Shiver of Fear (38 page)

“Precisely,” ASAC Lang confirmed. “We closed in on MacCauley the week your husband was killed, and he presented us with this
proposal. He knew Liam Baird through his distant relatives in Belfast, and Baird had asked him for help on his project. Finn
asked Dr. Greenberg to go undercover.”

She managed not to react. “They were in touch?”

“Evidently he maintained contact with her, but only because of you.”

Was Sharon telling the truth when she said Finn had tried to get a pardon because he wanted Devyn’s forgiveness and a relationship?
No, she even said he’d use any tactic to get what he wanted. Otherwise, he’d be here, right?

There she went, dreaming about a connection again. Hadn’t she learned her lesson with her mother? Wasn’t Finn’s no-show enough
to confirm that was the case with him as well?

“So, she agreed,” Devyn said, pulling her thoughts to the real problems. The ones she’d help to solve, not the ones she imagined.
“She told me she’d been approached before but never accepted the job for”—Devyn sighed—“ethical reasons.”

“Which was why we agreed to use her,” Padraig said. “She checked out as clean.”

“What about her run-in with the FBI as a grad student?”

“She told us everything,” ASAC Lang said. “We interviewed her thoroughly. Apparently, she was quite the actress, already negotiating
with Malik while we were prepping her for the assignment.”

She looked at Marc, who’d been quiet but held her hand on his thigh under the table. “Who was trying to make me leave Belfast?”

“Everyone,” ASAC Lang said with a smile. “We wanted you out of there for your safety but were concerned you might have already
gotten on Baird’s radar, which you had. Dr. Greenberg wanted you out until, apparently, she realized you could help her.”

“And you?” She looked at Padraig.

The older man smiled. “I was her contact over there, the only call she could make. When you showed up in Bangor, I knew we
were dealing with”—his gaze shifted to Marc—“professionals. I decided to let you know just enough to scare you out of there
and give you somewhere specific to go.”

“Enniskillen.”

He nodded. “The SIS own the town, and we knew we could keep an eye on you, keep you busy figuring out how to contact us in
the bell tower, then stop you. Didn’t expect you to lock our man in the tower,” he said with a chuckle.

Vivi leaned forward, her dark gaze on the FBI agent, Lang. “I told you not to underestimate us.”

He just smiled at her. “I told you I won’t, ever again.” Then he turned to Devyn. “Is there anything else you need to know?”

So much, but nothing these men would know. She took a deep breath and asked the only remaining question. “Will Finn MacCauley
be pardoned?”

“No,” he said quickly. “But he’s going to a minimum-security facility to live out… what’s left of his life.”

Oh, so that’s what Lang meant by Finn not having time to negotiate his pardon. “Is he sick?”

“He’s dying, Mrs. Sterling. He has a brain tumor and I doubt he’ll make it to the holidays.”

She eased back in her chair as the news hit. He was dying? And he
still
didn’t have the nerve to meet her here?

“I see,” she said. But she didn’t. Not at all.

Under the table, Marc threaded his fingers through hers while the agents asked questions. They answered everything, reliving
the few days and nights in Belfast and Enniskillen, putting the last missing pieces of the puzzle together.

But all Devyn heard was
he’s dying
.

She managed to swallow the lump in her throat and pay attention to the questions, but they couldn’t end soon enough. After
they were finished, and all the thank-yous and good-byes were said, and Vivi celebrated being given what evidently was a major
check for their services, all Devyn could still hear in her head were those same two words.

He’s dying.

She was still sitting in the conference room considering that when Marc came back in from the noisy celebration in the reception
area.

“You okay?” he asked, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

She looked up at him. “I have one question I didn’t have the guts to ask.”

“What is it?”

“If he’s dying, why go to all this trouble for a pardon? Why not just… die?”

He shook his head, curling his hand under her hair in a comforting stroke. “I don’t know, Dev.”

“I guess I’ll never know.” But she’d always wonder.

“Let’s go get some air,” he suggested. “The swan boats are running.”

She didn’t feel like a swan boat ride but rose, anyway, saying good-bye to everyone and walking into the cool autumn air of
Boston. Arm in arm, they crossed Arlington and entered the Public Garden, the grounds already dotted with the early lunch
crowd hungry for the last few days before Boston’s relentless winter bared the trees and iced the pond.

They started on the path, and Devyn nestled into Marc, his feel and scent so familiar already, when someone cleared his throat
on a bench to their left.

An older man sat alone, in a heavy coat, a navy ball cap pulled over uncombed gray hair. She’d have ignored him, but he was
looking directly at her, his face full of… expectation.

And then she knew.

Devyn’s knees threatened to buckle, but Marc held her firm and steady. Very slowly, as if each movement was agony, the old
man pushed himself up from the bench, then lifted the cap in a silent greeting.

Devyn didn’t move.

“You don’t have to talk to him,” Marc whispered. “But I thought if you wanted to…”

She slid her gaze to him, hoping the gratitude shone in her eyes. “I do.”

Finn shuffled closer. “Hello,” he said, his eyes watery behind glasses. But she could see their color and knew it well.

So he’d given her at least that one gene. “Hello, Finn.”

“I don’t want to bother you,” he said, his voice gruff. “But I’d like to thank this young man for taking care of
you. It was important to me.” He reached a weathered hand to Marc, who shook it.

He was so old. The realization stunned her. She never really thought of him as anything but fortysomething, virile, evil,
powerful. But this man was pressed to the ground by gravity and the weight of his life, his shoulders sloped, his face sagging.

He turned those familiar blue eyes on Devyn, a soft breeze blowing the white strands that stuck out from under his hat. He
just stared at her, drinking in her face, scrutinizing it, memorizing it, savoring it.

“Why don’t you ask him your question, Dev?” Marc suggested. “Why don’t you talk to him?”

Marc stepped away and she froze for a moment, wanting to reach for him but knowing why he was leaving them alone.

“You’re so beautiful,” Finn said, his voice gravelly, his eyes smiling. “You’ve always been beautiful.”

Her whole body threatened to crumble.

“Why didn’t you come to the meeting?” she asked.

He gave a tight smile, his face like a crinkled map of Ireland. He gestured toward the bench and she went with him, sitting
a foot away, unable to take her eyes off him. And he looked at her the same way. Hungry for information, answers… time.

“I didn’t want to meet you like that,” he said. “So I asked your young man to help me out, and he agreed. In fact, he thought
it would be better.”

Of course, he was right. “I thought you just… didn’t want to meet me.”

He laughed softly. “Darling, I’ve met you a dozen times. Stood next to you, crossed paths with you. I even
held the door for you at Symphony Hall once. You were looking so snazzy in a royal blue gown.”

Disbelief rocked her. She remembered that night.

“Nothing creepy, I assure you.” He made a wave to relax her. “I just… wanted to know.”

“To know what?”

“That you were all right.” He nodded, studying her face again. “And you surely turned out more than all right.”

“And you’ve been in touch with Sharon? All these years?”

“Before writing to ask her for help, the last time I spoke to her was the day she gave you up for adoption.” His blue eyes
tapered in disgust. “I’ll freely admit I was pissed off. I didn’t want you living with strangers.”

For some reason, some stupid, insane reason, that thrilled her. “But you couldn’t stop her?”

“Not back in those days. Fathers had no rights, and frankly, being what I… what I was, I knew the life you were getting was
better. But I never had kids,” he said, the words rough with regret. “And I wanted you.”

I wanted you.

“Sharon, she didn’t want any parts of a child after all. She thought it would keep me, make me leave my wife, but”—he shook
his head—“it just worked out like this, better for everyone.”

“I landed with a good family,” Devyn told him.

“I know. So good I didn’t dare do anything about changing your life. I just watched from far away.” He gave her another sly
smile. “I was in the church when you got married.”

She tried to breathe but couldn’t.

“I cried,” he said.

“I shouldn’t have married him,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

“I knew that on your wedding day,” he said. “That scum already had dealings with some of this city’s worst types. Believe
me, I knew. But I couldn’t hardly walk up to you and stop you, now, could I?”

She shook her head, not sure if she should laugh or cry.

“Anyway, I’m sorry they got him and tried to pin his hit on me.” His thick gray brows drew together. “You didn’t deserve that
kind of deal.”

“It’s over now,” she assured him, her gaze turning to where Marc stood, on the other side of the pond, watching the boats.
“I’m okay.”

“Found a good young man, did you?”

She smiled, the tears coming despite how much she didn’t want them to. “He’s very good.”

Finn nodded, looking at Marc as well. “Hope he’s worthy of a girl like you.”

She laughed lightly, and that made her tears fall. “He is.”

Finn put a gnarled hand on hers, pulling her attention toward his own overly moist eyes. “I’m not going to be around long
enough to see you take that walk down the aisle again,” he said.

“Then… why did you do all this?” she asked. “Just for a lighter sentence?” Her heart stopped while she waited for the answer.

“I just wanted to take away some of your shame, child. I tried to convince Sharon to help for the same reason, sent her pictures
of you, and told her that maybe she could, you know, have a relationship with you. That happens nowadays, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, it does.”

He tightened his grip, the purple veins in his hands popping. “As for me? I know the indignity and humiliation of me is an
albatross to carry around your neck, and I just wanted to make that load lighter. You know, for the next generation, if you
should be so lucky.”

A sob rose in her chest and she reached for him, her hands closing around his stiff neck, their heads coming so close her
forehead bumped the bill of his cap. “I might be that lucky,” she whispered. “And you did lighten the load.”

He closed his eyes and tears rolled over the lines in his face. “I doubt I’ll see you in heaven, girl,” he whispered. “But
you’ve given me something to hold on to no matter where I end up.”

She held him for a moment, everything settling into place in her heart and soul, everything feeling right for the first time
in her life. She’d been wrong about her mother, and, funny enough, she’d been wrong about her father, too.

Marc’s footsteps pulled them apart.

“I have a swan boat for us,” he said. “Are you ready, Devyn?”

She drew back completely and looked at Finn. At her father. A dying old man who had made some devastatingly bad choices in
life. But in the end, he’d cared about her.

“Would you like to ride with us?” she asked.

His yellowed smile was heartbreaking. “I’d love to, but I don’t think that FBI agent over there would like the idea. Go out
there, you two, and make your memory.”

“I plan on it,” Marc said, reaching for Devyn’s hand, his smile curling around her heart and filling her with
love. “With your permission, Mr. MacCauley, I’m about to ask your daughter to marry me.”

“Well, now, that’s a pretty word.” Finn slapped his hands on his legs and grinned at Devyn.

“Marry?” she asked, her breath caught in her chest.

“No.” He stood, chuckling. “Daughter. Mighty pretty word.”

C
haos. The whole day and dinner had been nothing but a frenzy of food and family. But mostly food. Trays and platters and bowls
of so much abundance that Devyn wondered how the entire family stayed so fit.

Luckily the Feast of the Seven Fishes—or as Vivi and Zach said it with the most beautiful, lilting Italian accents, “
la vigilia
”—happened only once a year. But on Christmas Eve, the Rossi house rocked as the homemade wine flowed and Nino, with a lot
of help, put out the most amazing dinner Devyn had ever eaten.

She glanced to her side, catching bits of Marc’s conversation with his older brother, JP, a big, handsome cop with enough
charm to offset his arrogance, and Nicki, Marc’s other younger sister, a psychiatrist with a sharp sense of humor and quick
laugh.

The youngest of the family, Chessie, kept bringing the conversation back to Gabe, the super-secret government agent brother
who Marc had talked to while they were in Belfast.

Listening, Devyn lifted her water glass and took a deep drink, grateful no one, including Marc, had noticed she hadn’t touched
Nino’s wine. He was deep in the conversation, but his hand stayed firmly on Devyn’s leg, and he somehow managed to sneak glances
her way to remind her that he never forgot her.

“You ready?” he asked suddenly, pushing his chair back.

“We’re leaving?” she asked, surprised.

“Like hell you are,” Vivi interjected as she scooped some dirty plates from the table. “Not with all that white stuff out
there.” With her free hand, she pointed two fingers at Marc and JP, like a viper’s tongue. “Rossis are going down tonight,
baby. We got Samantha on the Angelino side now, and this isn’t going to be the blowout it was last year.”