Изменить стиль страницы

“Lizzie.” His dark eyes, so like his own daughter’s, filled with tears. “I’m so sorry.”

“I had a wonderful, interesting upbringing, with a truly loving family. My mother has remained unreal to me, but the choices I faced this past year, the decisions I made, dealing with someone like Norman, have brought me closer to her, helped me to understand her better.”

“She loved you and your father with all her heart.”

“And you, Director March?”

He didn’t flinch at her question. “I could have fallen in love with her. Maybe I did. We met just before Kathryn and I started dating. But then pretty, black-haired, green-eyed Shauna Morrigan ran into Harlan Rush here at the Whitcomb, and that was that.”

“My father knew she was a spy?”

“He wasn’t a part of what she did. She had IRA contacts in Boston. That’s how I hooked up with her. After you were born, she quit. But it was too late.”

“Who killed her and her family?”

“An FBI agent with ties to the Boston Irish mob was responsible. I’d been on his trail. She got me closer to him. He found out. He thought killing her would keep me from him. He gave her up to her enemies in Ireland. It didn’t matter that she’d retired. They killed her and her family.” March drank more of his whiskey. “We cooperated with the Irish in order to save lives.”

“So that’s why their deaths were ruled an accident. What happened to this corrupt FBI agent?”

“He died in a South Boston gunfight. The shooter was never found.” March polished off his whiskey and set the glass down firmly. “Rough justice. They were violent, turbulent times, Lizzie. We got those mobsters, but others took their place.”

“Do you think she knew she’d been murdered?” Lizzie looked down at the amber liquid in her glass. “Or did she believe she fell?”

“I think she loved you and your father, and the rest of it isn’t where I would dwell.”

“I wanted you to have answers.”

“People do. You’re not alone. The older I get, the fewer answers I have. I wish I’d known your mother was in danger. I wish I’d saved her. After she died, everyone just wanted to save you, her little baby she loved so much.”

“I knew I didn’t have the whole story.” Lizzie tried to smile through her tears. “Tripped on a cobblestone outside an Irish pub and fell to her death. Ha. What about Simon’s father?”

“Brendan Cahill was a friend. He was killed ten years after your mother.”

“Ripple effects,” Lizzie said, giving the man across from her a long look. “You have a lot of secrets, Director March.”

“So I do.”

“Thank you for being there for me this past year.”

“Lizzie…” He sighed, less tortured. “Abigail and Owen want you at their wedding. It’s in Scotland in five days. The Davenport castle.”

“Will says it’s a house.”

“You can tell me what you think when you see it. In my world, it’s a castle.”

“You mean you’ve been there?”

He shrugged. Another secret. “You should get your father talking sometime. He has tales to tell about British lords and ladies.”

She laughed. “I’ll bet he does.”

“He loved your mother, and she loved him. Most of all they both loved you. Maybe the rest doesn’t matter anymore. Live your life, Lizzie. Don’t put it on hold because of the past.” He leaned back, eyeing her as she rose. “And stay in touch.”

On her way out of the restaurant, she noticed a framed photograph she’d never seen before of her parents hand in hand on the rocks in Maine, her mother visibly pregnant, both of them smiling as they looked out toward the ocean.

“Your father hung it there this morning,” Jeremiah said next to her.

“Where is he now?”

“It’s Uncle Harlan. Who knows?”

Chapter 33

Beara Peninsula, Southwest Ireland

4:00 p.m., IST

August 29

Lizzie sat at what she now considered her table by the fire in Eddie O’Shea’s pub. She had Keira’s book of Irish folktales opened to an illustartion of trooping fairies. She sighed. “I wish I could draw.”

“You have other talents,” Eddie said, sitting across from her. His dog, settled on the hearth, kept staring at her as if he knew she’d been kissed a by British lord and didn’t approve.

“This place feels different than it did the night I was here,” Lizzie said.

Eddie reached down and patted the dog. “I’d hope so. Simon’s returned. He’ll be here soon to start up an argument.” The barman seemed to relish the idea. “Have you heard his Irish accent?”

“I understand it’s very good.”

“Not to a real Irishman.”

Lizzie laughed. “Keira will be happy to see him, now that the guards are satisfied she’s safe.” She turned to another illustration, one of a beautiful fairy princess and a handsome fairy prince. “Imagine loving someone that much. Having someone love you that much.”

“There are rules about weddings in Ireland, but I have a feeling Keira and Simon will figure them out.” Eddie sat up straight, and the dog rolled onto his side close to the fire. “Your mum was Irish.”

“Yes, she was. When I lived in Ireland, I found the cottage where she was born. It’s been abandoned, but it’s structurally sound, tucked in a quiet, isolated valley not that far from here.”

“A magical valley?”

Lizzie smiled at the Irishman across from her and decided he wasn’t as skeptical about the wee folk as he liked to pretend. “I have an open mind. I’d like to take Keira there. Maybe it’ll inspire a painting. We can find old stories.”

“You’ve a new friend in Keira.”

“I hope so. I’m also good at wishful thinking.”

Eddie kept his eyes on her. “You’ve fallen for your Brit, haven’t you? Well, your mother fell for a Yank.”

“You like Will. My Irish ancestors-”

“They’d want you to be happy. I hear there’s no Rush hotel in London.”

“Imagine that.”

“Convenient, wouldn’t you say?”

Josie Goodwin entered the pub and walked behind the bar, helping herself to a bottle of expensive whiskey. She collected a glass and headed to Lizzie’s table. Eddie rose and gave her his seat.

“I’ve become very fond of the Beara Peninsula,” Josie said, setting down her glass and opening the bottle. “Should I have brought you a glass?”

Lizzie shook her head. “I’ve a weakness for Eddie’s blackberry crumble.”

“Ah. Who doesn’t.”

Josie poured her whiskey and, after taking a sip, produced a handwritten invitation to Abigail and Owen’s wedding in Scotland, along with arrangements for transportation. “And I wasn’t sure if you’d have time to shop, so I’ve a dress for you, too. I’ve had it sent to Scotland. It’s pale blue, flowing, I’m sure just the right size. Your auntie’s a dear. Your cousin Justin in Dublin put me in touch with her.” Josie took a breath and another swallow of her drink. “How are you? It’s all a bit of a crush, I know, but that’s how these people are. Will and his American friends. I expect you’ll fit right in.”

“I love weddings,” Lizzie said.

“I expect you do. Will’s delayed, but he plans to arrive in time for the ceremony. Whatever’s between you is more than the heat of the moment.” She pursed her lips, as if debating how much to say. “His family’s complicated.”

Simon had come into the pub. The local men moaned but were obviously delighted to see him. They exchanged a few good-natured barbs as he dragged a chair over to Lizzie’s table and joined her and Josie by the fire. “All families are complicated, Josie.” It seemed to be a familiar exchange between them, but he was serious as he addressed Lizzie. “March should have told me about his connection to you. I should have found out on my own. I shouldn’t have left you out there alone for so long.”

“I was never alone,” Lizzie said. “I’d only to give Director March my name, and I’d have had help. I knew that, even when I was most convinced I was on my own.”

“This was a tough mission from start to finish. Norman was manipulative and deceptive, but even he didn’t have all the pieces.”