not last-minute.”
Emma sipped her champagne, returned the glass to the table and turned to her grandfather. “But Colin’s right, isn’t he, Granddad? You are hiding something.”
Wendell leaned forward, plucked the slice of lemon out of his glass, squeezed it, then tossed it back in and took a drink. “You two missed your jobs while you were on your honeymoon, didn’t you? You’re rested and ready to pounce on an old man. I shouldn’t have mentioned expensive whiskey and being retired. Put you on alert.”
“When someone does something out of the blue, out of character, most people will notice,” Emma said. “It doesn’t take being an FBI agent.”
“Helps, though.”
Colin gritted his teeth. “Spit it out, Wendell. Why don’t you want us at your place?”
The old man locked eyes with his new grandson-in-law. “All right. I give up.” He paused. “My place is a crime scene.”
Emma stiffened visibly. Colin noticed a renewed strain in her Sharpe green eyes. “What kind of crime scene?” she asked quietly.
“Break-in. Someone slipped inside while I was out for a walk after lunch. I didn’t have much time to think before you two arrived in town. Putting you up here was the easiest way to handle you until I could figure out what to do.” He waved a bony hand. “One of the hazards of having FBI agents in the family.”
“You didn’t call the police,” Colin said, making it a statement.
“No point. Nothing they can do.” Wendell gave another sigh. “Damn, I’m getting old. Fifty years ago I wouldn’t have spilled the beans this fast. Ten years ago. I should have just had you over to the house and handed you a broom to clean up the glass.”
Emma’s chin shot up. “Glass?”
“Guest-room window. That’s how they got in. Do you have a car? Where are your bags? You can check in after your drink. I booked your room under Donovan. I assume you’re using Sharpe professionally?”
“Unless you land in prison,” Emma said. “Then I might reconsider.”
“I wouldn’t blame you.”
“We turned in our rental when we arrived in Dublin and took a cab here. We left our bags with the bellman while we had drinks with you.” Emma leaned toward Wendell and put a hand on his thin wrist. “Why don’t we finish our drinks and then walk over to your place and have a look?”
“Check in and get settled first. I’ll take a cab back to my place and meet you there. A one-way walk’s my limit these days.”
“You can call the gardai in the meantime,” Colin added.
Wendell scowled at him but turned to Emma with a smile. “Take your time. I won’t touch anything, but I’m not involving the gardai and the FBI has no jurisdiction here. Just so we’re clear.”
“Have you told anyone else about the break-in?” she asked.
“No, and I don’t plan to. I didn’t plan to tell you but Colin here had his thumbscrew look on and I caved.” Wendell raised his glass. “Bottoms up, kids.”
* * *
“Granddad could be overdramatizing and the break-in isn’t a big deal,” Emma said as she and Colin approached her grandfather’s town house near Merrion Square. They’d decided to walk after checking in to the hotel. Wendell had staked them to an elegant, third-floor room with a view of St. Stephen’s Green. “It’s still possible we can have a good last night of our honeymoon.”
“We will no matter what,” Colin said.
She smiled. “You’ve turned into a romantic.”
“The Ireland effect.”
“Not being with me?”
He winked. “We’ll see what happens when we get home.”
Home was her tiny apartment in Boston and his house in his hometown of Rock Point, Maine. Now their apartment and house. She loved being married to him and had relished every second of their time together in Ireland. She looked at him now, her broad-shouldered, dark-haired undercover-agent husband with his ocean-gray eyes and sexy smile.
But her mind was on her grandfather. “I don’t like the coincidence of a break-in and our arrival in Dublin,” she said.
Colin gave a curt nod. “I don’t, either. Do you think he has a suspect in mind?”
“I don’t know. He’s being slippery, that’s for sure.”
“I’m not touching that one.”
“Best we stay on our toes when Granddad is in full obfuscation mode.”
“Not regretting joining the family business instead of the FBI at the moment, are you?”
“Not at the moment, no. Not ever, actually.” She sighed. “Granddad didn’t look hurt or freaked out to you, did he?”
“No, but he never does.”
True enough, she thought.
When they reached her grandfather’s redbrick building, he pulled open the door before she could knock or ring the bell. “I suppose you want to go straight to the crime scene,” he said. “Come on in.”
Without waiting for an answer, he led them through the entry and front room back to a ground-floor bedroom. He moved aside, and Emma stood on the threshold, Colin to her left and a bit behind her. The room was small and square, with two twin beds, a nightstand, a dresser and photographs of Skellig Michael on the wall opposite the window, which looked onto a terrace at the back of the house. The only sign of a problem was a spiderweb of cracked glass emanating from a fist-size hole in the window.
“Bastard unlocked the window and came right in,” her grandfather said behind them. “Used a gnome statue on the terrace to break the glass. You remember it, Emma. It belonged to your grandmother. Otherwise I’d have left it in Maine. It’s a homely little thing. Anyway, I think he went out through the back door. I don’t know if it was a man. Could have been a woman.”
Colin pointed at the bare tile floor in the bedroom. “No glass.”
“I went ahead and swept it up. There wasn’t much.”
“You shouldn’t have touched anything,” Emma said.
“Yeah, I know. It would have been easier if I’d left the doors unlocked and he walked in and out again. Less of a mess to clean up and I might never have known anyone had been here. I’d never have looked if...” Wendell stopped abruptly. “Never mind. Doesn’t matter now.”
“If what, Granddad?” Emma asked.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I spotted a piece of broken glass on the kitchen table when I got back from the pub. That’s why I checked in here. The intruder must have taken the glass with him after he climbed through the window. If I’d been
