Carla Neggers - Heron's Cove

She shook her head. “I have no proof of anything. I know you’re not with Sharpe Fine Art Recovery any longer, but can you help, Emma—Agent Sharpe?”

Emma considered her response, then said, “If the Rusakov collection arrives in Heron’s Cove, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Good.” With a few swift strokes of the pencil, Tatiana sketched a graceful great blue heron, incorporating Emma’s washes and muddy drips, so that suddenly they didn’t look amateurish and awkward. She stood back from the easel and appraised her handiwork. “You can go from here. I love grand blue herons.”

Emma smiled. “Great blue herons.”

The young Russian laughed. “Yes, just so. Thank you, Emma Sharpe. I appreciate your help.”

She skipped down the porch steps and back across the yard, her hair flying in the wind as she jumped from the retaining wall down to the pier.

Emma abandoned her painting and went back inside. Although she had been to the house a number of times since renovations had started, she still felt a tug of nostalgia when she entered the kitchen and saw the counters were now home to carpenters’ tools, rags, cabinet brochures, paint chips and an empty box of Hurley’s cider doughnuts. Most of the guys working on the place were from Rock Point. She had promised them she would clear out the rest of the kitchen over the weekend.

She stepped past a roll of insulation. Renovations had been a long time in coming and a joint family decision, but Lucas was in charge. The idea was to transform the small house into a modern base for Sharpe Fine Art Recovery while still retaining its Victorian charm and character. Lucas, who had his own house in the village, had asked the architect to include a guest suite for family and friends, or for their grandfather should he eventually return to Heron’s Cove.

Getting Lucas to acquiesce to preserving the porch had taken some doing. He had envisioned taking over that space for the interior and adding a stone terrace out back, but Emma had reminded him how much of their family life had centered on the porch, especially before their grandmother’s death, the fall on the ice that had relegated their father to a restless life of chronic pain and their grandfather’s relocation to Dublin.

Emma rinsed dried watercolor paint off her hands and saw she had a text message.

It was from Colin: I’m home.

She smiled as she typed her response: I’ll come to you.

She headed out through the front and got his message back: Yank just left. I’ll be at Hurley’s.

Emma got in her car. She would be in Rock Point in twenty minutes. That gave her at least a little more time to consider how to handle his questions about how she had found him in Florida, and what to tell him about Tatiana Pavlova.

* * *

Colin was alone at Hurley’s bar, a bowl of steaming fish chowder in front of him. He patted the stool next to him. “Have a seat, Special Agent Sharpe.”

Emma climbed onto the stool, taking in his broad shoulders, the thick muscles in his legs, the smoky gray of his eyes as they settled on her. He was so damn sexy, she thought. So incredibly physical and down to earth. He could handle deep-cover work because he was focused, decisive and independent. Yet he wasn’t a man easy to get to know. Maybe that made him good at what he did, too.

She noticed a purple bruise on his forearm, then met his eyes with a smile. “Welcome home.”

He winked at her. “Nothing says home like a bowl of Hurley’s fish chowder.”

“Your brothers aren’t here yet, I see.”

“On their way. Finian, too. Word travels fast in Rock Point.” He touched a hand to her cheek. “How are you, Emma?”

“Glad to see you back in one piece.”

“I came close to being eaten by alligators.” He tucked a few stray strands of hair behind her ear. “Yank says you saved my ass.”

“We all help each other.”

“Did he tell you to say that?” Colin turned back to his chowder. “As I pointed out to him, I had already escaped when the cavalry arrived. I do allow that if they hadn’t swooped in when they did, my new friends could have doubled back and thrown me to the gators.”

“That wouldn’t have been good,” Emma said.

“It would not. Then where would you be?” He picked up his spoon, dipped it into the milky chowder. “Sleeping alone in my bed again.”

She helped herself to an oyster cracker. She knew what he was getting at, had suspected it was coming. How much would she tell him about her source? How much could she tell him? She’d had a good chunk of last night and all day to prepare her response, but Tatiana Pavlova’s arrival in Heron’s Cove, with her talk of Dmitri Rusakov, had further muddled the situation.

“The call came to my cell phone. Not to your house phone.” Emma kept her tone even, without a hint of defensiveness. “Yank knew I was at your house because he asked and I told him. Father Bracken had organized a whiskey tasting.”

“What was your favorite?”

“I just know I don’t like the heavily peated ones.”

“An acquired taste.”

“Colin—”

“It’s okay, Emma.” His eyes softened. “It’s been a long month. You can sleep in my bed anytime.”

In other words, his questions about last night could wait.

“Were my brothers good to you while I was away?” he asked.

She nodded. “Mike’s not a big fan but we do all right.”

“Mike’s not a big fan of anyone.”

“He’s been down here more because of your family’s concern for you.”

Finian Bracken arrived, wearing his black suit and Roman collar today. He stopped short when he saw Emma. “Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all,” Emma said with a smile.

Colin eased off his stool. “It’s good to see you, Fin.” He clapped the priest on the shoulder in a warm greeting. “Mike, Andy and Kevin will be here in a few minutes.”

“They’re outside now,” Finian said.

“Then grab some glasses and pour the Bracken 15 year old.”

Finian glanced past him at Emma. “Wine for you tonight?”

“Nothing for me, thanks,” she said, standing up. “I’ll let you gentlemen enjoy your evening.”

“Good to see you, as always,” Finian said, then headed to his favorite table by the window.

Emma buttoned her jacket, aware of Colin’s gaze on her. His questions about the past twenty-four hours wouldn’t wait forever. He wanted answers. But she saw the cut on his right temple, the fatigue in his eyes and the stiffness with which he moved, and she knew this wasn’t the time or the place for a serious conversation.

He needed tonight with his brothers and his Irish priest friend.

He seemed to guess what she was thinking and slipped an arm around her waist. “Missed you, babe.”

“I missed you, too. Be with your family and friends.” She leaned into him, just for an instant. “I’ll see you soon.”

He patted her hip. “Real soon.”

Emma managed to get out of there without running into his brothers. It was colder, clearer than last night. She listened to the tide wash in on the sand and smooth stones. A bright star had come out above the harbor. She took in a deep breath. She could still feel Colin’s strength and warmth—as well as his questions, his doubts.

If Natalie Warren was bringing the Rusakov collection to Heron’s Cove, would Dmitri Rusakov be right behind her?

Would Ivan Alexander be with him?

“Your man is in danger.”

Emma put her own doubts and questions out of her mind as she watched Mike, Andy and Kevin Donovan walk up the stairs to Hurley’s. They were one reason Colin could bounce back from the dangers he faced. His resilience wasn’t just due to his training and experience, or even his nature. It was also due to his family and friends, the solid foundation he had in Rock Point.