The Whisper Read Online Free PDF Page B

“I wouldn’t mind living inside one of these pictures. A green pasture, a stream, prancing lambs. A beautiful fairy princess. What about you, Detective?”
    “I grew up on a farm. I liked it, but I’m not nostalgic about that life. What else can you tell me?”
    “There’s a woman. An American archaeologist. She’s been doing scholarly work in Ireland and Great Britain for the past several years.”
    “Sophie Malone,” Scoop said.
    Fletcher glanced at him, then continued, “You ran into her when she was here in the village earlier today, didn’t you?”
    “Yep. I did. Red hair, blue jacket. Had a big black dog with her and talked about the wee folk.” Scoop picked up the pencilFletcher had used and realized it was nearly the same shade as Sophie’s hair. A deliberate choice on the Brit’s part? “The dog wasn’t hers. Want to tell me what’s going on, Fletcher?”
    “I wish I knew. I strongly suspect the men our dead billionaire hired were also involved with Jay Augustine. I don’t know in what capacity.”
    Nothing legal, Scoop thought, but he said, “Augustine’s a serial killer. Serial killers tend to be solitary.”
    “I’m not talking about his violence. Augustine was also a respected dealer in fine art and antiques.”
    “What’s that got to do with Sophie Malone?”
    Fletcher grinned suddenly. “I’ve no idea. As I said, I haven’t done any research of my own. I suppose Augustine could have consulted her as an expert in his role as a legitimate dealer.”
    “Are you linking her to this bad cop?”
    “I’m saying her name came up at the same time as the likelihood that a police officer constructed and planted the bomb that exploded at your house last month.” Fletcher walked over to the front window, determined and focused but also obviously past being dead tired. “I wish I could be more helpful.”
    “Funny, you and Sophie Malone turning up here within a few hours of each other.”
    “Isn’t it, though?” He nodded out the window. “Here we go. Just what we need.”
    For all Scoop knew, the big black dog was back with a troop of fairies.
    Instead, FBI Special Agent Simon Cahill and Will Davenport—a British lord and another James Bond type—entered through the kitchen door. Casual, irreverent, black-haired Simon and wealthy, regal, fair-haired Will, both around Scoop’s age, intheir mid-thirties, were as different in appearance as they were in temperament and background, but they were close friends.
    Right behind them was Josie Goodwin. She had on a sleek belted raincoat, her chin-length brown hair pulled back and her mouth set firmly as she shut the door behind her. She pretended to be Will’s able assistant but was undoubtedly SIS herself. Scoop had met Josie and Will at Abigail’s wedding at Davenport’s country house in the Scottish Highlands. Josie, who was in her late thirties, had muttered over hors d’oeuvres at the reception that if she ever saw Myles Fletcher again, she would smother him with a pillow.
    As far as Scoop knew, this was their first meeting since Fletcher had slipped undercover two years ago, leaving everyone he knew—including Josie Goodwin and Will Davenport—to think he was dead.
    She entered the kitchen without a word and leaned against a counter. Strongly built and obviously well trained, she looked as if she’d have no problem dispatching even a hard-assed spy like Myles Fletcher.
    Fletcher ignored her and directed his attention at the two men. “Simon. Will. It’s good to see you.” Finally he turned to Josie and winked at her. “Hello, love.”
    “Bastard,” she said, then beamed a friendly smile at Scoop. “You’re looking well, Detective. Much better than at Abigail’s wedding. Some of your scars seem to be fading already.”
    “I feel fine,” Scoop said. “I’m ready to get back to work.”
    Simon stood by the kitchen door, near Josie’s position at the counter. “Moneypenny here wouldn’t listen to good advice and stay