"He was almost killed--"
"Yeah, but he wasn't killed, and what a way to fool everyone. You must trust him or you wouldn't be alone with him." Taryn straightened abruptly, her hand on the open cab door. "Sophie! Are you falling for him? No, don't answer. It's the adrenaline. You bonded during a crisis."
"It started on the Beara Peninsula," Sophie admitted.
"Ah. Fairies, then. He's a total stud, I know--I have eyes--but..." Taryn didn't finish. "Just be careful, okay?"
"I will. Thanks for stopping by. Have fun in New York."
"Yes." She smiled, betraying a rare hint of uncertainty. "I'm not sure it's what I want."
"Maybe going there will help you figure that out."
"I can't afford to be a romantic about making a living..." Taryn brushed off her uncertainty. "Listen to me. You're dealing with a real crisis. I'm just in angst mode."
"I'm here anytime. You know that. If you want to talk about acting and a certain Irish fisherman--"
"Oh, stop. You saw that awful beard. Tim O'Donovan's not the man for me."
Sophie laughed. "He can quote Yeats by heart."
"So can Damian, and can you imagine ending up with him?"
That made them both laugh, just as Scoop returned, easing toward the gate back to the courtyard. Taryn glared at him. "Be good to my sister," she said, and quickly ducked into the cab, shut the door and waved goodbye.
Sophie half expected Scoop to question her about her sister's visit, but he just walked with her back through the archway to her apartment, letting her go in first. "I bought a few things at the grocery that I should use up," she said. "I warned you that I'm not a great cook, but I feel like putting a meal together. I don't do a bad spaghetti sauce and salad. I mean, who does? I have all the ingredients. I hate to see them go to waste."
He pulled off his jacket. "I'll help."
"Thanks, but just having you here...someone to talk to...makes a difference." She pulled open the refrigerator. "I spent long hours alone when I was working on my dissertation."
"What's it about?"
"Gad. You don't want to hear that."
He smiled at her. "Give me the short version."
She talked as she cooked. He stood next to her at the counter, chopping an onion, garlic, a carrot on a thick wooden board. It was a tiny kitchen with the refrigerator, sink and stove all on one wall and not much counter space, but surprisingly efficient and bigger, Sophie thought, than the kitchen had been in her apartment in Cork.
Once she finished describing her dissertation, Scoop asked about her time in Ireland. "I loved it," she said, watching steam rise from her pot of water for the spaghetti. "I worked hard and was always scrambling to keep the wolf from the door, but I met so many great people there."
"How long do you think you'll stay here?"
"My sister's apartment? I don't know. What about you--when can you get back into your triple-decker?"
"It'll be a few months. Depends on whether we decide to make improvements or just focus on repairs. Abigail won't be back, but we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. I'll figure something out in the meantime. I can't stay at the Whitcomb much longer." He grinned at her. "I'll be disappointed when I don't find chocolates on my pillow."
"You live alone, though?"
"I have two cats but no live-in girlfriend, no ex-wives, no kids."
She laid dried spaghetti in boiling water, aware of Scoop inches away by the sink. "Cliff Rafferty said you were quite the ladies' man."
"I'm never sure what something like that means."
She liked his response, she decided. It wasn't defensive, but it wasn't a total dodge, either--and he hadn't just pushed her off and told her his love life was none of her damn business. She stood back from the stove while the spaghetti cooked. "Tell me about your cats."
"They're stray Russian blues I rescued two years ago." He got a colander down from a hook. "I was working a case--I'd just started in internal affairs. I nailed a cop for hiring prostitutes on the job. I set up a stakeout, and here were these scrawny little kittens mewing in an alley."
"Do you have a soft heart, Cyrus Wisdom?"
He laughed, setting the colander in the sink. "It would be a serious mistake for anyone to think that. I took the cats home figuring I'd give them to a friend, but I ended up keeping them. They adopted me more than I adopted them. Bob's two younger daughters have been taking care of them."
Her throat tightened with unexpected emotion. "You've had a terrible time, Scoop. You're so strong and so focused on the present--at least you come across that way--that it's easy to forget what you've gone through. Do you want to retire from the Boston Police Department after you put in your twenty or thirty years?"
"You're thinking about Cliff," he said.
"I want to know about you."
"The job's a good one."
"Not everything is as it appears to be with you, is it?"
His dark eyes narrowed on her. "If you're a thief and you're lying to me--"
"If you're a bad cop and you're lying to me..."
She grabbed potholders and poured the spaghetti into the colander, steam from the hot water rising in her face, probably turned her skin red. She set the empty pot back on the stove. The sauce was simmering. The salad was made. Why did she feel so out of her element?
"I'm not a bad cop," Scoop said, "and I'm not lying to you."
He caught her in his arms, and Sophie placed her hands on his waist. He was muscular, sexy. Even through his shirt, she could feel the ragged edges of the scars from the bomb. "Scoop..." Rarely at a loss for words, she couldn't think of what to say. "I'm glad I met you, and I'm glad I met you the way I did."
"Covered in mud, with a big black dog at your side. Think he's a shape-shifter?"
She smiled. "Right now anything feels possible."
His mouth found hers, and this time it wasn't a light kiss. He drew her against him, lifting her off her feet as they deepened their kiss. "Sophie, Sophie," he said, lowering his hands to her hips, lifting her higher. He smiled, setting her back down. "Ah, Sophie. I do like saying your name."
"The sauce is about to boil over."
He winked at her. "So it is."
Taryn called later that evening, when Sophie was back in her room at the Whitcomb, her laptop out on her bed as she went over study skills sheets for her tutoring students. "I'm in New York," Taryn said. "I feel guilty for leaving you alone. Damian's threatening to fly up there as soon as he can get away. Do you want me to call Mom and Dad and get them to Boston?"
"No, let them enjoy their hike. And Damian should focus on his job. I'm fine."
"Where is Scoop Wisdom right now?"
"About ten yards from me."
"Sophie!"
She smiled. "He's not stalking me. He's in the next room at the Whitcomb."
"I guess that's good. If there's anything I can do, call me. Don't hesitate. I can figure out London."
"What about Tim O'Donovan?"
Her sister gave a small laugh. "I can't figure him out at all."
23
Kenmare, Southwest Ireland
Josie stood on a stone bridge above a waterfall that tumbled over black rocks, forming whitecaps and filling the air with its soothing rhythmic sound. She'd gone on ahead while Myles showered and dressed back at the Malone house. He'd catch up with her. They'd both needed a moment to themselves before they got too deep into the day. She wasn't confused, but she was unsure of the way forward. The past was falling away, no longer tearing at her.
Myles was alive. He'd come back from the dead.
He acted as if he'd never gone, but that was Myles. The reasons he could carry on as if nothing had happened were the same reasons he'd taken on his difficult mission in the first place--the same reasons he'd survived. He was resilient. He learned from the past and planned for the future, but he lived in the moment.
She saw him coming toward her, ambling as if he were just another tourist off for a wander in the Iris
h hills. When he reached her, he leaned over the stone wall. "You'd hit your head on a rock if you tried to dive in there," Josie said.
"I was thinking we could spend the day fly-fishing."
She gave a mock shudder. "I'd rather take on blood-smeared branches. I tell people Will's fishing in Scotland when he doesn't want to answer questions."
"It's not questions I'm avoiding. I actually do want to go fly-fishing."
"How long has it been since you've taken time just to be yourself, Myles?"
"I'm myself now."
"I meant--"
"I know what you meant." He wasn't being abrupt, but he'd made it clear he wasn't going there, either. "You're the boss. Where to from here?"
"We need to find Percy Carlisle. I suggest we start with Tim O'Donovan."
"All right, then."
They continued on foot toward the village and walked out to the pier, but O'Donovan was already off on his boat for the day. Josie debated hiring a boat herself and chasing after him, but she hadn't a clue where to start--and she didn't particularly care for boats. Myles suggested they return to the Malone house. Not bloody likely, Josie thought. With the dreary weather, they'd be tempted to light a fire and spend the day being utterly useless, which she suspected was Myles's aim.
Instead she decided they ought to head to a quiet pub, sit by the fire and review all they knew. Myles didn't object, and as they walked to the village, she texted Seamus Harrigan to join them at his convenience. In the meantime, maybe they'd get lucky and Percy Carlisle would wander in, or someone who knew him. They had his photo and both she and Myles had committed his face to memory.
"This could end badly," Josie said.
Myles slung an arm over her shoulder and gave her a good squeeze. "We'll do all we can to make sure it doesn't."
24
Boston, Massachusetts
Sophie woke up far too early and had coffee with Jeremiah Rush in the lobby of the Whitcomb. "Do you sleep under your desk with your golden retriever? I swear you're here all the time."
"Now there's a thought. Get a dog's view of the family business." He grinned at her, clearly no longer the high school kid she'd known when she worked there. "All's well this morning, Sophie?"
"I hope so."
"Where's your detective?"
"My detective, Jeremiah?"
"Sparks, Sophie. Sparks."
"I think something weird happened in the Irish ruin where we met. I'm--I can't explain it."
"You're crazy about him."
She sighed. It seemed so soon. So fast. Maybe that was partly because everything else in her life was slow. She'd been in school forever. Her dissertation had taken forever to write. Even archaeology was by its nature painstaking, breakthroughs seldom happening fast or suddenly--certainly not as fast and suddenly as Scoop's entrance into her life. He'd been on the Beara Peninsula for two weeks before they'd run into each other. She'd been in Kenmare most of that time. Maybe being in such close proximity had had an effect.
She smiled at Jeremiah. "Tell me about what's going on with you these days."
They chatted a few minutes, Jeremiah making her laugh with tales of his family and hotel life. Finally Sophie refilled her coffee, grabbed a muffin and asked him if he'd let Scoop know she was going to the Carlisle Museum. "It's a beautiful day," she said, heading for the exit. "Tell him I'm walking."
"You don't think he has you under surveillance?"
"Thanks, Jeremiah, that's just what I needed on my mind."
"Hey, we're a full-service hotel."
Charles Street was quiet, the morning air crisp and bright. In no hurry, Sophie turned onto Beacon Street and meandered through the narrow downtown streets with her coffee and muffin, reconnecting with being back in Boston. It was a great walking city, and she loved to walk. She continued past Government Center and on to the waterfront, where the Carlisle Museum was located in a low, renovated brick building on its own wharf. By the time she got there, the main offices were open, although the museum itself wouldn't open until ten. A stone walkway took her through a garden of herbs, wild asters and coneflowers to the administrative entrance.
The receptionist, a young woman with spiky jet-black hair, was new since Sophie had done research at the museum. She recognized Sophie's name. "I'm majoring in art history," she said. "Your article on Irish Iron Age art was assigned reading in one of my classes. Helen Carlisle said you might come by now that you're back from Ireland."
"Is she here?" Sophie asked.
"Not yet. I'd love to go to Ireland some day. I want to see the Book of Kells in person."
"I hope you can. My family has a home in Ireland--I won't stay away too long--but it's good to be back in Boston, too." Sophie motioned toward the corridor behind the receptionist's desk. "I'd like to take a look around--"
"Sure. Let me know if you need anything. There aren't many people here yet."
Sophie headed down the wide hall, welcoming the natural light and simplicity of the building's design. From the beginning, the Carlisles had seen the museum as placing equal emphasis on education, research and exhibits. She'd told Scoop the truth about the break-in seven years ago, but if there was some tidbit she hadn't remembered that could help find Percy or explain what had happened to Cliff Rafferty, maybe being back here would help.
She heard a rushing sound--like a wide-open faucet--and paused at the open door to a conference suite. The table wasn't set up for a meeting, nor had anyone dropped off materials, a briefcase, a coat. She remembered the suite had an office, a small kitchen and a full bathroom. Isabel Carlisle had seen to every detail of the conversion of the building, from the exhibit halls to the comfort of the administrative offices.
Sophie entered the main room and crossed over to a hall that led to the kitchen, wondering if someone she knew might be back there cleaning up. It had to be running water she heard.
The kitchen was dark--no sign of anyone there.
The bathroom was farther down the hall. Not wanting to disturb anyone taking a shower before work, she started to turn back to the conference room, but stopped abruptly, noticing the bathroom door was open, water was streaming over the threshold into the hall.
Sophie edged down the hall. Had a toilet or sink stopped up?
Trying to stay clear of the water on the floor, she peeked into the bathroom. Directly ahead of her was a white porcelain pedestal, but the faucet wasn't on and the basin was dry.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a man's foot--a black running shoe--and immediately yelled for help, hoping a security guard or the receptionist would hear her. She stepped into the bathroom, the tile floor slippery, more water pouring through the doorway, flooding the bathroom and hall.
A man was shoved headfirst into the overflowing bathtub, his legs askew, hanging over the edge onto the floor. He wasn't struggling. He wasn't moving at all.
If he was still alive, he had to get out of the water fast, or he'd drown. She ran to the tub. The man was dressed in tan slacks and a light blue shirt. She couldn't see his face, but he had dark hair. She didn't see any signs of injury, but she had no choice. She had to move him. She had to get him out of the water.
Grabbing him by the belt, she pulled him up a little, then got her arms around his middle. He was heavy, deadweight. She pushed her feet against the wall, bracing herself as best she could on the wet floor, and lifted him up and out of the tub. Momentum carried her backward, with him on top of her as she went down on her side into the cold water on the floor.
He was moving...
No, he was being lifted off her.
"Sophie." Scoop's voice. "You okay?"
She sat up, nodding, breathing hard. "He was in the tub--"
"Yeah."
It was Frank Acosta. His skin was pasty and bluish in color, waterlogged. Scoop laid his fellow police officer flat on the floor, checked his airway, his breathing. "Hell, Frank, don't make me have to do CPR on you."
Acosta coughed and vomited water, rolling on
to his side.
Sophie rose, quickly shut off the faucet. A torc, fashioned out of gold wire, just like the one at Cliff Rafferty's apartment, was broken in half and set on the edge of the tub, along with a clump of vines--ivy--smeared with what appeared to be blood. "Scoop."
"I see them."
Acosta got up onto his knees, groaning, spitting into the pooled water.
"Can you talk, Frank?" Scoop asked.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay."
"You need to get checked out."
He held up a hand in protest. "No. I'm okay."
Scoop didn't relent. "Were you hit on the head? Drugged?"
"I don't know." He sat on the tile floor in the water and sank back against the tub, wincing, coughing some more. He put a hand up to the right side of his neck. "Head hurts."
Scoop took a look. "You've got some swelling."
"Yeah. I remember now." He breathed in, steadier. "Whew."
"What happened?"
"I called you. You were already on your way here. I was closer and got here first. I walked into the conference room and saw a light down the hall and came in to investigate and--bam." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, which was visibly trembling. "Next thing I'm soaking wet, choking to death and looking at your ugly face."
"You came alone?" Scoop asked.
"Yeah. No one knows I'm here except you. I'm not on duty until later."
Scoop put a hand out to him. "You'll get hypothermia sitting in that cold water--"
"I can get up on my own."
Acosta started to his feet, slipped and fell back against the tub with a moan. He was shivering, drenched, water dripping out of his hair down his face.
Scoop sighed. "Screw this."
He took Acosta by the upper arm, hauled him up with one quick motion and in two strides had him out in the hall. Shivering now herself, Sophie grabbed a bath towel off a hook and followed them to the kitchen, where Scoop sat Acosta on the dry floor. He was ashen. She flipped on a light switch and handed him the towel.
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