Shiver of Fear

  “Enniskillen.”

  He nodded. “The SIS own the town, and we knew we could keep an eye on you, keep you busy figuring out how to contact us in the bell tower, then stop you. Didn’t expect you to lock our man in the tower,” he said with a chuckle.

  Vivi leaned forward, her dark gaze on the FBI agent, Lang. “I told you not to underestimate us.”

  He just smiled at her. “I told you I won’t, ever again.” Then he turned to Devyn. “Is there anything else you need to know?”

  So much, but nothing these men would know. She took a deep breath and asked the only remaining question. “Will Finn MacCauley be pardoned?”

  “No,” he said quickly. “But he’s going to a minimum-security facility to live out… what’s left of his life.”

  Oh, so that’s what Lang meant by Finn not having time to negotiate his pardon. “Is he sick?”

  “He’s dying, Mrs. Sterling. He has a brain tumor and I doubt he’ll make it to the holidays.”

  She eased back in her chair as the news hit. He was dying? And he still didn’t have the nerve to meet her here?

  “I see,” she said. But she didn’t. Not at all.

  Under the table, Marc threaded his fingers through hers while the agents asked questions. They answered everything, reliving the few days and nights in Belfast and Enniskillen, putting the last missing pieces of the puzzle together.

  But all Devyn heard was he’s dying.

  She managed to swallow the lump in her throat and pay attention to the questions, but they couldn’t end soon enough. After they were finished, and all the thank-yous and good-byes were said, and Vivi celebrated being given what evidently was a major check for their services, all Devyn could still hear in her head were those same two words.

  He’s dying.

  She was still sitting in the conference room considering that when Marc came back in from the noisy celebration in the reception area.

  “You okay?” he asked, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

  She looked up at him. “I have one question I didn’t have the guts to ask.”

  “What is it?”

  “If he’s dying, why go to all this trouble for a pardon? Why not just… die?”

  He shook his head, curling his hand under her hair in a comforting stroke. “I don’t know, Dev.”

  “I guess I’ll never know.” But she’d always wonder.

  “Let’s go get some air,” he suggested. “The swan boats are running.”

  She didn’t feel like a swan boat ride but rose, anyway, saying good-bye to everyone and walking into the cool autumn air of Boston. Arm in arm, they crossed Arlington and entered the Public Garden, the grounds already dotted with the early lunch crowd hungry for the last few days before Boston’s relentless winter bared the trees and iced the pond.

  They started on the path, and Devyn nestled into Marc, his feel and scent so familiar already, when someone cleared his throat on a bench to their left.

  An older man sat alone, in a heavy coat, a navy ball cap pulled over uncombed gray hair. She’d have ignored him, but he was looking directly at her, his face full of… expectation.

  And then she knew.

  Devyn’s knees threatened to buckle, but Marc held her firm and steady. Very slowly, as if each movement was agony, the old man pushed himself up from the bench, then lifted the cap in a silent greeting.

  Devyn didn’t move.

  “You don’t have to talk to him,” Marc whispered. “But I thought if you wanted to…”

  She slid her gaze to him, hoping the gratitude shone in her eyes. “I do.”

  Finn shuffled closer. “Hello,” he said, his eyes watery behind glasses. But she could see their color and knew it well.

  So he’d given her at least that one gene. “Hello, Finn.”

  “I don’t want to bother you,” he said, his voice gruff. “But I’d like to thank this young man for taking care of you. It was important to me.” He reached a weathered hand to Marc, who shook it.

  He was so old. The realization stunned her. She never really thought of him as anything but fortysomething, virile, evil, powerful. But this man was pressed to the ground by gravity and the weight of his life, his shoulders sloped, his face sagging.

  He turned those familiar blue eyes on Devyn, a soft breeze blowing the white strands that stuck out from under his hat. He just stared at her, drinking in her face, scrutinizing it, memorizing it, savoring it.

  “Why don’t you ask him your question, Dev?” Marc suggested. “Why don’t you talk to him?”

  Marc stepped away and she froze for a moment, wanting to reach for him but knowing why he was leaving them alone.

  “You’re so beautiful,” Finn said, his voice gravelly, his eyes smiling. “You’ve always been beautiful.”

  Her whole body threatened to crumble.

  “Why didn’t you come to the meeting?” she asked.

  He gave a tight smile, his face like a crinkled map of Ireland. He gestured toward the bench and she went with him, sitting a foot away, unable to take her eyes off him. And he looked at her the same way. Hungry for information, answers… time.

  “I didn’t want to meet you like that,” he said. “So I asked your young man to help me out, and he agreed. In fact, he thought it would be better.”

  Of course, he was right. “I thought you just… didn’t want to meet me.”

  He laughed softly. “Darling, I’ve met you a dozen times. Stood next to you, crossed paths with you. I even held the door for you at Symphony Hall once. You were looking so snazzy in a royal blue gown.”

  Disbelief rocked her. She remembered that night.

  “Nothing creepy, I assure you.” He made a wave to relax her. “I just… wanted to know.”

  “To know what?”

  “That you were all right.” He nodded, studying her face again. “And you surely turned out more than all right.”

  “And you’ve been in touch with Sharon? All these years?”

  “Before writing to ask her for help, the last time I spoke to her was the day she gave you up for adoption.” His blue eyes tapered in disgust. “I’ll freely admit I was pissed off. I didn’t want you living with strangers.”

  For some reason, some stupid, insane reason, that thrilled her. “But you couldn’t stop her?”

  “Not back in those days. Fathers had no rights, and frankly, being what I… what I was, I knew the life you were getting was better. But I never had kids,” he said, the words rough with regret. “And I wanted you.”

  I wanted you.

  “Sharon, she didn’t want any parts of a child after all. She thought it would keep me, make me leave my wife, but”—he shook his head—“it just worked out like this, better for everyone.”

  “I landed with a good family,” Devyn told him.

  “I know. So good I didn’t dare do anything about changing your life. I just watched from far away.” He gave her another sly smile. “I was in the church when you got married.”

  She tried to breathe but couldn’t.

  “I cried,” he said.

  “I shouldn’t have married him,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

  “I knew that on your wedding day,” he said. “That scum already had dealings with some of this city’s worst types. Believe me, I knew. But I couldn’t hardly walk up to you and stop you, now, could I?”

  She shook her head, not sure if she should laugh or cry.

  “Anyway, I’m sorry they got him and tried to pin his hit on me.” His thick gray brows drew together. “You didn’t deserve that kind of deal.”

  “It’s over now,” she assured him, her gaze turning to where Marc stood, on the other side of the pond, watching the boats. “I’m okay.”

  “Found a good young man, did you?”

  She smiled, the tears coming despite how much she didn’t want them to. “He’s very good.”

  Finn nodded, looking at Marc as well. “Hope he’s worthy of a girl like you.”

&nbs
p; She laughed lightly, and that made her tears fall. “He is.”

  Finn put a gnarled hand on hers, pulling her attention toward his own overly moist eyes. “I’m not going to be around long enough to see you take that walk down the aisle again,” he said.

  “Then… why did you do all this?” she asked. “Just for a lighter sentence?” Her heart stopped while she waited for the answer.

  “I just wanted to take away some of your shame, child. I tried to convince Sharon to help for the same reason, sent her pictures of you, and told her that maybe she could, you know, have a relationship with you. That happens nowadays, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, it does.”

  He tightened his grip, the purple veins in his hands popping. “As for me? I know the indignity and humiliation of me is an albatross to carry around your neck, and I just wanted to make that load lighter. You know, for the next generation, if you should be so lucky.”

  A sob rose in her chest and she reached for him, her hands closing around his stiff neck, their heads coming so close her forehead bumped the bill of his cap. “I might be that lucky,” she whispered. “And you did lighten the load.”

  He closed his eyes and tears rolled over the lines in his face. “I doubt I’ll see you in heaven, girl,” he whispered. “But you’ve given me something to hold on to no matter where I end up.”

  She held him for a moment, everything settling into place in her heart and soul, everything feeling right for the first time in her life. She’d been wrong about her mother, and, funny enough, she’d been wrong about her father, too.

  Marc’s footsteps pulled them apart.

  “I have a swan boat for us,” he said. “Are you ready, Devyn?”

  She drew back completely and looked at Finn. At her father. A dying old man who had made some devastatingly bad choices in life. But in the end, he’d cared about her.

  “Would you like to ride with us?” she asked.

  His yellowed smile was heartbreaking. “I’d love to, but I don’t think that FBI agent over there would like the idea. Go out there, you two, and make your memory.”

  “I plan on it,” Marc said, reaching for Devyn’s hand, his smile curling around her heart and filling her with love. “With your permission, Mr. MacCauley, I’m about to ask your daughter to marry me.”

  “Well, now, that’s a pretty word.” Finn slapped his hands on his legs and grinned at Devyn.

  “Marry?” she asked, her breath caught in her chest.

  “No.” He stood, chuckling. “Daughter. Mighty pretty word.”

  EPILOGUE

  Chaos. The whole day and dinner had been nothing but a frenzy of food and family. But mostly food. Trays and platters and bowls of so much abundance that Devyn wondered how the entire family stayed so fit.

  Luckily the Feast of the Seven Fishes—or as Vivi and Zach said it with the most beautiful, lilting Italian accents, “la vigilia”—happened only once a year. But on Christmas Eve, the Rossi house rocked as the homemade wine flowed and Nino, with a lot of help, put out the most amazing dinner Devyn had ever eaten.

  She glanced to her side, catching bits of Marc’s conversation with his older brother, JP, a big, handsome cop with enough charm to offset his arrogance, and Nicki, Marc’s other younger sister, a psychiatrist with a sharp sense of humor and quick laugh.

  The youngest of the family, Chessie, kept bringing the conversation back to Gabe, the super-secret government agent brother who Marc had talked to while they were in Belfast.

  Listening, Devyn lifted her water glass and took a deep drink, grateful no one, including Marc, had noticed she hadn’t touched Nino’s wine. He was deep in the conversation, but his hand stayed firmly on Devyn’s leg, and he somehow managed to sneak glances her way to remind her that he never forgot her.

  “You ready?” he asked suddenly, pushing his chair back.

  “We’re leaving?” she asked, surprised.

  “Like hell you are,” Vivi interjected as she scooped some dirty plates from the table. “Not with all that white stuff out there.” With her free hand, she pointed two fingers at Marc and JP, like a viper’s tongue. “Rossis are going down tonight, baby. We got Samantha on the Angelino side now, and this isn’t going to be the blowout it was last year.”

  “But I have Devyn,” Marc said. “And she has a mean arm.”

  Ah, yes. She remembered the story he’d shared with her in Belfast. The snowball fight, the sled riding, the kids “disappearing” outside while Santa arrives.

  In this house, tradition tasted as good as the food.

  Marc tugged her up from the table. “Let’s find you a nice thick coat, some boots, and gloves. You’ll need armor out there. But first, we’ll ride.”

  “I have to sled?” she asked.

  Marc guided her to the mudroom closet to pull out a faded down jacket. “You want a present, you get in the snow.” He handed her the coat, studying her expression, which she imagined looked pretty uncertain. “You do want a present, don’t you, Dev?”

  “I already have a present,” she replied. A thin blue line in the middle of an inch of white plastic. “You.”

  He kissed her nose. “Come on, I’ll take you on my sled and show you how it’s done Rossi style.”

  “Pffft!” Vivi stuck her head into the mudroom, already in a purple jacket with a blinding orange scarf. “Angelinos do it better.”

  Devyn was still a little unsure of the sled plan a few minutes later, when they’d lined up five of them at the top of the hill behind the house.

  “See?” From behind, Marc wrapped his arms around her puffy coat with a reassuring hug. “Not steep.”

  “But at least five hundred feet of icy snow,” she said.

  He turned her around to look at him. “Relax. Enjoy this beautiful night.” He pulled her close and whispered, “I love you.”

  Her body trembled in the down coat, but not from cold. From anticipation and excitement and bone-deep happiness. She covered the shiver by looking around the yard, studying the bare oaks, their empty branches heavy with snow and icicles, the generous full moon bathing it all in nature’s spotlight.

  Vivi broke the peace by jumping on her sled and flying headfirst into the untouched snow.

  “She has to be first,” Zach said, laughing as he got on a sled with Sam. “It’s like a law or something.”

  “And she’ll throw the first bomb,” JP said as he boarded his sled.

  “Let’s go.” Marc urged her onto the board, settling Devyn in first so he could brace her between his legs. “I’ll give us a push and guide it. I’ll take care of you.”

  With that, he gave the sled a solid push and they were off, the blades cutting through the powder as they let gravity take them for a ride.

  “It’s not just me anymore.” Her words floated on the air, almost lost in the wind. Marc grabbed the handles, leaned to the left to pick up a little speed, then suddenly jerked to the side, forcing the sled to zip around, sending a rooster tail of powder into the air and bringing them to a swift stop in the middle of the hill.

  “What did you say?”

  Her heart hammered so hard she could barely talk. She looked over her shoulder to meet his gaze. His wondrous, wide, shocked, gobsmacked gaze. “You heard me.”

  He just stared at her. “Are you… can you… do you…”

  She couldn’t help laughing. He was speechless and so obviously overcome with joy. Oh, yes, that was joy on his face. And it was all she needed to see.

  “Am I what? Sure? Yes, I am.” She had the positive test to prove it. “Can I be any happier? No, I don’t think it’s possible. Do I love you with all my heart?” She blinked at snowflakes and tears. “Yes, I do, Marc. I love you with all of my heart and soul. Hearts and souls. I have two at the moment. We both love you.”

  “Devyn.” His voice cracked and his eyes filled, and it wasn’t the frosted air that made them water.

  “Hey, you two!” Vivi’s voice was distant, drowned out by Devyn’s pulse and the
look in Marc’s eyes.

  “What is it?”

  “Will you—”

  The explosion of snow landed right between them, powder silencing his question and freezing her face.

  “I’m gonna have to kill her,” Marc said.

  “Get in line,” Devyn said, already scooping snow.

  “Wait, wait,” Marc insisted, grabbing her hand. “We’re not done here.”

  “You want to lose the snowball fight?” she challenged. “What kind of example does that set for your son or daughter?” She finished packing the ball and flung it with all her happy might.

  It nailed Vivi right in the shoulder, eliciting a shriek.

  “You”—Marc spun her around by the shoulders and squeezed—“are going to make a hell of an addition to the family.”

  “Two additions. Me and Junior.” She kissed him fast and bent to get more snow, just missing a missile thrown over her head.

  “Just one?” he asked. “I want five.”

  She buckled with a laugh that came from deep inside. “Five it is.” Another snowball slammed her in the shoulder. “If we survive Waterloo.”

  “Wait a second.” He knelt next to her, pulling her close. “You didn’t even tell me how you feel yet.”

  “How I feel? How do you think I feel?”

  “I don’t know. Sick or tired? Happy or scared? How do you feel about this baby?”

  She thought about that for a moment, a tear welling up as the answer came to her. “I feel—”

  A soft grenade of snow exploded all over both of them. Even still, she felt completely, totally…“Warm.”

  She lives on the edge;

  he lives by the rules.

  They’re on a murderer’s trail…

  and they’re feeling the heat.

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