The Whisper by Carla Neggers Page B

sheets. The rest didn’t matter.
    No question it beat Tom Yarborough’s sofa bed.
    Yarborough had been out to Jamaica Plain countless times as Abigail’s partner, but Scoop couldn’t see him planting the bomb. Too ambitious. Too by-the-book. If Yarborough had an axe to grind or was after some extra cash, he’d go all out—he wouldn’t do one small job for a billionaire like Norman Estabrook.
    Given the increasingly late hour in Ireland, Scoop texted Josie Goodwin instead of calling: Ask your friends about Percy Carlisle.
    He didn’t waste time typing more of an explanation. Josie would have no problem figuring out who Percy Carlisle was. Maybe she already knew.
    As Scoop washed up, he got an answer from Ireland: Will do.
    Obviously his new British friend wasn’t sleeping, which didn’t bode well for his own night. He returned to the bedroom and finally noticed the Whitcomb had a turndown service. The drapes were pulled, soft music was playing and chocolates were on his pillow.
    Definitely better than Yarborough’s sofa bed.

9
    Sophie woke up to not so much as a coffee ground in the cupboards and decided she should have gone to the grocery last night instead of getting herself further under the suspicion of a Boston police officer. Never mind how sexy Scoop was, she thought as she headed through the archway and out to the street. She couldn’t just blame jet lag for her reaction to him—she hadn’t been jet-lagged on the Beara Peninsula.
    The wee folk, then. She’d blame them.
    She smiled, debating her immediate options. Breakfast on Charles Street and chance she’d run into Scoop? Hope she would? The sky had cleared overnight, and it was a bright, pleasant late-September morning, a perfect day to help her kick any lingering jet lag and adjust to being back in Boston.
    “Hey, Sophie—Dr. Malone.” Cliff Rafferty got out of a carjust up her quiet, narrow street and shut the door. “I hope I didn’t startle you. Mr. Carlisle—Percy—mentioned your sister has an apartment up here. It wasn’t hard to get the address. You two look a lot alike.” He gave Sophie an easy grin as he tossed a cigarette onto the street and approached her. “I looked her up on the Internet, too.”
    Sophie relaxed slightly. She’d slipped into jeans and a dark green long-sleeve top, not bothering with a sweater. “I’m borrowing her place until I figure out what comes next. What can I do for you, Mr. Rafferty?”
    He looked up at a windowbox dripping with ivy on the town house behind them, then at her again. “Like being back in Boston?”
    “So far, so good. It hasn’t been a full day yet.”
    “Feels great being done with school, doesn’t it? All those years of classes, papers, research, and now you finally have those initials after your name.”
    He had an engaging manner, but Sophie assumed he’d looked her up for a reason beyond cheerful chitchat. “It does feel great, but there are more classes, papers, and research ahead. If I’m lucky.”
    “At least you’ll be paid more as a professor than as a student.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his lightweight jacket. He had on baggy jeans that were an inch too short and running shoes. “You and Scoop Wisdom last night. That took me by surprise. I gather you didn’t just meet on your flight back to Ireland yesterday.”
    “Just about. I ran into him on the Beara Peninsula the day before.”
    Rafferty’s gaze was distant now, reminding her that he’d been a police officer. “Scoop’s quite the ladies’ man. He seems taken with you.”
    “I wouldn’t know about that,” Sophie said, heat rushing to her cheeks.
    “Bet you’ll find out.” Rafferty winked at her unexpectedly, then withdrew a slip of paper from his pocket and handed it to her. “I need to talk to you. Not here. My place. I wrote down the address. Give me an hour.”
    Sophie folded up the paper. “I haven’t had breakfast. Why don’t we go for coffee? You can talk to me