The Whisper f-4

by Carla Neggers

  The past year had turned their lives upside down and changed them forever.

  Abigail sat between the two men. Her baby was due in six months. Talk about big changes, Scoop thought.

  "Did your father ever mention Sophie Malone to you?" he asked.

  "No, but that wouldn't be unusual. He's always tried to keep a firewall between his job and his family. It hasn't worked very well, though, has it?" Abigail was quiet a moment. "Strange how things work out sometimes."

  "I don't think this was strange," Scoop said.

  "Destined?"

  He shook his head. "Deliberate. What happened at the Carlisle Museum seven years ago and on that island a year ago and what happened here in Boston this past summer are all of a piece."

  Bob distributed the pads and pencils. "We can take our time," he said. "Fiona will be practicing that damn violin for at least a couple hours. You can save me from having to go down there."

  Abigail seemed comfortable to be back in her role as a detective. "All right," she said. "Let's see what we've got."

  26

  Kenmare, Southwest Ireland

  Josie was yawning when Tim O'Donovan arrived in the pub in which she and Myles had situated themselves for most of the day, with breaks for walks back to the pier and disturbing calls from Boston. Another violent attack on a police officer. She and Myles both had felt stunningly useless. Seamus Harrigan had met with them briefly, essentially to tell them to stay out of the investigation. By dark, even Myles had seemed ready to give up and return to Dublin. He could look dead tired--he could be dead tired--but would never let his fatigue, or anything else, for that matter, interfere with his performance. It wasn't just training. It was the way the man was hardwired.

  O'Donovan wasn't performing that night but had popped in for a Guinness. He looked as if he had, indeed, spent the day at sea. "I thought you'd gone back to London," he said, pulling up a low stool to their table.

  "It's been a decidedly frustrating day," Josie said. "Do you mind if I come straight to the point? We'd like you to go over the time line of Sophie's adventure with us in more detail. For instance, how did she find the cave on this visit to the island but not on the earlier visits?"

  "It's at the center of the island. She hadn't got that far before."

  "So she stumbles on this cave, and here's a Celtic treasure, right at her feet?" Josie raised her eyebrows skeptically. "Even if no one but one priest every generation knows this story of yours, don't you think someone in the past thousand or so years would have stumbled on this cauldron by now?"

  "Stranger things have happened. Celtic hoards have been found in lakes, streams and rivers right where they were offered to the gods hundreds and hundreds of years ago. Farmers have come across Celtic treasure plowing their fields. Why in 1894 and not 1794?"

  Myles tipped back in his chair. "Others could have known what you and Sophie were up to."

  O'Donovan shrugged. "We didn't go out of our way to tell anyone, but we weren't secretive, either."

  "Were you always the one to take Sophie on her expeditions?" Josie asked.

  "She tried to go on her own once and almost drowned. She's not good with boats. Everything else." His expression was warm as he added, "She and her sister both."

  "Carlisle could be a killer," Josie said crisply, "or he could have hired a killer, or he could be a victim or a potential victim. We need to know what he knows. The guards are looking for him."

  "So I've heard."

  Josie bit back her frustration. "Tell us all you can about Sophie, won't you? Did you ever get the feeling there was anything between her and Percy? Animosity, love, friendship? Anything at all? Was she jealous of the woman he ended up marrying? Was Sophie broke and looking to Percy for money--did she ask him for a loan, a job, a recommendation?"

  "You fired off all those questions at once deliberately, didn't you?" O'Donovan was obviously no one's fool. "Here's my answer to you. I trust Sophie. She's the best. She loves her work, and she's honest."

  "What about her relationships in Ireland?" Josie asked.

  "Men, you mean? She saw a few academics from time to time, but nothing ever worked out."

  "You two?"

  His eyes were unchanged. "Friends."

  "What about her family? They have a house here--"

  "Friends, also."

  "Ah." Josie saw the look in his eyes. "What about you and Taryn, the sister--"

  "You're going too far now."

  "Indeed," she said.

  Myles stood up. Obviously he'd heard enough. "We want to see the island for ourselves. Can you take us?"

  "Tomorrow. Bring a warm jacket, and fair warning--it'll be choppy."

  "Splendid," Josie muttered without enthusiasm.

  The Irishman headed to the bar and joined a group of men--other fishermen from the looks of them--who'd just come in. Josie debated interrogating them, too, but Myles slung an arm around her and grinned. "Looks as if we'll be bouncing in waves tomorrow."

  "I hate boats."

  "We'll be fine."

  She shuddered at the prospect. "You're sure we won't turn over?"

  "Positive."

  "Liar. You spent time on Norman Estabrook's luxurious yacht, not on what Tim O'Donovan calls a boat."

  "You don't trust me, love?"

  "I don't know you well enough anymore to know whether or not to trust you. Despite last night, I remain wary."

  She felt hot suddenly, thinking about their lovemaking. She wasn't embarrassed so much as mystified. They'd behaved as if they were completely and utterly in love, muttering sweet things, holding each other in the dark. It'd been a long time for both of them. Perhaps they'd simply needed to make love and be done with it in order to get on with their lives.

  She was aware of Myles watching her and felt quite confident his thoughts weren't remotely similar to hers. She dismissed last night and nodded to O'Donovan, who was serious, not laughing as he sat with a pint. "You know our new Irish friend is reporting everything back to Sophie, don't you?"

  "Of course he is."

  27

  Boston, Massachusetts

  Sophie locked the door to her hotel room and flopped onto her bed, lying against the pillows and staring at the moldings along the edge of the ceiling. She had met her hockey-player students. By no means was every player on the team in need of tutoring, but she looked forward to working with them. One had guessed she'd had an eventful morning and another had heard that she'd found Cliff Rafferty; they all agreed that should she need them for anything, she had only to say the word. They'd be there.

  As she walked back to Charles Street, she'd heard from Tim and had reassured him that telling the Brits everything wasn't just fine but also smart. She wished he could be left out of the investigation entirely, but it was too late for that.

  Meanwhile, her brother was again threatening to come up to Boston. Sophie sat up on the bed cross-legged, texting him to ask if there was anything he could do on his end to help find Percy Carlisle.

  Damian's answer was immediate: Stay out of it.

  She texted him back: Helen came back early. To NYC. Maybe he's in NYC?

  This time he called instead of texting her. "I thought you were tutoring."

  "I was. It was just a meet-and-greet. The guys are great. They can see through BS a lot quicker than I can. I always see nuances and shades of gray, complications and pitfalls. Sometimes I want to live in a black-and-white, win-lose world."

  "Yeah. I know the feeling, Sophie. We could be Taryn, raked over the coals if she sneezes on stage. Get yourself some hockey tickets and go enjoy yourself. Line up those job interviews. Stay focused on what's good for you."

  "Who are you advising--me or yourself?"

  He laughed. "Both of us."

  "Damian, based on your experience and what you might know but can't tell me--which I don't assume is very much--do you believe Percy is alive?"

  "I hope so, Sophie. This morning had to be rough on you."


  "I did what anyone else would have done. If Percy's involved--"

  "It's not your problem. You can come here to D.C. Just head to the airport right now and get on a plane. I have an extra room."

  "You let that dog of yours sleep on the bed, don't you?"

  "It's not a question of 'let,'" he said. "Take care of yourself."

  After they disconnected, Sophie headed down to Morrigan's. Fiona O'Reilly had arrived with several friends, her father on a stool at the bar, watching his daughter as if he couldn't quite shake the notion that something else might happen to her--that she wasn't safe and never would be again.

  Sophie climbed onto a stool next to him. O'Reilly sighed at her. "Your parents are smart. Go hiking and leave the kids on their own."

  "We're adults. Taryn, Damian and me. We're not teenagers, and we weren't almost killed in a bomb blast."

  "This morning--"

  "I was never in danger."

  "You didn't know who was in the tub. Could have been someone faking being drowned, waiting for you to rush in and save him. He could have nailed you, and we'd have been drawing a chalk line around your body instead of talking to you about human sacrifice."

  She ordered a Guinness. "What a way to think."

  "I'm just saying. And trust me--your folks remember when you and your brother and sister were drooling little babies." He looked toward the stairs, and Sophie turned and saw Scoop heading into the bar. When she turned back to O'Reilly, he shook his head. "I don't know what happened to him in Ireland. He's still mean as hell, but he likes you."

  "Lieutenant..."

  He didn't back off. "He likes you a lot."

  "You've all had a difficult few months."

  "Yes, we have," the senior detective said as he stood up. He greeted Scoop. "I'm not staying. Time to pack up the lace from Keira's windows. My sister says she'll take them. I'm in the attic for the long haul. Keira called. She and Simon are renting a loft in Owen's new building on the waterfront. I guess Simon's getting assigned to Boston. Great, huh, Scoop? Another FBI agent to breathe down our necks."

  He thumped up the stairs.

  Scoop grinned. "That's Bob in a good mood." He took his friend's place at the bar. "How are you, Sophie? How's the job hunt?"

  "All my years of school and I'd make a better living pouring Guinness. It'd be a great job--"

  "But it's not what you're trained to do."

  "It's tough out there even for the best."

  "My sources tell me you are the best and you have great prospects. In fact, you yourself said you have a decent chance at a tenure-track position here in Boston."

  "I'm crying in my beer?"

  "Just a little. It's understandable given the past couple days. Being back here after so much time in Ireland would be enough of a transition by itself."

  "You're very understanding, Cyrus Wisdom."

  His eyebrows went up. "That's a first from anyone."

  "You're not afraid you're losing your edge, are you?"

  "Nope."

  "Good, because I've seen you in action three times now, and I wouldn't want to run into you if I had ill intentions in mind."

  He laughed softly. "'Ill intentions.' You crack me up, Dr. Malone. I'm just glad we got to Acosta before he drowned. He's not grateful. He still says he was just about to haul himself out of the water when we barged in."

  "If that helps him get through this, then fine. I don't need credit. Except for whatever he ran afoul of you for, he's a good detective?"

  "Not my judgment to make."

  Which was all the answer she needed. "I wonder when Rafferty knew that he wasn't going to be a captain or the police commissioner or make detective."

  "He would always say he didn't want to. He just wanted to get his full pension."

  "And work as a security guard for the Carlisles? Do you believe that?"

  "I think he wanted to retire in the sun."

  "He faced that moment we all do when we decide to take action to turn the dream into reality. Work with the right people, put yourself out there, go for it, know that you might have to face rejection and disappointment and betrayal."

  "Are we talking about Cliff or you?"

  She suddenly was overwhelmed with emotion. "I'm going upstairs."

  She moved fast, taking the stairs two at a time. She avoided even a glance at Jeremiah Rush in the lobby and was grateful she was alone on the elevator. Once she was in her room, she splashed cold water on her face and fought back tears.

  There was a knock on the door. "Sophie--it's Scoop. You okay in there?"

  She opened the door, forcing herself to smile. "Sorry. Come in. I've noticed I get walloped with jet lag right about this time of the evening. It's better every day."

  "Not that the quiet homecoming you've had helps."

  She held up a hand. "Don't talk. Let me explain." She led him into the room, the door shutting quietly behind him. She paced on the soft rug. "I've worked hard, and I've done well--no question. I'm grateful. It wasn't an easy path."

  "There are no easy paths."

  "I've encountered jealousy, envy, criticism, disappointment and broken promises along the way. Who hasn't? You do your best and in the end..." She turned back to him. "In the end you can't base your happiness on whether you achieved all your dreams. You enjoy the journey. You let go of the disappointments and betrayals."

  "You weren't just on a lark last year."

  She smiled. "Always the detective." Her smile faded. "I faced a dark night of the soul. Tell me, Scoop, isn't that what you were doing in Ireland?"

  "It felt like I was facing a thousand dark nights of the soul."

  Her breath caught. He wasn't a talkative, introspective man, but his words brought home just what he'd experienced only a few weeks ago. "You've been to hell and back, haven't you?"

  "The key word is back." He brushed his knuckles along her jaw and eased his hand around the back of her neck, threading his fingers into her hair. "I can't think of anywhere I'd rather be right now, and if I had to go through hell to get here--well, then it was worth it."

  He lowered his mouth to hers, slowly, as if giving her time to tell him to go back down to the bar and have a drink. She didn't. "You're why I knew I had to see the ruin on the Beara," she whispered. "I was pulled there. I knew I had to go. There was a rainbow that morning after we met. Scoop..."

  "I can do a lot of things, sweetheart, but rainbows are above my pay grade."

  She didn't have a chance to laugh before he kissed her, softly, tenderly, even as he lifted her into his arms and she could feel the tension in his muscles. She'd seen how he'd handled Acosta. She wasn't worried about him hurting himself with her. Clearly he wasn't, either. Their kiss deepened, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, sinking into him. He was aroused, hard against her. She could feel herself melting into him, hot and liquid.

  He carried her to the bed and pulled back the covers. Her iPhone went flying. He laid her on her back. "I'm not very good with little buttons," he said, eyeing her blouse. "Either I rip it off or you--"

  "It's an old top I found in Taryn's apartment."

  He had it off in seconds, and then he took his time, touching her through the silky fabric of her bra, easing her pants over her hips with great care as he trailed kisses, his tongue, along her throat, then lower, tasting, lingering, sweetly torturing. She wasn't even aware he'd dispensed with her pants until she felt the sheets cool under her bare skin, his touch between her legs. She reached for him, traced his hardness with her fingertips. He thrust against her hand, a promise of what was to come.

  "Scoop...I haven't..." She wasn't sure how to get the words out. "It's been a long time."

  "Good," he whispered, easing his fingers into her, where she was hot, ready. "I'll be gentle."

  She smiled. "Not too gentle."

  She tore at his shirt, but he didn't budge, just moved his fingers deeper, probing, his thumb circling, until she cried out and gave herself up to the sensations coursing thr
ough her. He kissed her, his tongue matching the erotic rhythm of his fingers. With his free hand, he caught her nipple between his fingertips.

  "I can't last," she said between kisses.

  "Then don't."

  "I want to feel you inside me."

  "You will," he said, driving his fingers in faster, even deeper. "Trust me, Sophie, you will."

  She was gone, rocking against him, letting the waves take her. He wasted no time. He got his clothes off in short order, and he came to her, easing on top of her. She ran her palms along his hips, up his back, feeling the strong muscles, the ripples of scars. Just the touch of him against her sent a bolt of urgency through her. He must have felt it, or was past his limits. He entered her, careful at first, but she was more than ready.

  In seconds, they were in unison, fused, responding, giving--knowing where and when to touch, to move--and when she came this time, it was with him, together.

  Later, she propped herself up on one elbow and looked at him in the fading light. "You're an amazing man, Cyrus Wisdom, but I think it was my mud-encrusted wellies that caught your eye in Ireland."

  "Must have been," he said, laughing as he took her back in his arms.

  28

  Sophie walked over to the Boston-Cork folklore conference offices after a pleasant breakfast with Scoop. They'd agreed not to discuss anything to do with the police investigations. They had no trouble finding subjects of mutual interest. Afterward, she e-mailed Wendell Sharpe and asked him about the Carlisle Museum and anyone Percy Sr. fired who was still in the art world--who could, she thought but didn't say, want revenge.

  He replied immediately: Everyone fired checks out.

  She found Eileen Sullivan back in Colm Dermott's office, staring out at the Charles River. "I've been thinking about taking up rowing," she said, then shifted to Sophie. "I heard about Frank Acosta, Sophie. Even my brother's shaken by what's happened. I can't talk to him about it, but I believe Cliff planted that bomb. I've been thinking a lot about him. He was filled with entitlement and envy."