Liar's Key. Carla Neggers

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СКАЧАТЬ went into Matt Yankowski’s office. His windows overlooked Boston Harbor, glistening in the morning sun. Yank had her sit on a chair facing his desk and he didn’t interrupt her report on her brief, odd meeting with the retired agent.

      When she finished, Yank grimaced. In his midforties, he was a good-looking, straight-arrow, buttoned-down agent out of central casting—except nothing about him was that simple. It was a lesson Emma had learned early in the four-plus years she’d known him. “Do you have anything on these stolen mosaics?” he asked.

      She shook her head. “No.”

      Yank’s eyes narrowed. “But?”

      “It’s entirely possible Alessandro Pearson’s death triggered the rumor mill. Something to do with his estate, maybe. Wild imaginations. I don’t know.”

      “Could York and MI5 be creating the rumors to stir the pot?”

      “Anything is possible.”

      “Right now I wish your brother and grandfather hadn’t put Gordon Wheelock on their guest list. Do you know which one of them had that bright idea, when and why?”

      “I don’t.”

      “But you’re going to ask,” Yank said.

      “I’m heading up to Maine after I’m done here.”

      He heaved a sigh. “Did you know about this London party?”

      “No.”

      “But your parents were there as well as Oliver York. I was afraid his name would come up when I heard Gordy Wheelock had an appointment with you. Does York know Gordy investigated the thefts?”

      “Undoubtedly.”

      “What about Gordy—does he know Oliver’s the serial art thief he and your grandfather chased for years?”

      “I don’t think so, but that’s only a guess. Gordy’s certainly suspicious of my relationship with Oliver.”

      “He’ll figure it out, then.”

      “I would bet on that.”

      “Was Oliver at this party because Gordy was, or was it the other way around and Gordy was there because of Oliver?”

      “I’ve already texted Oliver asking him to get in touch with me.”

      “You said please, since he’s a British citizen protected by MI5?”

      Emma shrugged, ignoring Yank’s sarcasm. “Whatever it takes.”

      Yank looked pained. “I was hoping we were done with him for a while.”

      “Same here.”

      “Yeah. I ran into Gordy before he left. He invited me outside for a cigarette. Sarcastic SOB. He knows I don’t smoke. I said no. He never approved of HIT. He wrote a letter to the director articulating his disapproval. No love lost between us, but there’s no question he was one of the best.” Yank pushed back his chair and rose. “When I’m done with this job, I’m going quietly. I’ll go for long runs on the Esplanade, take up tai chi and help Lucy run her knitting shop.”

      Emma got to her feet. Lucy was Yank’s wife, a psychologist who’d been reluctant to move from their home in northern Virginia. She’d finally agreed to move north and was adapting to Boston life, moving into a Back Bay apartment and opening a knitting shop. She and Yank had no children, and he was convinced she would go back to psychology. Colin was, too, but Emma wasn’t. Lucy Yankowski was getting into yarns, needles, knitting patterns and classes.

      “Oliver’s an expert in tai chi,” Emma said finally, with a slight smile.

      Yank scowled as he came around his desk. “Do we have a bored retired agent on our hands who’s trying to connect dots that don’t connect because he wants to feel relevant, or is Gordy Wheelock on to something?”

      “I can’t say for certain.”

      “I’m not asking for certainty. I’m asking for your gut take on what he’s up to.”

      Emma tended to be analytical and objective, gathering bits and pieces of information and evidence and letting them point her in the right direction. Gut takes were Colin’s strength, given his training, experience and natural instincts, and an asset in his work as an undercover agent.

      “Gordy was deliberate and reasonably well prepared,” she said. “But he wasn’t in great shape, whether it was jet lag or what, I don’t know. I didn’t work with him during his last few months on the job. I’ll look into what he left unfinished.”

      Yank nodded. “Good. Gordy could have made up the rumors to get in here and try to pump you for information. Him, MI5, Oliver York and your family. Not my favorite combination.” He heaved another sigh. “I don’t need more Sharpe trouble, Emma. I really don’t.”

      “Understood.”

      She headed out of his office, shutting the door behind her. To get to her own office, she had to pass through an open-layout area of tables and cubicles where HIT team members could meet or work on their own. Sam Padgett, the newest member, had set up at a U-shaped table with his wireless keyboard, laptop, separate monitor, a stack of printed spreadsheets and notebooks and several Sharpies. He was a dark, ultrafit, good-looking Texan, full of contradictions and foiled stereotypes, an expert marksman, a whiz at numbers and a total wimp when it came to New England winters. He’d arrived in Boston last fall and Emma swore no one had ever been so happy to see the green grass of spring.

      He looked up at her. “Bad?”

      “Not great. A retired agent was just here. Gordon Wheelock. Did you see him?”

      “Nope. I was in my office gathering up my gear so I could spread out here.”

      “And he didn’t see you?”

      Padgett shook his head. He had on a dark suit, a crisp white shirt and loosened red tie, but he always managed to look casual. “Why, you want me to tail him?”

      “Maybe,” Emma said, then explained the situation. “Think you can find out where he stayed last night? Knowing Gordy, it will be convenient and relatively inexpensive.”

      “I never use inexpensive and Boston in the same sentence. Convenient to here?”

      “He mentioned penguins. Try near the aquarium. I’m concerned he’s working his own agenda and could infringe on something he shouldn’t.”

      “A freelancing retiree. Just what we need. I’ll go see the penguins. You off to Maine?”

      “I’m on my way out now. I’m supposed to have lunch tomorrow with my future mother-in-law.”

      “Lobster rolls and wild blueberry pie?”

      “Very possibly. They’re not quintessential Maine foods for no reason.”

      “No doubt. I’ve met your future mother-in-law. Nothing fazes her. You can tell.”

      Emma СКАЧАТЬ