Liar's Key

“A sense of humor helps. Oliver York’s a character, I’ll say that. Quite the charming rogue, and a past I wouldn’t wish on anyone.” Sean glanced at his watch and stood abruptly. “Come. If we hurry, I can put you on a flight to London out of Kerry airport tonight.”

“On what, a carrier pigeon?”

“It’s a small airport but it offers several nonstop flights a day to London.” Sean moved toward the door. “You have your bag?”

“In my car, which is a rental, by the way.”

“I’ll take care of it. We want you on that flight.”

“The thing about living on an island,” Colin said, tugging open the door, “you have to fly or take a boat to get most anywhere.”

“Fortunately, everything I need is here,” Sean said.

They went out into the main room of the bustling distillery. It was medium-sized, not one of the huge, well-known Irish distilleries but not one of the small start-ups, either. The Bracken brothers had gotten their start before the explosion in independent distilleries and had established a brand known for excellence.

Declan Bracken was waiting for them, and Sean explained that Colin was off to London, a last-minute change of plans. Declan looked as if he had a dozen questions, but he simply nodded and wished Colin a safe flight and a quick return to Ireland. Colin thanked him but noticed Sean was almost to the front entrance.

“When will you be planning your honeymoon?” Colin asked as he caught up with the detective.

A quick smile. “As soon as I can talk Kitty into marrying me.”

“Have you proposed to her yet?”

“I’m getting there. She’s not sure she believes in marriage anymore. That’s what she says.”

“There’s never been a woman who’s played hard-to-get like Kitty O’Byrne, has there?”

Sean grunted. “She’s not playing.”

But the pair couldn’t hide from themselves or anyone else how deeply in love they were. Colin wondered if people had the same thought about Emma and him, but he put that out of his mind as he grabbed his duffel bag and tossed it in the back of Sean’s car. Two minutes later, they were on their way to Farranfore, the small village between Tralee and Shannon where the Kerry County airport was located. A fine mist had collected on the windshield and the early evening light shone on the twisting road back through Killarney.

“Mary Bracken doesn’t live in the world you and I do, Special Agent Donovan,” Sean said, driving one-handed.

“I know, Sean. Fin knows, too.”

“She’s had a devil of a time since Sally and the girls died and Fin turned to the priesthood. Now he’s left Ireland altogether and she’s afraid he won’t be back.”

“Father Callaghan is due to return to Rock Point from his sabbatical in a few weeks,” Colin said.

Sean glanced at him, looking troubled. “Is he?”

“Do you have information to the contrary?”

“No, but Fin dodges the question when I ask him what he plans to do when he returns to Ireland. But that’s a problem for another day. I wouldn’t describe Mary as naive, but she thinks the best of people. I don’t like that Oliver York intercepted her in Declan’s Cross. It feels planned to me.”

“He plans his heists. I don’t know if he plans much else.” Colin watched out his window as the car sped through rolling fields. “I’ll talk to him. I appreciate the heads-up.”

“I’m sorry I took you away from your honeymoon planning.”

“The honeymoon isn’t what matters.”

“True enough.”

Sean pulled into the parking lot of the small airport. The mist was now a soft rain. “Good thing I’m not a nervous flier,” Colin muttered. “Have you ever flown out of here?”

“Oh, yes. Of course.”

“On what?”

The Irishman grinned. “You don’t want to know.”

“Funny, Sean.”

“No worries. You’ll be on a real plane.”

Colin grabbed his duffel bag out of the back of the car and headed into the terminal. Sure enough, a reasonable-sized plane was on the tarmac. He’d purchased a ticket on the twenty-minute drive from the distillery. The rain wouldn’t cause any delays. He’d be at Oliver York’s London apartment within a couple of hours.

* * *

With a few minutes to spare, Colin stood by the windows in the small terminal and watched the rain. His undercover assignment had turned out to be more complex and dangerous than anyone had expected. He’d been looking forward to taking a couple of days to relax, dust off the stink and plan his honeymoon before he headed home. He disliked not being in touch with his fair-haired fiancée. That Emma understood he had a job to do didn’t make it easier, but it did make it bearable.

She had a job to do, too. He’d had a taste of her work last summer, a couple of months before they’d met, when information from an unnamed art crimes specialist had helped him locate and arrest a major illegal arms dealer who happened to be in Los Angeles to indulge his passion for Picasso.

Colin dug out his phone and texted Yank. London it is. Then he stared at his screen for a split second and texted Emma. I just had a visit from Sean Murphy.

Her response came within seconds. You’re in Ireland?

Kerry Airport. Didn’t know there was one.

We drove past it. Easy to miss. Coming, going, staying?

On my way to London to see our English friend.

Colin tried to picture her reaction, where she was—her. He could almost see her warm, deep green eyes. Her answer finally came on his screen. Does that explain your visit from Sean?

Yes. Talk to Yank.

Will do. On my way to Maine. I’m having lunch tomorrow with your mother.

Good luck. You’ll need it. I learned my best interrogation techniques from her.

Ha. Safe travels. Love you.

You, too, babe.

Colin started to slide his phone back into his jacket pocket but saw he had a response from Yank: Your garda friend has a call in to me.

That was quick. He’s good but you’ll be okay.

Colin could almost see Yank’s roll of the eyes but his flight was being called. He got out his boarding pass. Bad enough Oliver York was on the radar again, but if a retired FBI agent was stirring up trouble and if that trouble involved MI5, Colin wouldn’t be surprised if a few agents met him at Heathrow. Then it would be a long night of explaining—but explaining what?

He gritted his teeth. He would find out what he could in London and go from there.

It was a short hop to London. He’d get his head sorted out before he arrived. He wanted to know the truth about why Oliver had been in Declan’s Cross and what he knew about Claudia Deverell and her tour of Bracken Distillers, and about Gordy Wheelock—and what, if anything, they had to do with a dead archaeologist and stolen ancient mosaics. And if there was any connection to the Sharpe Fine Art Recovery open house on Saturday in Heron’s Cove, Maine.

“And with Emma,” Colin said under his breath as he headed through the rain to the waiting plane.

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