She parked on the street. The police tape was down, and someone—probably Lucas—had arranged for the front door to be fixed. She walked around to the backyard and stood on the retaining wall, shivering in the refreshing breeze. Lights from boats and the inn and marina reflected on the still, dark water. She could hear the tide lapping against wooden posts and boats, washing on the polished rocks, but she noticed there was no Julianne tied up at the docks. Had Colin found another brother’s boat to borrow? Was he out there in the dark?
She heard footsteps behind her and turned sharply.
“Easy,” Colin said, stepping off the last porch step. He nodded back to the house. “It’s safe. I’ve been through it.”
Jet lag or just the surprise of seeing him seemed to slow her thinking. “You went through the house?”
“From the attic to cellar. I only checked for bombs and intruders. I didn’t look for old pictures of you in a nun’s habit.”
“Mother Linden wore a traditional habit, but the sisters switched to plainclothes after her death.”
He made a face. “Hell, Emma.”
She laughed. She thought he had to be the sexiest man on the Maine coast right now. Maybe on the entire East Coast. Dark fleece, jeans, boots. The ever-present stubble of beard and tousled hair.
“How’s Granddad?” he asked.
“I hope he’s enjoying a glass of Bracken whiskey or sleeping one off. He won’t rest until we catch whoever attacked him.”
Colin smiled, crossing the lawn to her. “You Sharpes.”
“I have a feeling the Donovans would leave no stone unturned.” Her hair blew into her face with another welcome gust of wind. “Lucky I didn’t find you in the kitchen. I’d have shot you. I’m just in the mood.”
“You’re a pro.”
“Not a very good one when it comes to weapons. I work hard to stay qualified.”
“I’ll consider that a fair warning.” He maneuvered himself in front of her and turned up her jacket collar against the wind. His fingers were warm on her skin, and he let them linger a few seconds longer than was necessary. “How was your night in Ireland?”
“Luxurious. Yours?”
“I slept at the airport.”
She wouldn’t be surprised if he were telling the truth. They headed inside. Only the light above the kitchen sink was on. The house felt dark, cold and empty. Then Emma noticed a bag of apples on the counter and smiled. “You brought food?”
Colin shut the porch door behind him. “Apples, cheese, bread, wine. Having seen how you live, I figured you wouldn’t think to stop at a grocery on your way back here.”
“Sounds like a feast.”
“And chocolate.” He tapped two Hershey bars on the counter. “I did not, however, pick the apples myself.”
“There’s a great orchard in Rock Point.”
“I know it well.”
Emma debated between chocolate and an apple. “Yank’s not happy,” she said.
Colin leaned against the counter. “Yank’s never happy.”
Opting for an apple, she reached into the bag and chose one, quickly rinsing it off and toweling it dry. “I’m sure he wishes I’d told Sister Joan to call the local police and picked apples instead of going to see her. If this goes badly…” She didn’t finish. There was no point. It had already gone badly.
“Yank still has faith in you. If he didn’t, he’d have found a way to keep you in Ireland.”
“If he loses faith in me, I’ll be looking for a new job.”
“You can always return to your family’s business.”
Emma bit into her apple, a crisp Macintosh. “Not if my reputation is in tatters.”
“What if their reputation is the one that ends up getting screwed up?”
“I’m not speculating.” She ate more of her apple. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was. “What would you do if you had to go to a desk job for real?”
“I could always become a guide like my brother Mike and head to the Maine woods.”
“Is that what you want—to be alone up in the wilds with the moose and mosquitoes?”
His eyes darkened as he turned to her. “Some days.”
“Today?”
“Not today.” He opened a drawer, got out a knife and cut a piece of the cheese, then handed it to her. “It goes well with apple.”
She felt as if she’d dreamed her Irish breakfast so many hours ago. She ate her apple and the cheese while Colin poured wine and divided a chocolate bar. He gave her half, studying her with an intensity she found unsettling. “What? Did you discover I have a secret obsession for Jane Austen movies when you searched my apartment?”
“You don’t add up,” he said.
“Nobody adds up. Look at you. Why would a man rooted in Rock Point, with a great family, disappear for months at a time to chase arms traffickers? Doesn’t add up.”
“It just worked out that way.”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
He frowned at her as if she made no sense. “Never mind. Let’s have a look upstairs. Your grandfather hadn’t been attacked when we found the bomb. Maybe we missed something.”
He went into the dark hall. Emma grabbed another apple but skipped wine. She needed her wits about her when dealing with Colin Donovan with nothing to do after dark. She followed him through the empty rooms, then up the two flights of stairs to the attic, feeling the long day in her leg muscles.
Colin turned on the dusty overhead, its light not reaching into all the corners under the eaves. Emma ducked over to the vault. “Why leave the bomb and take a chance
