Carla Neggers - The Whisper

She'd just finished when she got a text message. She glanced at her iPhone, then smiled, her blue eyes sparking with obvious pleasure. "Taryn's here," she said as her fingers flew, texting her back. "You get to meet my twin sister. She's right outside."

Sophie leaped up and buzzed her in, and thirty seconds later, Taryn Malone was surveying Scoop with eyes as blue and incisive as her sister's. But she spoke directly to Sophie. "I'm only blowing in here to say hello, then I'm on my way to New York. I'll be there for two days. Then it's back to London. How are you? And who is this?"

"This is the detective I told you about," Sophie said, and made the introductions.

Taryn beamed a smile at him. "So good to meet you, Detective Wisdom."

"I'll go for a walk and let you two visit," he said, looking at Sophie. "Then I'm coming back."

22

Taryn gulped in a breath after Scoop left. Sophie held up a hand before her sister could say a word. "I know. What am I doing? I should take Damian's advice and go back to Ireland and dig in the dirt."

"No argument from me," Taryn said, stretching out on the sectional. "I didn't let Damian know I was coming here. I knew he'd tell me not to. Sophie, are you in trouble with the police?"

She shook her head. "I can't be. I've told them everything and I haven't done anything wrong."

"Please don't stay here alone."

"I'm not. I'm staying at the Whitcomb."

"Good. Unless--wait. Is this detective staying there, too?"

"For now."

Taryn moaned as if she were in pain. "I suppose there isn't a Malone born who does things the easy way. All right, then. If you're not in trouble with the cops--if they don't suspect you of wrongdoing--then let them help."

"Cliff Rafferty was a police officer, Taryn. Scoop's a detective. He can't turn that off even for half a second."

"Why would you want him to? Never mind. Scratch that. Dumb question now that I've seen him." She rose suddenly, a bundle of nervous energy. "Look, I'd stay if I could, but I have this crazy thing called a living to make. You could come to New York with me."

"Thanks, but I can't. I have commitments here."

"I know. I understand." Taryn dashed into the bedroom, yanked open the closet and pulled out a pair of black heels, tucking them under one arm as she returned to the living room. "I didn't think I'd need these. I hope I don't break an ankle. Oh, Sophie. You'll stay safe, won't you? You and I are so different and yet so similar. Do you miss Ireland?"

"Yes, but I'll go back. Taryn--"

"Don't go there," she said, as if she were reading her sister's mind. "I won't ask Tim to give up his life, and he won't ask me to give up mine."

Sophie leaned against the door jamb. "What would you say if he did ask?"

"He and I are both hopeless romantics. That's what attracted me to him in the first place, but I have to be practical."

"Tim's a romantic?"

Taryn blushed and quickly led the way back out to the street. She had asked her cab to wait. It was just like her to make a separate stop in Boston for something she could easily pick up in New York, but that wasn't, Sophie knew, really why her sister was there. "Damian's worried," Taryn said in a half whisper. " I'm worried. I want to trust this detective, but what do you know about him? What if he's playing everyone? What if he's actually the one who planted the bomb?"

"He was almost killed--"

"Yeah, but he wasn't killed, and what a way to fool everyone. You must trust him or you wouldn't be alone with him." Taryn straightened abruptly, her hand on the open cab door. "Sophie! Are you falling for him? No, don't answer. It's the adrenaline. You bonded during a crisis."

"It started on the Beara Peninsula," Sophie admitted.

"Ah. Fairies, then. He's a total stud, I know--I have eyes--but..." Taryn didn't finish. "Just be careful, okay?"

"I will. Thanks for stopping by. Have fun in New York."

"Yes." She smiled, betraying a rare hint of uncertainty. "I'm not sure it's what I want."

"Maybe going there will help you figure that out."

"I can't afford to be a romantic about making a living..." Taryn brushed off her uncertainty. "Listen to me. You're dealing with a real crisis. I'm just in angst mode."

"I'm here anytime. You know that. If you want to talk about acting and a certain Irish fisherman--"

"Oh, stop. You saw that awful beard. Tim O'Donovan's not the man for me."

Sophie laughed. "He can quote Yeats by heart."

"So can Damian, and can you imagine ending up with him?"

That made them both laugh, just as Scoop returned, easing toward the gate back to the courtyard. Taryn glared at him. "Be good to my sister," she said, and quickly ducked into the cab, shut the door and waved goodbye.

Sophie half expected Scoop to question her about her sister's visit, but he just walked with her back through the archway to her apartment, letting her go in first. "I bought a few things at the grocery that I should use up," she said. "I warned you that I'm not a great cook, but I feel like putting a meal together. I don't do a bad spaghetti sauce and salad. I mean, who does? I have all the ingredients. I hate to see them go to waste."

He pulled off his jacket. "I'll help."

"Thanks, but just having you here...someone to talk to...makes a difference." She pulled open the refrigerator. "I spent long hours alone when I was working on my dissertation."

"What's it about?"

"Gad. You don't want to hear that ."

He smiled at her. "Give me the short version."

She talked as she cooked. He stood next to her at the counter, chopping an onion, garlic, a carrot on a thick wooden board. It was a tiny kitchen with the refrigerator, sink and stove all on one wall and not much counter space, but surprisingly efficient and bigger, Sophie thought, than the kitchen had been in her apartment in Cork.

Once she finished describing her dissertation, Scoop asked about her time in Ireland. "I loved it," she said, watching steam rise from her pot of water for the spaghetti. "I worked hard and was always scrambling to keep the wolf from the door, but I met so many great people there."

"How long do you think you'll stay here?"

"My sister's apartment? I don't know. What about you--when can you get back into your triple-decker?"

"It'll be a few months. Depends on whether we decide to make improvements or just focus on repairs. Abigail won't be back, but we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. I'll figure something out in the meantime. I can't stay at the Whitcomb much longer." He grinned at her. "I'll be disappointed when I don't find chocolates on my pillow."

"You live alone, though?"

"I have two cats but no live-in girlfriend, no ex-wives, no kids."

She laid dried spaghetti in boiling water, aware of Scoop inches away by the sink. "Cliff Rafferty said you were quite the ladies' man."

"I'm never sure what something like that means."

She liked his response, she decided. It wasn't defensive, but it wasn't a total dodge, either--and he hadn't just pushed her off and told her his love life was none of her damn business. She stood back from the stove while the spaghetti cooked. "Tell me about your cats."

"They're stray Russian blues I rescued two years ago." He got a colander down from a hook. "I was working a case--I'd just started in internal affairs. I nailed a cop for hiring prostitutes on the job. I set up a stakeout, and here were these scrawny little kittens mewing in an alley."

"Do you have a soft heart, Cyrus Wisdom?"

He laughed, setting the colander in the sink. "It would be a serious mistake for anyone to think that. I took the cats home figuring I'd give them to a friend, but I ended up keeping them. They adopted me more than I adopted them. Bob's two younger daughters have been taking care of them."