Rival's Break

by Carla Neggers

  “Did you invite them?”

  “No.” Jeremy didn’t elaborate. “Doctors say I should be able to get out of here later today.”

  “That’s good news. You’ll make a full recovery?”

  “In time. We didn’t get into how much time. I’ve never been so sick. Did you find the lung I threw up?”

  “Tossed in the river.”

  He tried to laugh, but winced. “My abdominal muscles still hurt. I gather they will for a while.” He licked his raw, chapped lips. “You’re here to badger me, aren’t you, Donovan?”

  “I want to ask a few questions that you can answer as you’re able.” Colin filled a glass with water and ice from a pitcher on the wheeled tray table. He handed it to Jeremy. “I don’t want to do anything to impede your recovery.”

  Jeremy snorted. “Glad you got that BS out of the way? Where’s your brother? Did I hear you two mention doughnuts?”

  “Kevin’s checking on Bryce Fanning, and we did mention doughnuts. Why, do you want one?”

  “You’re trying to kill me. I knew it.”

  “We need to talk, my friend,” Colin said. “Why were you a passenger on the Fanning yacht?”

  “It’s not their yacht, but they’re buying one of their own. It’ll cost more than you and I combined would make in multiple lifetimes. But good for them. Have at it. Enjoy. I hope never to step foot on another yacht.”

  “The yacht didn’t make you sick, and you didn’t answer my question.”

  “What question?”

  Colin didn’t respond. No need. Jeremy knew what question.

  Jeremy shut his eyes for two beats. When he opened them, he was focused, serious. “Melodie Fanning invited me. I was in Boston on business.”

  “As Hornsby,” Colin said.

  “Correct. Melodie is already thinking about what art to buy for the new yacht.”

  “And I bet you come highly recommended.”

  “I do, in fact.”

  “What about Georgina Masterson?”

  “I stopped by the marina where the yacht was moored to see her. That’s how I met the Fannings. Georgina’s father is an old friend.” Jeremy tried drinking some of the water, but ended up dribbling it down the front of his hospital gown. “Bloody hell.”

  Colin took the glass and set it back on the tray table. “Sorry about that. I should have helped you.”

  “I don’t need help. I need to get out of here. I can’t hold up a fork and get out of bed on my own. Can you imagine if I have to ask Henrietta for help getting to the toilet? Or, God forbid, Oliver?” Jeremy shook his head, obviously with some effort. His eyes were still red-rimmed and bloodshot, if less so than yesterday, but as piercing as ever. “I told them they could talk to you.”

  “Good of you.”

  “It is. Otherwise you wouldn’t get a word out of them.”

  “What do you know about an Aoife O’Byrne painting that was on the yacht?”

  Jeremy yawned. “I can’t stay awake. It’s driving me mad.”

  “Georgina says you were going to take a look at it, but it’s not in your cabin. Where is it?”

  “Is she filing a complaint?”

  “No. Backing off her story.”

  His British colleague blinked, a vacant expression on his face. “Painting—Colin, I’m sorry. I’m fogged in. I can’t bloody think straight.” He moaned and sank into his pillows. “I need to rest and get back on my feet. You understand.”

  No way was Colin getting anything else out of him. He knew the signs, and they had nothing to do with his recovery. “By the way, is Henrietta getting in touch with your wife?”

  “I hope not. My darling wife wouldn’t be disappointed I’m making it through this ordeal, but she wouldn’t mind having me suffer a little.”

  “Provided she didn’t have to clean up after you?”

  “Precisely.” Jeremy glanced out the window. He did look like hell, if not as out of it as he wanted Colin to believe. “I should rest. I want to be sure I can get out of here today.”

  “Where will you go once you’re discharged?”

  “Don’t you have a guest room?”

  “I turned it into a weight room. Emma wants to convert it into a proper guest room. Oliver sent us a sheepskin for it. You could sleep on an exercise mat but that wouldn’t be very comfortable, and it’s up a flight of stairs. I’m not carrying you.”

  “God forbid.” Jeremy managed a weak smile when Emma entered the room. “Special Agent Sharpe. Welcome. Colin was about to get out the thumbscrews.”

  She greeted him with a warm smile. “How are you feeling?”

  “Almost alive. It’s good to see you, Emma. I’m so sorry about your father. I had the pleasure of meeting him in London. He was a wonderful man.”

  “Thank you. We miss him.”

  “How’s your grandfather?”

  “As well as can be expected. My brother’s with him in Ireland. I just spoke with Lucas, in fact.” Emma paused, eyeing Jeremy. He adjusted his position, wincing in what appeared to be genuine discomfort. “He and Granddad are in Declan’s Cross. That’s the village—”

  “I know it,” Jeremy said.

  Of course he did. Colin said nothing. Emma approached Jeremy’s hospital bed. She had something on her mind. Colin waited as she smoothed a few wrinkles in the white blanket at the foot of the bed. “Lucas spoke with Aoife O’Byrne. She’s in Declan’s Cross, but she was in Dublin earlier this week. She had a party at her studio there. My grandfather stopped in.”

  “Did he? We should all be so spry and alert in our eighties.” Jeremy took in a shallow breath and shut his eyes. “I’m as weak as a kitten. Another...”

  He drifted off before he could finish. Faking it, probably, but Colin knew he’d look like a total jerk if he shook him and he really was out. Especially since everyone thought their patient was a mild-mannered art consultant rather than a hard-as-nails intelligence operator.

  “Let me know if you want me to get Finian Bracken in here to give you last rites. He makes regular rounds at this hospital.” Colin waited ten seconds, but he didn’t get any reaction from Pearson. “All right. Get well soon.”

  Emma frowned at him when they left the room and started to the elevators. “Colin, do you really think he was pretending to be asleep?”

  “Probably not since he didn’t give me the finger for bringing up last rites. Then again, he is good.” He grinned at her. “Sorry to horrify you.”

  “The proverbial case of two peas in a pod.”

  “I’m younger and cuter. How’s everyone at the convent?”

  “I only saw Sister Cecilia. We had an interesting conversation about toxic and nontoxic mushrooms. Have you ever heard of destroying angels?”

  “Not of the mushroom variety. Sister Cecilia’s something. Watch out. Yank will be recruiting her out of the convent next.”

  “He won’t succeed, but she does have natural investigative instincts.”

  “And there’s more from Lucas?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  Emma filled him in on the highlights of her conversation with her brother and her visit with Sister Cecilia.

  “Mushroom lesson, Georgina Masterson and her mesh bag, Robin Masterson sick in London, and Henrietta Balfour in Dublin. Busy morning, Emma.”

  She smiled. “A good thing I had those doughnuts.”

  They reached the elevators. Colin pressed the down button. “Let’s go find Henrietta and Oliver.”

  One of the elevators dinged and the doors opened, letting out medical types and Kevin. Colin could see his brother wasn’t in a great mood. Kevin waited for the medical types to disperse before he spoke. “Figured I’d find you two here. CID thinks I’m not telling them things. If you get me fired, Colin, you’re going in with me on a sightseeing boat.”

 
“Captain Kevin? Running whale watches and puffin tours is my backup plan, too. We could do worse.” After seeing Jeremy Pearson, Colin wasn’t kidding. But he appreciated his brother’s concerns. “I’ll run interference for you with your bosses if it’d help.”

  “Don’t talk to them without my knowledge. Henrietta Balfour and Oliver York just spent twenty minutes visiting the British art guy, and now you two just visited him. I’m adding things up in my head. Where are Henrietta and Oliver now?”

  “Having tea in the cafeteria, I expect,” Colin said. “Emma and I are heading there now. What are you up to?”

  “I’m going down to the ER to talk to Beth.”

  “Making up a reason or have one?”

  Kevin ignored him. Colin noticed Emma hadn’t said anything. Smart, since his younger brother wasn’t mad at her. Why tempt fate?

  Another elevator stopped and the doors opened to Beth Trahan. She and Emma exchanged a pleasant greeting, and Beth nodded to Colin. “Good morning, Special Agent Donovan.”

  “Hey, Beth. Kevin here’s looking for you.” Colin could feel his brother gritting his teeth next to him. “You must have read his mind.”

  Kevin turned to her. “What’s up, Beth?”

  “I ran into the yacht chef—Georgina—in the ER lobby just now. She wants to see Mr. Hornsby. I told her she’d have to check with his nurse to see if he could have visitors. She seemed flustered. I thought you might like to know.”

  Kevin frowned. “Is she still in the lobby?”

  “I don’t know,” Beth said.

  “All right. I’ll see what they have to say at the nurses’ station.”

  “Okay, great. I’ll meet you there in a sec.” She waited for Kevin to start down the hall before she turned to Colin. “It’s hard to know what to do. Kevin—he’s good at his job, isn’t he?”

  Colin didn’t hesitate. “Kev’s the best.”

  “You sound sincere, Special Agent Donovan, but I hear you Donovans are a tight-knit lot.”

  You Donovans again. He smiled at her. “Colin.”

  “What?”

  “You can call me Colin.”

  “Oh. Right. Fine.” She didn’t seem particularly self-conscious. “I was talking with some of the nurses. We think there’s more going on here than you’re letting on. I mean you plural. You, Kevin, Special Agent Sharpe, the sick art consultant, Hornsby, the Fannings.”

  “Emma. You can call Special Agent Sharpe by her first name. Right, Emma?”

  “Of course,” she said.

  At first he thought Beth might kick him or swear at him, but she didn’t. Instead, she shook her head and sighed. “I can’t say I wasn’t warned.”

  “I understand inedible mushrooms are the likely cause of yesterday’s sickness,” Beth said. “Last year a teenage girl ingested a destroying angel mushroom. She got to the ER early on and survived, but it was touch-and-go for a while. I’d rather pick apples, I can tell you that, but people do enjoy foraging. You have to be extremely careful, though.” Beth slid Colin a cutting glance. “Not a Donovan trait, I know.”

  She hadn’t struck him as particularly annoyed still with Kevin. Had she come to her conclusion about Donovan traits on her own and Kevin was basically doomed? Colin didn’t need to go there.

  But she wasn’t finished. “I don’t believe you’re reckless, but you are shit magnets.”

  “You’re an ER nurse.” Colin winked at her. “Where would you be without us?”

  She obviously didn’t think that was funny at all.

  Emma smiled at her. “You get used to the Donovan sense of humor after a while.”

  “That’s okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean... I wasn’t criticizing.” Beth straightened, shifting into her professional mode. “I have to get to work. Let me know if I can help in any way.”

  Colin thanked her. The elevator doors opened, and he and Emma got in. “Beth’s no slouch, is she, Colin?”

  “I wouldn’t underestimate her.”

  “And Kevin?”

  “He’d do better with puffin tours than I ever would.” Colin kissed her on the forehead. “He’ll be fine.” He stood back. “Anything else from Ireland and the convent?”

  “I can go into more detail on toxic mushrooms. One called the sickener is a good candidate for yesterday. It’s not lethal but you wouldn’t want to eat it raw.”

  “And our good sister knows these things?”

  “She’s a woman of many talents and interests. She asked me if I’m painting again.”

  Colin realized he didn’t know the answer. He hated that. “Are you?”

  Emma shook her head. “Not yet.”

  “But you will be,” he said.

  “Soon. Have you been in touch with Yank?”

  “Sam Padgett. He’s looking into the Fannings.”

  Sam was a rugged, dogged Texan as good with numbers as he was in the field. Colin hadn’t been surprised Sam had been at the HIT offices on a Sunday morning. He’d do a thorough background check on Bryce and Melodie Fanning. Any alarm bells, he’d get a warrant and they’d go from there.

  “Sam’s been great since Dad died,” Emma said. “He’s solicitous without overdoing it.”

  “Still making bad jokes?”

  She laughed. “Of course. He didn’t stop being Sam.”

  * * *

  As promised, Henrietta and Oliver were at a table in a quiet corner of the cafeteria with their ubiquitous pots of tea in front of them. They sat next to each other, allowing them both a view out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the hospital’s meditation garden. Colin wasn’t in the mood for soothing flowers and grasses or a chat over tea. Kayaking, hiking, peeling apples with Emma. After weeks working undercover, that was the Sunday he’d had in mind. He sure as hell wasn’t in the mood for a runaround, and after her conversations with Sister Cecilia and Lucas, he doubted Emma was, either. He sat next to her, across from Henrietta and Oliver.

  Oliver raised the lid on his one-person metal teapot and peered inside. “This isn’t tea. It’s tea-flavored barely hot water.”

  Colin shrugged. “Here we go again. Isn’t that what tea is?”

  “Not proper tea. Henrietta isn’t as particular as I am. I do know one can get proper tea in the US, just not where I’ve been lately. But this is fine. No complaints.” Oliver shut the pot lid and poured the tea—it was steaming, Colin noted—into his cup. “You’ve seen our mutual friend? He looks ghastly, doesn’t he?”

  “Not as bad as yesterday,” Colin said.

  “Any improvement is positive, I suppose. At least his system has settled down.”

  Henrietta hooked a finger onto the handle of her teapot and dragged it closer to her, as if it were the most important thing she had to do. “We’re waiting to see when he’ll be discharged. After lunch, we think. He won’t be able to travel for a few days, at least, but Father Bracken said he could stay at the rectory.”

  “There’s always the Donovan family inn,” Oliver said. “I’ve stayed there. It won’t be long before Jeremy will be in the mood for your father’s soon-to-be-legendary wild blueberry muffins.”

  Colin wasn’t worried about his folks handling the likes of Oliver York or Jeremy Pearson, or Henrietta Balfour for that matter. His father was a retired Rock Point police officer. Not much got to him these days. Not much had ever gotten to his mother.

  Henrietta lifted the lid to her teapot. “It looks fine, Oliver. You just miss Martin. He doesn’t travel with you, though, does he?”

  “Only to London,” Oliver said. “Even that’s less often now that Alfred is at the farm.”

  Alfred being a wire fox terrier puppy as independent and stubborn as his owner. Colin noticed Emma smile, but he wasn’t surprised. She was easier on Oliver than Colin ever would be. That the elusive art thief her grandfather had chased for a decade had turned out
to be Oliver York—cheeky, charming, wealthy, intelligent, haunted—had been a relief, in a way. The thief could have been a lot of things besides a wealthy mythologist with a tragic past.

  “Autumn is a wonderful time to be in the Cotswolds,” Emma said. “Alfred is doing well with his training?”

  “When Martin is with him.” Oliver tore open a packet of sugar and emptied it into his tea. “He’s an unruly little sod with me.”

  Henrietta, who exuded tension, softened slightly. “Don’t listen to him. He adores Alfred. I brought him to Aunt Posey’s house one rainy afternoon, and he was completely incorrigible. Alfred, I mean. Not Oliver. He shredded an old shawl of hers. When we went out, he tramped through every puddle and muddied himself from head to toe. I’m not as stern with him as I should be, I suppose.” She finally turned to Colin next to her. “Now, what can you tell us?”

  Colin bristled. “We’re here for what you can tell us.”

  Her eyes cooled. “All right, then. What can we tell you?”

  “Let’s start with Robin Masterson, the father of our yacht chef.”

  “How much do you know already?”

  “Assume we know nothing.”

  Colin glanced at Oliver and realized it wasn’t the case with him. But he let Henrietta respond. “He’s a recently retired neurotoxicologist. He was a lecturer and consultant, and happy to turn the page on his work life. He’s an expert in synthetic neurotoxins.”

  “Chemical weapons,” Colin said.

  “Robin doesn’t get into their purpose, only their adverse effects on the body and how that can be ameliorated.” Henrietta spoke briskly, no hesitation now that she had the green light from Jeremy Pearson. “His expertise includes sarin, VX, Novichok and a variety of boutique nerve agents.”

  Colin held back any reaction. “That’s why Jeremy knows him?”

  “I don’t have that information, I’m afraid. Robin was a hopeless workaholic, and he and his daughter have never been particularly close.”

  “Georgina. Our chef.”

  Henrietta nodded, calm, as if she anticipated Colin’s curtness. “Her mother—Valerie, Robin’s wife—died when Georgina was small. He had an intense job and no idea how to raise a daughter on his own. She visited him last week in London. She left for Boston on Sunday. On Tuesday morning, Robin was found in a park near his flat. He was semiconscious and near death.”