There wasn’t much besides cider in the Sharpe kitchen. Apparently Emma hadn’t done her apple-picking, sauce-making and pie-baking yet.
He found a glass and poured the cider as his brother Kevin, in his marine patrol uniform, joined him, leaning against the counter and shaking his head at his older brother. “Where did you learn to defuse a bomb? Quantico?”
“High school,” Colin said. “It was a basic homemade bomb. I could tell it wasn’t going to go off in my face.”
“You could have run.”
“Steep stairs.” Colin took a swallow of the cider.
“How is that?”
“Sweet.”
Kevin got a glass down from an open shelf and helped himself to cider, leaving the jug on the counter. He was tall, if not as tall as his three brothers. “You should have gone moose hunting.”
“It’s not moose season.”
Kevin sighed and drank some of his cider. “I don’t mean literally.”
“I planned to go up north with Mike next week. This week was kayaking.”
“Kayaking. What kind of Donovan are you?”
“We’re both standing here drinking sweet apple cider, Kevin.”
“Couple of tough guys. I want to get away before the snow flies, go up and let Mike map out a route for me.” Kevin drank more cider. “What’s going on, Colin?”
“Nothing good.” Even his attraction to Emma Sharpe probably wasn’t good, or at least not smart, but he didn’t mention that part to his brother. “I want to know who killed that nun.”
“Do you know why she got Agent Sharpe up there?”
“No, and I don’t know why someone broke in here and planted a bomb in the attic.”
“One that didn’t go off,” Kevin said. “Not bad work for a desk jockey.”
Colin ignored his brother’s skepticism. “Are you on the case? You’re not going to find answers standing here drinking apple cider.”
“You were a hard case even when you were nine, Colin. I guess you’re not mellowing in D.C. Do you get to many cocktail parties?”
“You should come for a visit, brother. I live alone with twelve cats.”
Kevin downed the rest of his cider. “I suppose if I called the FBI, someone would cover for you, say you were off analyzing data or some such crap.”
“I don’t have anything to do with this violence. Don’t waste your time on me.”
“I’d keep a close eye on your Emma.”
“It wasn’t a random break-in yesterday—kids stuck in fog decide to check out the convent and accidentally kill a nun.”
“Not a chance, especially now with this d’Auberville painting missing.” Kevin set his glass in the sink and eyed his brother. “What’s your involvement, Colin? Sharpe’s a colleague, I know, and she’s from up here, but why did Father Bracken send Mike after you? Because a nun was killed?”
“Her death bothers him.”
“And he’s bored in Rock Point. I can’t say I blame him. This painting…” Kevin looked out the window at the waterfront, lights on in a passing yacht. “The woman in the cave has to be a saint. You know about relics, Colin? You know what they are? Body parts. Holy body parts. I’m glad I’m not a saint. Cremate me and dump my ashes in the ocean, brother.”
He gave a mock shudder and walked back out to the front room to rejoin his colleagues.
Colin headed out to the porch, and Emma joined him. She still had his jacket draped over her shoulders. “You weren’t kidding. The Maine contingent knows you,” she said. “Do they realize you’re an undercover agent?”
He leaned against the balustrade, his back to the docks. “I’m here visiting my family. Now I’m helping you. That’s all that matters.”
“It’ll be a while before everyone finishes up here but you’re free to go.”
His eyes settled on her. “Jump in the boat, then.”
“What? No.”
“If I’m free to go, you’re free to go. Someone broke into your house and left a bomb. I’m not leaving you here alone.”
“Because of Yank—”
“Because of me,” he said.
“How is jumping into a lobster boat with you going to help me?”
“Ocean breeze in your hair. Bouncing over the waves.” He stood up from the balustrade. “It’ll help.”
“Do you work for Yank? Are you one of the ghosts on the team?”
“I’m not on his team. Yank and I go way back. How do you think he ended up in Heron’s Cove to recruit you?”
“Then you know about me,” she said, her eyes distant.
“Sharpe family. Art detectives. Yeah, I know.” Colin stopped short and forced himself to think past his attraction to her. “That’s not what you’re talking about, is it?”
She seemed relieved and brushed him off. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t see you and Yank as friends. He’s a lawyer—by the book, ambitious. You strike me as—”
“A problem,” Colin said.
“Independent,” Emma countered. “A lone ranger.”
She slipped her arms into his jacket sleeves and rolled up the cuffs. She looked small and vulnerable, but he knew it would be a mistake to underestimate her. He could think she was sexy, though. That couldn’t bite him back.
But she was all business. “Yank assigned you to protect me?”
“I told you. I don’t work for him.”
“From what I just heard from your former colleagues, I’m more likely to protect you. I think that’s just a bluff, though. They know you don’t sit at a desk. You were too handy with that bomb.”
“The lobsterman in me. I kiss well, too, don’t you think?”
“You move fast in a number of ways, I’ll say that for you. Okay, lobsterman, let’s go.”
They headed down to his boat. Colin stood back while Emma, asking for no help from him, climbed in. She had on her boots but they didn’t seem to impede her in throwing one leg over the other.
