Carla Neggers - The Whisper

"It's not an interrogation. If it were, you'd know."

"Hot lights? Thumbscrews?"

He gave her just the glimmer of a smile. "Tape recorder." He didn't touch his drink. "What else, Sophie?"

"A friend here in Boston offered me a job tutoring student athletes a few hours a week. Hockey players, mostly. Ever play hockey, Detective?"

"Yeah, I played hockey. Still do. You take the job?"

"I did. I can start as soon as I'm able."

"Good. Start tomorrow."

"You know, Scoop," Sophie said, "I don't take to being bossed around. Even my parents had a hard time telling me what to do when I was a kid. My sister, too. We're twins."

"Noncompliant personalities?"

"I think of us as independent. When we were kids, we'd go off on our own and explore the little Irish village outside Cork where we lived."

"Sounds to me as if your folks didn't watch you. Why were you living in Ireland?"

"My father was sent there by his company. My mother taught school."

He raised his glass. "You used to work here at Morrigan's as a student."

Sophie resisted the temptation to jump up and run. His scrutiny--his knowledge of her--was unsettling. "You've been checking me out. Has Lizzie Rush been helping? I'd run into her from time to time when I worked here. She was always very nice. All the Rushes are."

"She was a part of what went on in Boston this summer."

"That's what I hear."

He sipped his drink and set the glass back down, his gaze leveled on her. "A lot's gone on lately that involves Ireland and Boston."

Sophie nodded, trying not to stare at a thick, obviously fresh scar that started just above his collarbone and continued around to the back of his neck. She'd noticed it yesterday at the ruin. As scarred as he was, Scoop struck her as solid and competent--and impossible to kill. Yet if he'd been standing in the wrong place or hadn't reacted as he had, the bomb could have killed him instantly. The shrapnel that no doubt had caused the scar she saw now could have nicked an artery instead. He could have bled to death in his own backyard.

She didn't have visible scars from her night in the cave. She remembered Tim O'Donovan waving to her as he sailed off, leaving her on the island for the sixth time in as many weeks. This time, she wasn't just there for a day hike. She was staying overnight.

It hadn't occurred to her anyone would follow her out there.

She became aware that Scoop was watching her closely. "What's on your mind, Sophie?"

She made herself smile. "Dinner, actually. I didn't eat a bite on the plane."

"I cleaned my plate." She noticed a flicker of amusement in his eyes, but it didn't last. "You might just ease back from whatever you're up to and stick to your job hunting."

"You look for bad cops. Do you think one was involved in what happened to you?"

"Anyone in mind?"

"I don't know any police officers. Other than you." Technically, her statement was true. Her brother was an FBI agent, not a police officer. She leaned back in her chair and did her best to come across as casual, friendly and open, with nothing to hide. Telling him about the cave would only invite even more suspicion and difficult questions. "I figure we've bonded now that we've both encountered a mysterious big black dog in the Irish hills."

"Sophie, if you're meddling in a police investigation--"

"I'm not."

"If you have your own agenda, it amounts to the same thing."

"I don't have an agenda. At the moment I'm thinking I should have known better than to have alcohol when I'm jet-lagged and hungry."

"Drink's on me."

"Actually, it's on Jeremiah Rush. He was still in high school when I worked here. He and his three brothers and Lizzie all have had to learn the family business from the ground up. They're all hard workers."

"Okay, I get it," Scoop said. "You have good reason to be here. No axes to grind. Where can I find you, besides tutoring hockey players?"

"My sister's apartment is on Pinckney Street."

He withdrew his wallet, pulled out a business card and handed it to her. "Call me anytime, day or night, if you decide you want to tell me the rest."

"There is no--"

He held up a hand, stopping her. "Don't even try it with me. There's more, Sophie. There's a lot more."

She kept her mouth shut this time and got out of there.

When she reached the street, she knew she couldn't go back to the apartment right away. Her internal clock might still be set to Irish time, where it was after midnight, but she was too restless yet to sleep, read or work.

She walked past Morrigan's and felt Scoop Wisdom's eyes on her but refused to look down and see if he was, indeed, watching her.

Percy Carlisle's house was a few blocks away in Back Bay.

She'd head over there.

8

Scoop figured he could kill his jet lag by having a beer and a nice dinner or by taking a walk and following Sophie. When he saw her in the window, heading in the opposite direction from her sister's apartment, he decided on the walk.

He paid for his soda and received another call from Josie Goodwin as he started out. "Talk to me, Josie," he said. "What do you know? How's Ireland?"

"Lovely. I'm alone in a cottage in the dead of night with nothing but cows, sheep and the wind for company. I'm thinking of becoming a farmer."

"I have a single brother who's a farmer."

"Give him my number." She cleared her throat and continued briskly. "I have a tidbit of information that could prove useful...or not. We've discovered a cryptic report of a call to the Irish Garda by our archaeologist friend last September."

"How cryptic?"

"I have no details yet whatsoever. Apparently there wasn't a crime. For all I know, Dr. Malone asked the guards to clear a bat out of her bedroom."

"You can find out more?"

"Of course," she said airily. "In the meantime, Taryn Malone, Sophie's twin sister, is presently starring in a popular romantic comedy in London. She's an accomplished Shakespearean actress." Josie yawned, then added, "That's not terribly helpful, is it?"

"Everything's helpful at this point. Anything from Lizzie and Keira?"

"They've arrived safely in Dublin. They missed Colm Dermott in Cork."

"I'm glad you listened to my advice," Scoop said dryly.

"Did you think I would? Of course you didn't. You know, Scoop, our Dr. Malone could simply be a wildly curious academic with ties to Boston."

"These days, that by itself could get her into trouble." He turned down Beacon Street, spotting Sophie up ahead. "Anything more on the octogenarian expert in art theft?"

"Still working on that one."

Scoop sighed. He wasn't sure he should encourage Josie Goodwin--not that he needed to. "Thanks. Find out why Sophie called the guards last year. If you need any official help on your end--"

"With what? Looking into a woman because she ventured into an Irish pasture?"

"Put that way," Scoop said, "this all does sound crazy."

"But it's not, is it? Oh, listen to me. Next I'll be seeing fairies trooping in the hills." Josie sighed heavily. "As lovely as it is here, I'm not one for the countryside."

"Sweet dreams," Scoop said with a grin.

Josie muttered under her breath. He couldn't quite make out her words but they sounded impolite. When she disconnected, he picked up his pace, closing the gap between him and Sophie. He expected her to turn around and chew him out for following her, but she seemed unaware of his presence.

She approached an elegant Back Bay mansion that he recognized as the Boston home of Percy Carlisle. Carlisle's name had surfaced over the summer as one of Jay Augustine's wealthy customers in his role as a respected dealer in high-end antiques and works of art. As far as Scoop knew, none of Augustine's clients were under suspicion of any involvement with the man's violence.