Keeper's Reach

by Carla Neggers

  Colin absorbed the information. “Anyone else here who was involved in this business in Afghanistan?”

  “Everyone, one way or the other.”

  “Unfinished business?”

  “Not for me. I walked away from all the unfinished business.”

  “All right. Let’s go in. Introduce me to the rest of your friends.”

  * * *

  Ted Kavanagh grabbed a black-iron poker from a rack of fireplace equipment on the library hearth. Mike had introduced Colin to Reed Cooper, Buddy Whidmore and the Masons then left him alone with Kavanagh. Now it was two FBI agents having a friendly chat. Colin supposed it could be the case, but it wasn’t.

  Kavanagh clutched the poker. “I don’t need you meddling in my business.”

  “I’m visiting my brother.”

  “These Southerners keep it hot in here.”

  It was hot.

  “I should have gone snowshoeing, cooled off,” Kavanagh said. “I grew up in Michigan. I did enough snowshoeing to last me a lifetime.”

  “I need to know what you’re doing here, Ted.”

  “What if I tell you it’s none of your damn business?”

  “You can do that,” Colin said, sitting on a small sofa opposite Kavanagh by the fire with his poker.

  “I’m here on my own time with old friends. That’s all there is to it. I don’t know Mike as well as the others. He was a direct combatant. Reed and the Masons weren’t, at least not when we met. Obviously Naomi and I weren’t, either. Buddy did some freelance tech work for us.” Kavanagh’s tone suggested he’d told Colin more than he deserved to know. “I got in touch with Reed when I heard he’d gone out on his own, and we met in London. Now here we are.”

  “With a trip to a London art gallery and the Cotswolds in between.”

  “I figured Reed would be interested in Mike. I took a look into the Donovans of late and decided to check out Aoife O’Byrne. I had some gallery worker look down her nose at me when I pronounced Aoife wrong. It’s Ee-fa not A-oh-fee. Whoops.”

  Colin smiled. “You aren’t the first.”

  “Oliver York is this Oliver Fairbairn character, isn’t he? The mythologist who consulted on the art theft documentary. Tough, what happened to York as a kid. Anyway, I realized Naomi was following the same trail I was, and we ended up in York’s Cotswolds village at the same time.” Kavanagh pulled back the screen on the fireplace, stabbed ineffectually at the burning logs, then set the poker back on the rack and replaced the screen. “Neither of us wants Reed to step into anything that could hurt him.”

  “Or by extension you. You should have called Emma Sharpe or me.”

  “Ah. Right. Sorry.”

  He wasn’t sorry. Colin glanced around the library, mentally comparing it to other Maine inns he knew, including the one his parents now ran. He’d never paid much attention to the Plum Tree. Just another place on the coast. He’d already looked out at the water, then to the south. Emma was right. The shed couldn’t be seen from here. The place where she’d spent the night alone, cold, little food, no water—wrestling herself out of bungee cords, recovering from a choke hold.

  “I’m being defensive,” Kavanagh said with a sigh. “Look, I obviously stepped into your territory. It was inadvertent, and I admit I had questions about what I found. Emma Sharpe seems smart and knowledgeable about art crimes. At the same time...” He stopped, shaking his head. “Never mind.”

  “Go ahead, Ted. Say it.”

  “I’m glad you two are happy, Colin, but she will end your career.”

  It was about what Colin expected Kavanagh to say. “Well. I asked.”

  “Naomi accused me of bird-dogging her. I didn’t follow her to the gallery or to St. James’s Park but she thinks I did. We were both on the same scent, for different reasons. I did follow her to the Cotswolds—I got it out of a bellman at her hotel. Sometimes she doesn’t know when to quit.”

  “Is that how she ended up helping Martin Hambly?”

  “The injured Brit? Yeah. That’s exactly how. It’s classic Naomi MacBride. Is that why you have your knickers in a twist?”

  “That’s part of it,” Colin said.

  “Naomi didn’t make her movements secret. Someone else interested in Oliver York could have beaten her to the dovecote. I know York’s that Sharpe thief, Colin. Another thief could have knocked Hambly on his ass. A journalist. Scotland Yard. Lots of possibilities that don’t include any of us here. The answers you’re looking for are in England and with the Sharpes.”

  “You’re supposed to be in a hammock on a beach.”

  “Still could happen,” Kavanagh said with a shrug. “Look, I don’t blame you for having alarm bells going off. I get it, but I have no reason to suspect anyone here is in danger or putting anyone else in danger—unless something’s happened that I don’t know about.”

  Colin didn’t respond. Instead he got to his feet and opened the door onto the porch, then glanced back at Kavanagh. “Let’s step outside. Get some air.”

  Kavanagh hesitated, then followed Colin onto the porch. The air was cold and dry, with no wind. Colin hadn’t taken off his jacket since coming inside. Kavanagh didn’t have one on, but he seemed to appreciate a jolt of cold air.

  “How deep is your Emma in with this thief, Oliver York?” Kavanagh asked. “And don’t tell me he’s not a thief. Have you been in contact with him, or with his manservant or whatever the hell he’s called? You know these people. I don’t.”

  “I haven’t spoken with York or with Hambly,” Colin said. “You spoke with Martin Hambly on Wednesday afternoon. After that you spoke to a courier at the York farm. He was coming from the dovecote where MacBride found Hambly the next morning. You were there right around the time Hambly ended up half-dead on the stream bank.”

  Kavanagh gave him a grudging smile. “You’ve been busy, I see. No wonder you have the reputation you do. Nothing nefarious happened. I chatted with Hambly about the village church and amaryllises. He had a flowerpot in each arm. Then I took a walk. I ran into the courier truck on its way out of the dirt track that leads to the dovecote—which I didn’t realize then. I asked the driver if that was the York farm. He said yes.”

  “Did the driver say anything else?”

  “He told me to have a nice day.”

  Colin ignored Kavanagh’s sarcasm. “What did you do after your conversation?”

  “Walked past the farm a ways, then turned around and walked back to the pub and had a pint and dinner. I figured Naomi would be staying there but I didn’t go looking for her. Whatever is going on that you’re not telling me is about the Sharpes and their relationship with Oliver York. It’s got nothing to do with these guys here. We need to trust each other, Colin.”

  “No, we don’t,” Colin said, keeping any animosity out of his voice. Just stating the facts.

  His bluntness didn’t seem to offend Kavanagh. “I can get you out of my hair formally,” he said, matter-of-fact. “I’ll call Yankowski myself. He’ll tell you to back off.”

  “Do you want to work for Cooper?”

  “My presence here is legitimate. That’s all you need to know.”

  “You’re an active agent, Ted. You aren’t a solo operator.”

  “I’ve been on the job longer than you. I don’t need you to tell me the rules.”

  “Back to the courier,” Colin said. “He picked up a package at the dovecote. Do you know anything about that?”

  He could see the question caught Kavanagh by surprise, perked his interest. “I don’t, no. Why would I? Who was it for?”

  “It was addressed to Emma in Rock Point.”

  “Okay.” Kavanagh looked out at the ocean, the gray dusk light making him look paler, older. Finally he turned to Colin. “So, Oliver York sent a package to an FBI agent in Maine, and I happened to talk to the courier who picked it up. Want to tell me the rest, Colin?”

  Colin debated then told him about Emma.

  Kavanagh winced. “You’ve had a hell of a
day. Damn. I’m sorry this happened, but this guy Oliver York has no business sending packages to a federal agent. He’s a thief. You know it and I know it. Emma knows it. He can’t be trusted.”

  “Who took her, Ted?”

  “No idea. I know I didn’t, and I know barging in here won’t get you answers. Back off and let me do my job. What was in the package?”

  “Sheepskins.” Colin decided not to mention the Saint Brigid’s cross. “They were tossed into the shed with her.”

  “Maybe she did the tossing. Set this up.”

  “Don’t even go there.”

  “All right. Sorry. She’s safe, though, right?”

  Colin nodded. He hadn’t told Kavanagh that Emma was on her way to England. He wasn’t convinced he had Ted Kavanagh’s full story about his interest in Oliver York and his trip to London and the Cotswolds, and now Maine.

  “That’s good,” Kavanagh said. “If anyone knows when to rewrite the rules, it’s you, Colin, but you need to know we’re on the same side. It’s good Emma’s safe and out of this thing. You can bow out now, too. Mike’s a big boy. He can take care of himself.” Kavanagh grinned suddenly. “You look like you want to throw me off the porch headfirst into the snow.”

  “It wouldn’t do any good, would it?”

  “No. My ex-wife would tell you the same. Mind if I go back in? That hot fire is starting to sound like a pretty good idea.”

  They went inside. Colin left him in the library and headed down to the bar, all dark red leather and wood-paneled walls covered with old Maine photos. Tall windows opened onto another porch overlooking the water. Reed Cooper stood up from a table, where he had a laptop open. They hadn’t had a chance to talk earlier. “Join me for a drink?” Cooper asked.

  Colin shook his head. “No, thanks.”

  “Let me anticipate your questions. I didn’t ask Agent Kavanagh or Naomi to look into Mike never mind you or the Sharpes. I picked up Naomi in the Cotswolds because I wanted to invite her here.”

  Reed Cooper was smooth—a private security contractor and a former army officer accustomed to dealing with a variety of federal agents. “Why this get-together now?” Colin asked.

  “Because of the opportunity we have with Naomi’s group of volunteer doctors. It was clear once I met with them in London this can happen. I’m here to make sure I do everything possible so that it does, and that we do our best for them. Having Mike on board would help me accomplish that mission.”

  “Good luck, then,” Colin said.

  “You’re welcome to join us for dinner.”

  If he said yes, Colin figured if Kavanagh didn’t shoot him, Mike would. Only a slight exaggeration. He shook his head. “I’m staying in Rock Point.”

  “Come by this weekend. A few more of us will be here. Bring your fiancée.”

  Colin thanked him and left. When he climbed into his truck, he texted Mike. I’m guessing your friends have their own agendas.

  Mike’s response was immediate. Nothing new.

  Are you armed?

  Glock. It’s legal.

  * * *

  When Colin arrived back in Rock Point, he had a text from Emma. Made the flight. About to take off.

  Padgett?

  Five rows behind me. Insisted so he can keep an eye on me.

  Colin smiled. He was liking Sam Padgett better and better. Safe trip.

  Love you.

  Love you, too.

  Kevin’s truck was parked behind Emma’s car. His youngest brother got out and Colin rolled down his window. “Any news?”

  “Thought you might like to take a ride out to the old lightkeeper’s house with me.”

  “Not worried about our kidnapper seeing us?”

  “Nope. It’s dark and isolated, and if we’re there and he or she shows up, all the better.”

  “Sounds like a plan. We can take my truck. Anyone sees it, they’ll think I’m sticking my nose in Mike’s business. Hop in.”

  Twenty minutes later, he and Kevin had the bungee cords off the door to Emma’s shed and were inside, looking at sheepskins, broken glass and her discarded trail-mix bag.

  Kevin shone his flashlight on more bungee cords. “Those must be the ones that were on her hands and feet.”

  Colin remembered the marks on her wrists and ankles. It would have taken time and persistence to get free of the cords, even if they’d been haphazardly attached. He noted a fleece blanket next to the sheepskins and pushed back an image of Emma stuffed in a car trunk, struggling to breathe.

  He and Kevin didn’t find the Saint Brigid’s cross that York said he’d tucked into the package. Emma hadn’t missed it.

  “We need a team in here,” Kevin said, glancing around the shed in disgust. “Whoever grabbed Emma didn’t care one way or the other whether she lived or died. They’re not coming back, either.”

  “Doesn’t look like it.”

  Colin resisted the urge to scoop up the blanket, as if it somehow could allow him to go back in time and comfort Emma in her distress. But he knew her. She’d have fallen back on her training and experience—and her time with the sisters, too. Her years with the Sisters of the Joyful Heart had taught her how to meditate and stay centered in a crisis.

  Kevin looked as if he wanted to kick something. It wasn’t like him. People called him the nice Donovan brother. “This doesn’t feel professional,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “No, it doesn’t, but that could be deliberate.”

  “To mislead us,” Kevin said.

  “Emma is fairly certain the attacker wore gloves. She felt them on her neck.”

  “Her phone’s clean. No prints.”

  Colin sucked in a breath. “Get a team in here tonight if that’s what you want to do. Let’s see what they turn up.”

  Kevin gave a curt nod. “It’ll be a long night,” he said. “At least we know where Emma is.”

  “On a flight to London with Sam Padgett.”

  “Lucky her,” Kevin said with a halfhearted smile as he and Colin left the dark, cold shed.

  24

  Naomi didn’t dress for dinner. No one did. It turned out to be subdued, not the intense affair lunch had been. She wasn’t hungry, anyway, and left the dining room after a few bites of salad and chowder, almost as good as the chowder she’d had last night at the Rock Point Harbor Inn. She needed space, and air. Time to think. She bundled up as best she could in her English jacket and made her way off the back porch. The shoveled walk ended at an icy path that led to a dock. It probably was no place to be on a dark February night, but she headed down there, anyway, mindful of every step. If she slipped and fell, she wanted at least to be able to yell for help. Better to be able to bounce up, no one the wiser.

  Being rescued by Mike Donovan once in her life was enough.

  More than enough.

  The light from the inn, stars and moon cast shadows on the snow and the ocean washing against and under the rickety, snow-covered dock, but she still wished she had thought to unearth a flashlight.

  She stepped onto the end of the dock. No footprints. Was she the first one out here this winter?

  The air was freezing, but she needed air after dealing with the alpha Donovans.

  She heard someone behind her and turned as Mike came up the path from the inn. “Thought that was you,” he said. “What are you up to out here?”

  “I’m getting air.” She kept her voice level. “You sound suspicious. Are you going to keep suspecting I’ve done something wrong?”

  “Should I?”

  “That’s a hell of an answer.”

  “Maybe I’m just anticipating you’ll do something wrong.”

  He walked past her and jumped onto the dock, no wariness about snow, ice, the old wood collapsing into the tide. He had on a canvas jacket open over his flannel shirt. He turned to her. “You need to tell me everything, Naomi.”

  “Everything about what?”

  “How much do you know about this part of Maine? You don’t like going i
nto situations blind. Protective intelligence is your specialty. You make it a point to know as much as you can ahead of time. It’s what you do.”

  “Do you think I have done something illegal?”

  “Not what I said.”

  “But someone does,” she said half under her breath.

  Mike kicked a chunk of frozen snow and ice off the dock. Naomi didn’t see where it landed but heard it plop into the water. “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he said.

  “Tell yourself that, too. Being back with Reed has you on edge. Having him and his guys here. Talking about Cooper Global Security and the work it does. It has you back in Special Forces mode, hyper-vigilant.” She shoved her hands into her pockets and wished she had a hat. “There’s a reason you live by yourself on the coast.”

  He glanced at her. “Yes, there is.”

  She hunched her shoulders against the cold seeping through her jacket. It wasn’t suited to these temperatures. “This was a bad idea. I’m for warming up by the fire before dinner. Serena and Jamie are setting a table in the dining room with tablecloths and candles. No meetings. Reed’s waiting for the rest of the guys to get here. Do you know any of them?”

  “A few.”

  Mike wasn’t going to say more. She knew him well enough to tell that much. She nodded at a white-capped swell coming at them in the moonlight. “I take back my claim of falling in the ocean.”

  “Were you exaggerating on purpose?”

  She grinned. “I never exaggerate on purpose.”

  He took her by the elbow as they walked off the dock. He didn’t let go when they reached the path up to the porch. She tried not to read anything into it. Mike was a wilderness guide now. Probably he kept people inexperienced with the Maine coast from falling on their butts all the time. All in a day’s work for him.

  Reed stepped outside as they mounted the steps to the porch by the bar. “Saw you two out here. I hope I’m not interrupting.” He shivered. “It’s probably a balmy day by your standards, Mike. I’ve never liked the cold. Have you ever been to Nashville?”