Carla Neggers - The Whisper

Her throat tightened with unexpected emotion. "You've had a terrible time, Scoop. You're so strong and so focused on the present--at least you come across that way--that it's easy to forget what you've gone through. Do you want to retire from the Boston Police Department after you put in your twenty or thirty years?"

"You're thinking about Cliff," he said.

"I want to know about you."

"The job's a good one."

"Not everything is as it appears to be with you, is it?"

His dark eyes narrowed on her. "If you're a thief and you're lying to me--"

"If you're a bad cop and you're lying to me..."

She grabbed potholders and poured the spaghetti into the colander, steam from the hot water rising in her face, probably turned her skin red. She set the empty pot back on the stove. The sauce was simmering. The salad was made. Why did she feel so out of her element?

"I'm not a bad cop," Scoop said, "and I'm not lying to you."

He caught her in his arms, and Sophie placed her hands on his waist. He was muscular, sexy. Even through his shirt, she could feel the ragged edges of the scars from the bomb. "Scoop..." Rarely at a loss for words, she couldn't think of what to say. "I'm glad I met you, and I'm glad I met you the way I did."

"Covered in mud, with a big black dog at your side. Think he's a shape-shifter?"

She smiled. "Right now anything feels possible."

His mouth found hers, and this time it wasn't a light kiss. He drew her against him, lifting her off her feet as they deepened their kiss. "Sophie, Sophie," he said, lowering his hands to her hips, lifting her higher. He smiled, setting her back down. "Ah, Sophie. I do like saying your name."

"The sauce is about to boil over."

He winked at her. "So it is."

Taryn called later that evening, when Sophie was back in her room at the Whitcomb, her laptop out on her bed as she went over study skills sheets for her tutoring students. "I'm in New York," Taryn said. "I feel guilty for leaving you alone. Damian's threatening to fly up there as soon as he can get away. Do you want me to call Mom and Dad and get them to Boston?"

"No, let them enjoy their hike. And Damian should focus on his job. I'm fine."

"Where is Scoop Wisdom right now?"

"About ten yards from me."

"Sophie!"

She smiled. "He's not stalking me. He's in the next room at the Whitcomb."

"I guess that's good. If there's anything I can do, call me. Don't hesitate. I can figure out London."

"What about Tim O'Donovan?"

Her sister gave a small laugh. "I can't figure him out at all."

23

Kenmare, Southwest Ireland

Josie stood on a stone bridge above a waterfall that tumbled over black rocks, forming whitecaps and filling the air with its soothing rhythmic sound. She'd gone on ahead while Myles showered and dressed back at the Malone house. He'd catch up with her. They'd both needed a moment to themselves before they got too deep into the day. She wasn't confused, but she was unsure of the way forward. The past was falling away, no longer tearing at her.

Myles was alive. He'd come back from the dead.

He acted as if he'd never gone, but that was Myles. The reasons he could carry on as if nothing had happened were the same reasons he'd taken on his difficult mission in the first place--the same reasons he'd survived. He was resilient. He learned from the past and planned for the future, but he lived in the moment.

She saw him coming toward her, ambling as if he were just another tourist off for a wander in the Irish hills. When he reached her, he leaned over the stone wall. "You'd hit your head on a rock if you tried to dive in there," Josie said.

"I was thinking we could spend the day fly-fishing."

She gave a mock shudder. "I'd rather take on blood-smeared branches. I tell people Will's fishing in Scotland when he doesn't want to answer questions."

"It's not questions I'm avoiding. I actually do want to go fly-fishing."

"How long has it been since you've taken time just to be yourself, Myles?"

"I'm myself now."

"I meant--"

"I know what you meant." He wasn't being abrupt, but he'd made it clear he wasn't going there, either. "You're the boss. Where to from here?"

"We need to find Percy Carlisle. I suggest we start with Tim O'Donovan."

"All right, then."

They continued on foot toward the village and walked out to the pier, but O'Donovan was already off on his boat for the day. Josie debated hiring a boat herself and chasing after him, but she hadn't a clue where to start--and she didn't particularly care for boats. Myles suggested they return to the Malone house. Not bloody likely, Josie thought. With the dreary weather, they'd be tempted to light a fire and spend the day being utterly useless, which she suspected was Myles's aim.

Instead she decided they ought to head to a quiet pub, sit by the fire and review all they knew. Myles didn't object, and as they walked to the village, she texted Seamus Harrigan to join them at his convenience. In the meantime, maybe they'd get lucky and Percy Carlisle would wander in, or someone who knew him. They had his photo and both she and Myles had committed his face to memory.

"This could end badly," Josie said.

Myles slung an arm over her shoulder and gave her a good squeeze. "We'll do all we can to make sure it doesn't."

24

Boston, Massachusetts

Sophie woke up far too early and had coffee with Jeremiah Rush in the lobby of the Whitcomb. "Do you sleep under your desk with your golden retriever? I swear you're here all the time."

"Now there's a thought. Get a dog's view of the family business." He grinned at her, clearly no longer the high school kid she'd known when she worked there. "All's well this morning, Sophie?"

"I hope so."

"Where's your detective?"

" My detective, Jeremiah?"

"Sparks, Sophie. Sparks."

"I think something weird happened in the Irish ruin where we met. I'm--I can't explain it."

"You're crazy about him."

She sighed. It seemed so soon. So fast. Maybe that was partly because everything else in her life was slow. She'd been in school forever. Her dissertation had taken forever to write. Even archaeology was by its nature painstaking, breakthroughs seldom happening fast or suddenly--certainly not as fast and suddenly as Scoop's entrance into her life. He'd been on the Beara Peninsula for two weeks before they'd run into each other. She'd been in Kenmare most of that time. Maybe being in such close proximity had had an effect.

She smiled at Jeremiah. "Tell me about what's going on with you these days."

They chatted a few minutes, Jeremiah making her laugh with tales of his family and hotel life. Finally Sophie refilled her coffee, grabbed a muffin and asked him if he'd let Scoop know she was going to the Carlisle Museum. "It's a beautiful day," she said, heading for the exit. "Tell him I'm walking."

"You don't think he has you under surveillance?"

"Thanks, Jeremiah, that's just what I needed on my mind."

"Hey, we're a full-service hotel."

Charles Street was quiet, the morning air crisp and bright. In no hurry, Sophie turned onto Beacon Street and meandered through the narrow downtown streets with her coffee and muffin, reconnecting with being back in Boston. It was a great walking city, and she loved to walk. She continued past Government Center and on to the waterfront, where the Carlisle Museum was located in a low, renovated brick building on its own wharf. By the time she got there, the main offices were open, although the museum itself wouldn't open until ten. A stone walkway took her through a garden of herbs, wild asters and coneflowers to the administrative entrance.

The receptionist, a young woman with spiky jet-black hair, was new since Sophie had done research at the museum. She recognized Sophie's name. "I'm majoring in art history," she said. "Your article on Irish Iron Age art was assigned reading in one of my classes. Helen Carlisle said you might come by now that you're back from Ireland."