In his seventies now, his uncle liked to take the tractor out to the fields and was happy to leave the more tedious farm work to his nephew.
The wind had subsided. Sean recognized his own restlessness. He wanted to know what had happened to Lindsey Hargreaves, but he didn’t trust the foreboding that was starting to gnaw at him. He attributed it to the last of what his doctors had described as a normal process of post-trauma stress recovery—or, more likely at this point, boredom.
He had no business thinking of himself as bored. There was always work to do on the farm, and it was most often work he enjoyed, or at least appreciated. But that was different from loving it, wasn’t it?
And it was different from being part of an elite garda investigative unit in Dublin.
An Garda Síochána. Guardians of the Peace.
The guards.
The Irish police.
Sean had joined the gardai at twenty-two. He’d never wanted to be anything else. He’d help out at the farm—it was home as no place else ever would be—but he’d never imagined being a farmer.
Technically he was still a member of his unit. He was on leave, recovering from the thrashing he’d taken during the messy arrest of smugglers back in June. He’d won the day and broken open the smuggling ring, but he’d paid the price with a long recovery.
Being back in proximity to the proprietor of the O’Byrne House Hotel probably wasn’t helping.
“Ah, Kitty.”
Was she suspicious of her FBI guests’ motives for checking into her hotel?
She’d at least be curious.
Sean waved to Paddy and then started down the lane to the village. Walking meant he could stop for a pint or two without having to worry about his blood-alcohol level. He wasn’t one to over-imbibe, but better to fall over a stone wall than drive over it. Fin Bracken liked to say that walking was soul work. Sean didn’t know about that, but walking had helped him these past few months. At first he could only manage to the barn and back to the couch, but gradually his stamina had improved and, with it, his distances. He’d told Fin that farm work kept him busy, but walking kept him sane.
At the bottom of the hill, instead of going past the bookshop into the village, he turned down a narrow street to the waterfront and the present and future site of Lindsey Hargreaves’ marine science research field station. At the moment it was an abandoned garage she’d rented with an American friend, a professional diver. It was located just up from the small Declan’s Cross pier and so far looked more like a convenient place to store diving equipment and camp out between dives. It would take vision, enthusiasm, determination and a substantial financial commitment to create a proper research facility. Even with Lindsey’s family connections, Sean was skeptical, but that was his nature.
A van was parked out front, its back open, revealing state-of-the-art diving gear. Brent Corwin, the American diver, emerged from a side door of the garage. He was in his late thirties, his close-cropped hair almost fully gray. He gave an exaggerated shiver as he stuffed an oily rag into a sweatshirt pocket. “Hey, Sean. Where did the mild air go? It feels more like November in New York. I’m from Florida. Warm-blooded. What can I do for you?”
“I’m looking for Lindsey Hargreaves.”
“Two Americans were just here looking for her, too. Friends of the woman she was supposed to pick up in Shannon this morning. I guess that didn’t happen. That’s flaky even for Lindsey.”
“Has she been in touch with you?”
“Uh-uh. I haven’t seen her since she left for the U.S. last week to visit her father. She arrived back in Dublin on Friday but ended up staying for a couple days. Her father had to be in London on business and decided to make a stop in Dublin and see the sights.”
Sean glanced in the van at the wet suits, masks, tanks and other diving paraphernalia, none of it looking as if it had been used in the past few hours. He turned back to Brent. “Do you think she’s still in Dublin, then?”
“Could be. If my dad turned up out of the blue, I’d probably forget half the things I had to do, too, but you’ve met Lindsey. She’s not the most organized person, you know? I can see her forgetting it was Shannon and ending up at the Dublin airport, wondering what kind of flake Julianne is.” Brent lifted a tank out of the van and set it on the ground. He didn’t look at all worried about Lindsey or anything else. “I’ll make a few calls and see if I can find out where Lindsey’s off to. I’ll let you know if I hear from her, or if she turns up. Would you mind doing the same?”
“Not at all.”
“And Julianne—if she hears from Lindsey, she’ll let us know?”
Sean nodded. “I’m sure she will.”
“I’ll check with Eamon, too,” Brent said. “He’s up in Ardmore diving with some of his buddies today.”
Eamon Carrick was the younger brother of one of Sean’s garda colleagues, both solid divers who looked for any opportunity to get under the water. Not Sean. He hated even the idea of diving. “How many of you were here last night?” he asked.
“Just me.” Brent gestured back toward the garage. “The place has heat and decent facilities. It’s roughing it by Lindsey’s standards. She’s looking forward to moving into the cottage. She’s well-meaning but she’s not reliable. She’d be the first to say so.”
“She visited a friend of mine in Maine last week—”
“The priest. Bracken, right? Yeah. That’s when she met this marine biologist, Julianne.”
“Why did she visit Father Bracken, do you know?”
Brent shook his head. “No idea. She said he’s Irish—he and his brother own a whiskey distillery near Killarney. I didn’t know you were friends with him.”
“We go back a ways,” Sean said, deliberately vague. He’d met Fin Bracken after the deaths of Fin’s wife and daughters. Not an easy subject. “When did you talk to Lindsey last?”
“Friday, after she got back to Dublin and found out her father was on his way. We only talked for a minute. We emailed a couple times after that.” Brent shut the van doors and lifted the tank. “She gave me her father’s cell number. If he’s still in Dublin, he’ll be at a five-star hotel. His name’s David—David Hargreaves. We’ve never met, but I’ve done some diving for the Hargreaves Oceanographic Institute. I hear he’s a good guy.”
Sean could see that Brent was impatient to get on with his work and left him to it. Whether it was cynicism or experience, Sean doubted Lindsey Hargreaves was going to the trouble of launching a research facility simply out of devotion to marine science. Brent Corwin was a dedicated adventurer, good-looking, energetic. Eamon Carrick and his diving friends were the same. Temptations, perhaps, for a young woman with no clear direction in her life.
There was also her father, perhaps not an easy man to impress.
Sean didn’t know Lindsey well enough to have a good feel for what motivated her, but David Hargreaves’ impromptu stop in Dublin could have thrown her off just enough that she’d forgotten to pick up her new friend in Shannon.
“A
