that placid exterior beats the heart of a competitive federal agent.” He made no move to sit next to her. “Your mishap gives me an excuse to run a hot bath for you when we get back to the cottage.”
“Life could be worse. You’re not bored, are you?”
“I can go more than two weeks without anyone trying to kill me.”
As he stood next to her on her boulder, his smile almost reached his stone-gray eyes.
Almost.
He offered her a sip from his water bottle, but she shook her head. He took a long drink as he gazed out at the hills. Except for the occasional baa of the grazing, half-wild sheep, the silence was complete.
“What are you thinking about, Colin?”
“Guinness.”
“A cold pint and a warm pub. Sounds perfect.”
He leaned down and touched the curve of his hand to her cheek. “It’s been good being here with you.” He winked at her as he stood straight. “Mud and sheep dung and all.”
Emma sighed as she slipped back into her trail shoes and tied the laces. “No escaping sheep dung out here, is there? I wasn’t distracted when I stepped in the wet spot. I just misjudged. There’s a difference.”
“But you do have a lot on your mind,” Colin said.
She always did. Their jobs with the FBI attested to their different natures. He was an undercover agent. She specialized in art crimes. She was analytical, methodical, detail-oriented. He was direct, intuitive, quick and decisive—and independent to a fault. Six weeks ago, he had been assigned to her small team in Boston, if only because the senior agent in charge was determined to rein him in.
Good luck with that, Emma thought. She stood, lifted her backpack and slung it over her shoulders. “The rest of the way is all downhill.”
“Have you ever done this hike before?”
She shook her head. “First time.”
“It’s a good spot,” he said, tucking his water bottle in his pack.
“I’m glad we did this before I go home.”
“Yeah. Me, too.”
It was Monday. She had a flight back to Boston on Friday. She’d be at her desk a week from today. Colin had more time before he had to decide what was next for him. Not a lot more time, but he could stay in Ireland for a while longer, without her.
She angled a look at him. “Anything on your mind, Colin?”
“I had an email from Andy in my in-box this morning. He sent it last night. I didn’t read it until just now, while I ate an energy bar and admired the view. Reading email is against our hiking rules, I know.”
“A sign it’s time to get back to work, maybe.” Emma gave him a moment but he didn’t take the bait and respond, and she let it go. “How are things in Rock Point?”
“Andy says Julianne Maroney is leaving for Ireland tonight.”
“Tonight? Isn’t that sudden?”
“She’s just accepted a marine biology internship in Cork that starts in January. She decided to come for a couple weeks now and get herself sorted out. It’s sudden, but that’s Julianne.”
“So, she’s staying in Cork?”
“A village east of Cork. Declan’s Cross.”
Declan’s Cross.
Emma went still as a dozen images came at her at once. A pretty seaside Irish village of brightly colored shops and residences. A romantic mansion with sweeping views of cliffs and sea. Haunting Celtic crosses on a grassy hilltop.
A tight-lipped old Irish sheep farmer.
Her grandfather, Wendell Sharpe, a renowned art detective, pacing in his Dublin office as he admitted he and Sharpe Fine Art Recovery were after a thief they couldn’t catch.
A thief, Emma thought, who had first struck in tiny Declan’s Cross on a lonely, rainy, dark November night ten years ago.
She’d only become involved in the case four years ago, in the months between her life as Sister Brigid at the coastal Maine convent of the Sisters of the Joyful Heart and her life as a special agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. She’d worked side by side with her grandfather in Dublin, learning everything he knew.
Not everything.
Wendell Sharpe never told anyone everything.
She was aware of Colin’s eyes narrowed on her. He wouldn’t know about the thief. There was no reason for him to know.
She pushed back her thoughts. “Why Declan’s Cross, Colin?”
“Emma...”
“Just tell me what you know. Please.”
“All right.” He was plainly suspicious now. “A woman who’s launching a marine science research facility in Declan’s Cross stopped in Rock Point last week. She and Julianne hit it off. Now Julianne’s meeting her there.”
“To help with this research facility?”
“Andy doesn’t have any details. He hasn’t talked to Julianne himself.
“Then who told him?”
“Her brother. Ryan. He’s in the Coast Guard, but he’s in Rock Point visiting for a few days. He found out from their grandmother. Julianne lives with her.”
Rock Point was a small, tight-knit southern Maine fishing village. Everyone knew everyone else’s business, but Julianne’s short-lived romance with Andy Donovan, third-born of the four Donovan brothers, apparently had come as a surprise, especially since she’d vowed never to get involved with a Donovan. Emma didn’t know either Andy or Julianne well. She’d only met Colin in September and was still figuring out who was who in his hometown.
“What’s this woman’s name?” she asked. “Do we know her?”
“Her name’s Lindsey Hargreaves. I don’t know her.”
Hargreaves. Emma searched her memory but shook her head. “I don’t, either. Did she come to Rock Point looking for Julianne?”
“I don’t have any details. I just know Julianne’s on her way to Ireland.”
“And you don’t like it.”
“Julianne’s as smart as they come, but she’s impulsive and she’s had a rough time lately. She’s never been that far from home. I doubt she’s been farther than Nova Scotia. Now all of a sudden she’s meeting some strange woman in a little Irish village.”
“Are you concerned she’s running away because of her breakup with Andy?”
“I know she is,” Colin said half under his breath. “This trip could be exactly what she needs, but I’d feel better if she wasn’t alone.”
“We could drive over to Declan’s Cross tomorrow,” Emma said.
He tilted his head back, eyed her again. “We could, but what’s going on? I noticed your look when I mentioned Declan’s Cross. Emma, is there a Sharpe connection to this village?”
She sighed. “We can talk on the hike back to the car.”
2
THEY DIDN’T TALK on the hike back to their car or the drive back to their borrowed cottage in the Kerry hills across Kenmare Bay. Colin drove. He’d adjusted quickly to driving on the left, but the high, thick hedges and narrow roads—each with its own quirks—kept him on alert.
He’d known he and Emma wouldn’t talk the moment he’d mentioned Declan’s Cross and she’d given him that