Finian walked slowly along the rough path to where Colin stood. “I see I’m not hard to find,” the priest said. “Or did you follow Emma?”
A soft breeze came with the rising tide and dark clouds from the west. “What were you doing down by the water?” Colin asked.
“There’s a holy well there.”
“No wonder Emma found you.”
Bracken smiled. “Surely you’ve faced scarier things in your days as an FBI agent than an ex-nun.”
Colin grunted. “Not much scarier.” He ignored the tension in his jaw, the back of his neck. “Fin, I need to know what you’re doing here.”
Bracken turned and faced the water and the view, stunning even in the gray. “Vikings sacked abbeys and monasteries up and down this coast. They sacked the church here. Can you imagine what it must have been like?”
“I’m not up on my Irish history.”
“Neither am I, to be honest.” Bracken stood by a slab headstone, its inscription so worn by time and the elements that it was almost impossible to read. “Colin, I didn’t choose Rock Point because of the Sharpes or you.”
“Emma asked you that?”
“Oh, yes. I have no sinister reason for being in Maine. I ran a tough, honest business, and I endured an unspeakable tragedy. Then I received a call from God to the work I do. I had a new purpose in getting up each day.”
“I’m sorry about your family, Fin. I should have looked into your background before now.”
Bracken stared at the old stone. “I can help you find this killer. I have contacts—”
“You’re a priest. You’re not a law enforcement officer.”
Colin realized he was getting a glimpse of the man Finian Bracken had been before entering the priesthood—before the tragic loss of his family. He’d been a successful businessman, a happily married, outgoing Irishman with two young daughters. Now he was living in a run-down rectory and serving a struggling church on the other side of the Atlantic.
“I believe in miracles, Colin.” Finian raised his gaze from the stone and looked out across the water. “My presence in Rock Point has meaning. I pushed everything down deep and focused on my call to this work, but inside I was still flailing. I knew I needed to shake things up.”
“So you arranged to serve the church in Rock Point,” Colin said, his voice softening, although his tension hadn’t eased.
“I admit I came to lick my wounds. It took a few weeks before I understood that I was there simply to do my work as a priest.”
“And to live your life,” Colin said.
“I debated telling you my story, but I didn’t want to distract you.” Finian shifted from the view and gave Colin a knowing look. “And I was aware that you don’t entirely trust me. You don’t trust anyone.”
Colin grinned suddenly, surprising himself. “You got that right, Father Fin. Let’s get out of here. You priests might not mind cemeteries but I’m getting the creeps.”
Bracken didn’t move. “This thief and killer has struck before, Colin.”
“Are you guessing or do you know?”
“I haven’t done my research yet, but I have resources I can tap—”
“No research, Fin. No tapping your resources. It’s bad enough I have to keep track of an ex-nun with a gun and a target on her back. An Irish priest who knows whiskey and has a few million in the bank taxes my skills and experience.”
“Ah, yes. There’s only so much even you can do, my friend.”
Despite his amusement, Bracken hadn’t given up. Colin could see the resolve—the stubbornness—in the priest’s eyes.
He let Bracken lead the way back to the entrance of the burial ground. Colin went through the turnstile at the locked gate, noticing his priest friend pause, as if in prayer, before he came through.
Bracken produced a set of keys and headed to a small BMW in the paved parking area. He looked over the hood, back at Colin. “I’ll bet this killer has struck private homes—thefts that haven’t been widely reported.”
“Finian.”
He waved a hand, dismissive. “I’ll be discreet.” Bracken smiled, looking revived, energetic. “I can do things an FBI agent can’t. No worries, my friend.”
“That’s romantic, Fin. Wait until you find a bomb under your dining room table.”
The priest opened his car door. “You do have an interesting way of thinking.”
“I’m not wrong about you, am I?” Colin felt the cold mist on the back of his neck. “You didn’t kill that nun?”
“I did not.”
“You’re not in Maine to hurt Emma Sharpe?”
“No.”
“Anything, Fin. If I find out you’re lying about anything, I’ll deal with you myself.”
“I would expect nothing less,” Bracken said, then climbed in the car and shut the door.
Colin got in his own rental. It was smaller than Bracken’s BMW. A prudent step, given driving on the left and the crazy Irish roads. He calculated that Emma would be almost to the village by now.
He started the engine, wondering if she’d be surprised to see him.
CHAPTER 25
EMMA CROSSED A SMALL SUSPENSION BRIDGE JUST outside the village of Kenmare. The wind was strong off the bay, refreshing after her trek to Saint Finian’s holy well and her talk with Father Bracken. An elderly woman walking a little white dog greeted Emma as she headed off the bridge. She mumbled a quick hello and wondered where she’d be in forty or fifty years. Walking a little dog in Heron’s Cove? She shook off the thought and ran across the busy street into Reenagross Park.
The tide had come up considerably, and she felt her tension ease as she continued on a wide lane along the water, across from the holy well where she’d met Finian Bracken.
As she cut onto a mulched path into the woods, Colin swung out from behind a giant rhododendron. “Agent Sharpe,” he said. “Fancy meeting you out here in the Irish wilds.”
“I figured you wouldn’t be far away.”
He eased in close to her. “I looked up Saint Brigid.”
Emma angled a smile at
