told on you.'
'Told what on me and to whom?'
He grimaced. 'I told Detective Wisdom that you have a brother who's an FBI agent.'
'That's not a secret, Jeremiah. After this morning, he'd find out, anyway. No worries. Where is he now?'
'Up in his room.' The flames glowed on his good-looking face. 'Lieutenant O'Reilly is downstairs. Fiona's performing. That could be why he's here.'
'Would you like me to sneak out the back?'
'Won't work. Sophie...'
She felt the heat of the fire. 'What else, Jeremiah?'
He really looked tortured now. 'Director March will be arriving here soon.'
'Ah. Okay. Thanks for the heads-up.'
She was tempted to leave, but did she want a bunch of FBI agents and Boston cops showing up at Taryn's apartment? Because that was what would happen. If John March wanted to talk to her, he'd find a way. She took the stairs down to Morrigan's. She noticed the women who'd entered the hotel with her were at the bar, laughing, enjoying the company of friends they'd obviously met there.
Bob O'Reilly rose from a square table under the windows. 'Dr. Malone,' he said, pulling out a chair across from him and motioning to it with one hand. 'Scoop'll be down in a minute. You and I can talk.'
She took the hint and sat down. He returned to his side of the table. Fiona O'Reilly, her blonde hair curled and shining, was over by the stage with her friends. Sophie smiled. 'I see your daughter's resemblance to you.'
'Don't tell her that.'
He was a homicide detective, she remembered. He had to have seen a lot in his years as a police officer, but that morning, a man he'd known--a colleague--had died, amid evidence that he'd planted a bomb at the home of three Boston detectives. It could have easily killed O'Reilly, his daughter, Scoop, even Abigail Browning, although the purpose of the bomb had been to aid in her kidnapping.
Sophie slumped in her chair. 'I just felt a big wave of jet lag. All of a sudden it feels like it's the middle of the night.'
'It is in Ireland. Wish you were there after today?'
'Being there wouldn't erase what I saw this morning.' She looked away from O'Reilly. The musicians were chatting among themselves, more people had crowded together at the bar. She heard glasses clinking, a shriek of laughter. Finally she said, 'I worked here as a student. I assume you know that. I'd see John March every once in a while. Not often. My older brother stopped by one day. He was in law school at the time.'
'Now he's an FBI agent,' Bob said.
'Jeremiah Rush told you, too?'
'Scoop. You should have known he'd find out. He's a bulldog.'
'And he has his sources--in Ireland as well as here. By the way, Lizzie Rush will probably remember Damian.'
'She's more of a pit bull than a bulldog.'
Sophie smiled but said nothing. Lieutenant O'Reilly couldn't drop the subject of her brother fast enough to suit her.
He was watching his daughter as he continued. 'Scoop doesn't let his heart get involved in his work. He keeps a tight rein on himself, but something about you has gotten to him.'
That worked both ways, she thought. 'We've only known each other a few days.' Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Fiona O'Reilly give her a wary look. Sophie wasn't offended. Scoop had saved Fiona's life. It stood to reason she'd be protective of him. 'I wish I knew more.'
'You know what happened to you in that cave.'
'Yes, I do, and I've told the truth about my experience.'
'I like this place,' O'Reilly said, deceptively casual. 'I never even stepped foot in here until a few weeks ago. Turns out my daughter and her friends had been playing here for a few months. John March has been coming here for thirty years. He knew Lizzie Rush's mother before she died. How'd you end up working here?'
She knew it wasn't an idle question. 'I needed a job and I discovered the Whitcomb had an Irish pub.'
'You were born in Ireland, right?'
'That's right. In Cork.'
'Scoop's from the sticks. He always wanted to be a big-city cop. He's poised for rapid advancement in the department.'
'You don't want me to get him into trouble.'
'If he gets in trouble, it'll be his fault not yours.' O'Reilly paused, listening as his daughter played a few warm-up notes on her small lap harp. 'Fiona's in music school. She's taking violin and conducting class this semester. She's not as good at violin as she is the harp. She's all excited about our trip to Ireland this Christmas. I don't need more places for her to drag me to, but feel free to give her tips.'
'You're not sure about me, are you, Detective?'
'These days I'm not sure about anyone.'
FBI Director John March arrived with an entourage of agents, who stayed near the door. He was a tall, straight-backed man with iron-gray hair and a temperament to match. Scoop was right behind him. The two men joined Sophie and Bob O'Reilly at their square table, sitting across from each other, March to her right, Scoop to her left.
'Hello, Sophie,' March said. 'Long time.'
'Director March. It's good to see you. It has been a long time.'
'You're Dr. Malone now. Good for you.' He pushed back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other, but not, she thought, even slightly off his guard. 'Lizzie told me you were in town. She asked me if I remembered you. Of course I do. You were the bright student interested in Ireland and archaeology. I remember your twin sister, too. Taryn, the budding actress.'
Sophie didn't flinch from his unrelenting gaze. 'And my brother you encouraged to pursue a career with the FBI.'
'Yes. I remember Damian, too.'
She was very glad she hadn't ordered alcohol. 'Does he know--'
'That I came to Boston specifically to see you? No, not yet. I haven't been in touch with him. From all I've heard, he's a fine agent.'
'I haven't told him about this morning,' she said.
'I did,' Scoop said, his bluntness a contrast to March's smooth tone. 'I just got off the phone with him. We had a professional conversation, except for the part about him flying up here and kicking our asses if we let anything happen to you.'
Sophie couldn't resist a smile. 'Damian's protective of Taryn and me. He can't get over that we're not six anymore.'
'Yep. He said you two gave him fits as little kids in Ireland.'
She laughed suddenly. 'We 'ruined his life.''
March's dark eyes narrowed on her for longer than she found comfortable, but it was Bob O'Reilly who spoke. 'Does your brother know Percy Carlisle?'
'I doubt it,' Sophie said, the question taking her by surprise. 'The Carlisles and the Malones live in two different worlds.'
'You and the father, Percy Sr., shared an interest in archaeology,' March said. 'I don't recall from my time in Boston, Sophie. Did any of his adventures take him to Ireland?'
She fought an urge to look away--to jump up and run. How far would she get if she did? With March, O'Reilly and Scoop within inches of her? With the FBI agents by the exits?
Not far, she thought, and answered March's question. 'I know of one, yes.'
Scoop eyed her. 'There's more.'
It wasn't a question or even a challenge to her. It was a statement of fact. Obviously he and the other two law enforcement officers at the table already had their answer. Sophie collected her thoughts as a waiter arrived with a tray of coffee. She hadn't ordered any, but didn't refuse when he put a mug in front of her.
'I have a feeling I know where you're going with this. Percy Sr. was never particularly drawn to Ireland. I
