Carla Neggers - Keeper's Reach

“Your life is more complicated than it used to be, isn’t it, Agent Donovan?”

“Yours, too, Director.”

She cracked a smile. Colin was positive. It didn’t last, but it gave him hope. In his world, a serious mission required a judicious sense of humor, moments of levity that made everything else not just easier but possible.

Federal prosecutors and another agent or two would be joining them. The meeting was in relation to a new undercover mission, one that had arisen out of his previous mission—a dangerous, months-long investigation that had succeeded but also had created a vacuum in the world of illegal arms trafficking.

It wasn’t an unforeseen consequence.

Jokes and talk of weddings, priests and snowshoeing ended as the conference table filled up. Colin wondered if any of the people who had joined the meeting had sent an agent to London to check on Oliver York. Because of him. Because they wanted to know if his life was becoming too complicated to put him undercover again.

* * *

Seventy minutes later, Colin told Yank about the calls from Emma and Mike. Yank had joined him on the walk from FBI headquarters to the inexpensive hotel where he had spent far too many nights over the past few weeks.

The senior FBI agent visibly gritted his teeth as Colin finished relaying the latest Sharpe and Donovan goings-on. “The Plum Tree? I’m supposed to get worked up about Mike’s old army buddies showing up at a Maine country inn called the Plum Tree?”

“It has its own plum orchard,” Colin said.

“Of course it does.” Yank turned up the collar on his overcoat. “Think this Cooper sent his man to Rock Point to snoop on your family?”

“To get the lay of the land, anyway.”

“They left it to your mother to tell Mike. That would piss me off.”

“Mike wasn’t happy about it,” Colin said.

“Imagine that.”

Colin wasn’t happy about it, either. “Do you know Ted Kavanagh?”

Yank shook his head. “Not personally, no. Nothing says he can’t meet with these guys on his own time. Why, what else is going on?”

Colin slowed at a wide intersection. He hadn’t told Yank about Emma’s call. He did now, keeping his recap as succinct as he could. “I’m wondering if this guy York saw could be Kavanagh. York didn’t give much of a description.”

“He’s bound to be paranoid.”

“He strikes me as very observant. He’d have to be to get away with stealing art and taunting Wendell Sharpe for a decade.”

“Ten to one the guy he saw in the park is a London stockbroker. Even if we show him a photo of Kavanagh, there’s no guarantee he won’t say it’s his guy just to spin us in circles.”

“York says the guy he saw argued with a woman.”

“Naomi MacBride?” Yank was silent as they approached Colin’s hotel. “We have coincidences and conjecture. Not my two favorite things.”

They entered the hotel and sat in a quiet nook by a gaslit fire. Colin watched a blue flame. He preferred wood fires, but this wasn’t bad. “It occurred to me the director could have put someone on York without telling us.”

“We wouldn’t be here if she felt that was necessary. Either one of us.”

It was a fair point. “You didn’t do it, did you?”

“No. Same reasoning. You wouldn’t be here if I felt that was necessary.” Yank settled back in his chair. “While we’re in the world of coincidence and conjecture, what if this Reed Cooper asked Kavanagh to look into what Mike’s been up to since leaving the army? If Cooper wants to recruit him, it makes sense he would want to know about any issues that could blow back on his company. Figure out if Mike has any baggage that needs to get sorted.”

“Never thought of myself as baggage.”

“Never? Seriously?”

Colin appreciated the moment of levity, but it was short-lived. “Why would Oliver York turn up on a background check on Mike—even if it includes me? I know my name would pop up because of the murder in Boston in November, but it’s not widely known that the British mythologist Oliver Fairbairn who was caught up in the investigation is also Oliver York.”

“These are security types,” Yank said. “They could find out. Even if they did, it doesn’t mean they’ve figured out York is an international art thief. Being in the middle of a high-profile murder investigation that involved you and Emma could be enough to raise a red flag about Mike and get them digging a bit more.”

“What’s Kavanagh’s role, then?”

“He doesn’t have to be currying favor with Cooper over a future job. He could just be helping out an old friend.”

Colin loosened his tie. “I like the stockbroker idea better.”

“I don’t blame you. What about Finian Bracken? Think he accepted York’s invitation to visit his farm?”

“Knowing Fin? Yes. Without question.”

“I don’t like the idea of him and York getting together, even if it’s for a fox hunt in the English countryside.”

“I don’t see Fin on a fox hunt.”

“Drinking whiskey and checking out old tombstones, then. Are you going to get in touch with him? He’s your friend.”

“And do what—tell him to go back to Ireland?”

“It’s a start.”

Colin didn’t disagree. He’d considered his options after learning about York’s plan last night. He, too, would prefer his Irish priest friend and the British art thief keep their distance.

“I need to check out of my room,” he said. “I’m flying back to Boston this afternoon.”

“Emma’s leaving this afternoon for her long weekend in Maine,” Yank said, not as casually as he might have meant to. “Are you meeting her?”

“That’s not the plan.”

“What’s she doing in Maine? Wedding things?”

“She’s having lunch with my mother on Saturday.”

“That could be interesting,” Yank said, without elaboration.

Colin watched the fake burning logs. He had assumed Emma had told Yank about her plans for the weekend. But assuming anything with Emma was dangerous. “She’s staying at the convent tonight and tomorrow night,” he said, keeping his tone neutral.

Yank was clearly surprised. “For old times’ sake?”

“I guess.”

“Kind of like sleeping with an old boyfriend, isn’t it? Never mind.” Yank waved a hand. “Forget I said that. I should get moving, too.”

“You done for the day? Off to plaster nail holes?”

“One more meeting. Then I plaster nail holes. I’m looking forward to unloading this house.” Yank stood but made no move to head back to the revolving doors. “You hold your own with Van Buren. She’ll do right by you. She knows you’re not her private police force.”

“I have always adhered to the principles and procedures of the FBI,” Colin said. “I read the handbook cover-to-cover the other day.”

Yank’s eyes were flinty. “I’m serious, Donovan.”

“Me, too.”

“You’re on my team because I shoehorned you in to keep an eye on you while you got your head screwed on straight. My opinion, you did the bidding of the previous director without enough oversight.”

“Excuse me, I was a deep-cover operative on a sensitive mission to break up a network of dangerous international arms traffickers. I wasn’t doing anyone’s bidding . I’m an independent thinker. It comes in handy when you’re being chased by alligators.”

Yank sighed. “There were no alligators.”

“It was South Florida. I was in the water. There were alligators as well as guys who wanted to kill me.”

“Are we done here?”

Colin was half-serious. Maybe not even half. He got to his feet. “We’re done. Good luck with the house. Will you miss it?”

“More than I will miss my old apartment. It was a daily battle with the roaches.” Yank gave an exaggerated shudder. “Some of those bastards were the size of rats.”