The Angel by Carla Neggers Read Free Book Online Page A

watercolor of the Irish cottage. I couldn’t resist.”
    “You bid on my painting? Why?”
    He shrugged. “Why not?”
    Keira didn’t answer. He was obviously a man who could charm his way into or out of anything. And he made her uncomfortable—no, not uncomfortable…self-con
    scious. Aware. Maybe it was because he was the first person she’d spotted when she’d arrived from the Public Garden. Some kind of weird imprinting that was in
    evitable, unavoidable.
    Finally, she said, “You don’t care about a painting of an Irish cottage.”
    “I care. I just didn’t bid on it for myself. Abigail wanted it, but she was going to lose out. I decided it’d be a nice wedding present for her and Owen. He’ll like it because she likes it.” The corners of Simon’s mouth twitched with amusement. “Don’t frown. He thinks you’re good, too.”
    Not only, Keira thought, was Simon dangerously charming, but he was also observant. And frank. “Thank you for bidding on the painting. The proceeds from the auction will be put to good use. You’re not from around here, are you?”
    “Not really.”
    “Then where do you live?”
    “Direct, aren’t you? I have a boat. It’s at a pier in East Boston at the moment, but it’s only been there since yesterday. Before that, it was in Maine. I met Owen and 52
    CARLA NEGGERS
    some other Fast Rescue people at his place on Mount Desert Island after our mission to Armenia.”
    Keira had read about the devastating earthquake. “That must have been tough.”
    “It was.” He didn’t elaborate. “I was in London when it happened. I go back tomorrow.”
    “What’s in London?”
    “The queen. Castles. Good restaurants.”
    The man had an appealing sense of humor, and, in spite of the tension of the past few hours, Keira felt herself relaxing. “Very funny. I meant what’s in London for you?”
    “I’m visiting a friend. What about Ireland? What’s there for you, besides angels and fairies?”
    Answers, she thought, but she shrugged. “I guess I’ll find out.”
    His eyes narrowed on her, and she noticed they were a vivid, rich shade of green. “Up for a bit of adventure, are you?”
    “I suppose I am.”
    “Have a good trip, then.”
    He ambled off down Beacon Street. When she returned to the drawing room, Keira checked with Colm. “How much did my cottage painting go for?”
    “Ten thousand.”
    She couldn’t hide her surprise. “Dollars?”
    “Yes, dollars, Keira. It was four times the highest bid. Simon Cahill bought it. Do you know him?”
    “No, I just met him tonight. What about you?”
    “I talked with him for all of thirty seconds. Well, he must want to support the conference.”
    “He must. I’m grateful for his generosity.”
    “As am I,” Colm said.
    Keira said good-night and headed for the stairs up to her
    THE ANGEL
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    apartment, amazed at how Simon had managed to get under her skin in such a short time.
    It had to be because of the intensity of the past few hours. What on earth did they have in common? She’d be back to normal by morning, finishing up her packing and heading to the airport by evening. At least she wasn’t going to Ireland by way of London; there was no risk they’d be sitting next to each other on the same flight. It was a long way across the Atlantic.
        Boston Public Garden
    Boston, Massachusetts
    10:00 p.m., EDT
    June 17
    Abigail Browning paced on the sidewalk along the edge of the man-made pond where the two college students had discovered the body of Victor Sarakis, a fifty-year-old resident of Cambridge who apparently, even according to the initial take of the medical examiner, had drowned in about two feet of water.
    Normally, Abigail found the Public Garden a soothing, pleasant place to be, with its graceful Victorian walks and statues, its formal flower beds and labeled trees, its mini sus
    pension bridge over the curving pond. Technically, it was a botanical garden—a refuge in the heart of the city of