you?”
“Beneath that placid exterior beats the heart of a competitive federal agent.” He made no move to sit next to her. “Your mishap gives me an excuse to run a hot bath for you when we get back to the cottage.”
“Life could be worse. You’re not bored, are you?”
“I can go more than two weeks without anyone trying to kill me.”
As he sat next to her on her boulder, his smile almost reached his stone-gray eyes.
Almost.
He offered her a sip from his water bottle, but she shook her head. He took a long drink as he gazed out at the hills. Except for the occasional baa of the grazing, half-wild sheep, the silence was complete.
“What are you thinking about, Colin?”
“Guinness.”
“A cold pint and a warm pub. Sounds perfect.”
He leaned down and touched the curve of his hand to her cheek. “It’s been good being here with you.” He winked at her again as he stood straight. “Mud and sheep dung and all.”
Emma sighed as she slipped back into her trail shoes and tied the laces. “No escaping sheep dung out here, is there? I wasn’t distracted when I stepped in the wet spot. I just misjudged. There’s a difference.”
“But you do have a lot on your mind,” Colin said.
She always did. Their jobs with the FBI attested to their different natures. He was an undercover agent. She specialized in art crimes. She was the thinker. Analytical, methodical, detail-oriented. He was direct, intuitive, quick and decisive—and independent to a fault. Six weeks ago, he had been assigned to her small team in Boston, if only because the senior agent in charge was determined to rein him in.
Good luck with that , Emma thought. She stood, lifted her backpack and slung it over her shoulders. “The rest of the way is all downhill.”
“Have you ever done this hike before?”
She shook her head. “First time.”
“It’s a good spot,” he said, tucking his water bottle in his pack.
“I’m glad we did this before I go home.”
“Yeah. Me, too.”
It was Tuesday. She had a flight back to Boston on Friday. She’d be at her desk on Monday. Colin had more time before he had to decide what was next for him. Not a lot more time, but he could stay in Ireland for a while longer, without her.
She angled a look at him. “Anything on your mind, Colin?”
“I had an email from Andy in my in-box this morning. He sent it last night. I didn’t read it until just now, while I ate an energy bar and admired the view. Reading email is against our hiking rules, I know.”
“A sign it’s time to get back to work, maybe.” Emma gave him a moment but he didn’t take the bait and respond, and she let it go. “How are things in Rock Point?”
“Andy says Julianne Maroney is leaving for Ireland tonight.”
“Tonight? Isn’t that sudden? I thought I’d heard she was going in January.”
“She accepted a marine biology internship in Cork that starts in January. This is something different. She decided to come for a couple weeks now and get herself sorted out. It’s sudden, but that’s Julianne.”
“So, she’s staying in Cork?”
Colin shook his head. “A village east of Cork. Declan’s Cross.”
Declan’s Cross.
Emma went still as a dozen images came at her at once. A pretty seaside Irish village of brightly colored shops and residences. A romantic mansion with sweeping views of cliffs and sea. Haunting Celtic crosses on a grassy hilltop.
A tight-lipped old Irish sheep farmer.
Wendell Sharpe, her grandfather, a renowned art detective, pacing in his Dublin office as he admitted he and Sharpe Fine Art Recovery were after a thief they couldn’t catch.
A thief, Emma thought, who had first struck in tiny Declan’s Cross on a lonely, rainy, dark November night ten years ago.
She’d only become involved in the case four years ago, in the months between her life as Sister Brigid at the coastal Maine convent of the Sisters of the Joyful Heart and her life as a special agent with the Federal
“Beneath that placid exterior beats the heart of a competitive federal agent.” He made no move to sit next to her. “Your mishap gives me an excuse to run a hot bath for you when we get back to the cottage.”
“Life could be worse. You’re not bored, are you?”
“I can go more than two weeks without anyone trying to kill me.”
As he sat next to her on her boulder, his smile almost reached his stone-gray eyes.
Almost.
He offered her a sip from his water bottle, but she shook her head. He took a long drink as he gazed out at the hills. Except for the occasional baa of the grazing, half-wild sheep, the silence was complete.
“What are you thinking about, Colin?”
“Guinness.”
“A cold pint and a warm pub. Sounds perfect.”
He leaned down and touched the curve of his hand to her cheek. “It’s been good being here with you.” He winked at her again as he stood straight. “Mud and sheep dung and all.”
Emma sighed as she slipped back into her trail shoes and tied the laces. “No escaping sheep dung out here, is there? I wasn’t distracted when I stepped in the wet spot. I just misjudged. There’s a difference.”
“But you do have a lot on your mind,” Colin said.
She always did. Their jobs with the FBI attested to their different natures. He was an undercover agent. She specialized in art crimes. She was the thinker. Analytical, methodical, detail-oriented. He was direct, intuitive, quick and decisive—and independent to a fault. Six weeks ago, he had been assigned to her small team in Boston, if only because the senior agent in charge was determined to rein him in.
Good luck with that , Emma thought. She stood, lifted her backpack and slung it over her shoulders. “The rest of the way is all downhill.”
“Have you ever done this hike before?”
She shook her head. “First time.”
“It’s a good spot,” he said, tucking his water bottle in his pack.
“I’m glad we did this before I go home.”
“Yeah. Me, too.”
It was Tuesday. She had a flight back to Boston on Friday. She’d be at her desk on Monday. Colin had more time before he had to decide what was next for him. Not a lot more time, but he could stay in Ireland for a while longer, without her.
She angled a look at him. “Anything on your mind, Colin?”
“I had an email from Andy in my in-box this morning. He sent it last night. I didn’t read it until just now, while I ate an energy bar and admired the view. Reading email is against our hiking rules, I know.”
“A sign it’s time to get back to work, maybe.” Emma gave him a moment but he didn’t take the bait and respond, and she let it go. “How are things in Rock Point?”
“Andy says Julianne Maroney is leaving for Ireland tonight.”
“Tonight? Isn’t that sudden? I thought I’d heard she was going in January.”
“She accepted a marine biology internship in Cork that starts in January. This is something different. She decided to come for a couple weeks now and get herself sorted out. It’s sudden, but that’s Julianne.”
“So, she’s staying in Cork?”
Colin shook his head. “A village east of Cork. Declan’s Cross.”
Declan’s Cross.
Emma went still as a dozen images came at her at once. A pretty seaside Irish village of brightly colored shops and residences. A romantic mansion with sweeping views of cliffs and sea. Haunting Celtic crosses on a grassy hilltop.
A tight-lipped old Irish sheep farmer.
Wendell Sharpe, her grandfather, a renowned art detective, pacing in his Dublin office as he admitted he and Sharpe Fine Art Recovery were after a thief they couldn’t catch.
A thief, Emma thought, who had first struck in tiny Declan’s Cross on a lonely, rainy, dark November night ten years ago.
She’d only become involved in the case four years ago, in the months between her life as Sister Brigid at the coastal Maine convent of the Sisters of the Joyful Heart and her life as a special agent with the Federal
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