“You can show me the plans for your volunteer doctors first.”
A light came into her eyes. “Mike...”
He kissed her softly on the lips. “I’ve loved you for a long time, Naomi.” He stood up from the bed. “Heal well, okay?”
She smiled. “I’m highly motivated.”
He laughed, remembering their nights together. Every one of them.
She caught her fingertips into his, then sank deep into her pillow, fast asleep.
Mike went downstairs. Reed had coffee made and muffins warmed on a plate. “Do we talk about Cooper Global Security, or do we talk about painting canoes?”
“We can do both.”
34
Declan’s Cross, the South Irish Coast
Sunday, 8:00 p.m., IST
The bar at the O’Byrne House Hotel was overflowing with Brackens. Declan was there with his wife and their three young children, and Finian, alone. The three Bracken sisters had decided to join their older brothers. Two were married and came with their husbands and a total of five more small children. The youngest sibling, Mary, who worked for Bracken Distillers, came on her own. Emma had met Declan before but not the Bracken sisters. Their laughter, ready wit and good cheer were the perfect antidote to a very long few days.
Black-haired, blue-eyed Kitty O’Byrne, Aoife’s sister and the proprietress of the upscale boutique hotel, had pulled a bottle of Bracken 15 Year Old from her whiskey cabinet. Whoops of appreciation came from the Bracken crowd.
As Kitty poured glasses, Emma received a text from her grandfather in Dublin. The two Dutch landscapes had been returned without fanfare and now were hanging in the museum gallery where they’d hung for decades.
One last escapade for our thief.
Emma slid her phone back into her jacket. How had Oliver pulled that one off?
She and Finian had flown into Cork that morning. Oliver promised to join them in the evening.
There was time—if not a lot of time—to pop over to Amsterdam from England, return the paintings and then fly to Cork and drive an hour east to Declan’s Cross.
Oliver must have had the operation planned well in advance, Emma thought. All he’d been waiting for was a reason to execute the plan.
She managed one sip of Bracken 15 before Oliver walked into the bar.
If Kitty and the rest of the Brackens knew he was the thief who’d broken in here ten years ago, they gave no sign of it. Finian welcomed his English friend and introduced him.
More Bracken 15 flowed.
Emma stayed on her bar stool by the window. Others would figure out that Oliver York and Oliver Fairbairn were the same person. He didn’t hide it but he didn’t publicize it, either. He and MI5 might have to deal with persistent rumors that he was a serial art thief, but they were up to the challenge. Not everyone was a Naomi MacBride or Buddy Whidmore.
Aoife O’Byrne came in through French doors that opened onto the patio and dark Irish night. Emma noticed the Irish artist’s eyes scan the crowded room, and then her smile as two of the children ran up to her. The Brackens were singing and laughing, telling stories. Kitty had abandoned her whiskey pouring and now was arguing with Sean Murphy, her Irish detective love—who knew as well as Emma did that Oliver York was the thief who’d slipped into the O’Byrne house ten years ago.
Finian looked at Emma and smiled, a lightness about him that was unmistakable.
Aoife spun off from the little ones and flirted with the Brackens’ master distiller, a good-looking Irishman who obviously had no idea she was an artist—which seemed to please her.
Oliver plopped onto the bar stool next to Emma. “Perhaps there’s a sexy MI5 agent in my future.”
“Maybe she’ll speak Dutch.”
“Ah. You heard about the mysterious return of the landscapes. Wendell texted me earlier. The Heineken must be flowing in Amsterdam. By the way, your grandfather has invited me to the open house of the new Sharpe Fine Art Recovery offices in Heron’s Cove. I wouldn’t miss it. He says you and Colin have a guest room.” Oliver smiled. “Why do you think I sent you three sheepskins? One for the guest room. I hate cold feet.”
He spun off with a glass and the Bracken 15 before Emma could tell him he wasn’t staying in her guest room. Finian joined him by the fire. His friendship with Colin had already been established when he and Emma met, and he’d been friends with Sean Murphy since the garda detective had investigated the tragic deaths of Sally Bracken and her two small daughters.
Perhaps, Emma thought, Oliver was another dangerous man Father Bracken counseled.
Aoife slipped away from her whiskey man and sat on the stool Oliver had vacated. “I heard you’ve had a difficult few days, Emma. I thought you should know that I went to London last week because I knew Declan and Finian were there, and I wanted to see Oliver.” She smiled. “I think I’m a bit obsessed with those two. But not in the way I was last fall. They’re friends.”
“I’m glad,” Emma said.
She lasted a few more minutes before she left the party and slipped out of the lounge to head up to her room. She and Colin had stayed in the same room in November. She remembered making love in front of the fire. A few days later, he’d proposed to her in Dublin.
She pressed her engagement ring to her lips, as if it brought him closer to her.
Aoife was right, Emma thought. She had definitely had a difficult few days. She decided to indulge herself and take a luxurious bath in her quiet room.
When she got out of the tub and wrapped herself in a thick robe, she saw she had a text message from Colin. I’m about to get on a plane to Ireland.
Perfect.
See you soon, babe. We’ll have a few days to ourselves.
And then what? Mina Van Buren, Yank, the Washington meetings...
All that could wait. In a few hours, Colin would be here, and they would once again make love by the fire.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from HARBOR ISLAND by Carla Neggers.
Author’s Note
I hope you enjoyed Keeper’s Reach, the fifth novel in my Sharpe & Donovan romantic suspense series. Many readers have asked me about Mike Donovan. Now we know more about him, but I have a feeling he has secrets yet to be revealed, don’t you? Emma Sharpe and Colin Donovan continue their adventures, and Finian Bracken takes another step in his journey since the tragic loss of his family.
It’s exciting, challenging and fun creating a world for this cast of characters. Oliver York’s family “farm” in the Cotswolds was inspired by my own trips to this beautiful part of England. Joe and I didn’t get knocked on the head, but we had a few adventures. I’ve put some of the photos we took onto my website. Take a look!
Ireland, of course, continues to inspire and fascinate me. As I write this note, Joe and I are preparing for another trip to the southwest coast and Saint Declan country on the south coast. We look forward to chatting about whiskey with our friend John Moriarty, who has been so gracious in answering my questions about everything from sheep to the proper pronunciation of táoscan.
And Maine... I love New England in spring, summer, fall and winter. In Keeper’s Reach, we get a taste of the Maine coast in winter. I swear I almost got frostbite writing some of the scenes! One of my favorite winter activities is to strap on snowshoes and head into the woods—followed by hot chocolate by the fire!
I’m deep into planning my next Sharpe & Donovan novel. To stay up-to-date and get sneak peeks on all my books, and for photos and ultrashort videos that will give you a taste of the Sharpe & Donovan world, please visit my website www.carlaneggers.com and sign up for my eNewsletter. And enjoy the recipes! Scones, for one. How could I resist?
Thanks and take care!
Carla
“Another spellbinding, chilling, complex page-turner.”
—RT Book Reviews, Top Pick, on Harbor Island
Looking for more incredible stories packed with thrilling, edge-of-your-seat romantic suspense?
If you loved Keeper’s Reach, then you won’t want to miss any of the fast-paced twists and turns in the Sharpe & Donovan series from New York Times bestselling author and acclaimed master of romantic suspense Carla Neggers. Complete your collection today!
Rock Point (novella)
Saint’s Gate
Heron’s Cove
Declan’s Cross
Harbor Island
And be sure to catch these other great romantic suspense stories from Carla Neggers—available now in ebook!
The Carriage House
The Cabin
Stonebrook Cottage
The Harbor
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Harbor Island
by Carla Neggers
1
Boston, Massachusetts
As she wound down her run on the Boston waterfront, Emma Sharpe could feel the effects of jet lag in every stride. Three days home from Dublin, she was still partly on Irish time and had awakened early on the cool November Saturday. She’d strapped her snub-nosed .38 onto her hip, slipped into her worn-out running shoes and was off. With less than a half mile left in her five-mile route, she was confident she hadn’t been followed. Not that as an art-crimes specialist she was an expert at spotting a tail, but she was an FBI agent and knew the basics.
Matt Yankowski, the special agent in charge of the small Boston-based unit Emma had joined in March, hadn’t minced words when he’d addressed his agents yesterday on a video conference call. “This Sharpe thief knows who we are. He knows where we work. It’s also possible he knows where we live. If he doesn’t, he could be trying to find out. Be extra vigilant.” Yank had looked straight at Emma. “Especially you, Emma.”
Yes. Especially her.
This Sharpe thief.
Well, it was true. She was, after all, the granddaughter of Wendell Sharpe, the octogenarian private art detective who had been on the trail of this particular serial art thief for a decade. Her brother, Lucas, now at the helm of Sharpe Fine Art Recovery, was also deeply involved in the stepped-up search for their thief, a clever, brazen individual—probably a man—who had managed to elude capture since his first heist in a small village on the south Irish coast.
Emma slowed her pace and turned onto the wharf where she had a small, ground-level apartment in a three-story brick building that had once been a produce warehouse. Her front windows looked out on a marina that shared the wharf. A nice view, but people passing by to get to their boats would often stop outside her windows for a chat, a cigarette, a phone call. Although she’d grown up on the water in southern Maine, she hadn’t expected her Boston apartment to be such a fishbowl when she’d snapped it up in March, weeks before the boating season.
Had the thief peeked in her windows one day?
She ducked into her apartment, expecting to find Colin still in bed or on the sofa drinking coffee. Special Agent Colin Donovan. A deep-cover agent, another Mainer and her fiancé as of four days ago. He’d proposed to her in a Dublin pub. “Emma Sharpe, I’m madly in love with you, and I want to be with you forever.”
She smiled at the memory as she checked the cozy living area, bedroom and bathroom. Colin wasn’t anywhere in the 300-square-foot apartment they now more or less shared. Then she found the note he’d scrawled on the back of an envelope and left on the counter next to the coffee press in the galley kitchen. “Back soon.”
Not a man to waste words.
He’d filled the kettle and scooped coffee into the press, and he’d taken her favorite Maine wild-blueberry jam out of the refrigerator.
Still smiling, Emma headed for the shower. She was wide awake after her run, early even by her standards. After three weeks in Ireland, she and Colin had thoroughly adapted to the five-hour time difference. Their stay started with a blissful couple of weeks in an isolated cottage, getting to know each other better. Then they got caught up in the disappearance and murder of an American diver and dolphin-and-whale enthusiast named Lindsey Hargreaves. Now, back home in Boston, Emma was reacquainting herself with Eastern Standard Time.
Making love with Colin last night had helped keep her from falling asleep at eight o’clock—one in the morning in Ireland. He seemed impervious to jet lag. His undercover work with its constant dangers and frequent time-zone changes no doubt had helped, but Emma also suspected he was just like that.
Colin would know if someone tried to follow him. No question.
She pulled on a bathrobe and headed back to the kitchen. She made coffee and toast and took them to her inexpensive downsize couch, which was pushed up against an exposed-brick wall and perpendicular to the windows overlooking the marina. She collected up a stack of photographs she and Colin had pulled out last night, including one of herself as a novice at twenty-one. Colin had put it under the light and commented on her short hair and “sensible” shoes. She wore her hair longer now, and although she would never be one for four-inch heels, her shoes and boots were more fashionable than the ones she’d worn at the convent.
Colin had peered closer at the photo. “Ah, but look at that cute smile and the spark in your green eyes.” He’d grinned at her. “Sister Brigid was just waiting for a rugged lobsterman to wander into her convent.”
Emma had gone by the name Brigid during her short time as a novice with the Sisters of the Joyful Heart, a small order on a quiet peninsula not far from her hometown on the southern Maine coast. In September, a longtime member of the convent and Emma’s former mentor, an expert in art conservation, was murdered. Yank had dispatched Colin to keep an eye on her. He’d tried to pass himself off as a lobsterman—he’d been one before joining the Maine marine patrol and then the FBI—but Emma had quickly realized what he was up to.
“I bet you were wearing red lace undies,” he’d said as he’d set the photo back on the table.
Emma had felt herself flush. “I don’t wear red undies now.”
He’d given her one of his sexy, blue-eyed winks. “Wait until Valentine’s Day.”
They’d abandoned the photos and had ended up in bed, making love until she’d finally collapsed in his arms. He was dark-haired, broad-shouldered and scarred, a man who relied on his natural instincts and experience to size up a situation instantly. He didn’t ruminate, and he wasn’t one to sit at a desk for more than twenty minutes at a time. She was more analytical, more likely to see all the ins and outs and possibilities—and she was a ruminator.
As different as they were, Emma thought, she and Colin also had similarities. The FBI, their Maine upbringings, their strong families, their love of Ireland. Their whirlwind romance wasn’t all an “opposites attract” phenomenon, a case of forbidden love that had come on fast and hard. They hadn’t told anyone yet of their engagement. On Monday night in Dublin, Colin had presented her with a beautiful diamond ring, handmade by a jeweler on the southwest Irish coast. She’d reluctantly slipped the ring off her finger when they’d arrived at Boston’s Logan Airport from Dublin late Tuesday.
Emma was so lost in thought, she jumped when her cell phone vibrated on the table. She scooped it up, expecting to see Colin’s name on the screen. Instead, it was a number she didn’t recognize. A wrong number? She clicked to answer, but before she could say anything, a woman spoke. “Is this Emma Sharpe? Agent Sharpe with the FBI?”
“Yes, it is. Who are you?”
“What? Oh. My name’s Rachel Bristol. I need to talk to you. It’s important.”
“All right. Please go ahead.”
“Not on the phone. In person. Meet me on Bristol Island.
It’s in Boston Harbor. There’s a bridge. You don’t have to take a boat.”
“Ms. Bristol, what’s this about?”
“It’s about your art thief. Bristol Island, Agent Sharpe. Be at the white cottage in thirty minutes or less. There’s a trail by the marina.” She paused. “Come alone. Please. I will talk only to you.”
Rachel Bristol—or whoever she was—disconnected.
Emma sprang to her feet. Thirty minutes didn’t give her much time.
She ran to her bedroom and dressed in dark jeans, a dark blue sweater, a leather jacket and boots. She grabbed her credentials and strapped on her service pistol. She didn’t leave a note for Colin. She would text him on the way.
Meeting confidential informants was a tricky business even with protocols, training and experience. But it didn’t matter. Not this time.
Her thief.
Her problem.
Copyright © 2014 by Carla Neggers
ISBN-13: 9781460390887
Keeper’s Reach
Copyright © 2015 by Carla Neggers
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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