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Authors: Heather Graham
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begun to investigate Eddie’s disappearance. But now Sean knew, and he was sick with worry.
Eddie was more than a partner to him.
Eddie had been his support when he was young and determined to take over the business and make a real go of it. Eddie was his best friend.
It was bizarre, Eddie disappearing and Sean coming down with a debilitating and inexplicable illness. Two incidents, across the Atlantic from one another, and yet his gut told him they were related.
Tomorrow night they would be back in the States. In Rhode Island. And then he could find out what the hell had happened to Eddie. If Eddie could be found, he would find him, he thought grimly. But there was one problem.
Sometimes the sea gave back.
And sometimes the sea was an endless black abyss, swallowing all signs of guilt—including the victim. If Eddie had been murdered and cast overboard…
He picked up his bedside phone and asked to be connected with Mrs. O’Riley. But Mrs. O’Riley was apparently still at the spa.
She would no doubt argue that she needed to be her absolute best in order to give Sean all the care and attention he would need during the flight home and during his recuperation. Zach didn’t care. He thought her place was at the hospital, by her husband’s side.
He grabbed his wallet and his overcoat, pocketed his key and headed downstairs.
He wondered if Caer Cavannaugh had really waited for him, or if she had simply headed out the door the moment he had gotten into the elevator.
But she was there. He saw her as soon as he headed toward the open French doors that separated the bar from the lobby. She was sitting by a window with a pint of dark beer in front of her, and seemed to be studying the glass and the beer in it as if they were both something strange and unusual.
Someone walked by on the street outside. The winter evening was already sliding toward a deeper darkness, and for a moment, she was cast completely in shadow. He found himself inadvertently thinking back to Maeve, earlier that day, and the way a shadow had seemed to pass by her on the plane and again in the airport. Maeve. A kind woman who had lived a long life and come home before leaving this world. He felt a tightening in his muscles and a strange sense of fear for Caer Cavannaugh. She wasn’t old; she hadn’t lived anything that resembled a full lifetime. An urge to protect her washed over him like a whitecap hitting a granite coast.
He gave himself a shake. He’d seen so much that was horrendous and cruel and shouldn’t have been a part of anyone’s life, and that was affecting his judgment now. It was absurd to connect Maeve’s gentle death with his unwarranted fear for Caer.
He’d spent his law enforcement career in forensics; he knew all about science and logic. He knew, as well, that fate was fickle, and no respecter of youth. Infants died; children fell prey to abuse from the adults who should have gone to any end to protect them; people of all ages suffered from terrible diseases. That was sad, but it was fact.
Fearing shadows…that was ridiculous.
He was tired, that was all.
Caer looked up, that raven’s wing of dark hair framing the perfection of her features.
She even offered him a tentative smile.
He walked toward her, and as he got closer, he felt a sense of being drawn in, replacing his instinctive urge to protect.
A sense of being the hunted, rather than the hunter.
Which was absurd, although he supposed even he deserved a moment to indulge in imagination—especially here in this land of myth and mystery.
His mind filled with a vision of winds that howled, storms that raged, a green that was greener than emeralds, laughter and tall tales. This was a land of belief, in God and in a mythical history populated by fanciful beings that had never lived and breathed except in the imaginations of a population fond of tall tales.
Logic and science, those were the things he knew. He blinked hard and gritted his teeth, determined to
Eddie was more than a partner to him.
Eddie had been his support when he was young and determined to take over the business and make a real go of it. Eddie was his best friend.
It was bizarre, Eddie disappearing and Sean coming down with a debilitating and inexplicable illness. Two incidents, across the Atlantic from one another, and yet his gut told him they were related.
Tomorrow night they would be back in the States. In Rhode Island. And then he could find out what the hell had happened to Eddie. If Eddie could be found, he would find him, he thought grimly. But there was one problem.
Sometimes the sea gave back.
And sometimes the sea was an endless black abyss, swallowing all signs of guilt—including the victim. If Eddie had been murdered and cast overboard…
He picked up his bedside phone and asked to be connected with Mrs. O’Riley. But Mrs. O’Riley was apparently still at the spa.
She would no doubt argue that she needed to be her absolute best in order to give Sean all the care and attention he would need during the flight home and during his recuperation. Zach didn’t care. He thought her place was at the hospital, by her husband’s side.
He grabbed his wallet and his overcoat, pocketed his key and headed downstairs.
He wondered if Caer Cavannaugh had really waited for him, or if she had simply headed out the door the moment he had gotten into the elevator.
But she was there. He saw her as soon as he headed toward the open French doors that separated the bar from the lobby. She was sitting by a window with a pint of dark beer in front of her, and seemed to be studying the glass and the beer in it as if they were both something strange and unusual.
Someone walked by on the street outside. The winter evening was already sliding toward a deeper darkness, and for a moment, she was cast completely in shadow. He found himself inadvertently thinking back to Maeve, earlier that day, and the way a shadow had seemed to pass by her on the plane and again in the airport. Maeve. A kind woman who had lived a long life and come home before leaving this world. He felt a tightening in his muscles and a strange sense of fear for Caer Cavannaugh. She wasn’t old; she hadn’t lived anything that resembled a full lifetime. An urge to protect her washed over him like a whitecap hitting a granite coast.
He gave himself a shake. He’d seen so much that was horrendous and cruel and shouldn’t have been a part of anyone’s life, and that was affecting his judgment now. It was absurd to connect Maeve’s gentle death with his unwarranted fear for Caer.
He’d spent his law enforcement career in forensics; he knew all about science and logic. He knew, as well, that fate was fickle, and no respecter of youth. Infants died; children fell prey to abuse from the adults who should have gone to any end to protect them; people of all ages suffered from terrible diseases. That was sad, but it was fact.
Fearing shadows…that was ridiculous.
He was tired, that was all.
Caer looked up, that raven’s wing of dark hair framing the perfection of her features.
She even offered him a tentative smile.
He walked toward her, and as he got closer, he felt a sense of being drawn in, replacing his instinctive urge to protect.
A sense of being the hunted, rather than the hunter.
Which was absurd, although he supposed even he deserved a moment to indulge in imagination—especially here in this land of myth and mystery.
His mind filled with a vision of winds that howled, storms that raged, a green that was greener than emeralds, laughter and tall tales. This was a land of belief, in God and in a mythical history populated by fanciful beings that had never lived and breathed except in the imaginations of a population fond of tall tales.
Logic and science, those were the things he knew. He blinked hard and gritted his teeth, determined to
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