Liar's Key. Carla Neggers

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      “I was due a visit to Declan’s Cross,” Sean said. “I only wanted a casual word with Oliver. I have no actionable reason to limit his movements in Ireland or to detain him. Then Mary told me about meeting him, and about this Deverell woman.”

      “You don’t think Claudia Deverell’s distillery tour and Oliver’s visit to Declan’s Cross are a coincidence?”

      Sean didn’t hesitate. “No.”

      Colin noted the bottles of Bracken Distillers whiskey lined up on a shelf, including the award-winning fifteen-year-old single malt that Finian Bracken had casked himself, before tragedy had changed his destiny. One rainy night after his arrival in southern Maine a year ago, he’d told Colin that drinking the rare peated expression and its nonpeated counterpart was like reaching into the past and touching the man he’d once been.

      It wasn’t difficult for Colin to picture his friend here as a young man, working night and day, shoulder to shoulder with his twin brother, to convert the abandoned seventeenth-century distillery just outside Killarney into a modern enterprise. Tilters at windmills, Finian said he and Declan had called themselves.

      “Do you know this Deverell woman?” Sean asked, bringing Colin back to the late spring evening and the business at hand.

      He shook his head. “I don’t.”

      “Her relationship with the Sharpes?”

      Colin debated for a fraction of a second. “Her family on her mother’s side has a house up the street in Heron’s Cove. I don’t know any details.”

      Sean pounced. “But you do know more,” he said.

      Colin saw no need to respond. He and Sean had met in Declan’s Cross last fall, over a murder that had involved both the Sharpes and the Donovans, at least on the periphery. While in the tiny Irish village, Colin had learned about a serial art thief who’d first struck the O’Byrne house ten years earlier and had been taunting the FBI and the Sharpes ever since.

      Sean resumed pacing in the small, rustic office. He finally stopped at a large wall calendar of the month of May, almost every day filled with penciled notes in what Colin assumed was Mary Bracken’s handwriting. “York’s untouchable,” Sean said, turning from the ragged calendar. “It’s impossible now to arrest him for the thefts in Declan’s Cross.” The Irish detective sucked in a breath. “I don’t need to tell you what he’s doing these days.”

      Working with MI5. No, Sean didn’t need to spell it out. “Did York come to Ireland alone?” Colin asked.

      “Apparently, yes,” Sean said. “I’m checking. Are you certain you’re in Ireland only because of your honeymoon?”

      “I’m being straight with you, Sean. That’s it. That’s why I’m here. Fin offered me use of his cottage and that’s where I’ve been until this afternoon.”

      “I know the place,” Sean said.

      Colin remembered that the detective’s friendship with Finian Bracken went back to the deaths almost eight years ago of Finian’s wife and two young daughters. Finian had been working here at the distillery, expecting to join his family on a sailing holiday. Before he could, a rogue wave capsized their boat. Sally Bracken and little Kathleen and Mary had all drowned.

      “You didn’t sound surprised I was in Ireland. Did Fin warn you I was coming, or do you have my name flagged so you’re notified when I enter the country?”

      Sean shrugged. “I spoke with Fin earlier.”

      Colin didn’t blame his fellow law enforcement officer for the incomplete answer.

      “Fin wasn’t concerned about Mary’s trip to Maine until I mentioned Oliver York,” Sean added. “But he knows her. She’s stubborn. She won’t change her plans.”

      “Stubbornness is a Bracken trait,” Colin said with a sigh. “Fin knows I’m here arranging my honeymoon but I haven’t mentioned it to anyone else. I’m keeping it a secret, especially from Emma. It’s a surprise. I want for us to visit Ireland as if we’re a pair of regular tourists.”

      “You don’t want your friends pestering you on your honeymoon,” Sean said, with the first hint of real amusement since he’d greeted Colin in the distillery parking lot.

      Colin grinned. “That, too.”

      “Well, your secret is safe with me. Where did you fly in from?”

      “Rome.”

      “Via Hell, I expect. I’m glad you’re safe, Colin.”

      “Thanks.” He didn’t elaborate on his whereabouts prior to Rome, and he knew Sean wouldn’t ask, as a professional, whatever his suspicions. “I planned to stay in Ireland through Saturday and head back on Sunday.”

      “The Sharpe open house is on Saturday.” Sean cocked an eyebrow. “Or is that why you’re here instead of in Maine?”

      “It’s a Sharpe thing. I don’t need to be there.” Colin didn’t know that Emma needed to be there, either. “I imagine Fin’s invited.”

      “He’s bringing Mary. She’s looking forward to it.”

      Colin could hear his friend’s ambivalence. Happy for Mary to visit her brother and have a harmless adventure or two. Uncertain about her leaving Ireland and her safe world at Bracken Distillers. “I wasn’t sure Wendell Sharpe would ever return to Maine,” Colin said, deliberately lightening his tone. “But he’s there. He wanted to be at the open house.”

      “That’s something, then.” Sean stared out at the quiet main floor. “You’re reconsidering your plans, aren’t you, Special Agent Donovan?”

      Colin stood up from the stool. Yesterday’s sleep had helped with some of the raw edges of his fatigue, but not enough. “I’m thinking about jumping on a flight to London and going to see Oliver.”

      The detective turned to him with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

      “I’ll bet you were,” Colin said. “You know, Oliver has a standing offer for me to stay in the guest suite at his London apartment.”

      Sean groaned. “Dear heaven. You aren’t considering—”

      “Not a chance. Just thought you’d appreciate a taste of how hard my job is.”

      “A sense of humor helps. Oliver York’s a character, I’ll say that. Quite the charming rogue, and a past I wouldn’t wish on anyone.” Sean glanced at his watch and stood abruptly. “Come. If we hurry, I can put you on a flight to London out of Kerry airport tonight.”

      “On what, a carrier pigeon?”

      “It’s a small airport but it offers several nonstop flights a day to London.” Sean moved toward the door. “You have your bag?”

      “In my car, which is a rental, by the way.”

      “I’ll take care of it. We want you on that СКАЧАТЬ