Carla Neggers: The Whisper

"Scoop...I haven't..." She wasn't sure how to get the words out. "It's been a long time."

"Good," he whispered, easing his fingers into her, where she was hot, ready. "I'll be gentle."

She smiled. "Not too gentle."

She tore at his shirt, but he didn't budge, just moved his fingers deeper, probing, his thumb circling, until she cried out and gave herself up to the sensations coursing through her. He kissed her, his tongue matching the erotic rhythm of his fingers. With his free hand, he caught her nipple between his fingertips.

"I can't last," she said between kisses.

"Then don't."

"I want to feel you inside me."

"You will," he said, driving his fingers in faster, even deeper. "Trust me, Sophie, you will."

She was gone, rocking against him, letting the waves take her. He wasted no time. He got his clothes off in short order, and he came to her, easing on top of her. She ran her palms along his hips, up his back, feeling the strong muscles, the ripples of scars. Just the touch of him against her sent a bolt of urgency through her. He must have felt it, or was past his limits. He entered her, careful at first, but she was more than ready.

In seconds, they were in unison, fused, responding, giving--knowing where and when to touch, to move--and when she came this time, it was with him, together.

Later, she propped herself up on one elbow and looked at him in the fading light. "You're an amazing man, Cyrus Wisdom, but I think it was my mud-encrusted wellies that caught your eye in Ireland."

"Must have been," he said, laughing as he took her back in his arms.

28

Sophie walked over to the Boston-Cork folklore conference offices after a pleasant breakfast with Scoop. They'd agreed not to discuss anything to do with the police investigations. They had no trouble finding subjects of mutual interest. Afterward, she e-mailed Wendell Sharpe and asked him about the Carlisle Museum and anyone Percy Sr. fired who was still in the art world--who could, she thought but didn't say, want revenge.

He replied immediately: Everyone fired checks out.

She found Eileen Sullivan back in Colm Dermott's office, staring out at the Charles River. "I've been thinking about taking up rowing," she said, then shifted to Sophie. "I heard about Frank Acosta, Sophie. Even my brother's shaken by what's happened. I can't talk to him about it, but I believe Cliff planted that bomb. I've been thinking a lot about him. He was filled with entitlement and envy."

"That's a difficult place to be."

"Yes, it is. He was retiring. His wife had left him. His children didn't like being around him. He was bitter and alone." Eileen turned from the window and seemed to shake off her melancholy. "Keira and Simon will be back in Boston soon. They want to stay here. Make a home together. She thought I rejected her when I adopted a religious life. I didn't--but I hadn't chosen that life for all the right reasons."

"What kind of life do you want now?"

She smiled, a spark in her eyes now. "The one I have. I'm looking forward to going back to Ireland at Christmas with Keira and my brother and nieces. I'll go again in April for the Cork part of the conference."

"I hope all your lives will be back to normal by then." Sophie withdrew a sheet of paper from her bag and handed it to Eileen. "I brought a draft of what I want to do with the panel. I e-mailed it to Colm already."

They returned to her office and discussed the conference for a few minutes, Sophie impressed with Eileen Sullivan's knowledge and enthusiasm for her work and the topics they'd cover. She was open-minded and kind, and if she was still haunted by her encounter with a serial killer, she'd found a way to cope.

"When Keira and Simon are back," she said, "we'll have to get you together with them."

"I'd love that," Sophie said, the older woman's optimism infectious.

Tim called her on her way back down the stairs to the street. "I'm on the pier. The Brits will be here in seconds, but I wanted to tell you first. The photo you sent me of this police officer who was hanged? I just showed it to an old fisherman I know. I didn't think of it before now. He remembers seeing him."

"Last year?"

"Oh, yes. He has a great memory for faces. I don't, but I'm sure I never met him."

"Where did this fisherman see him?"

"He was on the pier asking about hiring a boat. He specifically asked about me."

"And he's sure it was Cliff Rafferty?"

"He's sure, Sophie. The Brits and the guards can check the dates Rafferty was here and see if it was the same time you had your misadventure."

"He told me he'd been to Ireland," Sophie said half to herself. "He could have been anticipating someone would remember him, or look into whether he'd been to Ireland if he came under suspicion. Was anyone with him?"

"Not that my friend saw."

Sophie became aware of Frank Acosta behind her on the wide sidewalk. He eased in alongside her just as she hung up with Tim. "That Cliff," Acosta said, shaking his head. "He never could get out of his own damn way."

"You seem to be in good shape today."

"I woke up with a hell of a headache, but, yeah, I'm fine. Relax, Doc. I'm on your side." Acosta gave her a relaxed, sexy grin. "Sophie security."

She slowed her pace, unsettled at having him there with her. "I have a feeling you're on your own side."

"Which is the same as being on your side."

"Don't you have a partner?"

"Day off. I'm recuperating. It's a beautiful autumn morning." He touched her elbow. "Let's just keep walking."

"Is that an order from a police officer?"

"Nah. We're meeting your pal Scoop at the Carlisle house. I'll keep you company while we wait."

Scoop would have told her if he wanted her to meet him anywhere. "What about Helen Carlisle? Is she--"

"She's waiting for us."

Sophie slowed her pace. Her iPhone dinged, announcing a text message. It was from Damian. She saw Don't go near Helen Carlisle before Acosta took her phone. He glanced at the screen. "You don't want your FBI agent brother to worry, do you, Sophie?"

"What are you doing?"

"I'm lousy with these things. Let's see." He typed onto the screen. "N-o p-r-o-b-l-e-m. There. That'll do it. Let me hit Send and we're done." He smiled at her and tucked the iPhone into his pocket. "There. All set."

"What else did Damian say?"

"Nothing." Acosta tightened his grip on her elbow. "Come on. Helen's waiting."

"You saw my brother's warning. He's an FBI agent." Sophie's step faltered. "Detective Acosta, if Helen Carlisle isn't--"

"I didn't kill Cliff. He was a lazy son of a bitch, but we were partners." Acosta glared down at Sophie. "Helen didn't kill him, either."

"You're a dirty cop."

He laughed. "Time for a shower. I just saved your brother from a lot of fretting over nothing. Helen's not what either of you thinks." He edged in very close to her. "Don't make me throw you in handcuffs. I thought it was you and Percy. I thought you two went after Cliff because he figured out you'd hooked up with Augustine over the missing artifacts."

"Where's Percy now?"

"Hiding. He's a chicken at heart."

"Then who killed Cliff? Who do you think hit you on the head yesterday and tried to drown you? Not me, I hope. I saved your life--"

"You could have known Scoop was coming. Maybe Percy hired someone to get rid of me. He's rich." Acosta glanced down at Sophie. "Relax, Sophie. I haven't ruled you out entirely but I don't think you were a part of it."

"I wasn't," she said. "Neither was Percy. Be smart, Detective. If Helen--"

"Enough, Doc. Let's go meet Scoop and talk to Helen. I want you to see you're wrong."

Half shoving her, half dragging her, he took her to the side entrance of the Carlisle house. "For all I know," he said, "Cliff killed himself and homicide's putting out misinformation. Maybe he committed suicide after all. He was an experienced cop. He knew how to create a suspicious crime scene. He knew Scoop was onto him for the bomb and I was onto him for the missing artifacts."