Keeper's Reach by Carla Neggers Read Free Book Online Page B

the aggravation? And if you’ve gone rogue, you are most definitely not my problem.”
    “You’re right. I’m not your problem.”
    “If you really are still an FBI agent, you’re breaking a lot of rules. That sweater for one. Gad, T.K. That is not your shade of brown.”
    “My ex-wife gave it to me for my birthday.”
    “Mmm. Last birthday you were together?”
    “As a matter of fact, yes.”
    Naomi broke off another piece of croissant. “Not surprised.”
    He grinned. “I should have known. She has passive-aggressive behavior down to an art form. Oh, well. At least it’s a warm sweater. I’ll appreciate it today, even if it’s a bad shade of brown.” He got to his feet, eyeing Naomi a moment before he spoke. “It’s good to see you. Enjoy your day in the Cotswolds.”
    “I will, thanks. You, too.”
    “I have a flight to catch myself. Do you ever worry about your safety, Naomi? You’re a one-woman show. Who’s your backup? Who helps you when things get scary? Who picks you up when you fall?”
    “I can always call 911.”
    “When you’re at home. Out here...” He shrugged. “You can call 999, I guess. If you realize you’re over your head and need help, you know how to reach me. Don’t hesitate, okay?”
    His comment caught her off guard. The knowledge behind it, the absence of any hint of cockiness, frustration and impatience, the softness of his voice, as if he could see into her heart—cared about her feelings. Her safety.
    A ploy.
    Ted Kavanagh didn’t
not
care about her, but if he was still a legit FBI agent, he had a job to do.
    Whatever he was up to, she would let the FBI figure him out.
    “Thanks,” she said, trying to sound matter-of-fact.
    She expected him to walk away, but he didn’t. “Be careful, Naomi. You have a risk-taking streak that borders on reckless.”
    He turned abruptly and left the breakfast room.
    Once he was out of sight, Naomi exhaled, then poured herself more coffee. She wondered if Ted Kavanagh ever fantasized about taking a break for a few days and playing tourist. He looked as if he could use a break.
    But she found herself fighting off another touch of melancholy. She drank her coffee as the waiter led a middle-aged couple to a table. They spoke English to him—they asked for tea—and German to each other. Naomi understood German and could speak enough to get through a dinner, but it wasn’t one of her better languages. The couple was discussing their plans for the day, which centered on celebrating their wedding anniversary with a long winter walk in the countryside.
    The quaint English breakfast room fell away, thrusting Naomi back to a dusty night in Afghanistan. Federal agents, soldiers and civilian intelligence officers were often an uneasy combination at the best of times, and that hadn’t been the best of times.
    It certainly hadn’t been a good time to fall in love.
    But when
was
a good time to fall in love with Mike Donovan?
    She set her mug on the table. No wonder she’d had nightmares about him.
    She silently congratulated the German couple and wished them well, then frowned at the rest of her croissant. There was a small jar of gooseberry jam and a dish of butter on her table.
    Well, why not?
    She noted the jam was from the nearby farm owned by Oliver York, a wealthy Brit and, very possibly, an incomparable art thief.
    Not coincidentally, he knew the Irish painter Aoife O’Byrne, whose uncle had been a victim of an art thief, and he also owned an apartment on St. James’s Park in London.
    What did Ted Kavanagh want with York?
    The York farm was at least a brisk twenty-minute walk from the inn. Naomi figured she could burn off her breakfast and, at the same time, consider what Kavanagh’s interest was in both her and Oliver York. She had her suspicions, but she put them aside as she opened the jar of the York farm’s gooseberry jam.

5
     
    The few rays of sunshine at breakfast seemed to be it for the day. Naomi didn’t mind. She set off