“Thank you,” Will said.
He followed Jeremiah’s instructions and found himself in an alley with broken pavement, parked cars and Simon Cahill standing in front of a large Dumpster. Unlike his fellow FBI agents who’d begun to arrive farther up Beacon Street as Will had left, Simon wore jeans and a polo shirt.
Will descended the steps. “I wondered if you might find your way here. Has Lizzie-”
“She took off before I got here. Abigail’s partner called me. Tom Yarborough. You’ll meet him-he’ll see to it.”
“He’s the detective who was with Lieutenant O’Reilly just now?”
Simon gave a curt nod. “He said you let Lizzie go.”
“I did,” Will admitted.
“Yarborough’s ready to take her, you and me into custody. Her father, too.”
“Is the tension getting to him?”
“Not a chance. He’s just that way.” Simon’s expression was more that of an FBI agent than a friend as he eyed Will. “Myles Fletcher is alive?”
“Apparently so. He killed that man in the alley and arranged for Fiona O’Reilly to find him. I’ve been trying to think how he could have become involved with Estabrook.”
“He could have figured out you and I were friends, discovered I was working for Estabrook and watched and waited for his chance.”
“His chance for what? Money? Action? To get back at us, perhaps? Me for damaging his relationship with his friends in Afghanistan. You for saving my life.”
“I could believe money and action,” Simon said. “Not revenge. The Myles Fletcher you described to me is too pragmatic to indulge in revenge.”
Will felt the humid heat of the afternoon and smelled asphalt, gasoline fumes and, faintly, garbage. As immaculate as the Whitcomb was, he and Simon were nevertheless in an alley. Will shut his eyes, launching himself back two years. He saw Philip and David fighting for their lives. For his life. For the life of the man who’d betrayed them.
And yet…none of what had happened had ever made sense to him. Will had fought alongside Myles Fletcher. They’d trained together, gone drinking together. They’d tracked enemy fighters together, disrupted ambushes, cleaned out caches of weapons, called in close-air support-whatever their various missions had required.
“Will…”
He opened his eyes, focusing again on Simon. “You’re right. Myles is too much a professional to take the risks he did today purely for revenge. He’s doing a job.”
Simon walked toward the hotel. There were terra cotta pots of red geraniums on each step up to the back door. “The Lizzie Rush I know is elegant, personable, attractive and smart, but she’s not anyone I’d remotely imagine taking on a knife-wielding thug.” He turned to Will. “Or you. She’s under your skin, isn’t she?”
He sidestepped the question. “How did you see her role with Estabrook?”
“They were friendly, not in a romantic way. She wasn’t involved in his riskier adventures. She’d organize a hike in the Grand Canyon, a whale-watching trip, a kayaking tour of the Maine coast-the normal stuff people want to do.”
“And all the while, she was gathering information on Estabrook and his friends and passing it on to John March.”
Simon leaned over and straightened one of the flowerpots. “I knew we had an anonymous source. An important one. But Lizzie…” He shook his head. “She never was on my radar.”
Will stared at the geraniums. How had he let his life become so complicated? He could see his mother walking in his garden in Scotland, not far from her home village. She’d never imagined herself marrying his father. What had Lizzie thought as a little girl, playing out here in this alley? Had she ever imagined finding a man murdered up the street?
“Lizzie’s father is an intelligence officer who taught her his tradecraft,” Will said. “She knew how to keep you and Director March from discovering her identity. When did you first meet her?”
“Last summer, here at the Whitcomb. That’s when Norman hired me. I was in Boston for a Fast Rescue dinner, and he was a guest at the hotel. He and Lizzie were already friends.”
“With your search-and-rescue expertise, you were in the perfect position to go undercover.” Will toed a bit of broken asphalt. “As we’ve seen in the past two days, Lizzie is brazen and resourceful. Does she know March?”
Simon looked uncomfortable.
“This isn’t about my own history with Director March,” Will said. “I’m trying to ascertain the facts. When did you become aware March had a source?”
“Last summer. We didn’t want to endanger whoever it was by getting too close. We both assumed we were dealing with a professional. Of the possibilities-Lizzie Rush wasn’t even on the list.”
“Could she be affiliated with an intelligence agency?”
Simon sighed. “I think she is exactly what she appears to be.”
“She’s playing with fire,” Will said. “But she could also be the one who can lead us to March’s daughter.”
“I’d trade myself for Abigail in a heartbeat.” Simon’s guilt was palpable as he continued. “So would her father. She got caught in the middle. This isn’t her fight.”
“Why kidnap her but try to kill Keira?”
“Norman’s making us suffer. That’s all I know. We have to find him, Will. His plane didn’t evaporate into thin air. Owen Garrison will find it.” Simon plucked a dried, brown leaf from a geranium and smiled sadly as he looked at Will. “Scoop’s influence.”
“Simon…I’m sorry. But you must understand. You are not responsible for Norman Estabrook’s actions.”
“Could we have this wrong, Will? What if Fletcher is working for the drug cartels and not for Norman?”
“Regardless who is paying him, Myles is working for himself.”
Simon crumpled up the dead leaf. “According to Tom Yarborough, the dead man Lizzie and Fiona found had a deep scratch on one arm. We know Abigail got a piece of whoever kidnapped her yesterday. There was blood at the scene. If he was the one who grabbed her and Fletcher killed him-”
“Fiona had seen him. She’d have remembered eventually. It’s not the sort of risk Myles would take. He could simply have handled a problem and tried to mislead us at the same time.”
“So he shot a man in the head for a reason instead of just because he could?”
“Fair enough, Simon. Nonetheless, I doubt Myles would get in the middle of a scheme for violent revenge, even a well-paying one. If he’s working for Estabrook, there’s likely another reason.” Will regretted he hadn’t arrived in Boston in time to deal with Myles himself, but hadn’t that been his old friend’s plan? Myles had known Lizzie had left Dublin that morning-and undoubtedly knew that Will had, too. He pushed back his fatigue and worry, forcing himself to continue. “Simon, Myles and Estabrook can’t discover Lizzie is an FBI informant.”
“I know. If they do, she goes onto Norman’s hit list right up there with March and me.”
Will pictured Lizzie sitting across from him at their lace-covered table in Dublin. He could see the intensity and the light green color of her eyes, the shape of her mouth as she’d tried to put her fight in the stone circle behind her and decide what to do about him. He’d checked on her during the night, her duvet half off, her skirt and T-shirt askew as she’d slept on the sofa.
“Will? I’m losing you again.”
He heard the concern in his friend’s voice. “I need to leave now, Simon. I trust you, and I trust Josie. I’ll keep an open mind when it comes to everyone else.”
“Right, Will,” Simon said, skeptical, but he managed a quick smile. “You’ve always wanted a woman who could put a knife to your throat.”
The back door to the hotel opened, and Jeremiah Rush jumped down the half-dozen steps in a single bound. “Two detectives are here to interview the staff and anyone who might have seen the Brit who scared the hell out of Fiona O’Reilly. I thought you’d want to know. My dad’s on his way. He’s not wild about a killer showing up here.”