Lizzie didn’t relent. “Who is he?”
“A ghost.”
“Another spook?”
He sighed. “I never said…”
“You didn’t have to. This man showed up in Las Vegas a few days before Norman ’s arrest. Is he SAS? Special Branch? A fugitive?”
“He’s a killer. Eddie O’Shea ran into him on the Beara Peninsula last week. Simon and Keira weren’t there.”
Lizzie absorbed this new information and felt a sting of regret that Eddie and his brothers had had their quiet lives disrupted. But they seemed capable of handling anything. “Did this man arrange the attack on Keira?”
“Whatever he did, Lizzie, you must stay away from him. As capable as you are, you can’t best him. If you know anything about him, tell me now.”
“At least give me his name.”
Will steadied his gaze on her, the blue, green and gold of his eyes melding into a gleam of black. “His name is Myles.”
She stifled an involuntary gasp at the pain in his voice. “He’s your friend,” she said. “Will-”
“I haven’t seen the man you and Eddie O’Shea described myself.” His words were measured, everything about him under control. “I could be wrong.”
“We only talked for a few minutes. He joined me at the hotel bar and asked me for a bottle of water and…” Lizzie paused, remembering that strange encounter in Las Vegas. “He told me to behave.”
There was an edge of sadness to Will as he smiled. “That sounds like Myles. Had he and Estabrook already met?”
Lizzie nodded. “He-Myles, the Brit-went up to Norman in the middle of his poker game. No one else at the table seemed to know him. I couldn’t hear what he and Norman said to each other, but it seemed important. That’s one reason why I remember him.”
“There’s another reason?”
She didn’t look away but instead met Will’s gaze straight on. “I was trying to remember everything.”
“Why, Lizzie? This was before Estabrook’s arrest. Were you aware of his illegal activities?”
She smiled easily. “I should take the Fifth on that one. That’s the Fifth Amendment. Bill of Rights. U.S. Constitution-”
“Lizzie. We’re not discussing one of your hotel luxury excursions.”
Didn’t she know.
“I’m sorry,” he said immediately. “That was patronizing.”
“I shouldn’t have gone vapid hotel heiress on you.”
“Which you’re not.”
“No, I’m not. Will, if your friend Myles is helping Norman exact his revenge, Abigail Browning is in serious trouble, isn’t she?”
“For the past two years, I’ve thought Myles was dead.”
“Until you heard me describe him last night. That’s why you let me leave, isn’t it? You didn’t want me stuck for hours with garda detectives. You wanted to talk to me yourself. Have you told the FBI?” But Will’s expression startled her, and she almost knocked over her coffee. “I see now. Simon, you, Myles. Comrades in arms?”
“You see too much, Lizzie.” Will lifted the teapot again and changed the subject as he refilled his cup. “What’s your relationship with Estabrook?”
She decided to answer. “He thinks I understand him.”
“Do you? Did he discuss his intentions for revenge with you?”
“Not specifically. I just happened to be with him in Montana when he threatened to kill Simon and Director March. I can’t always tell what’s bravado and fantasy with Norman and what he actually plans to do. He’s grandiose and, at the same time, very smart and very calculating. I’d hoped his lawyers and a brush with incarceration would straighten him out, and he’d accept that violent revenge was a fantasy. But I also doubted that would happen. He’s taken it on as his next death-defying challenge.”
Will settled back in his chair. “Lizzie…”
But she’d gone far enough. She gave him a bright smile. “All of a sudden, Lord Davenport, you look very much like a man who never puts jam and butter on his scones.” She noticed Justin in the doorway and waved to him. “You met my cousin Justin last night. I practically grew up with him and his three older brothers. My father traveled frequently. Still does.”
“Your mother-”
“My mother died when I was a baby. Ripple effects, Will.” Lizzie got to her feet, laid her napkin next her plate. “So much of life is about ripple effects. Drop a stone into a pond, and you don’t always know what and who will be affected as the ripples make their way across the water. Take your time with your tea. Justin will help you with whatever you need. I have a flight to catch.”
“Be careful, Lizzie.”
She beamed a smile at him. “I’m always careful.”
He didn’t move to get up. “I suspect we have different ideas about what that means.”
She was aware of him watching her as she walked across the restaurant to her cousin. “Run interference for me,” she said to him. “I need a head start on our Lord Davenport. You won’t be able to outmaneuver him, so don’t try. Just buy me some time.”
Justin straightened, obviously up to the job. “What if he’s scheduled to take the same flight as you to Boston?”
“No worries,” she said, heading for the lobby. “Lord Davenport will fly first-class. I’ll be in coach.”
Justin Rush, who bore a detectable resemblance to his cousin in the shape of his nose and eyes, sat across from Will and started telling family secrets.
A delaying tactic.
“Lizzie’s a worry,” the youngest Rush said. “From what my parents and older brothers tell me, she always has been. Whit’s the eldest. He’s named after our paternal grandmother, who was a Whitcomb. Then Harlan-Lizzie’s dad is a Harlan, too, named after our grandfather Rush, who talked our grandmother into converting her family home on Charles Street in Boston into a hotel.”
“Did it require much convincing?”
“Almost none. She’d discovered rats and roaches in the butler’s pantry.” Justin reddened. “There aren’t any there today, of course.”
“Of course,” Will said. “So it’s Whit, Harlan-then Lizzie?”
“That’s right. Then Jeremiah. I’m last.” He smiled, a charmer. “The baby.”
“I see.”
“Lizzie spent a lot of time with us and our grandmother Rush growing up, but she traveled with her father, too. Do you know she’s as good at five-card stud as she is at ordering wine in a five-star restaurant?”
“And she plays bridge,” Will said.
“By herself. She tell you it anchors her mind? Personally, a pint of Guinness does the job for me. How well do you know her?”
“We only met last night.”
“Where? Not Dublin, not from the state of her shoes, at least. Were you tramping through stone circles and fighting Irish bulls with her in West Cork?”
Will wondered when word of the attack on Keira would reach Justin Rush in Dublin, or if it had and he was just more adept at dissembling than his cousin. “I ran into her in a West Cork pub.”
Justin looked momentarily awkward and glanced toward the door, as if he hoped Lizzie would be there to take him off the hook. He turned back to Will. “Lizzie’s a free spirit, but she’s a hard worker, too. She’s worked at every one of our hotels just like the rest of us. She’s very good at her job. My dad would fire her if she wasn’t.”
“But she’s been on a bit of a hiatus this past year, hasn’t she?”
“Sort of.” The red spread to her young cousin’s neck. “She got mixed up with that cretin Norman Estabrook. I know it’s wrong of me, but I hope his plane-never mind. I won’t say it out loud.”
“Where does Lizzie’s father live? Boston?”
“Uncle Harlan avoids Boston whenever possible.”
“And Ireland, too, I gather,” Will said.
He noticed a wince of genuine discomfort as Justin’s expression softened. “It’s because of the memories.”
“Lizzie’s mother?”
Justin feigned great interest in a pepper grinder.
Will persisted. “What happened to her?”