Three Fates

better at avoiding the cops.”
    “You’re telling me this because you think with her background, her record, she might be a problem for us. If Gideon thought that, he’d have said so.”
    “I don’t know Gideon, and I prefer drawing my own conclusions. Speaking of your brothers, they’re both clear as far as legal difficulties. And you, you’re as pure as your skin.”
    She jerked her head back when he reached over to brush a fingertip down her cheek. “Mind your hands.”
    “What is it about Irishwomen and their skin?” he said as if to himself. “Makes a man want to lap it up, especially when it smells like yours.”
    “I don’t mix flirtations and business,” she said stiffly.
    “I do. As often as possible. Being a practical woman, I’d think you’d appreciate the efficiency of multitasking.”
    She had to laugh. “Well now, I’ll admit that’s a unique line, Jack. But if you think the sophisticated world traveler can lure the naive village girl with clever lines, you’ve mistaken the matter.”
    “I don’t think you’re naive.” He turned his head, met her eyes. “I think you’re fascinating. And more, I’m curious about what I felt run through me when I looked over the high grass and old stones of a cemetery and watched you lay flowers on a grave. I’m very curious about that, Rebecca, and I always satisfy my curiosity.”
    “I felt something, too. That’s as much why I’ve come with you as wanting to know what’s in Dublin. But don’t think you can maneuver me, Jack, because you can’t. I’ve a goal to meet, for myself, for my family. Nothing can get in the way of it.”
    “I didn’t think you’d admit it.” He gave his attention to his instruments. “That you’d felt something. You’re a straightforward woman, Rebecca. A straightforward woman who knows computers, who can pack for a last-minute trip in a single bag and be on time. Where have you been all my life? We’re about to start our approach,” he said before she could answer.
     
     
    THERE WAS ANOTHER rental car waiting at Dublin airport, and this time Jack hauled up Rebecca’s bag before she could grab it herself. She didn’t comment on it, nor on the conversation they’d had in the plane. She wasn’t sure either would be safe topics at the moment.
    She didn’t speak at all until he headed away from the city instead of toward it.
    “Dublin’s the other way,” she pointed out.
    “We’re not actually going into the city.”
    “Then why did you say we were?”
    Her suspicious nature was just one more thing he found appealing. “We flew into Dublin, and now we’re driving a few miles south. When we’re done, we’ll drive back and fly out of Dublin.”
    “And where might we be spending the night?”
    “At a place I haven’t been to for a couple of years. You’ll have your own room,” he added, “with the option of sharing mine.”
    “I’ll take my own. Who’s paying for it?”
    He grinned, lightning fast, in a way that engaged his whole face and made her want to trace a finger over that faint, crescent scar.
    “That won’t be a problem. It’s pretty country,” he commented, gesturing at the rising green hills that shimmered through the thinning rain. “Easy to see why he decided to retire here.”
    “Who?”
    “The man we’re going to see. Tell me, do you share your mother’s belief that the Fates are a kind of symbol?”
    “I suppose I do.”
    “And that they belong together for reasons more than their monetary, even artistic value?”
    “Yes. Why?”
    “One more. Do you agree that what goes around comes around?”
    She blew out an impatient breath. “If you’re meaning there are cycles and circles to things, I do.”
    “Then you’re going to appreciate this.” He took the car up a hill, then around to a pretty road lined with dripping hedgerows and painted bungalows with thriving gardens.
    The road climbed again, turned again, and he swung into a short drive beside a lovely stone house where the chimney was smoking and the gardens were a small sea of beauty.
    “Your friend lives here?”
    “Yeah.”
    Even as Jack stepped out of the car, the door of the house opened. An old man stood in the doorway, leaning on a cane and grinning. He had a monk’s fringe of snowy hair topping a wide face lined with deep creases. Silver-framed glasses slid down his nose.
    “Mary!” His voice croaked like a frog. “They’re here,” he shouted, and came forward even as Jack hurried