Keeper's Reach (13 page)

“I’d like that. You’ll give Mr. Hambly the name of his rescuer?”

“Oh, yes. I will describe Special Agent Kavanagh to him, too.”

“We don’t know if he’s an FBI agent—”

“
I
know.” Oliver turned up the collar to his jacket against a stiff breeze. “After your walk, my friend, we can discuss Irish saints and Irish art, and you can tell me what you learn about Naomi MacBride and Ted Kavanagh from Special Agent Donovan.”

14

Boston,
Massachusetts
Friday, 8:00 a.m., EST

Colin was on the interstate, heading north out of Boston, when his phone buzzed. He expected Mike or his mother, or even Emma, not Finian Bracken. He gritted his teeth as he answered. “Why are you hanging out with Oliver York?”

“It’s perfectly innocent. I can call back later if I’ve caught you at a bad time.”

“It’s not a bad time, Fin. What are you doing in England in the first place?”

“I joined Declan on a business trip to London.”

“And you just happened to end up in the Cotswolds with York?”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that. We ran into each other.”

“All right.” Nothing Colin could do now, since Finian was already at the York farm. “What’s up?”

“Oliver believes two FBI agents are following him.”

Two?

“Talk to me,” Colin said.

Finian explained. He was calm, deliberate and precise. The goings-on in England weren’t his first law enforcement issue since he and Colin had met on a dock in Rock Point last June. Finian had just arrived in the United States for his yearlong assignment. He had the means to go back to Ireland, give up the priesthood—live a quiet life—but so far, he was still serving struggling St. Patrick’s Church and coping with Colin and his brothers. And with Emma and the Sharpes.

“I can try to find the courier and ask him what he and Mr. Kavanagh talked about,” Finian said. “Perhaps if I’m not with Oliver—”

“Don’t, Fin. Stay out of this. Where are you now?”

“Walking. Oliver set me off on a route. I have a feeling he didn’t want me around when he spoke with Martin Hambly—you remember him, don’t you?”

“I told him that he and Oliver remind me of Batman and his stalwart manservant.”

“I don’t know Batman,” Finian said. “Before I set off on my walk, Oliver told me the courier picked up a package he sent to the rectory.”

“
Your
rectory?”

“Yes. It’s addressed to Emma.”

Emma hadn’t mentioned it when she’d called Colin Wednesday night. But why would she?

“Martin Hambly put the package out for the courier before he took a fall,” Finian said. “Oliver asked me if you can find out if it arrived. It’s a small matter, Colin. No need to trouble yourself.”

“What’s in the package, Fin?”

“
Nonsense
is the word Oliver used. He told Emma about it when he spoke to her Wednesday evening. Oliver likes to tweak the Sharpes, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, he does.”

“I can ask him about the package’s contents.”

“Do not do that.”

Colin heard his Irish friend take in a breath. “As you wish.”

“I don’t like Hambly’s fall,” Colin said. “Do you believe him when he says he doesn’t remember the details?”

“I do, as a matter of fact. He hopes he will remember more once he feels better.”

“But he won’t see a doctor.”

“Would you in his place?”

Colin didn’t answer. Traffic wasn’t bad heading north out of the city, even during morning rush hour. “How long are you planning to stay at York’s farm?”

“A night or two. I’m due back in Maine soon. You’ll check on the package? Do you think Emma picked it up?”

“She’s at the convent.”

“Oh, yes. Her retreat. I wouldn’t want to interrupt her. The package was due to arrive yesterday. She might have picked it up before she went on to the convent, but it’s hardly an urgent FBI matter.”

Maybe, Colin thought. And Emma definitely would have picked up a package from Oliver York, assuming it had arrived.

“Do you know who these two Americans are, Colin?” Finian paused. “You at least have an idea, don’t you?”

“An idea. Fin...” Colin inhaled. “Stay out of this.”

“Whatever
this
is,” Finian muttered.

A tractor-trailer truck whizzed past Colin. He had no reason to believe the man who had identified himself to the English innkeepers as Ted Kavanagh wasn’t, in fact, Mike’s FBI agent friend. Same with Naomi MacBride, the former State Department analyst. He’d dug up photos over coffee but wouldn’t send them to Fin Bracken in England. His Irish friend needed to wind up his visit to the Cotswolds.

Finian knew he was hanging out with an unrepentant art thief.

“How far are you walking?” Colin asked.

“It’s an eight-mile loop.”

“Do it twice,” Colin said.

After he disconnected, he jumped off the interstate and pulled into a gas station. He texted Mike.

Where are you?

Hurley’s.

Where is Naomi MacBride?

Across from me. Plum Tree is next.

Call me when you get free of her.

Mike didn’t respond. Colin knew he wouldn’t.

He was reasonably confident his older brother would call when he could.

Colin got out of his truck. He’d gas up and get more coffee.

His phone buzzed.

Finian again. This time, a text.

I stopped at the pub and spoke to the waiter again. A second man picked up the woman. Thirties, fair, well dressed.

Name?

Didn’t get one.

Okay. No more sleuthing. Got it?

Yes. Be well.

Colin slipped his phone back into his jacket pocket. If the second man Finian had described was Reed Cooper, then he, too, was either en route to Maine or there already. But what were Reed Cooper, Naomi MacBride and Ted Kavanagh doing in Oliver York’s Cotswolds village?

And what did all this have to do with Mike?

Colin pushed the questions aside. He’d be in Rock Point in an hour. First he’d check on York’s package. He didn’t want to bug Emma at the convent—he took her lack of response to his text as a hint—but he would get in touch with her if he needed her to provide answers about this mysterious package.

Then he’d head to the Plum Tree.

Time to meet Mike’s friends.

15

Southern Maine
Coast
Friday, 9:00 a.m., EST

Seeing Naomi again was affecting Mike more than he wanted to admit. She spun out of Hurley’s ahead of him, leaving him with the bill and his two youngest brothers.

“Have fun,” Andy, the lobsterman brother, said.

Kevin, off duty as a state marine patrol officer, just shook his head.

Naomi had held her own with them over breakfast. As if there’d been any doubt. Mike had thought Hurley’s made more sense than the inn with his folks, but now he wasn’t so sure.

Not a good start to the day.

She beat him back to his truck. She looked as if she’d just come in from London with her black trench coat, skinny jeans and ankle boots. He’d heard her shower running about an hour after he’d rolled out of bed. He’d stood at the window, trying to focus on the view of the harbor but instead seeing her in the shower with him three years ago.

Not good.

She was funny, irreverent, open by nature, sneaky by trade, insatiably curious and smart. She’d lost her father to a senseless IED and had done what she could to keep her mother from falling apart. She’d graduated from Vanderbilt with a double major in history and political science. After Vanderbilt, she moved to Washington and started work for the State Department. Eventually she’d ended up in Afghanistan.

When they’d first met, Mike had told her if she dyed her hair red, she could play Orphan Annie. Just an offhand comment. He hadn’t meant much by it, certainly hadn’t meant to demean her skills and stature as a civilian intelligence analyst. She’d called him a jackass and threatened to rain hell on him if he said anything like that again.

He hadn’t had to worry about intimidating her then, never mind now that he was an ex-soldier, an expert these days in canoeing, kayaking, wilderness camping and locating seals and puffins on the Maine coast.

She squinted out at the harbor, sparkling in the morning sun. Last night’s unsettled weather had cleared, leaving behind a cloudless sky and sharply colder temperatures. “It’s breathtaking, Mike. Good breakfast, good view. Can’t ask for more than that, except maybe grits on the menu and sixty degrees warmer.” She turned to him. “Ready for the Plum Tree?”

“Whenever you are.”

They got into his truck. He started the engine.

“Your truck could use heated seats,” she said.

“I hate heated seats.”

“Not me. I love them. Sums up the differences between you and me, doesn’t it?”

Probably it did.

She snapped her seat belt on. “Was Andy the lobsterman brother or the marine patrol officer brother?”

“Lobsterman.”

“And he’s the one seeing the local woman who is doing the marine biology internship in Ireland. You have an interesting family. Do you ever go winter camping with your brothers?”

“Sometimes.”

“I’m not sure
winter
and
camping
should be in the same sentence in Maine. It sounds cold.”

“It’s not cold if you’re prepared.”

“Not cold enough to kill you if you’re prepared, maybe.”

Mike didn’t try to explain the appeal of winter camping. He took the coastal road north out of Rock Point. He’d call Colin after they got settled at the Plum Tree. Mike wanted to see Reed first. He could tell Colin didn’t like this get-together. Couldn’t blame him. For all Mike knew, Colin had Naomi’s flight information. For sure he would know by now she had stayed in Rock Point last night. Kevin if not Andy would have told him.

Law enforcement officers, Mike thought.

“You know what, Mike?” Naomi gazed out her window. “I don’t regret visiting Rock Point. It helps me understand you better. Why you and I didn’t work.”

“Okay.”

“You don’t care, do you?”

“No.”

She turned to him with a smile. “You could have hesitated.”

He winked at her. “I’m not the hesitating type.”

“Forget it. You haven’t changed.” She made a face. “Sorry. That came out like an accusation and it wasn’t meant to. It’s just another fact. I’m sorry I called you a jackass last night, too. High emotion on top of a very long day, and jet lag is a recipe for blurting out the wrong thing.”

“I didn’t notice much difference from when you aren’t tired and jet-lagged.”

“Nice, Mike.”

He’d thought so but he noticed her sarcasm. He’d thought he was taking her off the hook for whatever she was worrying about having said wrong. He supposed he should have known better. Trying to talk to Naomi had always spun him dizzy.

The road took them close to the water but summer homes and businesses thinned out here. The Plum Tree was located past a headland where a lighthouse once stood. Now there was just the keeper’s house and a few summer homes, most of them small and fairly ordinary—not like the mansions down in Heron’s Cove.

“It’s beautiful here even this time of year.” Naomi sighed, watching the scenery. “Makes more sense why Reed picked Maine. I love the rocky coastline. Very picturesque. Does Maine have any sand beaches?”

“Down here,” Mike said. “Wells, Orchard Beach, Kennebunkport. Heron’s Cove has a decent beach. Not as many up north but there are a few small ones.”

“Somehow I don’t see you on a sandy beach. Do you even own a swimsuit?”

Mike didn’t answer. She was goading him, or having a little fun for herself. Either way, he wasn’t indulging her.

He turned into a long, paved driveway that wound between snowbanks to a Maine cottage-style building with weathered gray shingles and white shutters. An attractive sign decorated with what he assumed were plum blossoms announced that they had arrived at the Plum Tree Inn.

“Hard to take Reed and his guys seriously when they pick a place with a giant moose out front,” Naomi said, nodding to a metal statue by the inn’s front entrance.

“That’s a life-size moose,” Mike said.

“No kidding? Damn. What do I do if I meet up with a real one?”

“Let it go on its way.”

“Will do. I won’t need to be told twice.”

Mike knew she wasn’t afraid of moose any more than she was of him. She hopped out of the truck the second he pulled to a stop and got her bag, slinging the thick strap over one shoulder. He grabbed his duffel bag and met her at the rear of the truck. They could be a couple checking in for a romantic getaway, except the Plum Tree was closed for the season.

“I hadn’t planned to show up with you,” Naomi said.

“You’ll figure it out.”

“Reed’s a good guy.”

“You need him,” Mike said.

Naomi rolled her eyes. “No, Mike. Reed needs me. He’s new at being a private contractor. I’m not new at being a crisis management consultant.”

“I stand corrected.”

He started across the parking lot. She stayed up with him, despite her city boots and the sting of the icy wind off the water. Wind hadn’t been a problem in the protected harbor in Rock Point. They passed the moose, the metal twisted and shaped to create the appearance of motion. At the right angle, it probably could almost look like a real moose.

“I like him,” Naomi said. “I think you’re exaggerating about the size, though. Are there moose where you live?”

“Yes.” He didn’t bother to tell her he wasn’t exaggerating about the size. Naomi wasn’t thinking about moose, and he didn’t want to be.

When the front door to the attractive inn opened, Mike recognized Jamie Mason, the former Special Forces soldier who had stopped in Rock Point. Jamie was in his midforties, grayer, balder and paunchier than Mike remembered but not anyone he would want to underestimate.

Naomi greeted Jamie with a big smile and a hug. Old friends. Mike hadn’t remembered they knew each other.

Jamie’s eyes narrowed on Mike. “Long time, Mike.”

“Yep.”

“I hear you live up in moose country.”

“Bold Coast for a bold guy.”

Jamie ignored him.

“You’re in moose country right now, Jamie,” Mike added.

“Lucky us,” he said, holding the door for them.

Naomi leaned close to Mike as they entered a small, carpeted lobby decorated in seacoast blues and grays, with reproduction Early American furnishings. “I can rest my case,” she said in a low voice. “You haven’t matured.”

He shrugged. “Demonstrating I have a light side.”

“Light moments do not make a light side.”

Jamie had them leave their bags in the lobby and pointed them down a carpeted hall. “Last room on your left. The library. Reed will meet you there. I’ll let him know you’ve arrived.”

* * *

The library was in a small room that opened onto a covered porch and overlooked the water, glittering and blue under the morning sun and cloudless sky. Floor-to-ceiling shelves covered one wall and contained books, board games, puzzles and playing cards. There were comfortable-looking chairs and a love seat by a fireplace, and a few wooden card tables with folding chairs tucked under them.

A rail-thin man was shaking a Yahtzee cup onto a card table. He dumped the dice onto the table and grinned, eyes crinkling as he whooped. “Three deuces, two fives. Full house. Yay for me.”

Mike recognized the devil-may-care way that was pure Buddy Whidmore, tech expert, adventurer and Vanderbilt dropout—one of those guys too smart and restless for school. Buddy had been in Afghanistan, too, at least for a time. Mike wasn’t surprised to find Buddy currying favor with Reed Cooper. Buddy liked action, just not too much action.

“Buddy—I didn’t know you would be here.” Naomi laughed. “This party just keeps getting better.”

He set his Yahtzee cup on the table. “To think we could be meeting in Nashville instead of the frozen north. Your cheeks are pink from the cold, Naomi. Or is it the company?” Buddy tossed a die into the cup and grinned at Mike. “Mike Donovan. Damn. Great to see you.”

“Buddy.”

“How are you? Been ages.”

“Doing fine, thanks.” Mike hated small talk and wasn’t any good at it. “You?”

“Still doing my thing. I stay out of war zones these days, though. I keep thinking I’ll take on a regular job, but I’m a solo entrepreneur at heart. I like the freedom to come and go, work remotely, pick and choose the projects that excite me. It’s great. I was in Dubai last month on business. Ever been to Dubai, Mike?”

He nodded. He wasn’t talking about Dubai.

“Naomi and I both travel a lot, but we get together in Nashville for barbecue and bourbon when we can. Couldn’t do that with most desk jobs I’m qualified for. You, Mike? Is it true you’re a wilderness guide?”

“True.”

“Not much firepower required in that job, is there?”

Mike didn’t answer.

Buddy put away his Yahtzee game. He had on a bright plaid flannel shirt, jeans sunk low on his thin hips, a Predators cap and canvas shoes that would give him cold feet if he stayed outside for long. He shoved the game box onto a shelf. “Reed’s setting up a room for a lunch meeting. He’s got folders and everything. I feel like I’m in a bank, applying for a mortgage.”

Naomi eased over to French doors that opened onto the porch. “It’s so pretty and romantic here with the snow, ice, rocks and ocean. I can picture myself sitting by a roaring fire with a stack of books and a mug of hot cocoa.” She looked back at Mike. “Does that describe your life, Mike?”

He decided he had been out of his mind to come here. “Sure.”

She grinned at him. “Liar. The stack of books, maybe. I don’t see you with hot cocoa.” She turned to Buddy. “I’m just back from London and still a little jet-lagged.”

“Did you work nonstop as usual?” he asked her.

“I took a few good walks.”

Reed Cooper entered the library. “Like to Scotland and back. I’ve never seen anyone who loves to walk the way you do, Naomi.” He strode over to Mike and shook hands with him. “It’s good to see you. Thanks for coming. Damn—you haven’t changed a bit. I know it’s only been a few years but it seems like forever.”

“Good to see you, too, Reed,” Mike said.

“I hope we didn’t catch you in the middle of skinning a moose.”

“Working on my canoe lately.”

“One of the tools of your trade, I guess. You won’t be needing a canoe for a while. May? June?”

Mike shrugged. “Depends.”

Naomi eased onto a love seat. The grace with which she moved always took Mike by surprise, given her high energy. “I’ll sit quietly and let you all get reacquainted. Or do you want me to clear out?”

“Please, stay,” Reed said. “How was your flight?”

“Fine. I caught up on movies and resisted alcohol since I knew I’d be seeing you all today and I didn’t want a hangover.”

Reed didn’t look amused. He’d had a limited sense of humor when Mike knew him in the army, and that obviously hadn’t changed. Naomi wouldn’t care. She’d keep up with the smart remarks if it suited her. It was her personality, but it was also her way of establishing her independence and authority.

She jumped to her feet. She couldn’t have been sitting for more than ten seconds. “I’m going to find Serena Mason and get her to point me to the girliest room in this place. I hope it’s the warmest, too. I didn’t have time to go back to Nashville and pack my winter clothes. Not that I have clothes suited to a Maine winter. Did you swing through Rock Point on your way up here, Reed?”