Saint's Gate Read Online Free PDF Page A

Bracken glanced out at the docks. With the clearing weather and the waning daylight, more boats were drifting into the harbor. “Word of Sister Joan’s death has spread fast. People here are in shock, Colin.”
    “Understandably. An attack inside a convent and the murder of a nun are awful things, Fin, but they’re not an FBI matter. The Criminal Investigative Division of the Maine State Police handles homicide investigations in small towns like Heron’s Cove.”
    Bracken shifted back from the view of the harbor and looked at his friend. The hair, the eyes, the shape of his jaw. Bono, Colin thought. Definitely.
    “CID’s good,” Colin added. “They’ll get to the bottom of what happened.”
    Bracken touched the rim of his whiskey glass again. “An FBI agent was there.”
    “At the convent?”
    “She was waiting for Sister Joan to get a key to unlock a gate.”
    Colin sat forward. Now Bracken had his full attention. “She?”
    Bracken lifted his glass and took another sip of his whiskey. “Her name’s Emma Sharpe. Her grandfather founded a world-renowned art theft and recovery company. He’s based in Dublin, but his grandson—Emma’s brother—runs the business out of its main offices in the family’s original home in Heron’s Cove.”
    “Lucas Sharpe,” Colin said.
    “Do you know him?”
    “The name. We’ve never met. I’ve never met Emma, either.”
    He’d heard of her, Colin thought as he tossed back more whiskey than he’d intended. He managed not to choke as he set his glass down. “What was Agent Sharpe doing at the convent?” he asked.
    “I’m hoping you’ll find out.”
    “I don’t need to find out. That would have been one of the first questions the Maine detectives asked her. She wasn’t hurt?”
    “Not that I’ve heard, no. When Sister Joan didn’t come to unlock the gate, Agent Sharpe climbed over the fence to investigate. She got to Sister Joan too late. The poor woman was already dead, may God rest her soul.”
    Colin wanted more whiskey, if only to keep him from trying to figure out what had happened at the Sisters of the Joyful Heart a few hours ago, but no more Bracken 15 year old for him. He was done now that Emma Sharpe’s name had come up. “Agent Sharpe was the first on the scene?”
    “I don’t have all the details. The murder of any innocent is unacceptable, but of a nun…” Bracken paused, staring into his drink as if it could provide answers, then said quietly, “She’s gone to God.”
    Colin could feel the priest sinking into melancholy and sat back, tapping the table with his fingers as he thought. “What do you think, Fin? Was Sister Joan in the wrong place at the wrong time, or was she targeted?”
    “If I could answer all your questions, I’d have left you on your island.”
    The late-afternoon sun was out now, if only for a short time before dusk. It sparkled on the water, creating the kind of scene that kept Colin going on his darkest days working undercover. He knew the Sharpe name growing up in Rock Point, and then as a Maine marine patrol officer, but Emma Sharpe’s name had cropped up just a few weeks ago. She’d provided a critical piece of information that had helped locate one seriously bad operator, a Russian arms trafficker with a trail of dead bodies behind him.
    Colin sighed at Bracken. “I planned to go fishing tomorrow.”
    The priest shrugged. “You can still go fishing. There’s water in Heron’s Cove. I imagine that’s why heron and cove are in its name.” His midnight-blue eyes narrowed with an intensity that had to have helped turn Bracken Distillers into a highly successful company. “Colin, you must investigate.”
    “Why?”
    “What if Sister Joan was killed and Agent Sharpe was at the convent because of an FBI concern? What if this tragedy occurred because of something you’re into?”
    “I’m not into anything. I was about to take a nap when Mike found me.”
    Bracken grunted. “I know you better than you