“You noticed.”
“So you’re not denying it.”
“Not to a priest.” Colin resisted more whiskey. His head was spinning enough as it was. “What do you know about her, Fin?”
“How would I know anything about her, Colin?”
“Emma hasn’t had a chance to have a privileged conversation with you. What you know is what you’ve figured out from talking to her. You can tell me.”
Bracken’s dark blue eyes fastened on his friend across the table. “I noticed that your Emma is very knowledgeable about saints and religious matters.”
“She’s an art expert and her grandfather and this Mother Linden were friends. The Sharpes and the Sisters of the Joyful Heart go way back.”
“Yes, that’s true.”
“That’s why Sister Joan called Emma.”
Bracken didn’t respond and drank more of his tea.
Colin sat back. “Fin?”
He lifted the lid on his metal pot and sighed at the contents. “The water arrived lukewarm. I have to talk to the Hurleys. You can’t make proper tea with lukewarm water.”
“What aren’t you telling me?” Colin asked.
Bracken snapped the lid shut. “Would you care for whiskey, Colin?”
“No. There’s some kind of bond between you and Emma.” He paused. “You two don’t know each other from Ireland, do you?”
“We do not.”
“It’s like you speak the same language.”
Bracken pushed aside his mug. “It is, isn’t it?”
Colin pictured Emma with Sister Cecilia that morning. He’d noticed her ease and familiarity with the language of the convent and convent life. Even when he’d climbed up the rocks after stranding his boat, he’d been struck by her natural, or what he’d taken to be natural, calm and centeredness.
He remembered Yank’s comments about her. Her talk of saints and such with Bracken.
“Whoa. Wait.” Colin almost sprang up from his chair. “Come on, Fin. Emma Sharpe was a nun?”
“You’d have to ask her.”
“I’m asking you. Am I lusting after a nun?”
“I wouldn’t know about lusting, but it’s my guess Agent Sharpe is more familiar with the Sisters of the Joyful Heart than she has specifically let you know.”
Colin worked a stiff muscle in his neck. “A nun.” He grimaced, then shuddered. “The boots and the gun on her hip threw me off.”
Bracken smiled. “I have a feeling your Emma’s full of surprises.”
“A bomb in her attic was enough of a surprise. All right, thanks, Fin. Enjoy your tea. I have to go.”
“Disappearing again?”
Colin pretended not to hear as he got to his feet and headed outside, welcoming the gust of cold wind off the harbor. He climbed back in his truck and drove up to his house.
He called Matt Yankowski from the front steps. “Why didn’t you tell me Emma Sharpe had been one of the joyful sisters?” Colin gritted his teeth. “Damn, Yank. That’s a hell of a tidbit to leave out.”
“She was a novice. She never made her final vows.”
“Final vows? You know about final vows, Yank?”
“I learned,” he said. “I figured it wasn’t my place to tell you. I didn’t want to prejudice you.”
“You didn’t want to admit you’d recruited a nun.”
“Emma’s not a nun now. She hasn’t been one in four years. I’ve learned to let go of my preconceived notions about nuns—”
“Yank. I know you. We’ve worked together too long. I know how you think. You recruited Emma Sharpe because you thought she’d be good for the FBI and good for you. You’d recruit the devil if he could help you.”
“That’s cynical even for you, Donovan.” Yank paused, then sighed. “Don’t you think she dresses well for an ex-nun? Prettier than what you’d expect, too? I mean, there go all the stereotypes.”
“Was she wearing sensible shoes and one of those baggy tunics when you met her?”
“Yeah.”
“Hell, Yank. Damn.”
“Why are you so nuts about this? What did you do, sleep with her?”
“No—”
“You’ve thought about it, though.”
Still was thinking about it.
“The nun thing was a whim. She was already doubting her religious vocation when I met her at the convent. She’s a Sharpe, and she’s a brilliant art detective in her own right. She’s broadened that experience with her work with the FBI. She’s a damn fine agent.”
“Religious vocation.” Colin gritted his teeth yet again. “Emma knows the Sisters of the Joyful Heart well, then. The women there, how the order works, the layout of the convent. That’s valuable perspective for Maine CID. Do they know?”
“She’s not supposed to hold back any pertinent information.”
“She’s up to her eyeballs in this thing, Yank.” Despite his earlier dismissal with Bracken of any real danger, Colin felt it now. “That bomb would have gone off in the middle of the night. She would have been asleep downstairs. It’s an old house. Any fire would have spread fast. If she didn’t realize what was going on—”
“She’d have burned up. We don’t know whoever planted the bomb realized she was there. We don’t know—”
“I do.”
“You and your gut,” Yank said heavily.
Colin’s instincts and his determination to pay attention to them had gotten him into trouble with his contact agent more than once. “You’re looking into any Sharpe cases relate to saints, Vikings, Jack d’Auberville, Ainsley d’Auberville and Mother Superior Sarah Jane Linden?”
“Mother Linden?”
“She and Wendell Sharpe were friends.”
“Great,” Yank said without enthusiasm.
“I assume your team’s working this thing. Keep an eye on Lucas Sharpe, too. I’ll find Emma.”
“Boston,” Yank said. “Waterfront. Nice apartment. I’ll text you the address.”
* * *
Colin stopped at Lucas Sharpe’s house in Heron’s Cove. Lucas had just arrived in his own sleek BMW and motioned for Colin to follow him inside after he introduced himself. “I was at a gallery opening in Portsmouth. The police found me and told me what they could.” Lucas paused in the entry of the old house. “Emma’s left me a string of messages. I haven’t reached her yet. What can you tell me?”
Colin filled him in and closely watched Lucas’s reaction.
What he saw was a brother’s pure, unadulterated concern for his only sibling. “I should have checked the vault myself,” Lucas
