Carla Neggers - The Whisper

The old man's suspicion eased. "Tim's due anytime, please God," he said in a heavy West Cork accent and headed down the pier toward the road.

"Let's wait here," Myles said, the sky and bay making his eyes seem a bluer gray. "The air feels good."

Josie took in a sharp breath. "You didn't expect to be alive today, did you?"

"Nor yesterday, either." He crooked his arm toward her and smiled. "Shall we watch the tide and pretend we're a pair of holiday lovers?"

"Damn you, Myles." She slipped her arm into his, welcoming his warmth. She leaned against him, just for a split second. "I hate you, you know."

He winked at her. "That's my girl."

Suddenly she wished they were tourists without a care beyond which lace shops to visit and which pub to pop into for a bite. He maintained an outward air that his two years undercover--alone, in constant danger--hadn't affected him, but Josie knew they had. She noticed a scar on his jaw under his right ear that hadn't been there when he'd gone off to Afghanistan.

"Did you tell yourself you'd died in that firefight?" she asked quietly. "Is that how you managed?"

"I focused on the job I was in a unique position to do."

"Should you have been killed, did you have a plan to get word to Will, at least, that you weren't a traitor?"

"All this talk of my demise, love." He grinned at her. "Should I be near deep water with you?"

His humor, she knew, was his way of deflecting her questions. He wasn't introspective. He was a man who lived in the present. "You could have let us help--"

"It was too big a risk. The people I was chasing would have won."

"Will they win yet, Myles?"

The wind caught the ends of his dark hair. "Not the ones I was chasing."

"Because they're dead," Josie said bluntly.

"There you go again."

But his lack of a denial meant she was right. "Will and Simon are after their friends and associates, aren't they?" she asked softly.

He brushed her fingertips with his and let that be his answer.

She could hardly breathe. "Are you free now? Safe?"

"I don't know, love." He angled her a wry look. "Will I be sleeping near you and a pillow tonight?"

She was tempted to elbow him off the pier, but a bearded man decades younger than the old fisherman ambled toward them. "I understand you're looking for me. What can I do for you?"

"You're Tim O'Donovan?" Josie asked with a smile.

No smile back. "I am."

"I'm Josie Goodwin. This is my friend Myles. We'd like to talk to you about a friend of yours."

"Sophie Malone," he said. "Seamus Harrigan told me you'd be looking for me. Sophie's gone back to Boston."

"What happened last year, Tim?" Myles asked.

Josie winced at his blunt question. Leave it to Myles to dive in before they'd reassured the Irishman. He'd never been one for subtlety. The wind blew hard, and she thought she felt raindrops but supposed it could have been saltwater. She shook off a sudden chill as O'Donovan crossed his muscled arms over his broad chest. He stood at the edge of the pier, his back to the water as if he had no worries about taking a wrong step. "Sophie's a restless soul, and she has a natural curiosity and an investigative mind. Put all that together..." He dropped his arms to his sides. "I suppose that's why she's an archaeologist and not a fisherman."

Myles leaned casually against a post. He had no apparent worries, either, about falling into the water. "What caught the attention of her restless soul, natural curiosity and investigative mind a year ago?"

The Irishman squinted out toward the mouth of the harbor. "A tale of invaders and treasure."

Josie gritted her teeth. "Well, that narrows things down nicely, doesn't it?"

O'Donovan rubbed the toe of his scuffed boot across a thick rope tied to a fishing boat that presumably belonged to him. Myles nodded at the battered boat. "Looks as if she's seen a gale or two. Did you take Sophie somewhere in her?"

"Many times. She's a serious scholar and game for anything. Have you met her?"

Myles shook his head, and Josie said, "What about you? How well do you know Dr. Malone?"

O'Donovan leveled emerald-green eyes on her. "What business is that of yours?"

"None," Josie said, and gave him a cheerful smile. "You seem protective of her. I can understand. Here's a woman far from home--"

"She was born in Cork. Her family owns a house here in Kenmare."

"All right, then. She's Irish born but her parents are American. She attended college in Boston and did graduate work in Ireland. Now she's returned to Boston. She's rather rootless, wouldn't you say?"

O'Donovan took in a breath and held it as if he didn't want to answer Josie's question but knew he would. Finally he exhaled and said, "I would, indeed."

"Is she reckless?" Myles asked.

"We say a person's reckless when things don't work out. When they do, we say that same person is brave."

"One can be both reckless and brave." Josie managed not to look at Myles, although she expected he knew she was talking about him, too. "I'd like to win your trust, Tim. Whatever happened to Sophie last year involved you and obviously troubles you."

Myles edged closer to Josie, for no apparent reason that she could discern. "Did Sophie talk you into searching for Celtic treasure?" he asked.

"No. She talked me into taking her to a small island down the bay so she could look into a story I'd told her."

Josie bit her lower lip. This was how Keira Sullivan's ordeal had started three months ago--with an old story. She'd been researching a book she was writing and illustrating, as well as dipping into her own complicated past.

"Would finding lost treasure help Sophie land a job?" Myles asked.

O'Donovan squatted down and started unlooping a thick rope from metal cleats, his fingers callused, his hands obviously very strong. "She says it's the opposite. She's a serious scholar. She's no treasure hunter. If she'd believed she'd find anything, she'd have called for a proper excavation."

"How often did you take her out to this island?"

"Five or six times. The last time, she discovered a cave and nearly didn't come out again."

He didn't elaborate, but Josie could see the regret in how he tore at the rope, how he'd bit off each word. "What happened, Tim?"

He shook his head. "Who's to say?"

"Why did she go out to this particular island?"

"She was writing her dissertation. She said exploring the island got her away from her work and helped clear her head." The muscles in his arms were visibly tensed, and he stood up again, the rope in hand. "On that last trip, she talked me into leaving her overnight. She'd never done such a thing. She had me believing she'd have a good time camping. She'd be safe. I left her there."

Myles had taken a few steps toward the middle of the wide pier, keeping quiet as he watched the fisherman. Josie didn't move. "Did she get hurt?" she asked softly. "Did someone follow her out there--"

"Talk to her." The fisherman tossed the rope down into his boat and moved to tackle the next line. Dark clouds had moved in overhead, the spits of raining turning to a steadier drizzle. He didn't seem to notice. "I wasn't there."

"Sophie could have wandered into a dangerous situation through no fault of her own," Josie said. "Or yours."

Myles narrowed his gray eyes on O'Donovan but made no move toward him. "You're worried that whatever happened to her isn't over."

"Maybe," he said, squatting down, pulling on a thick knot. "Again, I wasn't with her on the island. I only know what she's told me."

"And what's that?" Josie asked.

"She says she came across a cauldron of gold artifacts in the cave. She didn't have a chance to examine them before she heard whispers. At first she thought it was me--that I'd decided not to leave her out there after all and had come back."