Free Liar's Key by Carla Neggers Page A

I took you away from your honeymoon planning.”
    â€œThe honeymoon isn’t what matters.”
    â€œTrue enough.”
    Sean pulled into the parking lot of the small airport. The mist was now a soft rain. “Good thing I’m not a nervous flier,” Colin muttered. “Have you ever flown out of here?”
    â€œOh, yes. Of course.”
    â€œOn what?”
    The Irishman grinned. “You don’t want to know.”
    â€œFunny, Sean.”
    â€œNo worries. You’ll be on a real plane.”
    Colin grabbed his duffel bag out of the back of the car and headed into the terminal. Sure enough, a reasonable-sized plane was on the tarmac. He’d purchased a ticket on the twenty-minute drive from the distillery. The rain wouldn’t cause any delays. He’d be at Oliver York’s London apartment within a couple of hours.
    * * *
    With a few minutes to spare, Colin stood by the windows in the small terminal and watched the rain. His undercover assignment had turned out to be more complex and dangerous than anyone had expected. He’d been looking forward to taking a couple of days to relax, dust off the stink and plan his honeymoon before he headed home. He disliked not being in touch with his fair-haired fiancée. That Emma understood he had a job to do didn’t make it easier, but it did make it bearable.
    She had a job to do, too. He’d had a taste of her work last summer, a couple of months before they’d met, when information from an unnamed art crimes specialist had helped him locate and arrest a major illegal arms dealer who happened to be in Los Angeles to indulge his passion for Picasso.
    Colin dug out his phone and texted Yank. London it is. Then he stared at his screen for a split second and texted Emma. I just had a visit from Sean Murphy.
    Her response came within seconds. You’re in Ireland?
    Kerry Airport. Didn’t know there was one.
    We drove past it. Easy to miss. Coming, going, staying?
    On my way to London to see our English friend.
    Colin tried to picture her reaction, where she was—her. He could almost see her warm, deep green eyes. Her answer finally came on his screen. Does that explain your visit from Sean?
    Yes. Talk to Yank.
    Will do. On my way to Maine. I’m having lunch tomorrow with your mother.
    Good luck. You’ll need it. I learned my best interrogation techniques from her.
    Ha. Safe travels. Love you.
    You, too, babe.
    Colin started to slide his phone back into his jacket pocket but saw he had a response from Yank: Your garda friend has a call in to me.
    That was quick. He’s good but you’ll be okay.
    Colin could almost see Yank’s roll of the eyes but his flight was being called. He got out his boarding pass. Bad enough Oliver York was on the radar again, but if a retired FBI agent was stirring up trouble and if that trouble involved MI5, Colin wouldn’t be surprised if a few agents met him at Heathrow. Then it would be a long night of explaining—but explaining what?
    He gritted his teeth. He would find out what he could in London and go from there.
    It was a short hop to London. He’d get his head sorted out before he arrived. He wanted to know the truth about why Oliver had been in Declan’s Cross and what he knew about Claudia Deverell and her tour of Bracken Distillers, and about Gordy Wheelock—and what, if anything, they had to do with a dead archaeologist and stolen ancient mosaics. And if there was any connection to the Sharpe Fine Art Recovery open house on Saturday in Heron’s Cove, Maine.
    â€œAnd with Emma,” Colin said under his breath as he headed through the rain to the waiting plane.

6
    Boston, Massachusetts
    Gordy’s head was on fire when he mounted the steps to a narrow brick building on busy, upscale Newbury Street in Boston’s Back Bay neighborhood. He’d taken a cab from his hotel and had lunch at a hip burger joint then wandered in the Public