Heron's Cove. Carla Neggers
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he tell you to say that?” Colin turned back to his chowder. “As I pointed out to him, I had already escaped when the cavalry arrived. I do allow that if they hadn’t swooped in when they did, my new friends could have doubled back and thrown me to the gators.”
“That wouldn’t have been good,” Emma said.
“It would not. Then where would you be?” He picked up his spoon, dipped it into the milky chowder. “Sleeping alone in my bed again.”
She helped herself to an oyster cracker. She knew what he was getting at, had suspected it was coming. How much would she tell him about her source? How much could she tell him? She’d had a good chunk of last night and all day to prepare her response, but Tatiana Pavlova’s arrival in Heron’s Cove, with her talk of Dmitri Rusakov, had further muddled the situation.
“The call came to my cell phone. Not to your house phone.” Emma kept her tone even, without a hint of defensiveness. “Yank knew I was at your house because he asked and I told him. Father Bracken had organized a whiskey tasting.”
“What was your favorite?”
“I just know I don’t like the heavily peated ones.”
“An acquired taste.”
“Colin—”
“It’s okay, Emma.” His eyes softened. “It’s been a long month. You can sleep in my bed anytime.”
In other words, his questions about last night could wait.
“Were my brothers good to you while I was away?” he asked.
She nodded. “Mike’s not a big fan but we do all right.”
“Mike’s not a big fan of anyone.”
“He’s been down here more because of your family’s concern for you.”
Finian Bracken arrived, wearing his black suit and Roman collar today. He stopped short when he saw Emma. “Am I interrupting?”
“Not at all,” Emma said with a smile.
Colin eased off his stool. “It’s good to see you, Fin.” He clapped the priest on the shoulder in a warm greeting. “Mike, Andy and Kevin will be here in a few minutes.”
“They’re outside now,” Finian said.
“Then grab some glasses and pour the Bracken 15 year old.”
Finian glanced past him at Emma. “Wine for you tonight?”
“Nothing for me, thanks,” she said, standing up. “I’ll let you gentlemen enjoy your evening.”
“Good to see you, as always,” Finian said, then headed to his favorite table by the window.
Emma buttoned her jacket, aware of Colin’s gaze on her. His questions about the past twenty-four hours wouldn’t wait forever. He wanted answers. But she saw the cut on his right temple, the fatigue in his eyes and the stiffness with which he moved, and she knew this wasn’t the time or the place for a serious conversation.
He needed tonight with his brothers and his Irish priest friend.
He seemed to guess what she was thinking and slipped an arm around her waist. “Missed you, babe.”
“I missed you, too. Be with your family and friends.” She leaned into him, just for an instant. “I’ll see you soon.”
He patted her hip. “Real soon.”
Emma managed to get out of there without running into his brothers. It was colder, clearer than last night. She listened to the tide wash in on the sand and smooth stones. A bright star had come out above the harbor. She took in a deep breath. She could still feel Colin’s strength and warmth—as well as his questions, his doubts.
If Natalie Warren was bringing the Rusakov collection to Heron’s Cove, would Dmitri Rusakov be right behind her?
Would Ivan Alexander be with him?
“Your man is in danger.”
Emma put her own doubts and questions out of her mind as she watched Mike, Andy and Kevin Donovan walk up the stairs to Hurley’s. They were one reason Colin could bounce back from the dangers he faced. His resilience wasn’t just due to his training and experience, or even his nature. It was also due to his family and friends, the solid foundation he had in Rock Point.
A gust of cold wind propelled her into her car. She debated what to do. She could stay at her parents’ house in Heron’s Cove, Lucas’s house, with friends. At the Sharpe house. The state of renovations meant it wasn’t as comfortable as in the past, but she’d manage.
She could check on Tatiana Pavlova and see if she was in her rented cottage, working on sketches.
Emma started her car. She needed to get in touch with Lucas and her grandfather in Dublin.
Would her grandfather remember Dmitri Rusakov?
“Of course he would,” she said aloud.
Wendell Sharpe remembered everything.
She noticed the bag of Northern Spy apples on her front passenger seat. She’d bought them at her visit to the orchard that afternoon, before her attempt at a flat wash. They were perfect for pies.
Tough to bake a pie in the Sharpe kitchen.
Emma smiled and decided she might as well head up to Colin’s house after all.
4
FINIAN BRACKEN MARVELED at the camaraderie of the Donovans and the obvious, if unstated, relief and pleasure they shared at being together after the fear and worry of recent days. He had poured Bracken 15 year old for all four brothers and even a taoscán for himself.
“Did we run Emma off?” Mike asked, tasting his whiskey. “I think she peeled rubber getting out of the parking lot.”
Colin shook his head. “She would have stayed if she wanted to.”
“She’s as bullheaded in her own way as you are,” Kevin said.
Andy grinned but was quiet as the eldest Donovan swirled the whiskey in his glass. “What did you call this, Father?” Mike asked. “Not a dram. Some unpronounceable Irish word.”
“Taoscán,” Finian said.
Mike gave a mock shudder. “I’ll never get it right.” He set his glass down on the worn table. “The Sharpe house is torn up for renovations. Emma’s not driving back to Boston, is she?”
“She’s not picky,” Colin said. “She’ll sleep on the floor if she has to.”
Kevin reached for the water pitcher. “I have to remember she’s an ex-nun. She can tolerate spare conditions. Right, Father Bracken?”
Finian wasn’t getting into the middle of this particular discussion. “The Sisters of the Joyful Heart have a lovely convent. As a matter of fact, I just came from there. A young woman stopped me at the gate to ask about the sisters’ work in the arts and art conservation. She’s an artist herself. A jeweler in London.”
“Maybe she’s an ex-nun, too,” Mike said.
Finian suspected Colin’s brothers were ambivalent about his relationship with Emma less because she was an FBI agent and a Sharpe than because she had once come close to professing her final vows as a religious sister. Chastity, obedience, poverty. The profession of vows wasn’t as simple as it might seem and involved deep thought, study, prayer and reflection. Emma had come to the right decision for her.
All that was for her and the Donovans to sort out among themselves.
Finian continued with his story. “I don’t think the woman who spoke to me was a nun, or even considering the convent. She lives in London but she’s Russian. She has the most charming accent.”