Simon looked uncomfortable.

“This isn’t about my own history with Director March,” Will said. “I’m trying to ascertain the facts. When did you become aware March had a source?”

“Last summer. We didn’t want to endanger whoever it was by getting too close. We both assumed we were dealing with a professional. Of the possibilities-Lizzie Rush wasn’t even on the list.”

“Could she be affiliated with an intelligence agency?”

Simon sighed. “I think she is exactly what she appears to be.”

“She’s playing with fire,” Will said. “But she could also be the one who can lead us to March’s daughter.”

“I’d trade myself for Abigail in a heartbeat.” Simon’s guilt was palpable as he continued. “So would her father. She got caught in the middle. This isn’t her fight.”

“Why kidnap her but try to kill Keira?”

“Norman’s making us suffer. That’s all I know. We have to find him, Will. His plane didn’t evaporate into thin air. Owen Garrison will find it.” Simon plucked a dried, brown leaf from a geranium and smiled sadly as he looked at Will. “Scoop’s influence.”

“Simon…I’m sorry. But you must understand. You are not responsible for Norman Estabrook’s actions.”

“Could we have this wrong, Will? What if Fletcher is working for the drug cartels and not for Norman?”

“Regardless who is paying him, Myles is working for himself.”

Simon crumpled up the dead leaf. “According to Tom Yarborough, the dead man Lizzie and Fiona found had a deep scratch on one arm. We know Abigail got a piece of whoever kidnapped her yesterday. There was blood at the scene. If he was the one who grabbed her and Fletcher killed him-”

“Fiona had seen him. She’d have remembered eventually. It’s not the sort of risk Myles would take. He could simply have handled a problem and tried to mislead us at the same time.”

“So he shot a man in the head for a reason instead of just because he could?”

“Fair enough, Simon. Nonetheless, I doubt Myles would get in the middle of a scheme for violent revenge, even a well-paying one. If he’s working for Estabrook, there’s likely another reason.” Will regretted he hadn’t arrived in Boston in time to deal with Myles himself, but hadn’t that been his old friend’s plan? Myles had known Lizzie had left Dublin that morning-and undoubtedly knew that Will had, too. He pushed back his fatigue and worry, forcing himself to continue. “Simon, Myles and Estabrook can’t discover Lizzie is an FBI informant.”

“I know. If they do, she goes onto Norman’s hit list right up there with March and me.”

Will pictured Lizzie sitting across from him at their lace-covered table in Dublin. He could see the intensity and the light green color of her eyes, the shape of her mouth as she’d tried to put her fight in the stone circle behind her and decide what to do about him. He’d checked on her during the night, her duvet half off, her skirt and T-shirt askew as she’d slept on the sofa.

“Will? I’m losing you again.”

He heard the concern in his friend’s voice. “I need to leave now, Simon. I trust you, and I trust Josie. I’ll keep an open mind when it comes to everyone else.”

“Right, Will,” Simon said, skeptical, but he managed a quick smile. “You’ve always wanted a woman who could put a knife to your throat.”

The back door to the hotel opened, and Jeremiah Rush jumped down the half-dozen steps in a single bound. “Two detectives are here to interview the staff and anyone who might have seen the Brit who scared the hell out of Fiona O’Reilly. I thought you’d want to know. My dad’s on his way. He’s not wild about a killer showing up here.”

Simon eyed the younger Rush. “Do you know where your cousin went?”

“Lizzie?” Jeremiah instantly looked uncomfortable.

“That would be the one, yes.”

“She’s like a sister to my brothers and me. Her father’s a great guy, but he was on the road so much…” Jeremiah shoved a hand through his tawny hair and gave a quick laugh, obviously trying to divert the FBI agent in front of him. “We all think he’s a spy.”

Will almost smiled. “So your brother Justin said this morning in Dublin.”

Jeremiah’s hand fell to the back of his neck, then his side, as if he was feeling cornered, torn by what he knew and what he feared. “You two…” He motioned first to Will, then to Simon. “Lord Davenport, Special Agent Cahill. How do I know I can trust you?”

“We’re not a danger to your cousin,” Will said.

“The people you hang out with are.”

“What about the people she hangs out with?” Simon asked sharply.

A ferocity came into Jeremiah’s eyes, one that Will had seen in his cousin. “I hope Norman Estabrook ends up dead or in a holding cell by nightfall.”

Simon didn’t react to Jeremiah’s emotion. “Your family has resources, contacts. Are you looking for Estabrook yourselves? What about your uncle? What’s he up to?”

“Uncle Harlan? I have no idea. We all want to do whatever we can to help.” Jeremiah was clearly worried-and angry. “I thought Lizzie had hooked up with a rich eccentric and was having a little fun for herself. Estabrook held a New Year’s Eve bash for his friends at our hotel in Las Vegas. Lizzie didn’t want me to go, but we were having our own family party and I dropped in on him and his friends.”

“I remember,” Simon said.

Jeremiah fastened his gaze on the FBI agent. “I should have thrown him off the roof that night. Uncle Harlan would have helped me make it look like an accident.”

Simon’s brow went up, obviously as uncertain as Will whether Jeremiah Rush was serious. The entire Rush family defied stereotype, and not one of them was to be underestimated.

Will didn’t want to come under the scrutiny of the Boston detectives now on-site. They might not be as amenable to letting him go about his business as Bob O’Reilly had been. They could easily conclude the lieutenant had been under duress, considering his daughter had just encountered a killer and a murder victim, and wasn’t thinking straight. Even with Simon, an FBI agent, at his side, Will could find himself with a long night of explaining ahead.

He turned again to Jeremiah. “Justin mentioned that Lizzie intends to renovate your family home in Maine. Is she headed there now?”

Jeremiah hesitated, and Simon said quietly, “We’re on your cousin’s side.”

“Maybe so,” Jeremiah said, “but that doesn’t mean she won’t throw me off the roof for telling you. I don’t know for sure, but, yes, I think she’s gone to Maine. She has her own place there. It’s about as big as a butler’s pantry, but she loves it.” He dipped a hand into a trouser pocket and produced a set of keys. “Take my car.” He nodded toward a side street at the end of the alley. “Go that way. You’ll avoid the BPD.”

Simon didn’t argue or intervene as Will took the keys.

Jeremiah looked more worried, even afraid, than he likely would want to admit. “Lizzie’s father trained her well. He gave the rest of us some pointers, but she had-I guess you’d call it an aptitude. She has a good sense of her limits. I hope she’ll be safe in Maine. I hope this bastard Estabrook doesn’t think she’ll go along with him just because of her mother. I hope,” he added, energized now, “she’s not the key to finding him.”

Simon plucked another dried geranium leaf and crunched it to bits between two big fingers. “What about her mother, Jeremiah?”

Jeremiah Rush obviously realized he was about to step into a bottomless pit, into dangerous layers of history, family, secrets, powerful men. Will could see Lizzie as she’d sipped brandy in Ireland and questioned the man who’d tried to kill Keira Sullivan. Lizzie had been born into this complicated world. She knew how to navigate it, just as Will knew how to navigate his world.

“From what I understand,” Jeremiah said carefully, “Aunt Shauna was a daredevil with a keen sense of justice.” He gave Simon a pointed look. “Just like Lizzie.”