The Whisper (24 page)

Boston, Massachusetts

Sophie locked the door to her hotel room and flopped onto her bed, lying against the pillows and staring at the moldings along the edge of the ceiling. She had met her hockey-player students. By no means was every player on the team in need of tutoring, but she looked forward to working with them. One had guessed she’d had an eventful morning and another had heard that she’d found Cliff Rafferty; they all agreed that should she need them for anything, she had only to say the word. They’d be there.

As she walked back to Charles Street, she’d heard from Tim and had reassured him that telling the Brits everything wasn’t just fine but also smart. She wished he could be left out of the investigation entirely, but it was too late for that.

Meanwhile, her brother was again threatening to come up to Boston. Sophie sat up on the bed cross-legged, texting him to ask if there was anything he could do on his end to help find Percy Carlisle.

Damian’s answer was immediate: Stay out of it.

She texted him back: Helen came back early. To NYC. Maybe he’s in NYC?

This time he called instead of texting her. “I thought you were tutoring.”

“I was. It was just a meet-and-greet. The guys are great. They can see through BS a lot quicker than I can. I always see nuances and shades of gray, complications and pitfalls. Sometimes I want to live in a black-and-white, win-lose world.”

“Yeah. I know the feeling, Sophie. We could be Taryn, raked over the coals if she sneezes on stage. Get yourself some hockey tickets and go enjoy yourself. Line up those job interviews. Stay focused on what’s good for you.”

“Who are you advising—me or yourself?”

He laughed. “Both of us.”

“Damian, based on your experience and what you might know but can’t tell me—which I don’t assume is very much—do you believe Percy is alive?”

“I hope so, Sophie. This morning had to be rough on you.”

“I did what anyone else would have done. If Percy’s involved—”

“It’s not your problem. You can come here to D.C. Just head to the airport right now and get on a plane. I have an extra room.”

“You let that dog of yours sleep on the bed, don’t you?”

“It’s not a question of ‘let,’” he said. “Take care of yourself.”

After they disconnected, Sophie headed down to Morrigan’s. Fiona O’Reilly had arrived with several friends, her father on a
stool at the bar, watching his daughter as if he couldn’t quite shake the notion that something else might happen to her—that she wasn’t safe and never would be again.

Sophie climbed onto a stool next to him. O’Reilly sighed at her. “Your parents are smart. Go hiking and leave the kids on their own.”

“We’re adults. Taryn, Damian and me. We’re not teenagers, and we weren’t almost killed in a bomb blast.”

“This morning—”

“I was never in danger.”

“You didn’t know who was in the tub. Could have been someone faking being drowned, waiting for you to rush in and save him. He could have nailed you, and we’d have been drawing a chalk line around your body instead of talking to you about human sacrifice.”

She ordered a Guinness. “What a way to think.”

“I’m just saying. And trust me—your folks remember when you and your brother and sister were drooling little babies.” He looked toward the stairs, and Sophie turned and saw Scoop heading into the bar. When she turned back to O’Reilly, he shook his head. “I don’t know what happened to him in Ireland. He’s still mean as hell, but he likes you.”

“Lieutenant…”

He didn’t back off. “He likes you a lot.”

“You’ve all had a difficult few months.”

“Yes, we have,” the senior detective said as he stood up. He greeted Scoop. “I’m not staying. Time to pack up the lace from Keira’s windows. My sister says she’ll take them. I’m in the attic for the long haul. Keira called. She and Simon are renting a loft in Owen’s new building on the waterfront. I guess Simon’s getting assigned to Boston. Great, huh, Scoop? Another FBI agent to breathe down our necks.”

He thumped up the stairs.

Scoop grinned. “That’s Bob in a good mood.” He took his friend’s place at the bar. “How are you, Sophie? How’s the job hunt?”

“All my years of school and I’d make a better living pouring Guinness. It’d be a great job—”

“But it’s not what you’re trained to do.”

“It’s tough out there even for the best.”

“My sources tell me you are the best and you have great prospects. In fact, you yourself said you have a decent chance at a tenure-track position here in Boston.”

“I’m crying in my beer?”

“Just a little. It’s understandable given the past couple days. Being back here after so much time in Ireland would be enough of a transition by itself.”

“You’re very understanding, Cyrus Wisdom.”

His eyebrows went up. “That’s a first from anyone.”

“You’re not afraid you’re losing your edge, are you?”

“Nope.”

“Good, because I’ve seen you in action three times now, and I wouldn’t want to run into you if I had ill intentions in mind.”

He laughed softly. “‘Ill intentions.’ You crack me up, Dr. Malone. I’m just glad we got to Acosta before he drowned. He’s not grateful. He still says he was just about to haul himself out of the water when we barged in.”

“If that helps him get through this, then fine. I don’t need credit. Except for whatever he ran afoul of you for, he’s a good detective?”

“Not my judgment to make.”

Which was all the answer she needed. “I wonder when Rafferty knew that he wasn’t going to be a captain or the police commissioner or make detective.”

“He would always say he didn’t want to. He just wanted to get his full pension.”

“And work as a security guard for the Carlisles? Do you believe that?”

“I think he wanted to retire in the sun.”

“He faced that moment we all do when we decide to take action to turn the dream into reality. Work with the right people, put yourself out there, go for it, know that you might have to face rejection and disappointment and betrayal.”

“Are we talking about Cliff or you?”

She suddenly was overwhelmed with emotion. “I’m going upstairs.”

She moved fast, taking the stairs two at a time. She avoided even a glance at Jeremiah Rush in the lobby and was grateful she was alone on the elevator. Once she was in her room, she splashed cold water on her face and fought back tears.

There was a knock on the door. “Sophie—it’s Scoop. You okay in there?”

She opened the door, forcing herself to smile. “Sorry. Come in. I’ve noticed I get walloped with jet lag right about this time of the evening. It’s better every day.”

“Not that the quiet homecoming you’ve had helps.”

She held up a hand. “Don’t talk. Let me explain.” She led him into the room, the door shutting quietly behind him. She paced on the soft rug. “I’ve worked hard, and I’ve done well—no question. I’m grateful. It wasn’t an easy path.”

“There are no easy paths.”

“I’ve encountered jealousy, envy, criticism, disappointment and broken promises along the way. Who hasn’t? You do your best and in the end…” She turned back to him. “In the end you can’t base your happiness on whether you achieved all your
dreams. You enjoy the journey. You let go of the disappointments and betrayals.”

“You weren’t just on a lark last year.”

She smiled. “Always the detective.” Her smile faded. “I faced a dark night of the soul. Tell me, Scoop, isn’t that what you were doing in Ireland?”

“It felt like I was facing a thousand dark nights of the soul.”

Her breath caught. He wasn’t a talkative, introspective man, but his words brought home just what he’d experienced only a few weeks ago. “You’ve been to hell and back, haven’t you?”

“The key word is back.” He brushed his knuckles along her jaw and eased his hand around the back of her neck, threading his fingers into her hair. “I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be right now, and if I had to go through hell to get here—well, then it was worth it.”

He lowered his mouth to hers, slowly, as if giving her time to tell him to go back down to the bar and have a drink. She didn’t. “You’re why I knew I had to see the ruin on the Beara,” she whispered. “I was pulled there. I knew I had to go. There was a rainbow that morning after we met. Scoop…”

“I can do a lot of things, sweetheart, but rainbows are above my pay grade.”

She didn’t have a chance to laugh before he kissed her, softly, tenderly, even as he lifted her into his arms and she could feel the tension in his muscles. She’d seen how he’d handled Acosta. She wasn’t worried about him hurting himself with her. Clearly he wasn’t, either. Their kiss deepened, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, sinking into him. He was aroused, hard against her. She could feel herself melting into him, hot and liquid.

He carried her to the bed and pulled back the covers. Her iPhone
went flying. He laid her on her back. “I’m not very good with little buttons,” he said, eyeing her blouse. “Either I rip it off or you—”

“It’s an old top I found in Taryn’s apartment.”

He had it off in seconds, and then he took his time, touching her through the silky fabric of her bra, easing her pants over her hips with great care as he trailed kisses, his tongue, along her throat, then lower, tasting, lingering, sweetly torturing. She wasn’t even aware he’d dispensed with her pants until she felt the sheets cool under her bare skin, his touch between her legs. She reached for him, traced his hardness with her fingertips. He thrust against her hand, a promise of what was to come.

“Scoop…I haven’t…” She wasn’t sure how to get the words out. “It’s been a long time.”

“Good,” he whispered, easing his fingers into her, where she was hot, ready. “I’ll be gentle.”

She smiled. “Not too gentle.”

She tore at his shirt, but he didn’t budge, just moved his fingers deeper, probing, his thumb circling, until she cried out and gave herself up to the sensations coursing through her. He kissed her, his tongue matching the erotic rhythm of his fingers. With his free hand, he caught her nipple between his fingertips.

“I can’t last,” she said between kisses.

“Then don’t.”

“I want to feel you inside me.”

“You will,” he said, driving his fingers in faster, even deeper. “Trust me, Sophie, you will.”

She was gone, rocking against him, letting the waves take her. He wasted no time. He got his clothes off in short order, and he came to her, easing on top of her. She ran her palms along his hips, up his back, feeling the strong muscles, the ripples of scars. Just the touch of him against her sent a bolt of urgency through
her. He must have felt it, or was past his limits. He entered her, careful at first, but she was more than ready.

In seconds, they were in unison, fused, responding, giving—knowing where and when to touch, to move—and when she came this time, it was with him, together.

Later, she propped herself up on one elbow and looked at him in the fading light. “You’re an amazing man, Cyrus Wisdom, but I think it was my mud-encrusted wellies that caught your eye in Ireland.”

“Must have been,” he said, laughing as he took her back in his arms.

Sophie walked over to the Boston-Cork folklore conference offices after a pleasant breakfast with Scoop. They’d agreed not to discuss anything to do with the police investigations. They had no trouble finding subjects of mutual interest. Afterward, she e-mailed Wendell Sharpe and asked him about the Carlisle Museum and anyone Percy Sr. fired who was still in the art world—who could, she thought but didn’t say, want revenge.

He replied immediately: Everyone fired checks out.

She found Eileen Sullivan back in Colm Dermott’s office, staring out at the Charles River. “I’ve been thinking about taking up rowing,” she said, then shifted to Sophie. “I heard about Frank Acosta, Sophie. Even my brother’s shaken by what’s happened. I can’t talk to him about it, but I believe Cliff planted
that bomb. I’ve been thinking a lot about him. He was filled with entitlement and envy.”

“That’s a difficult place to be.”

“Yes, it is. He was retiring. His wife had left him. His children didn’t like being around him. He was bitter and alone.” Eileen turned from the window and seemed to shake off her melancholy. “Keira and Simon will be back in Boston soon. They want to stay here. Make a home together. She thought I rejected her when I adopted a religious life. I didn’t—but I hadn’t chosen that life for all the right reasons.”

“What kind of life do you want now?”

She smiled, a spark in her eyes now. “The one I have. I’m looking forward to going back to Ireland at Christmas with Keira and my brother and nieces. I’ll go again in April for the Cork part of the conference.”

“I hope all your lives will be back to normal by then.” Sophie withdrew a sheet of paper from her bag and handed it to Eileen. “I brought a draft of what I want to do with the panel. I e-mailed it to Colm already.”

They returned to her office and discussed the conference for a few minutes, Sophie impressed with Eileen Sullivan’s knowledge and enthusiasm for her work and the topics they’d cover. She was open-minded and kind, and if she was still haunted by her encounter with a serial killer, she’d found a way to cope.

“When Keira and Simon are back,” she said, “we’ll have to get you together with them.”

“I’d love that,” Sophie said, the older woman’s optimism infectious.

Tim called her on her way back down the stairs to the street. “I’m on the pier. The Brits will be here in seconds, but I wanted to tell you first. The photo you sent me of this police officer who
was hanged? I just showed it to an old fisherman I know. I didn’t think of it before now. He remembers seeing him.”

“Last year?”

“Oh, yes. He has a great memory for faces. I don’t, but I’m sure I never met him.”

“Where did this fisherman see him?”

“He was on the pier asking about hiring a boat. He specifically asked about me.”

“And he’s sure it was Cliff Rafferty?”

“He’s sure, Sophie. The Brits and the guards can check the dates Rafferty was here and see if it was the same time you had your misadventure.”

“He told me he’d been to Ireland,” Sophie said half to herself. “He could have been anticipating someone would remember him, or look into whether he’d been to Ireland if he came under suspicion. Was anyone with him?”

“Not that my friend saw.”

Sophie became aware of Frank Acosta behind her on the wide sidewalk. He eased in alongside her just as she hung up with Tim. “That Cliff,” Acosta said, shaking his head. “He never could get out of his own damn way.”

“You seem to be in good shape today.”

“I woke up with a hell of a headache, but, yeah, I’m fine. Relax, Doc. I’m on your side.” Acosta gave her a relaxed, sexy grin. “Sophie security.”

She slowed her pace, unsettled at having him there with her. “I have a feeling you’re on your own side.”

“Which is the same as being on your side.”

“Don’t you have a partner?”

“Day off. I’m recuperating. It’s a beautiful autumn morning.” He touched her elbow. “Let’s just keep walking.”

“Is that an order from a police officer?”

“Nah. We’re meeting your pal Scoop at the Carlisle house. I’ll keep you company while we wait.”

Scoop would have told her if he wanted her to meet him anywhere. “What about Helen Carlisle? Is she—”

“She’s waiting for us.”

Sophie slowed her pace. Her iPhone dinged, announcing a text message. It was from Damian. She saw Don’t go near Helen Carlisle before Acosta took her phone. He glanced at the screen. “You don’t want your FBI agent brother to worry, do you, Sophie?”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m lousy with these things. Let’s see.” He typed onto the screen. “N-o p-r-o-b-l-e-m. There. That’ll do it. Let me hit Send and we’re done.” He smiled at her and tucked the iPhone into his pocket. “There. All set.”

“What else did Damian say?”

“Nothing.” Acosta tightened his grip on her elbow. “Come on. Helen’s waiting.”

“You saw my brother’s warning. He’s an FBI agent.” Sophie’s step faltered. “Detective Acosta, if Helen Carlisle isn’t—”

“I didn’t kill Cliff. He was a lazy son of a bitch, but we were partners.” Acosta glared down at Sophie. “Helen didn’t kill him, either.”

“You’re a dirty cop.”

He laughed. “Time for a shower. I just saved your brother from a lot of fretting over nothing. Helen’s not what either of you thinks.” He edged in very close to her. “Don’t make me throw you in handcuffs. I thought it was you and Percy. I thought you two went after Cliff because he figured out you’d hooked up with Augustine over the missing artifacts.”

“Where’s Percy now?”

“Hiding. He’s a chicken at heart.”

“Then who killed Cliff? Who do you think hit you on the head yesterday and tried to drown you? Not me, I hope. I saved your life—”

“You could have known Scoop was coming. Maybe Percy hired someone to get rid of me. He’s rich.” Acosta glanced down at Sophie. “Relax, Sophie. I haven’t ruled you out entirely but I don’t think you were a part of it.”

“I wasn’t,” she said. “Neither was Percy. Be smart, Detective. If Helen—”

“Enough, Doc. Let’s go meet Scoop and talk to Helen. I want you to see you’re wrong.”

Half shoving her, half dragging her, he took her to the side entrance of the Carlisle house. “For all I know,” he said, “Cliff killed himself and homicide’s putting out misinformation. Maybe he committed suicide after all. He was an experienced cop. He knew how to create a suspicious crime scene. He knew Scoop was onto him for the bomb and I was onto him for the missing artifacts.”

“Did you know he’d responded to the break-in at the museum seven years ago?”

“I do now.”

“He and Augustine—”

Acosta didn’t let her finish. “Cliff was caught and he went out the way he wanted to go out.”

“He was murdered. Did you kill him yourself?” Sophie shook her head. “No. You didn’t. He was scared. He knew he was in over his head.”

The door to the side entrance was unlocked, slightly ajar. Acosta pushed it open. “Sorry I got rough with you. Let’s go inside and figure this out.”

“You’re in over your head, too, Detective, and you’re scared. We need to get out of here.”

He shoved her into the hall. His eyes were half closed, his jaw set stubbornly, as if he knew he had to ward off anything she said that didn’t agree with his version of events. “You’re smart and resourceful, Dr. Malone. You’re just not that experienced.”

“That was you in my courtyard.”

“Yep. It was me. If you’d spotted me, I’d have said I was checking out your place because of Cliff and the missing artifacts. I needed to know what you were up to.”

“Did you get inside my apartment?”

“You showed up first.”

“You deliberately scared the hell out of me.”

“If you’d caught me, I’d have said I wanted to see how you reacted. If you thought I was your partner in crime or if you’d made up the whole thing and knew you were caught. I bought just enough time to get out of there.”

“You’re saying you’d have talked your way out of it.”

“I’m a cop. You’re an expert and a witness.”

“It’s Helen, Detective Acosta. Rafferty figured out she’s out of control and isn’t going to stop.” Sophie took in a breath, remembering Helen swooping out of her house in her bright-red sweater. She pictured the scene at Cliff Rafferty’s apartment, in the bathroom at the museum. “She’s a shape-shifter. She’s transforming herself into some kind of a warrior queen. Listen to me. Whatever your dealings with her, you must understand—she’s going to kill you.”

Acosta didn’t listen. Sophie turned to get out of there, but he grabbed her by the elbow and shoved her down the hall. “You’ll see you’re wrong.”

“Cliff couldn’t control Helen’s violence,” Sophie said, hoping
she could get through to him. “He must have wanted to talk to me about the pieces from the cave—what she could want with them. He knew he was in big trouble the minute Jay Augustine was arrested. He asked you for the security job at the showroom to cover his trail.”

“It’s been a hell of a week,” Acosta said.

“When did you know Rafferty stole the missing artifacts?” But he didn’t answer, just yanked on her arm and shoved her into the kitchen. Her momentum took her into the counter. She winced in pain, stood up straight. “Did Rafferty plant the bomb or did you?”

He was staring past her, his face ashen. “My mistake wasn’t violence or money.”

Sophie followed his gaze to three skulls—just like the ones she’d seen at Rafferty’s apartment—tacked to the courtyard door.

The branch of an oak tree was propped up against the woodwork, its dark green leaves dripping with what appeared to be blood.

The garden door opened, and Helen Carlisle stood there in a flowing, bright red cape. She wore a red wig, and she had a gun pointed at the two people in her kitchen.

“No,” Sophie whispered next to the stunned detective. “Your mistake was Helen.”