The Whisper. Carla Neggers

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СКАЧАТЬ all that, her life was again disrupted when Norman Estabrook decided to exact revenge. He’d trusted Simon, never once thinking he was an undercover FBI agent. As payback for what Estabrook regarded as Simon’s betrayal, he’d sent a killer after Keira. She and Lizzie had stopped him in the ancient stone circle just down the lane.

      And now here we are again, Josie thought. Lizzie, hotelier and daughter of a spy. Keira, artist and folklorist. The two women were in love with dangerous men, and not a little dangerous themselves.

      And me?

      She was the enigmatic British spy, she thought with amusement and just a touch of bitterness. After Myles, she’d given up hope of having a normal relationship with a man.

      Any relationship at the rate she’d been going for the past two years.

      Now what? Myles was alive and he wasn’t a traitor, but nothing would ever be the same between them. There was no going back to their lives prior to his supposed death and treachery. He’d made his choices.

      Lizzie sighed, shaking her head. “Stop kidding yourself, Josie.”

      “What?”

      “You’re as in love with Myles Fletcher as ever.”

      “As ever? I’ve never been in love with him—”

      Lizzie and even Keira burst into laughter. Josie suppressed a flicker of impatience. What did these two women know about her life? But she knew her mood had nothing to do with them and everything to do with those few minutes with Myles that afternoon. Being near him again after two years hadn’t been what she’d expected. She could almost feel his mouth on hers, his hands on her—the path to ruin, that sort of thinking.

      “All right, then,” she said briskly. “It’s late and I’m hungry. What shall we fix for supper?”

      Lizzie raised her eyebrows. “You’re blushing. A stiff-upper-lip MI6 agent—”

      “I keep Will Davenport’s calendar,” she said with a mock sniff, “nothing more.”

      “Myles will come back to you,” Keira said softly.

      Josie snorted. First the bloody bastard had to live through the week. But she smiled and reached for her coat. “Shall we just head to the pub before Eddie O’Shea closes up for the night?”

      Keira slipped on a long, thick sweater. “You’re not going to tell us where Myles, Simon and Will have gone, are you, Josie?”

      “You’re assuming I know.”

      “They’re not fishing in Scotland, that’s for sure,” Lizzie muttered.

      She led the way out into the night. She looked as if she could have slept on bare rock in a gale and awakened fresh and ready to go. Josie found herself wanting to tell her new friends more about herself, but she knew she wouldn’t. Let them wonder about the true nature of her work without any confirmation or elaboration from her. That she wanted to chat with them just proved how comfortable she was with these two women.

      Quite scary, actually.

      Discovering Myles wasn’t dead or a traitor had thrown her off completely. She’d become so accustomed to shutting off any thought of him—any feeling. She couldn’t bear thinking about him. Then all of a sudden…there he was, mixed up with a dangerous American billionaire and chasing terrorists.

      He’d never expected to survive this mission. She’d seen that in his gray eyes just a few hours ago.

      Couldn’t she have found an easier man to love?

      It was almost ten o’clock when they arrived at the pub. Eddie O’Shea was closing up, but he let them in and served them fish soup and warm brown bread that he said his no-account brother Patrick had made. Josie sat with Keira and Lizzie at a table by the peat fire, Eddie’s springer spaniel sleeping soundly on the hearth.

      “You look worried,” Lizzie said.

      Josie nibbled on one last bite of bread, liberally spread with Irish butter. “I have this terrible sense of foreboding.” She realized what a ridiculous and unhelpful thing that was to say and attempted a smile to cover for herself. “Perhaps it’s just due to an impending bad night on the sofa.”

      “Don’t worry about Keira and me, all right? Do what you have to do.” Lizzie leaned back, as at ease in the simple Irish pub as she was in one of her family’s hotels—or Will Davenport’s mansion in the Scottish Highlands. “Keira and I can check with Colm Dermott in Cork on our way to Dublin and ask him about Sophie. We’ll be fine.”

      Josie had no doubt about their abilities, but they would also follow a lead if one came to them. They were curious about Scoop Wisdom’s archaeologist. Just because he was a police officer who’d just recovered from serious injuries sustained in a bomb blast and just because Myles had been at Keira’s cottage didn’t mean there was any danger in asking questions about Sophie Malone.

      Didn’t mean there wasn’t, either, Josie thought, tempted to order Irish whiskey to go with her soup and bread.

      Keira twisted her hands together, as if they’d gone too long already without holding brushes and pencils. “It’s not as if I don’t have time to kill,” she said wistfully. “I haven’t a single image in my head to draw or paint.”

      Josie recognized her new friend’s malaise for what it was—painter’s block. Perhaps a trip to Cork and Dublin would be a good distraction. It certainly wasn’t on the face of it unsafe, but as they headed out onto the dark, quiet lane, Josie couldn’t suppress what she could only describe as a chill up her spine.

      She blamed Myles Fletcher and wished she’d ordered that whiskey after all.

      6

      Shannon, Ireland

       S coop eased into the security line at Shannon Airport before the long flight back across the Atlantic. He’d stayed in a lousy hotel a few miles from the airport, its saving grace a full Irish breakfast that had helped chase off his bad dreams about scary dogs and mean fairies.

      Definitely good to be heading home.

      He spotted red hair about ten people ahead of him and immediately thought of Sophie Malone—not a reassuring sign of his state of mind before a seven-hour flight. He took another look, figuring he had to be wrong, but there she was—the redheaded archaeologist he’d met yesterday morning and a British spy had warned him about yesterday afternoon.

      She grabbed a bin, turned and waved, smiling as if she’d expected to find him behind her in a line at the airport.

      Scoop got through security and caught up with her in the busy duty-free shop. She wore slim black pants and a long dark gray sweater, a contrast to her muddy hiking clothes and bright blue rain jacket of yesterday. Her hair was pulled back but still had a wild look to it. He’d showered, shaved and put on his most comfortable khakis and lightweight sweater.

      “We must be on the same flight,” he said.

      “Lucky us.” She opened the glass door of a cooler and reached inside. “Water?”

      “Yeah, СКАЧАТЬ