The Wild Sight (14 page)

Damn it! She wasn’t waiting any longer!

“Donovan!” she cried, gripping his forearm.

When he didn’t respond, she grasped his shoulder and shook. “Donovan! Come back!”

He went deathly still under her hands. No breath. No eye movement. A panicky chill snaked down Rylie’s spine. “No!” she shrieked,
as he slumped against the couch cushion, the piece of metal clanking to the floor.

Before she could shriek again, a strangled sob shuddered through his body and his eyes popped open. The pupils were so wide
that they obscured all but a tiny rim of blue iris, just like the day they’d discovered the body in the fens. He sucked in
another gasping breath and sat up.

“Thank God, oh thank God . . . ” she babbled.

But his big hand closed convulsively over her wrist.

“M-McRory,” he stuttered. “McRory’s dead.”

Chapter 12

DONOVAN GROUND THE HEELS OF HIS HANDS INTO HIS EYES to try and blot out the terrible image, but to no avail. When he looked
up, Rylie slumped next to him on the couch, pale and trembling. He never should have allowed her to become involved with this.
With
him.

“You’re sure he’s dead, but you don’t know who killed him?” she asked in a quivering whisper.

Pain throbbed behind his eyeballs and a fresh wave of nausea swept through his gut, but he managed to nod.

Rylie sighed raggedly, “And if we go to the police, they’ll think we’re crazy. Or worse.”

“Afraid that’s the long and short of it.” Gripping the arm of the couch, Donovan hauled himself to his feet and swayed drunkenly
for a moment.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she demanded.

“The loo, for aspirin.”

She tugged on his arm. “No you’re not. Sit back down. Or better yet, lie down. I’ll get you aspirin.”

Feeling too weak and sick to argue, he complied, falling back onto the cushions with a groan. Much to his chagrin, Rylie bent
down and hoisted his legs up so that he reclined across the full length of the sofa.

“I’ll be right back,” she said and disappeared through the archway.

Donovan let his chin loll against his chest in momentary defeat. Their little experiment had turned out to be both a success
and a disaster. With Rylie’s help, he had managed to induce his “gift,” but what he learned only compounded the problems.
And no matter how terrible he felt, how tired, after this last “vision” he knew he would have to go into the fens for the
answers.

Rylie reappeared and pressed three tablets into his palm. He chugged them down with tepid tea.

“Just rest here for a few minutes until your headache is better,” she said, taking the mug from his hand.

“Why don’t you rest with me?”

She lifted her eyebrow and gave him a knowing look. “There’s barely enough room for you. Besides, I think it’s safer if I
just go clean up the kitchen.”

“Spoilsport.”

The fact that he’d capitulated twice without argument proved how done-in he was. He craned his neck to watch the sway of her
cute little derriere as she strolled away carrying both mugs. He’d never felt like this about a woman . . . giddy, possessive,
protective, and more. Perhaps she really had bewitched him.

Shite!

He was in a very bad way if he were thinking such ridiculous thoughts. Sighing, Donovan succumbed to his exhaustion and closed
his eyes.
Only for a few moments.

The ringing of his mobile awakened him from a fitful sleep haunted by fragments of disturbing dreams. He nearly rolled off
the sofa, first in surprise, then struggling to extract the phone from his pocket. At last he managed to flip it open and
breathlessly answer.

“D-Donovan?” By now he recognized Brenna McRory’s voice, though it was thick with tears.

“Hullo, Brenna. Are you all right?” The image of McRory’s dead, sightless eyes flashed across his mind and he nearly dropped
the phone.

“I—They—” She choked in a strangled sob. “They found Aongus’s Land Rover.”

“Where?” He asked sharply.

“’Twas in Lough Neagh, sunk nearly to its rooftop.” Brenna continued to sob. “But no sign of Aongus. They—they’re going to
drag the lake . . . ”

Donovan took a deep breath, and suddenly realized Rylie was hovering over his shoulder. “Where are you now, Brenna?”

“The PSNI station house in Dungannon. They’ve told me to go home and wait, since the search could take hours, but I—” Her
voice broke and she sputtered half-coherently. “I don’t think I can drive . . . I knew you were close by. I’m so sorry . .
. I didn’t know who else to ask.”

“’Tis all right, Brenna,” he soothed, hating that it was a lie. “Rylie and I will come fetch you. We’ll see that you get home.”

After a bit more sobbing by Brenna and a few more reassurances from him, Donovan rang off.

“Did they find Professor McRory?” Rylie asked, her expression taut with worry.

He shook his head. “His car, but no sign of him.” He rubbed his neck, which ached from sleeping on the couch. “And I’d tell
them they’re looking in the wrong place if only they wouldn’t ask how I knew.”

She feathered her fingertips down the side of her face. “So Brenna is taking it hard.”

Closing his eyes to let the balm of her touch sooth him, he nodded. “Since the car is registered to the university, the PSNI
asked her to come and make a positive I.D. She’s at the station house in Dungannon and I told her we’d drive her home.” He
captured her hand and dropped a light kiss into her palm. “Do you mind very much?”

Rylie squeezed his hand and brushed her lips across the top of his head. “Of course I don’t.”

His few minutes of sleep had lasted over two hours, and it was now almost noon. Before they left for Dungannon, he and Rylie
went down to the empty pub kitchen and Donovan scraped together the ingredients for boxty.

“Boxty on the griddle, boxty in the pan.” He recited in a singsong tone as he fried the mashed potato concoction. “If you
can’t make boxty, you’ll never get a man.”

He divided the single large pancake into quarters, the way his Mum had always done, and scooped out two portions for Rylie.
Then he flipped the remaining two pieces onto his own plate.

She looked between him and her steaming dish, and gave her head a little toss. “What if I don’t want a man?”

“Too late, I’m afraid. You’ve already got one.”

They didn’t take time to properly clean up. Instead they merely rinsed the dishes and left them stacked in the sink. They’d
nearly reached their destination before Rylie finally asked, “Are you going to tell Brenna? About Aongus, I mean . . . ”

Donovan’s hands involuntarily tightened on the steering wheel. “I don’t think I’ll need to. She already suspects the worst.”
But he wasn’t about to confirm it,even if he did have to lie through his teeth. “What about you, are you telling her about
Sybil?”

Rylie sucked in her breath sharply. “God no! She definitely doesn’t need to hear that.”

Her red hair plaited just as it had been the night they’d all met at Queen’s, Brenna waited for them on a bench inside the
PSNI station door.

“I’m so sorry to be such a nuisance,” she said, catching each of their hands with hers. “But thank you so much.”

“’Tis no bother,” Donovan insisted while Rylie made similar assurances. “I’ll just drive you in your car and Rylie can follow
us.”

Brenna murmured more thank-yous, and pressed a tissue to the corners of her already puffy eyes. “If you wouldn’t mind, could
you take a look at the Range Rover before we go? ’Tis in the impound yard just round back.”

When Donovan gave her a look of confusion, she wrapped her fingers around his forearm and continued in a low voice, “The other
night at Callahan’s, Aongus told me you have The Sight. I thought maybe if you looked at the Rover . . . ”

He started to tell her he didn’t need to look, but decided better of it. This way, he could honestly say he saw nothing and
perhaps that would put an end to her questions.

“All right, then.” He agreed, and was so guilt-ridden by the look of hope on her face that he added, “But I must warn you,
whatever ’tis I have doesn’t always work.”

Since she hadn’t heard the exchange, Rylie shot him a quizzical look when they passed her rental car.

“Half a moment,” he said and followed Brenna around the building.

“’Tis that one.” Brenna pointed and looked away quickly, wiping her eyes again.

The mud-encrusted vehicle sat alone near the gate, looking forlorn. Donovan took a deep breath then slowly counted to ten
before he turned back to Brenna.

“Anything?” Her golden brown eyes pleaded for any shred of information.

He shook his head, but her crestfallen look plagued him so much that he said in all honesty, “He wasn’t in the Rover when
it went into the water.”

Color flooded Brenna’s face and her fingers dug into his arm. “We must tell them to stop dragging the lake!” “Brenna, no!”
Donovan ordered, breaking her hold. This was the last thing he needed. “He could still be there. He just wasn’t inside the
car.”

He clamped his mouth shut, determined not to dig himself in any deeper with more lies.

Tears choked her voice again. “You think Aongus is dead, don’t you?”

He would definitely not make the mistake of telling her the truth either. “I don’t know,” he answered in as neutral a tone
as he could muster. It wasn’t a total lie. He didn’t
think
it. “But we need to let the PSNI do their jobs and find out what happened to him.”

He placed his arm around the sobbing woman, and guided her back toward the front parking lot. They rounded the corner and
nearly collided with Inspector Lynch.

“Fancy meeting you here, O’Shea,” the beefy man mused, standing directly in their path with his hands in his pockets. “Funny
how you manage to constantly turn up in the middle of PSNI business.”

Donovan gave the man a narrow-eyed glare. “And what PSNI business brought you to my pub yesterday?”

“I’d been back out to your family farm and found someone wearing American trainers had been inside the cottage.” He looked
pointedly at Donovan’s shoes. “And I thought perhaps I needed to remind you that ’twas still a crime scene. Only you weren’t
at the pub.”

“I took Miss Powell to see the Giant’s Causeway.”

“So she just told me.” The glance Lynch sent in Rylie’s direction made Donovan seethe with an unreasoning desire to punch
the leer off his fleshy face.

“As for a crime scene, what could possibly still be in that cottage over twenty-years after the fact?”

The inspector continued to smirk. “I thought you might tell me, O’Shea.”

“Not without my attorney,” Donovan replied, then he stepped around the man. “Come on, Brenna. Let’s go.”

Lynch made no move to stop them. Brenna pointed out her white Volvo sedan, and they stopped en route where Rylie waited behind
the wheel of her rental car.

She assured them she would have no trouble following them to Newtownabbey, but Donovan made an arrangement for a meeting place
all the same, in case they did become separated. Brenna also gave her the address and telephone number of her brother, Colin
Murphy, where she’d decided to stay the night.

Noticing that Inspector Lynch was nowhere to be seen, Donovan escorted Brenna to her car and they began the drive.

“I’m so sorry Donovan, I seem to bring nothing but bad tidings to you.” Brenna sniffed, and then blew her nose into a well-worn
handkerchief. “At least it was fortuitous that you and Rylie weren’t related.”

“Indeed it was,” he acknowledged. “And turns out I was the only one surprised about my parentage. ’Twas old news to my father,
my sister, and half the village.”

Brenna gave a wan smile. “Such secrets can seldom be completely hidden. Like Aongus and his women.”

Donovan tried to keep his surprise from showing but he must not have succeeded, for Brenna gave his arm a motherly pat. “Surely
you didn’t think me foolish enough not to know. Aongus has always had an eye for the ladies, ’tis part of who he is. But he
always comes back to me, and I always forgive him.”

“You deserve better,” Donovan muttered, staring fixedly at the road.

“So I’ve been told, and on more than one occasion,” Brenna replied. “And perhaps I do, but ’tis himself I love.”

He couldn’t begin to argue with that and didn’t try. The drive to Newtownabbey, a northern suburb of Belfast, passed without
incident. Rylie managed to follow them with no problems. When they arrived at the narrow brick row house occupied by Brenna’s
brother and his family, she insisted they come inside.

Introductions were made all around with Colin Murphy, his wife April, and their two young daughters, Shawna and Emily. As
soon as they discovered Rylielived in California, both little girls were in awe and convinced she must be a movie star.

While April disappeared into the kitchen to brew a pot of tea, the girls dragged Brenna and Rylie upstairs to show them their
Halloween costumes. Donovan found himself alone in the sitting room with Colin, who peered at the rugby match on the telly
for a moment before switching it off.

Donovan perched on the edge of the sofa, wishing he were elsewhere. “Leave the match on if you’d like.”

Colin shook his head and snorted, “April would have my hide. We don’t see Brenna nearly as much as we should. I suppose she
told you Aongus and I don’t get on.”

“No, but I understand why you don’t.”

A look of loathing crossed the other man’s face. He glanced first toward the stairs, and then toward the kitchen before he
said, “Then you’ll also understand when I say ’twould not break my heart if they never found that faithless bastard.”

Careful what you wish for.
Donovan was hard-pressed not to voice the warning aloud. He was spared a reply by Colin’s wife calling from the kitchen that
tea was almost ready.

Colin rose to his feet and bellowed up the stairwell, “Girls! Bring Auntie Bren and Rylie downstairs now.”

Amid much giggling, the four females appeared. Rylie sported some sort of sparkling metal band on her head and carried a plastic
stick in her free hand, a child’s fantasy of a faery princess.

Donovan’s wayward thoughts of Rylie in nothing but the crown and wand were interrupted by the appearance of April, who carried
a heavily laden tea tray. However, when Donovan jumped up to assist, she shooed him away.

“Shawna, fetch the biscuits and some napkins,” she ordered her older daughter.

“Will you sit here with me, Rylie? Please?” Shawna patted the seat of the vacant armchair before she scampered off into the
kitchen.

Rylie settled into the chair with a wide grin, clearly enjoying the children’s attentions. Donovan was left to share the sofa
with Brenna and April, balancing his china teacup and saucer precariously on his knee.

The tranquil domestic scene had proved a balm for Brenna, for she looked far less tense and anxious. He felt a small measure
of relief that she’d chosen to come here. Though it made no sense at all, he couldn’t stop a feeling of guilt, knowing what
he did. No matter what her brother’s feelings were toward McRory, at least he would provide the emotional support Brenna would
shortly need.