jumped down from thestool and went around to the other side of the bar, where she helped herself to a glass and a bottle of Midleton Rare Whiskey. "You can't let your dislike of Director March interfere with your judgment."
"It's mutual dislike, but also impersonal on a certain level since we've never met face-to-face. I'm convinced he's known more about Myles than he's ever been willing to tell us. He doesn't believe I can be fully trusted." Which was more than Will had ever admitted to Josie about his attitude toward the current FBI director and was all he planned to say. "Is Lizzie Rush a rich woman meddling in affairs of no concern to her because she's bored and has a zest for adventure, or does she have her own quarrel with Norman Estabrook?"
"She could also be on his side in a peculiar way," Josie said as she splashed whiskey into her glass, adding without sympathy, "If she's sticking her nose where it doesn't belong, she could get it cut off."
"Instead of fleeing, she stopped Keira from being killed."
"Which by itself means nothing, Will. You know that. What you saw tonight could have been staged, cooked up by her and Murphy to mislead us. This woman could have her own agenda and not give a damn about Keira, Estabrook, Simon or anyone else."
There was no one on the planet more clear-eyed or more unlikely to let emotion cloud her judgment than Josie Goodwin. Will recognized how much he'd come to rely on her not just for her efficiency, but as a sounding board. "I suppose theoretically she could have her own plans that could get mucked up if Keira and the people in Boston were killed."
"What about Abigail Browning?" Josie asked, taking a swallow of her whiskey even before she set down the bottle. She choked a little and gave her chest a pound with her fist. "Sorry. I haven't had a drop of alcohol in months. I was crying over my sorrows too many nights and..." She waved a hand. "Never mind. Perhaps our Lizzie Rush, regardless of why she was here, can help find Detective Browning."
Will narrowed his eyes. "You've more information?"
"Not much. I spoke to Simon." She got a pained look. "It's not good. There are no witnesses or substantial leads, and so far, there have been no calls for ransom."
"But no body, either, I gather."
"Correct. No body." Josie made a face as she swallowed more of her Midleton's. "You know I don't care for whiskey, don't you?"
Will smiled. "Yes, Josie, I know."
She coughed, took a smaller swallow this time. Her eyes, a dark blue, were hard and unforgiving, a contrast to the vulnerability her pale skin suggested.
A woman of contrasts, Josie Goodwin.
"You're a wealth of information, as always," Will said. "What would I do without you?"
"Live a lovely life in Scotland, I've no doubt." She returned the whiskey bottle to its place in Eddie's lineup. "Do you believe Miss Rush could help us find Myles Fletcher, that bloody traitor?"
"Josie..."
"It's a serious, professional question, Will."
"We've no reliable evidence that he's alive."
Josie polished off her whiskey, giving a final shudder of distaste as she turned back to him. "The barman's description, Will. It fits."
"It fits other British men, too, I'm sure. It isn't definitive by itself."
Josie gave him a long, cool look as she rinsed her glass. "You're trying to spare me."
He attempted a smile. "You? Never."
"All right, then. We'll do this your way. There's no good answer here, is there? Either Myles Fletcher was a traitor killed two years ago, or he survived and is now a cold-blooded mercenary."
Myles Fletcher was a name Will knew Josie didn't want to utter and certainly wasn't one he wanted to hear. "I should have worked harder to find him."
"We all did everything possible. Everything, Will."
"What if he's not--"
"Don't." Her voice was hoarse, her eyes dark and intense. "Don't, Will. Please."
He acceded to her wish with a reluctant nod and didn't continue.
"If Estabrook has hired Myles or allied himself with him in any
"It's mutual dislike, but also impersonal on a certain level since we've never met face-to-face. I'm convinced he's known more about Myles than he's ever been willing to tell us. He doesn't believe I can be fully trusted." Which was more than Will had ever admitted to Josie about his attitude toward the current FBI director and was all he planned to say. "Is Lizzie Rush a rich woman meddling in affairs of no concern to her because she's bored and has a zest for adventure, or does she have her own quarrel with Norman Estabrook?"
"She could also be on his side in a peculiar way," Josie said as she splashed whiskey into her glass, adding without sympathy, "If she's sticking her nose where it doesn't belong, she could get it cut off."
"Instead of fleeing, she stopped Keira from being killed."
"Which by itself means nothing, Will. You know that. What you saw tonight could have been staged, cooked up by her and Murphy to mislead us. This woman could have her own agenda and not give a damn about Keira, Estabrook, Simon or anyone else."
There was no one on the planet more clear-eyed or more unlikely to let emotion cloud her judgment than Josie Goodwin. Will recognized how much he'd come to rely on her not just for her efficiency, but as a sounding board. "I suppose theoretically she could have her own plans that could get mucked up if Keira and the people in Boston were killed."
"What about Abigail Browning?" Josie asked, taking a swallow of her whiskey even before she set down the bottle. She choked a little and gave her chest a pound with her fist. "Sorry. I haven't had a drop of alcohol in months. I was crying over my sorrows too many nights and..." She waved a hand. "Never mind. Perhaps our Lizzie Rush, regardless of why she was here, can help find Detective Browning."
Will narrowed his eyes. "You've more information?"
"Not much. I spoke to Simon." She got a pained look. "It's not good. There are no witnesses or substantial leads, and so far, there have been no calls for ransom."
"But no body, either, I gather."
"Correct. No body." Josie made a face as she swallowed more of her Midleton's. "You know I don't care for whiskey, don't you?"
Will smiled. "Yes, Josie, I know."
She coughed, took a smaller swallow this time. Her eyes, a dark blue, were hard and unforgiving, a contrast to the vulnerability her pale skin suggested.
A woman of contrasts, Josie Goodwin.
"You're a wealth of information, as always," Will said. "What would I do without you?"
"Live a lovely life in Scotland, I've no doubt." She returned the whiskey bottle to its place in Eddie's lineup. "Do you believe Miss Rush could help us find Myles Fletcher, that bloody traitor?"
"Josie..."
"It's a serious, professional question, Will."
"We've no reliable evidence that he's alive."
Josie polished off her whiskey, giving a final shudder of distaste as she turned back to him. "The barman's description, Will. It fits."
"It fits other British men, too, I'm sure. It isn't definitive by itself."
Josie gave him a long, cool look as she rinsed her glass. "You're trying to spare me."
He attempted a smile. "You? Never."
"All right, then. We'll do this your way. There's no good answer here, is there? Either Myles Fletcher was a traitor killed two years ago, or he survived and is now a cold-blooded mercenary."
Myles Fletcher was a name Will knew Josie didn't want to utter and certainly wasn't one he wanted to hear. "I should have worked harder to find him."
"We all did everything possible. Everything, Will."
"What if he's not--"
"Don't." Her voice was hoarse, her eyes dark and intense. "Don't, Will. Please."
He acceded to her wish with a reluctant nod and didn't continue.
"If Estabrook has hired Myles or allied himself with him in any
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