Finian sighed heavily. “I don’t have the answer, I’m afraid.”
“And you won’t get one. You’ll leave this to the authorities.”
“Of course.”
His brother scrutinized him in the morning shadows. “There’s more, Fin?”
“A tenth-century pagan Scandinavian silver bracelet was stolen from the London town house of a banker friend of a friend in August. Luckily no one was injured. It’s a gorgeous work of art, apparently, but our banker friend—”
“Let me guess. He never had it appraised, and it’s of uncertain provenance.”
Finian nodded. “He figures it’s gone now and isn’t concerned about recovering it.”
“Another American connection?”
“His father bought it on a trip to Chicago some years ago, from a couple in dire financial straits.”
Declan was silent as he paced on the tile floor. “Fin, a killer’s at work. This isn’t just an ordinary burglar. Even if every break-in isn’t accompanied by violence—”
“I know, Declan,” Finian said, looking out into the darkness. “I want to get on the road before sunrise. Don’t worry about me. Be safe, and keep Fidelma and the children safe.”
His brother winked, as fearless as ever. “No worries, Fin.”
Finian drove on the winding N71 to Moll’s Gap and Ladies View, where, in 1861, Queen Victoria and her ladies-in-waiting had marveled at the breathtaking views of the Black Valley. The Brackens had been poor farmers then. They’d been poor farmers when Declan and Finian were boys.
No one would fault him if he didn’t go back to Maine, Finian thought as he pulled over in his rented car. The sky had lightened in the east. The air was cold, windy. He zipped up his jacket and followed a rock-strewn path to the Old Kenmare Road, part of the Kerry Way walking route that encompassed more than a hundred miles of the Iveragh Peninsula. This section went through Killarney National Park with its ancient woodlands and beautiful lakes.
He continued onto a rocky path into a glen, the main road disappearing behind the barren hills. He was the only soul in sight, only his footfall disturbing the silence. He crossed a stream as the sunrise spread around him. On previous walks, as a husband, a widower, a seminarian, he’d seen Irish red deer in the oaks across the bog, but he didn’t this morning.
He eventually made his way up a steep hill, Kenmare Bay and the surrounding mountains coming into view in the distance. Behind him were the mountains of Killarney. He paused by a holly bush and looked up at the brightening sky. He could see Sally and their daughters. He could hear their laughter and not, this time, the cries of their fear and suffering. They were real, intense, there.
“Ah, my girls. I should have been with you.”
Finian stayed a few moments, then turned back through the glen just as a rainbow arced in the mist over the still, beautiful hills.
When he arrived at his car, he had an email from Colin Donovan in response to his information on the break-ins. It was well before dawn in Maine. What was Colin doing awake? He was, as ever, to the point: Mind your own business.
Finian laughed, even as he understood the seriousness of the situation at hand.
As he drove through Killarney and out toward the airport, he saw another rainbow, vibrant, never to be taken for granted.
CHAPTER 30
EMMA SAT ON A HIGH STOOL AT THE BREAKFAST bar in Colin’s kitchen, relieved that they’d had his email from Finian Bracken to help ease the awkwardness of the morning. Waking up in Colin’s bed without him had been just as unsettling as waking up in her bed with him. She’d lain under the blankets, warm, tingling with the memory of his arms around her as he’d carried her up the stairs.
A message about a possible Albrecht Dürer etching and a possible Viking bracelet turning up stolen had plunged her back into the harsh reality of why she was even in Maine.
“This is new information.” Emma helped herself to a cracker. Food options were few and far between. “Father Bracken didn’t exaggerate, did he? He has good sources.”
Colin was less impressed. “He’s a priest. He should stick to his job.”
“He’d have involved himself even if he didn’t know you. A nun was killed and he wanted to help.”
“Either that, or he’s fooling us all.”
Emma tilted her head back, taking in his raw look. He’d put on jeans and a dark chamois shirt but hadn’t shaved yet and was just in a pair of wool socks. The effect was intimate, casual and enough to take her breath away. “You look as if you had a rough night, Agent Donovan.”
He grunted. “I’m taking the sofa bed to the dump. The mattress is so thin I could feel the bars under it, and my feet hung off the end.”
“You could have come upstairs and—”
“No, I couldn’t have.” Colin slipped into scuffed boots by the back door. “I’ll go get us coffee and breakfast. Back in ten minutes. You can work Fin’s tip.”
“Were you awake when it came in?”
“I was.”
She felt a chilly draft when he went out the door. She slid down off her stool, the morning sun streaming through the kitchen windows. She had work to do. It was already afternoon in Ireland and London. She wanted to reach her grandfather, her own contacts. She wanted to talk to her brother again, too.
She collected her things, found a pen and index card and left Colin a quick note, then headed out to her car. The morning was warming up fast, a summerlike touch of humidity in the air. When she arrived at her grandfather’s house in Heron’s Cove, she had an email from Sister Cecilia asking her to stop by the shop and studio the sisters ran in the village.
Emma decided to walk into the village. Halfway there, Colin passed her in his truck. He didn’t wave. She didn’t exactly blame him if he was annoyed with her for sneaking out on him.
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