Carla Neggers - The Mist

“It’s mutual dislike, but also impersonal on a certain level since we’ve never met face-to-face. I’m convinced he’s known more about Myles than he’s ever been willing to tell us. He doesn’t believe I can be fully trusted.” Which was more than Will had ever admitted to Josie about his attitude toward the current FBI director and was all he planned to say. “Is Lizzie Rush a rich woman meddling in affairs of no concern to her because she’s bored and has a zest for adventure, or does she have her own quarrel with Norman Estabrook?”

“She could also be on his side in a peculiar way,” Josie said as she splashed whiskey into her glass, adding without sympathy, “If she’s sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong, she could get it cut off.”

“Instead of fleeing, she stopped Keira from being killed.”

“Which by itself means nothing, Will. You know that. What you saw tonight could have been staged, cooked up by her and Murphy to mislead us. This woman could have her own agenda and not give a damn about Keira, Estabrook, Simon or anyone else.”

There was no one on the planet more clear-eyed or more unlikely to let emotion cloud her judgment than Josie Goodwin. Will recognized how much he’d come to rely on her not just for her efficiency, but as a sounding board. “I suppose theoretically she could have her own plans that could get mucked up if Keira and the people in Boston were killed.”

“What about Abigail Browning?” Josie asked, taking a swallow of her whiskey even before she set down the bottle. She choked a little and gave her chest a pound with her fist. “Sorry. I haven’t had a drop of alcohol in months. I was crying over my sorrows too many nights and…” She waved a hand. “Never mind. Perhaps our Lizzie Rush, regardless of why she was here, can help find Detective Browning.”

Will narrowed his eyes. “You’ve more information?”

“Not much. I spoke to Simon.” She got a pained look. “It’s not good. There are no witnesses or substantial leads, and so far, there have been no calls for ransom.”

“But no body, either, I gather.”

“Correct. No body.” Josie made a face as she swallowed more of her Midleton’s. “You know I don’t care for whiskey, don’t you?”

Will smiled. “Yes, Josie, I know.”

She coughed, took a smaller swallow this time. Her eyes, a dark blue, were hard and unforgiving, a contrast to the vulnerability her pale skin suggested.

A woman of contrasts, Josie Goodwin.

“You’re a wealth of information, as always,” Will said. “What would I do without you?”

“Live a lovely life in Scotland, I’ve no doubt.” She returned the whiskey bottle to its place in Eddie’s lineup. “Do you believe Miss Rush could help us find Myles Fletcher, that bloody traitor?”

“Josie…”

“It’s a serious, professional question, Will.”

“We’ve no reliable evidence that he’s alive.”

Josie polished off her whiskey, giving a final shudder of distaste as she turned back to him. “The barman’s description, Will. It fits.”

“It fits other British men, too, I’m sure. It isn’t definitive by itself.”

Josie gave him a long, cool look as she rinsed her glass. “You’re trying to spare me.”

He attempted a smile. “You? Never.”

“All right, then. We’ll do this your way. There’s no good answer here, is there? Either Myles Fletcher was a traitor killed two years ago, or he survived and is now a cold-blooded mercenary.”

Myles Fletcher was a name Will knew Josie didn’t want to utter and certainly wasn’t one he wanted to hear. “I should have worked harder to find him.”

“We all did everything possible. Everything, Will.”

“What if he’s not-”

“Don’t.” Her voice was hoarse, her eyes dark and intense. “Don’t, Will. Please.”

He acceded to her wish with a reluctant nod and didn’t continue.

“If Estabrook has hired Myles or allied himself with him in any way, it means he has someone on his payroll who can help him realize any violent impulses he has.” Josie fell silent a moment. “I hope that’s not the case.”

“I do, too.”

She didn’t look at Will. “If Myles is alive, I hope he’s lost his memory and has opened a tea shop in Liverpool. If not…” She glanced up, her cheeks less pale now. “I had the chance to smother him to death.”

“Josie.”

“All right, then. On we go. I’ll investigate possible connections between Myles and Lizzie Rush, between him and her family.” Josie hesitated, then said, “Perhaps she’s in love with him. Myles does have a way with women.”

“From her questioning of Michael Murphy, I would say Lizzie doesn’t know him at all-”

“Which could be what she wants you to think.” Josie came around to the other side of the bar. “I needn’t remind you that Myles is a capable, ruthless killer. If he’s alive, Will, don’t think you can reason with him.”

“Josie, I’m sorry his name’s come up.”

But she wasn’t finished. “If you see him, put a bullet in his head. Find a way to do it. He’s a predator. He hovers in the bush, waiting for the right moment, the right prey. Then he springs. I know, Simon. I was his prey once.”

“He manipulated both of us, in different ways,” Will said softly. “We owe his service, what he once was, an open mind.”

Josie zipped up her coat, her eyes bitter now as well as hard. “Myles knows how to make people see what they want to see in him.” She went on briskly, before Will could respond. “Interestingly the Rush family doesn’t own a hotel in the U.K. They do, however, own what I understand is a charming hotel in Dublin.”

“And how is this relevant?” Will asked.

“Because I reserved a room for you there for tonight. It should be quite lovely. You can see for yourself and let me know. They’re expecting you for a very late arrival.”

“Do you believe that’s where Lizzie went, or do you know?”

“An educated guess, and either way, it’s a good place to start. You are going after her, aren’t you?”

Will thought of Lizzie Rush’s green eyes, black-lashed and bold, yet, he was sure, hiding secrets, fears. But didn’t everyone?

“Yes,” he said, “I’m going after her.”

“Excellent. I approve.” At last, a glint of humor. “Give my best to Simon when you see him. And Keira?” Josie asked, more subdued, speaking as if she knew the woman Simon Cahill had fallen for earlier that summer, although the two of them had yet to meet. “She’s all right?”

Will nodded. “Impatient to be with Simon.”

“Ah, yes. One can imagine. Well,” she added, “you should leave. Dublin ’s over three hundred kilometers, but you’ll manage. You’re accustomed to odd hours, long days-” she gave him a wicked smile “-and longer nights.”

Will sighed and gave no comment.

“In any event,” Josie said, “you’ve much to keep you wide-awake and on your toes.”

“I see that plans have been made and announced, and I have only to comply.”

“Finally he sees the light.”

But their cheerfulness was momentary. “What about you, Josie?” Will asked her.

“I’ve booked a room at a five-star hotel in Kenmare, but perhaps I would be wise not to make the drive over these dark roads after gulping whiskey. Imagine the international row if I’m picked up by the Irish authorities. Much better to work with them discreetly.”

Eddie O’Shea wandered back in behind his bar, nothing in his demeanor indicating he’d eavesdropped. “My brother Aidan has a room at his farm down the lane,” he said to Josie. “You’d be welcome to stay.”

Josie smiled, looking genuinely delighted. “A night on an Irish farm. A perfect ending to a difficult day.”