He looked upriver at the sleek luxury yacht that dominated the waterfront. It had multiple decks and no doubt all the amenities a Russian billionaire would expect.
Colin spotted two men on the top deck. They looked relaxed, held drinks.
A woman joined them. He recognized her honey hair, the tilt of her head as she laughed.
Emma.
“Well, well,” he said aloud.
He heard a movement behind him and turned as a woman squeezed through the tall hydrangeas that served as a border between the Sharpe property and the adjacent marina and yacht club. She wore a pumpkin-colored jacket and had long brown hair pulled back in a loose ponytail.
He started to say something, but she put a finger to her lips and shook her head. “Pretend you don’t see me. Please.” She spoke in a Russian accent and flicked long, slender fingers toward the Nightingale. “I don’t want them to see me.”
“All right.” Colin stood on the retaining wall as if he were taking in the sight of the truly amazing yacht and responded without looking at the woman. “Hiding behind a bush will only draw attention to yourself.”
She plopped down on the grass, staying close to the hydrangeas, and stretched out slim legs encased in tight-fitting black pants. “I have picnic,” she said.
“A picnic requires at least some cheese and crackers, don’t you think?”
She shrugged. “Maybe I ate them.”
The woman was feisty, Colin thought, and very pretty. “You’re Tatiana Pavlova. You met a friend of mine yesterday out at the Sisters of the Joyful Heart. A priest.”
“Father Bracken,” she said, with a bit of a smile. “He’s sweet man. You’re not a priest.”
“No, I’m not a priest. My name’s Colin Donovan.”
“You and Emma also are friends?”
He nodded. “We are.”
“Are you FBI agent? Like Emma?”
“Yes, but I’m just in Heron’s Cove visiting,” Colin said. Up on the yacht, the two men had backed out of sight, but Emma was still visible, drink in hand. She didn’t wave but he had no doubt she’d seen him. He didn’t wave, either, instead addressing Tatiana. “Why are you here?”
“I wanted a closer look at the yacht.” She peeked around the edges of the hydrangea, a large burgundy-colored blossom touching her cheek. “Can you see him? Can you see Dmitri Rusakov?”
“Which one is he?”
“He’s in the red pants. Terrible, aren’t they?”
“Not everyone’s color,” Colin said.
“Men should not wear red pants.” Tatiana gave him a frank once-over. “You don’t.”
He smiled, trying to keep her at ease. “I had red waterproofs once. Who’s the other man?”
She pursed her lips. “Ivan Alexander. He does Rusakov’s bidding.”
“As in he mops the floors or he doctors the books?”
“He’s security expert. Very dangerous. I don’t want them to see me.”
“Would they recognize you? Do you all know each other?”
“No, no.” Tatiana sprang up, no taller than the hydrangea, which she obviously had already calculated. She was pale now, her nostrils flared as she took in deep breaths. “No, Colin Donovan. I know them. They don’t know me. If they see me spying on them, they’ll find out who I am.”
“Then what?”
She shuddered. “I don’t want to find out.”
“Ms. Pavlova, are you concerned for your safety?”
“It’s not like that. I don’t need police. I need…” She thought a moment. “I need nothing. I’m calm now. Do you know the Russian fable of the cat and the mouse?”
“I don’t,” Colin said, no idea where she was going with this.
Tatiana didn’t look at him, her gaze focused on the waterfront. “The mouse comes to his neighbor, the rat. He’s very excited to tell his friend that their great enemy, the cat, has been caught by a ferocious lion. For the mouse, this is tremendous news. Most excellent news. The rat isn’t so impressed. He believes that the lion cannot possibly survive a battle with the cat.” Tatiana turned to Colin, her dark eyes shimmering with emotion in the fading afternoon light. “Do you understand the moral of this tale, Colin Donovan?”
“The mouse is kind of dumb?”
She smiled but only a little. “This fable cautions us against letting our own fears cloud our judgment. We tend to think that what we fear, all the world fears.”
“Ah. It’s a good fable. Are you alone here, Ms. Pavlova?”
Her smile brightened. “You must call me Tatiana. Yes, I’m here alone. My little cottage is perfect for solitude. I’m using this time as a personal artistic retreat.”
“When did you decide to come to Heron’s Cove?”
His question obviously caught her by surprise. Her eyes widened. “What?”
Colin repeated the question.
“Oh. I bought my ticket—” she counted out fingers
“—four days ago.”
“And you booked your cottage then, too?”
She nodded. “It wouldn’t have been possible in August but now it is late in the season.” She lowered her hand and pulled it up into the sleeves of her oversize jacket. “I must go back to my cottage now. I have a sketch I want to finish. I will stay out of sight of the Nightingale.”
“Hold on,” Colin said, not harshly. “Did you know Rusakov would be in Heron’s Cove?”
“No. Only his ex-wife’s daughter. Natalie—Natalie Warren. She just arrived. She boarded the Nightingale and then unboarded again. Unboarded? Is that the right word?”
“Close enough. You know her?”
Tatiana’s brow furrowed as if she didn’t understand him, which, of course, she did. “Know her? She lives in Phoenix. I live in London.”
“That doesn’t answer my question, does it, Tatiana?”
Her chin snapped up as if she were insulted. “I don’t know Natalie Warren, no. Or Dmitri Rusakov, or Ivan Alexander. Not personally.” She waved a hand vaguely toward the street. “I’m going now.”
Colin decided to let her go without further questions. It was Emma he needed to talk to now. “Have a good evening,” he said.
Tatiana mumbled a goodbye and marched off, staying close to the hydrangea border and out of view of Dmitri Rusakov’s yacht. Once she disappeared on the other side of the Sharpe garage, Colin jumped from the retaining wall onto the pier. He could think of several ways he could get on board the Nightingale, not all of which involved a gun and a badge—or even one Emma Sharpe, friend of Russian tycoons.
Another woman approached him from the opposite direction on the pier. She had short, white-blond hair that framed a heart-shaped face and very blue eyes, and she was dressed in flowing white pants and a navy-and-white top, with simple silver jewelry. “I wonder what possessed me to wear open-toed heels in Maine,” she said cheerfully. “Honestly, my feet are freezing, and one wrong step and I’ll be headfirst in the water.” She nodded to the yacht. “Are you joining us for drinks?”
“My friend Emma Sharpe is,” Colin said.
“Emma’s on board already? Perfect. I haven’t seen her yet. I only just arrived and unpacked. I’m from Phoenix,” she said, then put out a small hand. “Natalie Warren.”
He took her hand briefly and said, “Colin Donovan,” leaving it at that.
She breathed in deeply, beamed him a smile. “I love the cool air. I don’t want to be here in January, though. I can only imagine the icy wind off the water. I had a room booked at a charming Heron’s Cove inn, but Dmitri insisted I stay aboard the Nightingale. Who was I to argue?”
“It’s a big boat.”
She laughed. “Yes, it is. I have no desire to go for a spin out in the Atlantic, though. There’s a reason I live in a sun-drenched, landlocked state. Now,” she added, pointing at him, “since you and Emma are friends, you must join us. Come. You can be my guest. I’ll get you past Dmitri’s security.”
Following Natalie Warren aboard the Nightingale was mu
ch easier than any of the options Colin had had in mind. He smiled at her. “Lead the way, Ms. Warren.”
“It’s Natalie. Please.” With another bright laugh, she hooked her arm into his. “You can keep me from tripping in these blasted shoes.”
9
THE FALLING TEMPERATURE forced Dmitri Rusakov to move his gathering to an enclosed lounge, its large windows overlooking the quaint Heron’s Cove waterfront with its inns, summer homes and clusters of shingled cottages and small shops. Emma fixed her gaze on a battered lobster boat, a yellow, dirty raincoat hanging just inside its pilothouse. A uniformed crewmember had exchanged her iced tea for a glass of champagne, but she had yet to take a sip. In the hour she had been aboard the Nightingale, she had paced herself with small talk with Dmitri, Ivan and the crew.
She had spotted Colin on the retaining wall and knew he had to be curious about what she was up to. She had left him a voice mail, but he hadn’t returned her call, probably assuming he would talk to her in Heron’s Cove—or because he had talked to Matt Yankowski first.
Yank hadn’t been happy about the Nightingale. “Dmitri Rusakov is in Heron’s Cove? Emma? Did you just say that?”
She turned from the windows as Natalie Warren arrived with Colin on her arm. Natalie was attractive, even more so than her mother had been. Colin seemed at ease at her side, but he would, Emma thought as she sipped her expensive champagne. For months, he had pretended to be someone else in his undercover work. He could handle himself aboard the Nightingale.
Ivan edged next to Emma. “So this is your man.”
“My man? What do you know about Colin?”
“He’s an FBI agent. He works at FBI headquarters in Washington.” Ivan’s voice was almost toneless, with no trace of sarcasm; his English was excellent and Emma noticed he’d had little to drink since her arrival on board. “It’s good that he has a safe assignment since you two see each other. I would hate for you to be unhappy.”
If Emma hadn’t been sure whether Ivan knew the identity of the undercover agent in trouble in Fort Lauderdale, she was now. She hadn’t spoken to Ivan in months. Then came his call out of the blue when she was in Colin’s bed, wondering what she could do to find him.
However Ivan had learned about Colin’s undercover status, it wasn’t from her.
“Colin wouldn’t be on board without your approval,” Emma said.
Ivan shrugged. “Dmitri has his own security team. I’m here only as a friend.”
Emma tasted more of her champagne. “We need to talk, Ivan.”
His eyes held hers. “Anytime.”
Dmitri spotted Natalie from behind the curved bar where he was mixing his own drink and surged toward her. “Moya sladkaya,” he murmured, kissing her on each cheek. “My sweet Natalie. It’s been far too long.”
“Dmitri,” she whispered, then stood back and smiled. “You’re as handsome as ever. My heavens. I can’t believe it’s been four years.”
“I’m sorry I missed you earlier.”
“It was good to have a chance to settle in. I went up to the yacht club for a few things. Oh, Dmitri. My stateroom is fabulous. I’m so happy to be here with you.”
“We’re happy to have you.” His expression softened. “I’m sorry about your mother.”
“Thank you. That’s decent of you to say.” Natalie took Colin’s arm again, as if she were looking for an excuse to change the subject. “Forgive me, I almost forgot. Dmitri, this is Colin Donovan. He and Emma are friends. Colin, Dmitri Rusakov. Emma, I don’t know if you remember me. We met in London a few years ago.”
“Of course I remember you, Natalie,” Emma said, aware of Ivan still at her side. “Welcome to Heron’s Cove.”
“I know my visit is a surprise. I understand your brother isn’t here. I’d love to meet him, and your grandfather, too, but maybe you can help me. Well, there’s time for all that. First things first, as we say.” She smiled, no sign of awkwardness as she surveyed the elegant lounge with its understated, neutral decor. “It’s very cool here compared to Phoenix. We’re still sweltering at home.”
“You came straight here?” Emma asked, noticing that Ivan had yet to say a word.
“I was among the cacti this morning.” Natalie laughed in obvious delight when a crew member handed her a cosmopolitan. “Oh, Dmitri. How sweet. You remembered.”
He gave a slight bow. “Of course.”
She held up the drink to Emma and Colin. “I was into cosmopolitans when I last saw Dmitri. I was in London for a few days with my mother. She was—well, being my mother.” Her eyes shone with sudden tears as she sipped her drink and smiled through them. “Dmitri, you gave up your London apartment, didn’t you?”
“I was never there after I bought the Nightingale,” he said.
“I wouldn’t be, either. I could live on the Nightingale even if it stayed anchored right here and never went anywhere. It’s elegant without being stuffy or intimidating. Thank you for having me.”
Dmitri kissed her on the cheek. “Anytime, my dear. You know that.”
“I do. I’ve always known. It was just easier not to stay in touch when my mother was alive.” Natalie shook her head, swallowed more of her drink. “Let’s not talk about her, although she’s the reason I’m in Heron’s Cove, really.”
Dmitri nodded toward a small, gleaming brass elevator. “Why don’t you show Emma what you brought with you?”
Natalie looked tentative. “Are you sure? I just got here—”
“It’ll ease your mind. Please. I’ve released Emma from any client privilege. She can tell you what she knows.” He motioned toward the circular bar with his champagne glass. “Ivan and I will have a drink with Colin here. Colin, what would you like? Beer, vodka, whiskey? You don’t look as if you drink champagne or cosmopolitans.”
“Beer would be fine,” Colin said.
Dmitri grinned, clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Excellent.”
They went to the bar, crafted of dark wood and edged in chrome, with swivel chairs covered in neutral-colored leather. Ivan glanced at Emma, then Natalie. “Let me know if you need anything,” he said, then joined Colin and Dmitri at the bar.
Natalie seemed a bit nonplussed as she sighed at Emma. “You don’t mind?” she asked quietly.
Emma smiled. “Not at all.”
“Dmitri can be hard to refuse. It amazes me sometimes that he and my mother ever got together, never mind lasted two years. He sees through everything and everyone, but he didn’t see through her. At least not at first.” Natalie waved a hand. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to go down that road. This’ll only take a few minutes. If you’re sure—”
“I’m sure.”
Natalie smiled, looking less tentative. “Then let’s go.”
* * *
They took the elevator down one deck, and Emma followed Natalie into a guest stateroom. Its built-in queen-size bed, nightstands and dressers had the feel of free-standing furniture, and the decorative pillows, linens and upholstery were in more soothing neutrals. A lush painting of white roses hung on the wall opposite the windows. The shades were pulled, the recessed lighting on a dim setting.
“I don’t live like this, in case you were wondering,” Natalie said. “I actually don’t know that I’d want to. Would you, Emma?”
“It’s not something I think about.”
“An FBI agent’s salary—but you must do the work because you love it. I do retail marketing for upscale boutique shops near where I live. I can’t say that I love it, but I’m good at it.” She kicked off her open-toed heels and stood barefoot on the cream-colored carpet. “That feels better, I think. The Nightingale was Dmitri’s gift to himself after getting my mother out of his life. I can’t blame him. He was so misled by her. It had to sting once he figured her out. You met her, Emma. She was charming, wasn’t she? You don’t have to answer. I know she was. Narcissists are often very charming at first.”
Emma glanced around the elegant guest stateroom. Natalie had, indeed, un
packed, even setting up her toiletries in the en suite bathroom. The door was open, cosmetics neatly lined up on the sink, a dark pink bathrobe hanging from a hook on the door.
With a stifled yawn, Natalie walked between the bed and the closet. “My mother was a master at charming people when it suited her. If she thought someone could be of use to her, she’d pull out all the stops. That’s how she lured Dmitri into her little web.”
“I gather you and your mother didn’t get along,” Emma said.
“It’s not a question of getting along. I’ve had lots of therapy. I’ve learned to accept her. Dmitri is one of the few people who cut her out of his life instead of the other way around. My mother was very tactical in her relationships. Once someone was no longer of use to her, that was it. They were gone. She’d make up or exaggerate an offense and snip, snip. Out went that friend, lover, husband.”
Emma sat on a soft, built-in couch along a paneled wall. “We don’t have to talk about your mother, Natalie. I know this must be difficult for you.”
“Not as difficult as you might think. As I said, years of therapy have helped. Trust me, this apple fell far, far from her mother’s tree.” Natalie took a quick, shallow breath, as if controlling her emotions. “I’m not like her. I’ve made a point of not being like her, but I now realize I didn’t have to. I’m just not wired the same way she was, for whatever reason.”
From what she had seen of Renee Warren Rusakov herself, and learned about her during her work on the disappearance of the Rusakov collection, Emma could understand Natalie’s complex feelings about her mother.
“What can I do for you, Natalie?” Emma asked.
“I probably should have called but I was so determined to be discreet. Now here I am, on the biggest damn boat in Heron’s Cove. You should see all the people coming out of the woodwork to check it out.” Natalie paused, yanked open one of the closet’s double doors. “My mother’s estate was a mess, as you can imagine. She was so young, and she was in denial about how sick she was. Although I suspect if she’d lived to a hundred she’d still have left things in a mess.”
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