Sophie half expected Scoop to question her about her sister's visit, but he just walked with her back through the archway to her apartment, letting her go in first. 'I bought a few things at the grocery that I should use up,' she said. 'I warned you that I'm not a great cook, but I feel like putting a meal together. I don't do a bad spaghetti sauce and salad. I mean, who does? I have all the ingredients. I hate to see them go to waste.'
He pulled off his jacket. 'I'll help.'
'Thanks, but just having you here...someone to talk to...makes a difference.' She pulled open the refrigerator. 'I spent long hours alone when I was working on my dissertation.'
'What's it about?'
'Gad. You don't want to hear
He smiled at her. 'Give me the short version.'
She talked as she cooked. He stood next to her at the counter, chopping an onion, garlic, a carrot on a thick wooden board. It was a tiny kitchen with the refrigerator, sink and stove all on one wall and not much counter space, but surprisingly efficient and bigger, Sophie thought, than the kitchen had been in her apartment in Cork.
Once she finished describing her dissertation, Scoop asked about her time in Ireland. 'I loved it,' she said, watching steam rise from her pot of water for the spaghetti. 'I worked hard and was always scrambling to keep the wolf from the door, but I met so many great people there.'
'How long do you think you'll stay here?'
'My sister's apartment? I don't know. What about you--when can you get back into your triple-decker?'
'It'll be a few months. Depends on whether we decide to make improvements or just focus on repairs. Abigail won't be back, but we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. I'll figure something out in the meantime. I can't stay at the Whitcomb much longer.' He grinned at her. 'I'll be disappointed when I don't find chocolates on my pillow.'
'You live alone, though?'
'I have two cats but no live-in girlfriend, no ex-wives, no kids.'
She laid dried spaghetti in boiling water, aware of Scoop inches away by the sink. 'Cliff Rafferty said you were quite the ladies' man.'
'I'm never sure what something like that means.'
She liked his response, she decided. It wasn't defensive, but it wasn't a total dodge, either--and he hadn't just pushed her off and told her his love life was none of her damn business. She stood back from the stove while the spaghetti cooked. 'Tell me about your cats.'
'They're stray Russian blues I rescued two years ago.' He got a colander down from a hook. 'I was working a case--I'd just started in internal affairs. I nailed a cop for hiring prostitutes on the job. I set up a stakeout, and here were these scrawny little kittens mewing in an alley.'
'Do you have a soft heart, Cyrus Wisdom?'
He laughed, setting the colander in the sink. 'It would be a serious mistake for anyone to think that. I took the cats home figuring I'd give them to a friend, but I ended up keeping them. They adopted me more than I adopted them. Bob's two younger daughters have been taking care of them.'
Her throat tightened with unexpected emotion. 'You've had a terrible time, Scoop. You're so strong and so focused on the present--at least you come across that way--that it's easy to forget what you've gone through. Do you want to retire from the Boston Police Department after you put in your twenty or thirty years?'
'You're thinking about Cliff,' he said.
'I want to know about you.'
'The job's a good one.'
'Not everything is as it appears to be with you, is it?'
His dark eyes narrowed on her. 'If you're a thief and you're lying to me--'
'If you're a bad cop and you're lying to me...'
She grabbed potholders and poured the spaghetti into the colander, steam from the hot water rising in her face, probably turned her skin red. She set the empty pot back on the stove. The sauce was simmering. The salad was made. Why did she feel so out of her element?
'I'm not a bad cop,' Scoop said, 'and I'm not lying to you.'
He caught her in his arms, and Sophie placed her hands on his waist. He was muscular, sexy. Even through his shirt, she could feel the ragged edges of the scars from the bomb. 'Scoop...' Rarely at a loss for words, she couldn't think of what to say. 'I'm glad I met you, and I'm glad I met you the way I did.'
'Covered in mud, with a big black dog at your side. Think he's a shape-shifter?'
She smiled. 'Right now anything feels possible.'
His mouth found hers, and this time it wasn't a light kiss. He drew her against him, lifting her off her feet as they deepened their kiss. 'Sophie, Sophie,' he said, lowering his hands to her hips, lifting her higher. He smiled, setting her back down. 'Ah, Sophie. I do like saying your name.'
'The sauce is about to boil over.'
He winked at her. 'So it is.'
Taryn called later that evening, when Sophie was back in her room at the Whitcomb, her laptop out on her bed as she went over study skills sheets for her tutoring students. 'I'm in New York,' Taryn said. 'I feel guilty for leaving you alone. Damian's threatening to fly up there as soon as he can get away. Do you want me to call Mom and Dad and get them to Boston?'
'No, let them enjoy their hike. And Damian should focus on his job. I'm fine.'
'Where is Scoop Wisdom right now?'
'About ten yards from me.'
'Sophie!'
She smiled. 'He's not stalking me. He's in the next room at the Whitcomb.'
'I guess that's good. If there's anything I can do, call me. Don't hesitate. I can figure out London.'
'What about Tim O'Donovan?'
Her sister gave a small laugh. 'I can't figure him out at all.'
23
Josie stood on a stone bridge above a waterfall that tumbled over black rocks, forming whitecaps and filling the air with its soothing rhythmic sound. She'd gone on ahead while Myles showered and dressed back at the Malone house. He'd catch up with her. They'd both needed a moment to themselves before they got too deep into the day. She wasn't confused, but she was unsure of the way forward. The past was falling away, no longer tearing at her.
Myles was alive. He'd come back from the dead.
He acted as if he'd never gone, but that was Myles. The reasons he could carry on as if nothing had happened were the same reasons he'd taken on his difficult mission in the first place--the same reasons he'd survived. He was resilient. He learned from the past and planned for the future, but he lived in the moment.
She saw him coming toward her, ambling as if he were just another tourist off for a wander in the Irish hills. When he reached her, he leaned over the stone wall. 'You'd hit your head on a rock if you tried to dive in there,' Josie said.
'I was thinking we could spend the day fly-fishing.'
She gave a mock shudder. 'I'd rather take on blood-smeared branches. I tell people Will's fishing in Scotland when he doesn't want to answer questions.'
'It's not questions I'm avoiding. I actually do want to go fly-fishing.'
'How long has it been since you've taken time just to be yourself, Myles?'
'I'm myself now.'
'I meant--'
'I know what you meant.' He wasn't being abrupt, but he'd made it clear he wasn't going there, either. 'You're the boss. Where to from here?'
