The Mist by Carla Neggers Read Free Book Online Page B

hope," Lizzie said. "Don't give up."
    Keira smiled faintly. "You're an optimist."
    "Most days."
    "Most days I am, too."
    But she obviously knew, as Lizzie did, that hope and optimism wouldn't dictate whether Bob O'Reilly and whoever else was at the triple-decker in Boston had survived the blast. It would depend on luck, skill, training and timing.
    Unless fairies showed up. For all Lizzie knew, they'd had a hand in what had just happened up at the stone circle. She and Keira had dealt with the Irishman and kept him from killing them, but the mysterious black dog had persuaded him to tell them about the bomb.
    It was all very strange.
    There was no question in Lizzie's mind that Norman Estabrook was responsible for the attack on Keira Sullivan and the bomb in Boston. He'd gone after Simon's new love and John March's daughter.
    And it was just the beginning.
    Eddie O'Shea and two other small, wiry men, all in wool caps, materialized out of the shadows and jumped lightly off the stone wall onto the lane. Lizzie had had no idea they were there. The barman fell in next to her. "My brothers, Aidan and Patrick," Eddie said by way of introduction as the other two men dropped back to Keira.
    Will greeted the brothers with a nod. He'd said little since the connection to Keira's uncle in Boston went dead. He was a man, Lizzie thought, of supreme self-control. He'd briefly questioned the Irishman, who insisted he'd come to the Beara Peninsula alone and had no partners waiting in the village. Lizzie believed him, if only because of his deep, palpable fear of the black hound.
    Aidan pulled off his jacket and draped it over Keira's shoulders, and she managed a smile, thanking him. When they came to the pub, Eddie's dog was at the door to greet them.
    The pub was empty, the local farmers and fishermen gone home for the night. The springer spaniel collapsed lazily in front of the fire.
    Will shoved their would-be killer onto a chair at the table Lizzie had vacated earlier. His ski cap had come off in his scuffle with her. He had sparse, dark hair and blue eyes, and she saw now, in the light and relative safety of the pub, that he was muscular and fit. She realized she'd done well to best him.
    She also realized Will would have had no trouble if he'd arrived in the stone circle a bit sooner. Lizzie reminded herself not to be fooled into thinking his expensive clothes and aristocratic background meant he couldn't fight as well as any other SAS officer and spy.
    "I'll ring the guards," Patrick, the youngest O'Shea, said.
    "Patrick and I'll watch for them," Aidan, the eldest, added, and the two brothers headed down a short hall to the back of the pub.
    Keira shrugged off Aidan's coat and hung it on a peg, then joined Lizzie and the dog by the fire, all of them muddy and wet. The pub was toasty warm, but Lizzie had to fight to keep herself from shivering. She slipped the thug's spare assault knife into her jacket pocket and held her hands toward the flames, spreading out her fingers. She noticed bloody scrapes on her knuckles and wrists, but she couldn't remember any pain and felt none now.
    "I'll have Patrick and Aidan fetch some ice and bandages," Eddie said.
    "Thank you, but there's no need, really." She gave him a quick smile. "What I'd truly love is a sip of brandy."
    He nodded, but gave his bound fellow Irishman a hard glare."Move a muscle, and I'll have a knife to your throat before your next breath."
    The thug glowered but said nothing.
    Eddie went behind his bar and got down three glasses and placed them on a tray. Keeping an eye on his customers, he uncapped a bottle of brandy and splashed some into each glass.
    Keira took a breath, containing her emotion. "Why are you here?" she asked Will. "Have you talked to Simon?"
    "Earlier. Not in the past few hours. I spoke to Josie at your cottage and again on my way to the stone circle." He studied her carefully, obviously debating how much to tell her about what he knew. "Norman Estabrook's no