She nodded. 'Exactly.'
Keira, too, seemed to rally now that a plan was in the works. 'Maybe he's in London and just didn't tell his wife--not necessarily for nefarious reasons but because he's not used to being married.'
'I can get us names of his friends and acquaintances there,' Lizzie added.
The Rushes were themselves wealthy Bostonians, but even if they weren't, Josie had no doubt that Lizzie and Keira would manage to get the names. These were two very capable women--capable on multiple levels--but Josie wasn't keen on having to explain to her bosses in London, should Lizzie and Keira land themselves in trouble, why she'd given them free rein and even encouraged them.
There was also the prospect of explaining herself to Will and Simon, too.
'You've done your investigative bit these past few months,' she said, 'and you have no legal authority to start poking into this man's affairs.'
'It's perfectly reasonable that I'd look him up,' Keira said.
'How? You just said you don't know him.'
'We're both from Boston,' Keira said, 'and we share an interest in art, history and archaeology. He's a natural to approach about the Boston-Cork folklore conference. I'm surprised I haven't thought of him before now.'
Josie put far too much clotted cream on the last bit of her scone, but she didn't care. 'That's utterly transparent. He'll know in a minute you have an ulterior motive.'
Lizzie dropped her feet to the floor and reached for a piece of brown bread and a small plate. 'So? We'll have found him.' She dipped a knife into soft butter and smeared it on her bread. 'That's the main thing, isn't it?'
'There's no danger, Josie,' Keira said, the life returning to her eyes. 'Even if this police officer in Boston was murdered and didn't commit suicide, his killer is there, not here.'
Josie recognized defeat when it was upon her. 'I'll have someone meet you in London.'
'Who? Scotland Yard?' Definitely more animated now, Keira walked over to the small table and took the smallest triangle of cheese from the tray. 'MI5--MI6?'
Josie smiled. 'Such an imagination.'
She was spared further grilling by Myles's belated arrival. He was freshly showered, shaved and as sexy as she'd ever seen him. She told herself her heightened emotions were a result of the troubling news from Boston and how it might intersect with the Kenmare fisherman's tale of a cave, blood and lost Celtic gold--not, she thought, to the reemergence of one formerly dead military and intelligence officer in her life.
Well, not in her life. In her presence, at best. Myles wasn't a man who let himself be in anyone else's life. He preferred to stand apart. She'd known that about him even before the ill-fated firefight in Afghanistan.
She noticed his gray eyes were less red-rimmed than an hour ago, and he moved with his usual energy and purpose. He plucked two slices of brown bread from the tray, skipped a plate, jam and butter and sat next to Lizzie. 'Sorry to interrupt your chat.'
'We were discussing wedding dresses,' Lizzie said with a wry smile.
'Terrifying. Put me back on the Maine coast with Norman Estabrook's thugs. You were quite the firecracker ally that day, Lizzie, love.'
She scooted to the corner of the sofa with her knees tucked up under her chin, so that she was facing Myles. 'I had no choice,' she said.
'We always have a choice. Yours was to act. Your father taught you well.'
She frowned. 'It's him. In London. It's my father you're having meet us, isn't it, Josie? He was just in Ireland for the first time since my mother's death. I haven't heard from him in a week or so, but I know he hasn't returned to Las Vegas.'
Josie relished another bite of scone. 'Let's chuck everything and open a tea shop on a tree-lined street in a little town on the Irish coast.' She took a moment to consider the myriad complications that the mention of Harlan Rush presented. Widower, gambler, hotelier, veteran spy--and a man very devoted to Lizzie, his only child. 'If your father is in London, Lizzie, perhaps he's there to help you site the very first Rush hotel in Great Britain.'
'Not a chance,' Lizzie said. 'My dear father may be a vice president in the family business, but that doesn't mean he knows a thing about it. My uncle would never let him get involved in opening a hotel.'
Josie ate some of her fruit, although she wanted another scone. 'When I made that comment, I had no one specific in mind. I can't say I've ever met your father.'
Myles eyed Lizzie with a measure of respect he reserved for very few. They'd bonded in the last hours of Abigail Browning's captivity, when Norman Estabrook and his thugs had holed up in the old Rush house on the Maine coast. Once Estabrook and most of his men were dead and Abigail and Lizzie were safe, Myles had jumped in a boat and disappeared. Will could have stopped him, but he hadn't.
Lizzie seemed to curl up into an even tighter ball. 'You came back here voluntarily. Simon and Will couldn't order you. Even if they tried to, you'd only listen if you thought it was in the interest of your mission to do as they asked.'
Myles popped a chunk of brown bread into his mouth. 'I'm starving. There's a pub in this place, isn't there?'
'Lower level,' Lizzie said. 'You know I hate being ignored, don't you?'
He grinned. 'You'll definitely keep Lord Will on his toes.'
Keira shook her head. 'You people,' she said cheerfully. 'If I could paint, I'd hole up here, but I can't.' She returned to the window and looked out at the Dublin night again. 'Maybe I'll turn into a painter of dreary, depressing scenes.'
'That's not even possible,' Josie said.
'I hope not.' She let the drape fall back in place. 'Lizzie, are you going to tell them about Justin?'
'Oh, right.' Lizzie seemed to put aside trying to get more information from Myles. 'My cousin Justin reminded me that Jeremiah--his older brother--had a fierce crush on Sophie Malone when she worked at our hotel in Boston. He was still in high school.'
Josie resisted the crumbs on her plate. 'Where is Jeremiah now?'
'He's working reception at the Whitcomb. I called him while I was waiting for you all to get here.' Lizzie sat up, dropping her feet to the floor. 'He helped me remember that Sophie got to know John March. The FBI director. It could mean nothing--'
Josie shook her head. 'In my experience, the words 'John March' in a sentence never mean nothing.'
'True,' Lizzie said, undeterred. 'Jeremiah and I both think there's more that we're just not remembering. Justin, too. It'll come to us.'
They chatted a bit more, but Josie finally felt her fatigue and walked back up the stairs to her room. She thought Myles might head to the pub, but he was right behind her. She didn't get through her door before he had her in his arms. His mouth found hers, and a thousand responses flooded her at once--a stern reprimand, a knee to the groin, tears, another attempt at a heart-to-heart talk. He was physically stronger and an experienced combat soldier, but he was exhausted and obviously wasn't in a defensive mode. She was well trained herself and very much on her guard, but all her options fell away with the taste of him, the feel of his hands on her.
She kicked the door shut with her heel. It'd been a month since she'd learned he hadn't been dragged off and killed, wasn't a traitor. She'd had time to imagine this moment and how she'd respond--or, more to the point, wouldn't respond.
She pushed back all the warnings she'd given herself not to succumb to being near him again and do exactly what she was doing now. Kissing him back, aching for him.
'This kept me going so many times,' he said, drawing her to him, every inch of him lean and rock-hard. He lifted her as if she were slim and small, which she was not, and she could feel his arousal against her. 'Just thinking about loving you again got me through one dark night after another.'
'Rubbish.' Josie draped her arms around his neck and tilted back from their kiss. 'You never think about the past or the future.'
He grinned at her. 'Except when it comes to you, love.'
He kissed her again, and she was hot now, her mind spinning. She responded to him, deepening their kiss, letting go of everything but that heady combination of needs she always felt with him. It'd been two years since she'd had a man. But she wouldn't tell him. Never.
The thought rocked her to her core. She clutched his upper arms and pulled back from their kiss. 'I mourned you, Myles. I didn't have the luxury of thinking this day would come.'
