you told Lucas about the break-in?” Emma asked him.
“No. No point. There’s nothing he can do. He’s in New York on business. With the time difference and everything—no point bothering him. I didn’t tell your father, either. I can handle this situation on my own. I’m not five.”
“You need to get the police in here, Wendell,” Colin said.
He rose stiffly, with a small grunt, as if he was in pain. How much was a bit of an act Emma didn’t know. Colin sucked in a breath—it was a sign, she knew, he was on his last thread of patience. She pointed toward the back of the house. “Did you go straight to the kitchen when you got in?”
Her grandfather nodded. “Yeah. Maybe I heard something. I don’t know.”
“Was the back door open or shut?” Colin asked.
“Partially open, like it hadn’t been latched properly and the wind caught it. Then I saw the glass and went into the bedroom and saw the broken window. I figured whoever it was must have heard me coming in through the front door and bolted out the back door. Someone looking for cash, drugs—maybe just getting out of the rain.”
Colin shook his head. “People don’t break a window to get out of the rain.”
Emma appreciated the back-and-forth between them. They were both strong, independent-minded men, each in his own way. Her grandfather grunted. “You know how to sweat a guy, Special Agent Donovan.”
He grinned. “You’re just out of practice. That was nothing. We’ll see what the gardai want to do.”
“Lock me up.”
“Can’t say I’d blame them but they probably won’t. At least not tonight.” Colin dug his phone out of his jacket. “Catch your breath, Wendell. I’ll make the call.”
* * *
Emma wasn’t surprised when the gardai couldn’t do much, given the delay and little physical evidence. At this point, it was unlikely they’d locate passersby who might have seen something. To complicate matters, the broken window opened onto a small, fenced terrace with a private gate—which her grandfather had left unlocked. Someone walking through an unlocked gate wasn’t likely to draw attention.
Once the gardai left, he insisted she and Colin return to the Shelbourne. “Go,” he said, opening the front door. “Enjoy yourselves. Room’s paid for. It’s too late to get a refund.”
“I don’t like leaving you here alone,” Emma said. “You could always stay at the hotel, too.”
“Three’s a crowd anytime but on a honeymoon?” He shuddered. “No way.”
She smiled. “I didn’t mean in the same room.”
Her grandfather grinned. “I bet you didn’t. Relax. I’ll be fine. If this guy wanted to harm me, he’d have jumped me when I came home instead of scooting out the back door.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better, Granddad.”
“Lock up,” Colin said. “Gate, windows, doors. We’ll give you a hand.”
“I don’t need a hand. Go.”
Emma hugged him, kissing his cheek. “Call Lucas and fill him in or I will. Thanks for our night at the Shelbourne. We’ll stop by before we leave for London tomorrow.”
He returned her hug, kissed her on the cheek. “Always good to see you, Emma.” He turned to Colin. “You, too, Colin. Welcome to the family. We’ll do better than a broken window next visit.”
Once they reached the street, Colin glanced at Emma. “He’ll have the whiskey before he locks up the place.”
“No doubt. He’s tired. He doesn’t like to admit he’s not forty anymore.”
Colin slipped an arm around her. “We still have our fancy room for the night.”
She leaned into his embrace. “That we do. I haven’t heard from Oliver since he left us the champagne at Ashford Castle our first night here. Do you think the timing of the break-in with our arrival in Dublin is a coincidence?”
“I don’t think anything that involves Oliver York and your grandfather is a coincidence.”
They crossed a quiet street. “We can see Oliver while we’re in England,” Emma said.
“You can see Oliver.”
“You’d let me go on my own?”
Teasing time. As if Colin “let” her do anything. He tightened his hold on her, drew her closer. “I don’t know, I think I could get into a submissive Mrs. Donovan.”
She laughed. “Oh, you think so?”
His deep blue eyes sparked with humor, and something else. “We can find out tonight.”
They walked hand in hand past Merrion Square, one of Emma’s favorite spots in Dublin, with its black iron fencing, lush greenery and soothing Georgian ambience. She’d spent countless hours there during her months working shoulder-to-shoulder with her grandfather, learning from him, enjoying his company, his experience, his brilliance as a private art detective and consultant. Everything she’d gleaned she’d put to use in her work with the FBI. The quiet, pristine square had been a pleasant spot to consider her past and her future. Her past had been a stint in a Maine convent. Her future was here, now, with Colin.
Her grandfather had accepted her decision to leave Sharpe Fine Art Recovery, if not enthusiastically at least with his good wishes. “You’ll be Special Agent Emma Sharpe the next time I see you,” he’d said with a grimace. “I’ll never get used to it, but it’s what everything you’ve done to date has prepared you to be. Go catch bad guys, Emma. Stop them. Lock them up. Keep us safe.”
Colin tugged on her hand. “Lost in thought?” he asked.
She smiled. “Totally.”
He pulled her closer. “It’s a beautiful evening in Dublin.”
It was, indeed. The warm weather and the prolonged daylight of June had brought the crowds out to the streets. Shops, pubs and restaurants were bursting, and people were flowing into St. Stephen’s Green. Although tempted, they decided to skip a walk through the park and returned to the Shelbourne and their elegant room.
A plate of chocolate truffles and two glasses of whiskey were set out on a small table, with a note:
To Mr. and Mrs. Donovan,
Enjoy the last night of your honeymoon.
Love,
Granddad
Colin lifted a whiskey glass and handed it to Emma. “Your grandfather is impossible, but he does have his charms.”
“It was a spectacular ten days, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. Spectacular.”
She
