a hard stare.

  Darko’s hand hovered over the pocket containing his antianxiety tablets. “We’ve been over this already, Sergeant Glenn. The man in the tub is a total stranger.”

  The elevator pinged, and the doors slid open to reveal the ground floor of the unoccupied guardhouse. Bran raced ahead, while Darko led the policemen outside and across the lawn to the guesthouse. Peters, Alan, and Jean-Baptiste formed a reluctant rear guard.

  When they reached the house of horrors, Darko paused in front of the door. “Do you want us all to go up at once?”

  “No. Your servants can wait downstairs with the dog,” Glenn said. “I’ll call them when we need them. How many more servants do you have, by the way? We’ll have to speak to all of them.”

  “At the moment, just these three. I had a small security team live in one of the guesthouses for a while, but they were a nuisance.” Darko keyed in the code and unlocked the guesthouse door.

  A frown creased the policeman’s forehead. “Surely your entire staff isn’t comprised of three people?”

  “They’re the only ones who live on the island.” Darko gestured for everyone to enter. “A cleaning crew comes over from the mainland once a week to do a thorough clean and tidy. Peters keeps the place spick-and-span the rest of the time. Similarly, a team of gardeners comes once a week during the summer months, but they haven’t needed to come since the beginning of October.”

  Alan cleared his throat. “The new live-in housekeeper will arrive tomorrow for a trial run.”

  Darko jerked around. “What the actual fuck? You didn’t call her to cancel?”

  “Courtesy of our phone issues on the island, I only had five responses to my ad. Two were obvious groupies, one was a stoner, and the other was a certifiable nutter who went on and on about the island being haunted. The woman who’s due to arrive tomorrow was the only candidate who seemed to have her shit together.”

  “Jaysus, Alan. The instant she hears about the dead body, she’ll swim to the mainland.”

  “Even with the new housekeeper,” Sergeant Glenn interjected, “you have a very small staff for such a large house.”

  Darko shrugged. “I value my privacy. I bought this island to get away from people.”

  “I find it odd that you don’t have a security team,” the policeman pressed when Darko led the police officers upstairs.

  “I didn’t like being watched over all the time. Besides, I assumed the island was safe.” Darko swallowed hard, willing the image of the dead man out of his mind. “Clearly, I was wrong.” When they reached the bathroom, Darko gestured to the door. “He’s in there. I’ll be outside if you need me.”

  “Now wait just a second,” Sergeant Glenn said the instant he walked into the bathroom. The edge in the policeman’s voice set off alarm bells in Darko’s mind. Surely someone else hadn’t died in there. The officer shot Darko a hostile glare. “Is this your idea of a joke,
Mr. Dunne? Some sort of celebrity prank that us mere mortals don’t get?”

  He blinked. “Eh?”

  Sergeant Glenn and the other policeman moved to the side and gave him an unimpeded view of the hot tub.

  Darko’s heart skipped a beat. “What the hell?” He pushed past the police and stared slack-jawed at the empty tub. No bubble bath, no rose petals, no corpse. “Where did he go?”

  Sergeant Glenn and the other guy—Creedon or Creeley—stared at him as though he’d taken leave of his senses.

  “He was there. I swear. Ask the others.” Darko gulped for air. Any moment, he’d wake up from a bad dream.

  “Are you sure the man in the tub was dead?” Glenn’s hard stare didn’t waver. “Not just passed out after a night of partying?”

  “There was no party. I told you before. I built this house to get away from society, not to have it follow me. I haven’t thrown so much as a housewarming party since I moved in six months ago.”

  Glenn exchanged a loaded look with his colleague. “I understand one of your bandmates died last year. Overdose, wasn’t it?”

  Darko’s heart rate developed an uneven rhythm, and his head started to spin. “Yeah.”

  “Is that why you moved out here?”

  “It was a contributing factor.” Along with his mother’s death from heart failure, a serious case of burnout, and crippling anxiety attacks. “I know what you’re thinking. We didn’t have a drug-fueled party and collectively hallucinate. A dead man was in that tub.”

  “Who found the body?”

  “Peters, the butler.”

  “Who decided the man was dead?”

  “Uh…” The events of the morning tumbled through Darko’s brain. “Peters, I guess. He thought the man had been strangled.”

  Creeley or whatever his name was slipped a notebook from his breast pocket. “So the butler found the body?”

  “That’s right. He discovered it when he came in to air the room. I was the second person to see it.”

  “You were both convinced the man was dead?” Glenn asked.

  “Yes. I mean, he looked dead.” Darko ran a shaky hand through his hair. “I didn’t touch him, but my butler said he’d checked for a pulse.”