Heron's Cove

by Carla Neggers

  Emma nodded. “That’s right. That’s what you do. Or you can call me.”

  Tatiana smiled. “I’ll do that.” She slid the door open and stepped outside in her stocking feet.

  Emma sighed at Colin. “Do you see Tatiana breaking into Natalie’s house? Because I don’t.”

  He gave a curt nod. “Agreed, but she’s holding back.”

  “I know but there’s no crime—”

  “Did your brother or grandfather discover any connection to Bulgov? Horner?”

  “I’d tell you if he had.”

  Colin walked past her and went outside, said good-night to Tatiana and headed back down the deck stairs.

  Emma swept her gaze over the small room, taking in Tatiana’s sketches, her art supplies, her scattered clothes. What could Ivan have wanted here? What did he know about Tatiana, the Firebird Boutique, her interest in the Rusakov collection?

  What am I missing?

  Stifling her frustration, Emma joined Tatiana on the deck. “We can help you, Tatiana, but only if you tell us everything.”

  “I know.” She didn’t look at Emma. “Thank you for getting me out from behind the canoe. Have a good evening, Emma.”

  “Right. Thanks. You, too.”

  Emma descended the steps. Colin was waiting for her. The ducks had divided up, some still by the rocks, some by the deck posts. She stood close to him. “Tempting just to watch the ducks, isn’t it?”

  “We’ll have that chance,” he said. “In the meantime, we can walk back to your place, and you can tell me again why you trust this Ivan Alexander character.”

  17

  THE WIND PICKED up on the bridge over the cove, but Emma welcomed the cooler, drier air as she walked next to Colin. “I’ll find out what Ivan wanted with Tatiana,” she said.

  “I’m glad I didn’t walk in and find him trashing the place and have to shoot him.”

  “I can take care of myself, Colin,” Emma said quietly, firmly.

  “So you’d have shot him?”

  She decided not to answer him. “Why didn’t you wait for me at the house?”

  Colin shrugged. “I got restless.”

  “Well, thanks for checking on me,” Emma said. “It’s good to know you have my back. Let’s just remember there’s a difference between having my back and protecting me.”

  “Hair-splitting. When Ivan told you where I was, was that having my back or was that protecting me?”

  “I was trying to find you. It wasn’t because I lack faith in you.”

  “If I’d found you and Tatiana in a mess with Ivan and had to shoot him, it wouldn’t have been because I lacked faith in you. It would have been because he needed shooting.” Colin paused, winked at her. “Hypothetically.”

  “Fair enough. Let’s leave it at that. How did you find out about the break-in at Natalie’s house? Did Yank tell you?”

  “Natalie told me,” Colin said.

  “Ah. Natalie. She’s very attractive.”

  “Bombshell. That blond hair and smile. Tatiana’s cute, too.”

  Emma rolled her eyes.

  He slung an arm over her shoulder. “So, what’s going on here in little Heron’s Cove, Emma? Think Tatiana’s setting us up so she can steal the Rusakov collection herself?”

  “Why would she?”

  “Maybe she’s hooked up with Pete Horner, wants to get a foothold in arms trafficking. She could have a buyer in place for the collection, or she could be planning to ransom it back to Rusakov.” Colin slowed his pace. “Now I’m in your world, thinking like an art thief.”

  “I don’t know what Tatiana’s up to. She seemed genuinely unnerved when I found her under the deck, at least at first.”

  “Ivan’s a scary guy. She’s feisty, though.”

  “The more she thought about him, the angrier she became. Maybe it had to sink in that he was gone and hadn’t done anything.”

  “It’d be easy to get caught up in Tatiana’s sense of drama. Maybe it helps her with her work. You’re out of sorts, Emma.” Colin let his arm drift down her back and settle on her waist. “Sleeping on a hard floor will do that. I know this from experience.”

  “The floor wasn’t that hard. I had a mat.”

  He grinned. “I could make a lewd comment but I won’t.”

  She bit back a smile. “Do you know what I’ve learned about the Donovan brothers since you’ve been gone? You’re all impossible. Mike, Andy, Kevin. You. You know that’s your reputation, don’t you?”

  “Not a bad reputation to have.”

  “Impossible but also sexy, rugged, tough—”

  “All four of us?”

  “All four of you. Your father, too.”

  “Pop? He’s planting tulips and trying out muffin recipes these days.”

  “That doesn’t mean he’s not impossible, sexy, rugged or tough.” Emma slipped from his embrace but caught her fingers in his and noticed the healing bruise on his wrist. “You’re not getting much of a break, are you?”

  “Not with your Russian friends in town.”

  “Colin…” She took a few more steps before she continued. “You wouldn’t keep me in the dark about anything, would you?”

  “That’s a two-way street. Did you know that your pal Ivan fired Pete Horner?”

  “Only because Yank called on my way up here and told me.”

  “Has Ivan been keeping tabs on Horner? Is that how he knew about Horner’s house in Fort Lauderdale?”

  “Ivan doesn’t know where Horner and his men are.”

  “How do you know, because he told you?”

  Emma ignored the note of skepticism in Colin’s voice. “Tell me about you and Natalie.”

  “She thinks I’m a stud.”

  “You are a stud,” Emma said with a smile. “But Natalie didn’t actually say that, did she?”

  “Close enough.” He glanced up at the clearing sky. “Front’s moving in. The air feels good.” He kept his arm around her as he related his conversation with Natalie Warren. “She’s something of a lost soul. She won’t say so outright, but she wants to keep this collection.”

  “It’s beautiful. I can’t say I blame her.”

  “But her mother stole it?”

  “Dmitri says he didn’t give it to her. I don’t know why he would lie about that.” Emma leaned into him, just for a second. “We could pretend we’re tourists enjoying a cool, crisp autumn afternoon in Heron’s Cove.”

  “We could.”

  “I wish you’d had at least a few days to rest before Dmitri showed up.”

  Colin nodded but didn’t respond. Emma appreciated the gusty wind as she walked with him. Whether they were making love or curled up together on the hard floor, being close to him was powerful, enough to push any other thoughts out of her mind. Not a good thing when she had to be on her toes. She couldn’t afford to miss a clue, a connection, a memory—anything that might help root out the men who had come so close to murdering him.

  They passed a row of small shops in side-by-side cedar-shingled cottages, lit up against the darkening afternoon. The shop doors were brightly painted, with pots of mums in white, yellow and deep gold on their steps. Their windows displayed upscale housewares, watercolors of Maine scenes, handmade jewelry, stationery and warm-looking throws.

  A middle-aged woman, a shopkeeper Emma knew, waved from the desk where she spent most days, catering to locals and tourists who loved her eclectic little gift shop.

  Emma waved back, knowing the next time they ran into each other she would have to explain the man walking with her. She and Colin had met during the crisis of Sister Joan’s murder, and then he took off after the remnants of Vladimir Bulgov’s arms network. They hadn’t had many quiet days for wandering about Heron’s Cove, checking out the shops, eating lobster rolls, meeting people.

  Colin patted her hip. “We’ll have our chance to laze away an afternoon and do normal things,” he said, as if he had read her mind. “The Nightingale isn’t staying here forever.” />
  As if to underline his point, they found Dmitri Rusakov standing in the Sharpe driveway with Ivan Alexander. They had obviously just arrived. Emma felt Colin tense next to her but then realized she had tensed, too.

  “Let me handle this,” she said in a low voice.

  His smoky eyes settled on her. “Sure, babe.”

  “I’m not going to mention Tatiana in front of Dmitri.”

  “Got it.”

  “Or Pete Horner,” she added.

  Colin said nothing.

  Dmitri saw them and waved. “Hello, hello,” he said with a wide smile. He had on a turquoise jacket with sparkling white pants, a contrast to the autumn colors around him. “I couldn’t resist. I had to get a closer look at the house where Wendell Sharpe got his start.”

  Emma returned his smile. “Come in, then. I’ll give you the grand tour. The place is mostly gutted for renovations.” She stepped ahead of Colin, past Dmitri and Ivan, and then led the three men into the house. “It’s not the Nightingale—I can tell you that.”

  “Even better,” Dmitri said. “I’ve always had the impression your grandfather prefers to work in simple surroundings.”

  “That’s Granddad.”

  Colin positioned himself between her and Ivan, who stayed close to the front door. Dmitri walked through the living room, stopping at the open door to a small room that overlooked the street. He glanced back at Emma. “This is Wendell’s office?”

  “Not for the past fifteen years, but it’s where he worked for many years.”

  Dmitri placed a hand on the door and peered into the gutted room. “Imagine all the important investigations into ill-gotten and disappeared art that went on in here.” After a moment, he gave a deep sigh, then shifted his attention back to Emma. “We must never forget our beginnings, eh? No matter where life takes us.”

  “I guess that depends,” she said.

  “Yes. Just so.” He moved back into the living room, the small Victorian so different from his luxury yacht. He paused at a tall window. “Natalie and I have discussed the collection. She didn’t realize its history. We will sort out what to do. It’s so good to see her. She has her mother’s best qualities and none of the bad.”

  “Then you’re working things out?” Emma asked.

  “I’m hopeful.” Dmitri smiled, pulled his gaze from the window. “I want to take the Nightingale along the Maine coast and see Atlantic puffins but my crew tells me it’s not likely this time of year. Agent Donovan, you were a marine patrol officer. What about puffins?”

  “I didn’t arrest many puffins in my day,” Colin said.

  Dmitri grinned. “I like a sense of humor. You have a brother who lives on the…” He turned to Ivan. “What’s it called?”

  “The Bold Coast,” Ivan supplied.

  “Such a name. Yes.” Dmitri started back toward Ivan. “I understand there are puffins out there.”

  Colin stood by a fresh stack of two-by-fours that must have been delivered today. “That’s right,” he said stiffly.

  Dmitri paused at the hall to the kitchen and eyed him, no hint of a smile now. “You’re concerned that I know about your family. No need to be. Natalie told me—as she told you—that she had an idle conversation with a man on the waterfront about you and your brothers. Why don’t you bring them aboard the Nightingale for a drink?”

  “Thanks, but they’re all busy.”

  “Of course.” The billionaire Russian peeked down the short hall that led back to the kitchen. “No wonder Wendell and I got on. We both come from humble origins. He’s more erudite and educated than I will ever be, of course. I’m just a businessman. He’s quite a brilliant man.”

  “I’m sure he’d appreciate the compliment,” Emma said.

  “Heron’s Cove is so different from Moscow. Perhaps I will come back one day when Wendell is here, or stop and see him in Dublin—or get him to join me aboard the Nightingale.” Dmitri smiled. “We can always meet in London. I’m there often, although I gave up my apartment. I understand your parents are in London for the year.”

  “That’s right,” Emma said, her tone neutral.

  “As it happens, a young jewelry designer who works in London is also in Heron’s Cove.” Dmitri’s smile faded and he steadied his gaze on Emma. “She’s Russian. Her name is Tatiana Pavlova. She’s a rising star at a London boutique, the Firebird.”

  Emma didn’t look at either Ivan or Colin. “Did Ivan tell you about her?”

  Dmitri gave a small shrug, without apology. “Of course. He looked into her after one of the crew saw her sneaking around on the docks. Apparently she is extraordinarily talented. It’s a shame Russia lost her to London. She’s passionate about Russian folklore.” He picked up a crowbar that was leaning against a wall and ran his fingers over the metal. “But you know about her already, don’t you, Emma?”

  She unbuttoned her jacket, the house suddenly feeling warm, closed in despite the clearing skies and dropping temperature. “It’s not incumbent upon me to tell either you or Ivan who I talk to or don’t talk to.”

  Dmitri shook his head. “If the talk involves me…”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Emma said, not backing down.

  He didn’t seem to take offense. “It wouldn’t surprise me if Tatiana Pavlova doesn’t trust me, my motives for being here. Many in Russia don’t trust me because of my business, my wealth, politics—they all have their reasons. Some are legitimate. Some are fanciful, based on prejudice, gossip and tales told by my enemies.”

  Forcing herself not to look at Colin, Emma walked over to the stack of two-by-fours, the air thick with the smell of sawdust. “You don’t have enemies in Heron’s Cove, do you, Dmitri?”

  His eyebrows went up in surprise, then he laughed. “I hope not. The only person I know in Heron’s Cove is you, Emma, and I consider you a friend. Why don’t you join us for dinner aboard the Nightingale?” He replaced the crowbar against the wall and kissed her cheek. “At least come for a drink. Bring your man here.” He gave Colin a polite nod. “Good to see you, Special Agent Donovan.”

  After Dmitri and Ivan left, Colin shoved the load of lumber against the wall with the toe of his boot. “Ivan definitely still has the hots for you.”

  Emma made no comment.

  “I’m going back to Rock Point.” He stood back from the wood. “I don’t know much, Emma, but I know I’m not sleeping on your floor tonight. Neither are you.”

  “I’m not worried about staying here on my own. I told you, I can handle myself—”

  “It’s not about that. It’s time to get some space between you and whatever is going on here.” He moved closer to her, threaded his fingers into her hair. “And a little less space between the two of us.”

  Before she had a chance to take a breath, he lowered his hand and headed for the kitchen. Emma reminded herself that if she had wanted an easy man, she wouldn’t have fallen for Colin Donovan.

  Not that she’d had time to think, reflect, analyze before she found herself in bed with him a month ago. She had never thought of herself as a woman who would be swept off her feet by such a man. By any man, really.

  She wouldn’t change a thing, she thought with a sudden smile.

  She went down the short hall to the kitchen, welcomed the cool air as Colin opened the back door. “Are you going to check in on Father Bracken?” she asked.

  He nodded. “You’ll be right behind me?”

  “Thirty minutes, tops.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  “A promise or a warning?”

  He didn’t smile. “Take your pick.”

  Emma followed him out to the porch and watched him amble down the steps and across the yard to the parking lot on the other side of the hedges. He moved with his usual strength and determination, but she could feel his dark mood, the seriousness that had come over him since he had arrived at Tatiana’s cottage.

  When he disappeared from view, she let out a cathartic breath. Stubborn gray clouds remained to the s
outh, toward the sandy beach that was a favorite with tourists to Heron’s Cove. The Maine beaches in Ogunquit, York, Wells and Kennebunkport were all close, and she wondered how many people were looking out at the passing storm clouds, debating whether to go for a walk before nightfall.

  She saw Ivan down on the pier and checked her iPhone for messages as he walked toward her. She had a few updates from her team and an email from her mother but no further news from Boston or London.

  “Your man knows I’m still here,” Ivan said as he stood at the bottom of the porch steps. “He has good instincts.”

  “Does that mean he’s right not to trust you?”

  Ivan put one foot on the bottom step and looked up at her. There was a softness in his dark eyes that she hadn’t noticed—or he hadn’t let her see—earlier. “He knows I care what happens to you, and he knows I helped you find him.”

  Emma sat on the top step. So. No more pretenses. She didn’t bother denying or sidestepping that Colin was the agent Ivan had helped. “Why did you call me?” she asked. “Why did you help?”

  He came up and sat next to her, not quite touching her. “Because I could.” His intense gaze was focused on the waterfront, not her. “The FBI knows Pete Horner, the man who held Special Agent Donovan, once piloted a plane for me.”

  It was a statement, not a question. Emma leaned back, her leather jacket falling open. Ivan’s eyes slid to the Glock 22 in her holster. “Does Horner have any axes to grind with you?” she asked.

  “He has axes to grind with everyone.”

  “And you? An axe to grind with him?”

  “If I find him before you and your FBI friends do, I will let you know.”

  “Don’t interfere in FBI business, Ivan. It won’t end well for you if you do.”

  “I don’t want my actions to hurt you,” he said quietly.

  “I appreciate that but I don’t need you to protect me. I have a job to do, and I’m not as confused as I was four years ago.”

  His mouth twitched in what passed for a smile. “You’re never confused, Emma.”

  “You are not telling me everything, Ivan.”