Carla Neggers, page 9
Colin put the thought aside and tapped in Yank’s cell phone number.
“Donovan,” Yank said on the second ring. “Still in Ireland?”
“Still here. You’re missing some great rainbows.”
“Tempted to chase one and find your pot of gold?”
“What would I do with a pot of gold?”
Yank grunted. “You could give it to me to pay for Lucy’s trip to Paris. She’s back. She went to Hermès and Chanel.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Yeah. Uh-oh. She bought a scarf and a pair of shoes for what my first car cost.”
Lucy Yankowski probably made more money as a psychologist than her husband of fifteen years did as an FBI agent. Yank wasn’t a big talker, but a few weeks ago he’d finally admitted to Colin that he didn’t know what Lucy would do. He’d thought locating his special team in Boston, away from the glare of Washington, made sense, but he hadn’t expected his wife to resist moving out of their northern Virginia home. Nine months later, she was still there. Yank considered the trip to Paris with her sister another of her delaying tactics.
“When you’re not watching rainbows,” he said, “are you planning your new life as Cap’n Colin?”
“It’d be a good life.” Colin settled back in the love seat and pictured himself down east on the Bold Coast, away from anyone he could hurt. “I’d take tourists on boat trips to see puffins, whales and seals and such. Fish between trips and in the off season. I know boats.”
“Cap’n Colin does have a nice ring to it.”
Colin didn’t know if Yank realized that it was a serious, realistic option. “Maybe I’m not meant to do this job forever.”
“You aren’t. None of us is made to do it forever. There’s a time to move on. You don’t know if that’s now. You can’t when you’re in Ireland chasing rainbows.”
“I’m at a spa hotel with Emma.”
“A spa hotel?”
“It’s nice. She’s in the pool now. The bar has a good whiskey selection. I think Finian Bracken had a hand in it. The hotel’s on the other side of Cork from his cottage.” Colin kept his tone casual as he continued. “It’s in a tiny village called Declan’s Cross.”
Yank was silent on the other end.
Colin gripped his phone. “Yank—you know about this Declan’s Cross thief?”
“Some. Not everything. Probably not as much as I should. Definitely not as much as Wendell Sharpe does. It’s tricky sometimes keeping track of what Emma knows because she’s an FBI agent and what she knows because she’s a Sharpe. Keeping secrets comes naturally to her. It’s one of the reasons she’s good at what she does.”
“This isn’t a secret.”
“Playing her cards close to her chest, then,” Yank said. “You won’t be satisfied until I give you my files on her.”
“Nah. I don’t mind figuring her out on my own.” Colin looked up at the Aoife O’Byrne painting, imagined her and Kitty in this room as little girls. What a childhood. “Do you think Emma’s grandfather told her all he knows about these thefts?”
“I don’t think Wendell Sharpe tells anyone all he knows about anything.”
“The name Hargreaves on your radar?”
“Hargreaves Oceanographic Institute? It’s up by Gloucester. That’s all I know. I’m not into the ocean.”
“You have a great view of Boston Harbor from your office,” Colin said.
“So I do,” Yank said. “That’s not why you called. What’s up?”
As Colin filled in the senior agent, he realized all he had was a woman who had failed to keep her word about picking up Julianne at the airport and joining her at the Murphy cottage. If he was overthinking, it was because of the Sharpes and their ten years of unsolved art thefts, and it was because Lindsey Hargreaves had taken the trouble to stop in Rock Point to see Finian Bracken—and now Julianne was up at that cottage by herself. Andy had sensed something was off about her trip, and that’s why he’d told Colin about it.
Colin gritted his teeth. Not only wasn’t Julianne over his brother, his brother wasn’t over her.
He told Yank, “I don’t know if this is a Sharpe thing that sucked in Julianne or a Donovan thing that sucked her in, or if it’s nothing.”
“How could it be a Donovan thing?”
“Julianne’s here to get over my brother.”
“Andy,” Yank said. “The lobsterman.”
“Correct.”
“She’s the one who found him when your arms-trafficking friends bashed in his head and left him to drown. She told you she’s in Ireland to get over him?”
“Not a chance. She’d never admit it.”
“Whose side are you on in the breakup?”
“Neutral.”
“Third man in rule.”
“Yeah.” Colin stood, even more restless. “Did Emma tell you she plans to be back at work on Monday?”
“Yes. That’s good. We miss her around here. What about you?”
“I might check out Irish puffins.”
“Is there such a thing?”
“They’re Atlantic puffins, same as the ones you’d find off the Maine coast. The parrot of the sea—”
“You’re killing me,” Yank said. “Let me know when this woman turns up.”
Colin wasn’t ready to hang up yet. “Does the name Sean Murphy mean anything to you?”
“No. Why?”
“He’s the farmer Fin Bracken knows.”
“Does Emma know him?”
“Not that she’s said.” Colin saw that it was dark out now, no hint of dusk. “Having a Sharpe on your team is more complicated than you anticipated, isn’t it?”
“Everything about this team is more complicated than I anticipated,” Yank said. “Don’t do anything you’re not supposed to do over there. Assist as appropriate if this turns into a missing-persons case, but I don’t want to make a trip to Ireland to bail you out of trouble.”
“You’d love Ireland.”
“That’s what you said about Maine. I still don’t love it. I have to go. I’m meeting with the director. I’m going to try not even to think your name.”
“Why not? The director likes me.”
“Tolerates you. Needs you from time to time. That’s different from liking you.”
Colin grinned. “Tell him I’ll take him on a puffin tour.”
Yank made no comment as he disconnected.
Colin slid his phone into his jacket pocket. He and Yank were opposites in most ways, but they both had good instincts, and every instinct Colin had told him that something wasn’t right with this situation with Lindsey Hargreaves.
As he headed out of the reading room, he noticed how quiet the hotel was. During his months working undercover, he’d had little quiet, rarely the complete confidence that he was safe. He didn’t dwell on such things. He focused on the job he had to do. His “job” in Ireland was simple. He was to relax, enjoy his surroundings, avoid anything more pressing than what whiskey to drink. Most days the past two weeks it had worked out that way.
With any luck, it would tonight, too.
* * *
Kitty was cutting lemons behind the gleaming dark-wood bar when Colin eased onto a high-backed cushioned stool. A fire burned hot in the marble fireplace. A young couple was huddled over a bottle of wine at one of the half dozen candlelit, glass-topped tables.
“You must be ready for that drink now,” Kitty said. “What would you like?”
“A Guinness, thanks.” He nodded to a double row of simply framed color photographs of Irish ruins and misty hills. “Local scenes?”
“Mmm. My sister’s early work. Aoife had an eye even as a teenager.”
“She did the seascape upstairs in the reading room, too.”
“Gorgeous, isn’t it? I love that painting.” Kitty scooped up a handful of cut lemons and set them in a small bowl. “Aoife lives in Dublin, but she gets down here often. She’s always a little embarrassed when she remembers her work’s up on the walls. I’ve work up by other Irish artists, too.”
“A lot of talent here, not that I’m an expert.”
“Nor am I. I just like what I like.”
“Is any of the art on display from your uncle’s day?”
“Some,” she said, letting his pint rest a minute, part of the process of pouring Guinness. “Aoife has some of his works, too. He only had the two Jack Yeats paintings, if that’s what you’re asking. They were his most valuable works. You’re not trying to solve the burglary, are you? It’s been years, and it has nothing to do with your friend.”
“I understand you were in town that night.”
She set the pint in front of him. “Yes.”
Head down, Kitty grabbed a lime and her paring knife and expertly hacked the lime in two. Colin drank some of his Guinness. “Seems quiet here,” he said.
“It is. We’ve a few guests. It’ll be busier this weekend.”
“I saw a kid here earlier. Your son?”
She nodded. “Philip. He works here for now. He plans to go to college. He’s interested in oceanography. He’s learning scuba diving—he’s been helping out with this marine science field station, diving with the crew there. I can’t stand the thought of it myself.” Kitty shuddered, slicing the lime into neat quarters. “I get claustrophobic.”
“I’m not much on diving, either,” Colin said. “My brothers do some. I’d rather be on the surface than under water.”
“I hope this field station works out. It’s more a dream for Lindsey, I suspect. A hopeless dream, maybe. I don’t think it matters to the others as much. Brent Corwin, Eamon Carrick. They’re serious divers. That’s what interests them.”
As Kitty finished, Emma came into the bar lounge and sat next to Colin. The ends of her hair were damp, her cheeks pink from her swim and visit to the spa as she smiled at him. “You’d love the spa, Colin. Really. The pool is fantastic. I still think we should book that couple’s massage.”
Kitty pointed at Colin with her paring knife. “With this one?” She laughed, the spark back in her blue eyes. “I’d give you a discount.”
Colin grinned at her. “I just might surprise you.”
She abandoned her lemons and limes and wiped off her hands with a damp white towel. “What can I get you, Emma?”
“A glass of wine would be lovely. A red. You pick.”
Kitty lifted a wineglass from a shelf and set it on her work counter. “Tell me more about how Fin Bracken is doing in Maine. Does he enjoy it, do you think?”
“Colin would know better than I,” Emma said.
Colin shrugged. “He misses Ireland more than he’ll admit, but the church people like him. My brothers and I think he looks like Bono.”
“Bono? I suppose. Fin’s a good man, but I still don’t see him as a priest, honestly.” Kitty chose a cabernet sauvignon from a shelf behind her, uncorked it and poured it into the glass. She handed the glass to Emma and then recorked the bottle. “We should have the peated Bracken 15 in his honor. Later, perhaps.”
“I still haven’t developed a taste for peated whiskey,” Emma said, then tried her wine. “Great choice. Thanks.”
Kitty seemed distracted as she mopped up a spill. “I hope you can relax and enjoy your stay here, but I imagine you can no more stop thinking like FBI agents than I can stop thinking like a hotel owner.”
“Or a worried mother,” Emma said softly.
“Yes, that, too. It shows, doesn’t it? But that’s part of being a mother, isn’t it? Worrying. Philip could do worse than getting caught up in diving. I swear he likes being under water more than he does breathing fresh air.” She dropped her cloth in the sink. “Well, then. Do you have plans for dinner? Shall we set a table for you here?”
Colin was thinking in terms of fish and chips at a pub instead of the hotel’s more formal menu, but Emma said, “We’d love that,” and he adjusted his thinking to roast lamb.
He drank more of his Guinness. “How well do you know Sean Murphy?”
Kitty gave him a shocked look, recovered quickly and acted as if she hadn’t heard him. “I’ll be here and there if you need anything,” she mumbled, retreating quickly through the open doorway behind her.
Emma sipped some of her wine. “I wonder what that was about.”
“Definitely pushed a button.”
“You knew it would.”
He smiled. “Believed it would.” He finished the last of his pint. “I’ll be more careful. I don’t want to ask too many questions. She might kick us out, and I know you’re itching to get me to that spa.”
He saw the smile that reached all the way into Emma’s green eyes and felt it tug at his insides. It wasn’t just the effects of his beer. Being with her made him whole. It made him think about life in ways he hadn’t allowed himself to think about it—as dangerous as that might be, given the work he did. Dangerous for her.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get some air before dinner.”
“A walk in the garden?”
“Perfect.”
They went out through the French doors. He could smell the ocean, and the light from the hotel and outdoor lamps shone on puddles from the rain. The cool air seemed to take Emma by surprise. The aftereffects of her spa visit, Colin supposed. She buttoned her heavy wool sweater as they stepped from the terrace to a pebbled walkway. “Do you think we should check on Julianne?” she asked.
“It would just annoy her if I showed up on her doorstep again. She’d figure I don’t trust her to look after herself.”
“Do you?”
“That’s not the point. She knows where to find us.” He breathed in the clearing air, wondered if there’d be more rain tonight. “Julianne has her own demons to fight.”
Emma eased in close to him, hooking her arm in his as they followed the walkway to the far edge of the gardens. “You’re always warm. How do you manage that?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Julianne lost her grandfather a year ago. She’s finishing up her master’s and deciding what’s next for her. She moved in with her grandmother—who I’ve gathered is still having a rough time. A lot on Julianne’s plate. That could have contributed to why she got involved with your brother.”
“Nothing’s simple with those two.”
Colin was getting used to the idea that Emma knew things about his family and friends that he hadn’t told her. She’d had the run of Rock Point in October when he’d dipped back undercover to tie up loose ends with his arms traffickers. She was a natural with details and nuances. Who knew what all she’d picked up.
“I can smell the ocean,” she said, tilting her head back and looking up at the dark sky. “It’s not that late, but it feels like the middle of the night. Beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Sure.”
She sighed at him. “You’re not looking at the sky.”
He wasn’t. He was looking at her. He pulled her closer to him. “I like how you can talk about a serial art thief one minute and admire the sky the next.”
“I’m a woman of simple tastes.” She smiled. “Except in men.”
“I’m simple.”
“Right,” she said with an exaggerated note of skepticism.
“You might have simple tastes, Emma, but you’re a complicated woman.”
“I think I prefer complex, but I won’t argue that my life has been complicated lately. Julianne’s has been, too. It can’t be easy being a Donovan’s ex-girlfriend in Rock Point. I’ve also gathered that Andy has a certain reputation with women.”
“Which Julianne has known since she was in pigtails.” Colin noticed a rosebush climbing up a lamppost, a few pale pink blossoms on the stalky vine, even in early November. “For the most part, Mike, Kevin and I have managed to stay out of their relationship.”
“Ah.” Emma released his arm and jumped lightly over a puddle, turning to him. “You don’t want coming here to change that.”
He circled the puddle. “You got that right.”
A gray-haired man came up from a narrower walkway and waved them down. “Kitty said I might want to talk to you. I’m David Hargreaves. Lindsey’s father.” He looked to be in his mid-fifties and wore a camel-colored sweater and corduroy slacks, a dark brown overcoat—probably cashmere—hung over one arm. “I understand you’re friends with Julianne Maroney, the woman Lindsey was supposed to pick up at the airport this morning.”
“That’s right,” Colin said. “This is Emma Sharpe. I’m Colin Donovan. Did you just get here?”
“Here to the hotel, yes. I’m staying at the separate cottage. It’s quite nice. Very quiet. I arrived in Dublin on Saturday and then spent last night in Ardmore. I was there all day. It’s a lovely place....” He broke off, as if he didn’t want to get distracted. “I haven’t talked to Lindsey or heard from her since we had breakfast in Dublin yesterday morning.”
“Did you expect to?” Colin asked.
“Frankly, no, I didn’t. I stopped in Dublin on my way to London on business. I decided to extend my stay and come down here.” The dull lamplight accentuated the lines in his face as he looked down at the ground a moment, then seemed to catch himself and smiled. “Anyway, my main purpose in coming down here is to see Lindsey and this field station she’s launching.”
“She knows?” Colin asked.
“Yes, of course. I have no idea where she is or why she didn’t show up in Shannon.” He reached up and plucked a sodden, browned rose blossom from the lamppost vine. “I’d know if something had happened to her, wouldn’t I? She’d have called me, or the police—I’m sure she has me listed as an emergency contact. And if not me, Brent Corwin. I’ve already spoken to him. He called me as I was leaving Ardmore, and I checked in with him when I arrived. He hasn’t heard anything, either.”
“Have you been to the field station, then?”
Hargreaves tossed the dead rose into the puddle. “No, not yet. I want Lindsey to show me. She’s excited about it. She always has so much going on—it’s not out of character for her to lose track of something she promised to do.”
Emma touched a fingertip to one of the fresh rose blossoms. “Did she mention where she would be staying last night?”
“No, but I assumed she’d drive on to Shannon and stay there, since Julianne’s flight arrived so early. Lindsey didn’t expect to be in Dublin or she’d have suggested Julianne fly there instead of Shannon.” He shifted his overcoat to his other arm, as if he just needed something to do with his nervous energy. “She could be somewhere without cell coverage.”
