Declan's Cross
For marine biologist Julianne Maroney, two weeks in tiny Declan's Cross on the south Irish coast is a chance to heal her broken heart. She doesn't expect to attract the attention of FBI agents Emma Sharpe and Colin Donovan, who are in Ireland for their own personal retreat.Ten years ago, art was stolen from a mansion in Declan’s Cross, but it has never been recovered and the elusive thief never caught. Now, from the moment Julianne sets foot on Irish soil, everything goes wrong. The well-connected American diver who invited her to Ireland has disappeared. And now Emma and Colin are asking questions.As a dark conspiracy unfolds amid the breath-taking scenery of Declan's Cross, the race is on to stop a ruthless killer… and the stakes have never been more personal for Emma and Colin.
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An escape to an idyllic Irish seaside village is about to turn deadly in this riveting new novel by master of romantic suspense Carla Neggers
For marine biologist Julianne Maroney, two weeks in tiny Declanâs Cross on the south Irish coast is a chance to heal her broken heart. She doesnât expect to attract the attention of FBI agents Emma Sharpe and Colin Donovanâespecially since a Donovan is the reason for her broken heart.
Emma and Colin are in Ireland for their own personal retreat. Colin knows heâs a reminder of everything Julianne wants to escape, but something about her trip raises his suspicion. Emma, an art crimes expert, is also on edge. Of all the Irish villages Julianne could chooseâ¦why Declanâs Cross?
Ten years ago, a thief slipped into a mansion in Declanâs Cross. Emmaâs grandfather, a renowned art detective, investigated, but the art stolen that night has never been recovered and the elusive thief never caught. From the moment Julianne sets foot on Irish soil, everything goes wrong. The well-connected American diver who invited her to Ireland has disappeared. And now Emma and Colin are in Declanâs Cross asking questions.
As a dark conspiracy unfolds amid the breathtaking scenery of Declanâs Cross, the race is on to stop a ruthless killerâ¦and the stakes have never been more personal for Emma and Colin.
To Oona, daughter of my daughter. Welcome, baby girl!
Contents
Prologue
A COLD, GUSTY wind swept up from the Celtic Sea, whistling and shrieking in the rocks and ruins as Lindsey Hargreaves jumped over a puddle in the muddy, rutted lane. She didnât care about the weather. She was happy to be out of her car. She would never get used to Irish roads, and this one was worse than mostâif one could call it a road. It curved up from the tiny village of Declanâs Cross, hugging sea cliffs, twisting through fields of grazing sheep and finally dead-ending at a stone wall tucked between two small hills at the tip of what locals called Shepherd Head.
Her rented Mini barely fit into the small hollow, but she was confident it wouldnât be spotted from the water or farther down the lane.
That was good. She didnât want anyone to see her.
She noticed a holly tree poking up from the November-browned hedges, rushes and ferns that grew along the stone wall. Its waxen, evergreen leaves glistened with raindrops from an earlier shower.
Wasnât holly supposed to bring good luck?
âI hope so,â she whispered.
A muddy trail led up through wind-stunted trees to a rock ledge with a precipitous drop to the cobble-and-boulder coastline. Lindsey had never been up there and couldnât see the ledge from the lane, but she had seen it from the water.
And the crosses.
Sheâd seen them, too. Three stone Celtic crosses rising from golden-copper grass on the small hill at the tip of the headland. She looked up at them now, standing tall against the gray clouds of the damp, gloomy November afternoon. They marked old graves next to the ruin of a small church on the other side of the stone wall. Sheâd read thereâd been a church dedicated to Saint Declan on this spot for more than a thousand years.
Whose graves, Lindsey wondered, were up there on the hill? She tried to imagine the rough, simple life the last residents of this place must have endured. Had they died in the horrible mid-nineteenth century Irish famine? Had they joined the mass emigration to other parts of the world? America, Canada, Australia?
What would she have done in their position?
Survived, she thought.
Her natural enthusiasm and optimism, coupled with her instinct for survival, would see her through what she had to do out here.
She tightened her sweater around her. She hadnât brought a jacket or even a raincoat. She wore too-tight jeans, the same dark gray as her sweater, and black boots more suited to the Dublin streets where sheâd spent the past two days than out here on the south Irish coast. An Hermès scarf with its cheerful mix of reds, blues and purples added a splash of color to her outfit. It was a birthday gift from her father, his first birthday gift to her in years. Sheâd deliberately worn it to breakfast with him in Dublin that morning.
Handsome, wealthy, lonely David Hargreaves. Smiling awkwardly as heâd complimented her on the scarf, forgetting heâd bought it for her himself just a few months ago.
Lindsey hadnât reminded him. She couldnât let the gift or his offer to have her move into the guesthouse of his home on Bostonâs North Shore fool her. He would always be the reluctant adoptive father who kept her at a safe, armâs-length distance.
Sheâd picked him up at the Dublin airport on Saturday and had spent yesterday with him, taking him to her favorite Dublin sights. The Book of Kells and the Long Room at Trinity College Library, Dublin Castle, Temple Bar, Grafton Street. Theyâd strolled through quiet St. Stephenâs Green and Georgian Dublin with its famous painted doors, then had dinner at a five-star restaurant, talking about their mutual love for the worldâs oceans.
