Chapter 1

Jackson Crow, Supervising Field Agent for the subtitled Krewe of Hunters unit of the FBI, looked up as his wife and second-in-command, Angela Hawkins-Crow, pushed open his office door.

He peered at her expectantly. They generally used their phones when they needed to communicate about a case. Not that he wasn’t happy to see her. It was pretty amazing that they worked together, but then the Krewe was a pretty amazing thing in and of itself.

“Angela? Come on in.”

The look on her face showed concern and disconcertment. At first, he’d been afraid that something had happened to one of their children, teenage Corby or little Victoria, but he knew Angela wouldn’t be so calm if that were the case.

“What is it?” he asked her, concerned and disconcerted himself.

She walked the rest of the way in and sat in front of his desk. For a minute, he remembered their first case in New Orleans and how he had admired her for her work ethic and ability. That had quickly turned to love. Angela was professional, and even all these years later, she was still one of the most stunning women he had ever met with her swath of long hair and bright, always-caring eyes.

She leaned forward. “How do you feel about a trip to Ireland?”

He sat back, curious. “Angela, we have a European division now—”

“But this is personal.”

“In Ireland?”

She nodded slowly. “Okay. So…you know I have a cousin—second cousin or cousin once removed, whatever—from my mom’s side. Anyway, to make a long story short—”

“Too late.” Jackson grinned.

“Right. My mom’s mom was a Darien. And while we weren’t in line to inherit, though I wouldn’t have wanted to be in the running, there is a Castle Darien about an hour from Dublin.”

“Wait. I remember. Pretty girl, pretty name. Moira. We went to lunch with her when she was back in the States to tie up some loose ends here. An actress, right? She came to redo a few shots for a commercial or something.”

Angela nodded. “Yes. Moira. She was in tears and begged me to come. Me. Not a stranger, Jackson.”

“Why? What happened?”

Angela let out a long sigh. “Okay, so, she inherited Castle Darien from her beloved grandmother, the direct heiress. And she—”

“Is she a lady? A princess? Or—?”

“I believe she is addressed as lady , but the real titles were lost long ago. The point is, she’s afraid she’s losing her mind. She heard a banshee crying, and then her grandmother died. She heard it again when some accidents happened at the castle. And then—”

“Accidents?”

“An elderly man drowned in the river, and then a would-be thief fell off the wall.”

“Sad, but—”

“Now, they found one of their tourists dead in the ladies’ room.”

“Okay…” he said slowly.

“Jackson, she thinks the woman was murdered this time. She was a perfectly healthy American tourist when she walked into the castle, a woman of only thirty-eight. And Moira found her dead of an apparent heart attack.”

“Not common, but it can happen—”

“She had no history of heart problems.”

“But still—”

“Jackson, please. It’s fairly quiet right now, and when we need to be away, the McFadden brothers handle the office just fine in our absence. It’s nice to think we’re indispensable, but that isn’t true of anyone anywhere.”

He lowered his head for a minute and then nodded, grinning.

He looked up at her. “Hey, what’s not to like about Ireland?”

She smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that. Of course, we’ll have to reach some officials here to get clearance for a more in-depth autopsy, talk to Amelia Robertson’s family, and—”

“You think she was murdered? Why? Why would someone murder an American tourist outside of Dublin?”

“Moira believes the banshee warned her, but she didn’t listen fast enough. She can’t tell anyone, but she’s sure that’s what happened, and something evil is in her ancestral home. Jackson, we can help her.”

He nodded. “Okay. You have a bag here, right?”

“Always.”

“I’ll call Adam and get the ball rolling on the documents and help we’ll need, and—”

“I’ll call Mary Tiger and have her apologize to the kids for us and tell them we’ll be back as soon as possible.”

He nodded again. She rose, ready to return to her office, make her calls, and grab her go bag, something they all kept because they were based out of the DC area but traveled the country when necessary.

He put his calls through, first to Adam Harrison, their founder, an amazing philanthropist and great man. He’d lost his beloved son when Josh was only a teen. But instead of growing bitter, Adam put his efforts into solving strange cases with people who were academy graduates, law enforcement, and gifted in interesting ways.

Like speaking with the dead who remained and had something to say.

As usual, Adam seemed capable of performing magic. They were good to go. And Bruce McFadden was ready to grab the reins. Jackson assured him he’d be in touch throughout their time in Ireland, and Bruce nodded grimly.

That was it.

Within an hour, they were in their company jet and on the way to Dublin.

As they flew, Jackson watched Angela looking out the window. The sky was cloudless and blue—a beautiful day to fly. Jackson and Angela sat across from each other in the plane’s large, comfortable chairs, and Jackson studied her.

“According to the histories I’ve read, the Norse founded Dublin,” he said, trying to distract her from the worry she clearly felt.

She looked at him and smiled. “I happen to know you’re up on world history, so…yeah. Basically. The first Viking raid was circa 1795, then the Vikings started coming more frequently. And, yes, they created a stronghold that became Dublin. They mainly arrived from western Norway. In time, it became a settlement and trading station. Let a few generations pass, and you end up with a mixed people called the Gall-Gaels, Gall being an Irish word for foreigners.”

Jackson knew Angela loved giving him history lessons, and he listened as she went over more details. From Elizabeth I and James I hundreds of years ago, to the Great Irish Famine in the nineteenth century, the country had a fascinating history. All circling back to why they were on their way to an Irish castle. Moira may only be a distant cousin, and her situation might be a bit stranger than they usually encountered, but Angela longed to help.

And prevent additional tragedy.

So did he.

When Angela took a breath, he looked at her and smiled. The light in her eyes as she settled into her element made something in his chest warm. He loved his wife, and it didn’t matter if they were at home with the kids, on a case, or on a plane discussing the past, she was his perfect partner.

She returned his smile and continued. “Then there was 1914—World War I. The Irish were supposed to be under home rule, but that was suspended because of the war. And then in 1916, there was the Easter Rising and more fighting. The Irish Free State finally came about in 1921, with northern Ireland opting to remain part of Great Britain. Though throughout the years, until fairly recently, there were still uprisings by the Irish Republican Army.

She ran a hand through her hair. “But in the last decades, Ireland has been great. I always wondered if seeing the terror and tragedy of the Twin Towers going down showed the world that terrorism was terrorism, and little children and innocent men and women shouldn’t pay for the injustices done by others in years long past.”

“Maybe. Who knows?” Jackson murmured. “So, this Castle Darien—”

“Built when the Vikings were down, and the Normans were basically holding power. Interestingly, they were big on castles, so Castle Darien was once a stronghold. And now that we’re into the twenty-first century, a castle means only one thing.”

“Really expensive upkeep?”

“Yep,” Angela said, nodding sagely. “Anyway, Colleen Darien, Moira’s grandmother, didn’t want to let the castle out of the family, but she knew it would fall into disrepair without all the farming and resources that used to support it. She was planning to renovate it into a hotel—like many other castles in Ireland. But then, she got older and older, and then sadly passed away. Moira is her direct heir, just as Colleen was the direct heir beneath her grandmother.”

“Hmm. Are other family members trying to steal the inheritance from her?” Jackson asked.

“You have such a suspicious mind,” Angela said and grinned.

“Comes with the territory,” he replied dryly. And it did. In his experience, violence could bloom from sudden anger and long-festering resentment. Homicides occurred because of jealousy, hatred, and/or greed—greed often being the root of the murder. Of course, there were serial killers out there—human beings with twisted minds who enjoyed the fear and agony they might cause others, as well as the power over life and death.

If someone killed Mrs. Robertson, there were two likely scenarios. Either they simply wanted her out of the way, or it was an attack on Moira and Castle Darien.

Angela watched Jackson and grimaced. “I see your mind working,” she told him. “And, seriously, if another heir wants the castle, they’re in for an education. From everything Moira’s told me, it’s all quite a pain in the butt. Handling all the historical ramifications properly while finding a way to hold on to the ownership and make the castle a self-sustaining entity? Moira’s other cousins are all distant, like me. Colleen was one of several children, but all her siblings died young, and their children now have children. Half of them, like me, have families in other countries where they’ve been for years. No second in line has been ignored.”

“That you know about,” Jackson said. “Heirs can come out of the woodwork at times.”

Angela frowned. “Seriously. No one has been around forever. Colleen raised Moira after her folks died in a tragic car accident. And she was proud of Moira for being an actress, happy to see her work in the United States and come home when she could. But when Colleen got ill, Moira hurried back to be with her until the end.”

“All right,” Jackson said. “Say no one is waiting to unseat Moira. This woman may have died of natural causes.”

“Maybe. But it’s the…”

Her voice trailed off as she looked out the plane’s window again, taking in the endless blue sky now turning dark. They’d left the office just after noon, but the night began to settle upon them as they traveled east.

“Banshee,” Jackson said.

Angela nodded. “I mean, most people would think you and I and the Krewe members are certifiable, often getting aid from the dead when working on a case. So, who am I to say banshees don’t exist?”

“I think you’re more worried about Moira’s state of mind than you are concerned that someone might have been murdered in your ancestral castle.”

“It’s both,” Angela said and smiled sweetly. “And that’s where you come in. You and Adam, of course. I’m willing to bet the standard autopsy that suggested she died of a heart attack didn’t test for any poisons.”

“And that’s always a possibility,” Jackson said. He reached out, touching her face. “Angela, we’re on the way. We will find the truth.”

* * * *

Ireland.

Angela had been here with her parents as a child and even traveled to the Emerald Isle a few times as an adult. She’d known about Castle Darien and had visited when she was young, but hadn’t been back in years. Strange, perhaps, when you had a castle in your family, but her life had always been a wee bit different. She was a wee bit different.

But she did love Ireland. It truly was lush and green. Dublin was a bustling city, offering wonderful restaurants, nightlife, museums, and more.

And it had rich history.

And charming people. Every human they encountered was cheerful and accommodating, from the time they landed until they picked up their rental car.

By night, the city of Dublin was alive and awash in a sea of lights.

“Do you feel like you’re home?” Jackson teased.

“Do you feel comfortable driving on the opposite side of the road?” she countered.

Jackson just grinned.

He kept smiling as they left the city behind. The homes and businesses became sparser and then grew the closer they got to Castle Darien.

“Bit of trivia for you. As far as my family goes, the name Darien originated in Scotland—from a French town’s name. And while I haven’t seen this documented anywhere, according to my family it—”

“Means?” Jackson asked.

“Loyal unto death,” Angela said. She shrugged and quirked a lip. “Some claim the first Darien was Robert Fitzgerald Darien of Limerick, circa 1363. Probably a marriage between the Darien Scot and an Irish lass—the original brought through the Norman invasions of the British Isles. History gets lost and confused, so sometimes… Anyway, I’m rambling.”

She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “Let’s hope Mrs. Richardson died of natural causes, and we just get a cool vacation in Ireland at my family’s castle.”

He laughed. “Sure. Rub it in. You have ties to a family castle.”

“I think castles are cool to visit, but there’s too much cleaning,” she said.

He laughed softly. As he drove, Angela noticed they had messages on their phones.

“Hey, this is from Adam. He’s sounds nonchalant, but he worked his magic. An Inspector McCray was called in when Moira found Mrs. Robertson. He’s happy to work with us. And, somehow, Adam managed to get new tox screens done on Mrs. Robertson. We’ll know soon enough if she had something other than expected in her system that caused her heart attack.”

“That’s great. Let’s hope McCray is open to us being there, and not in a position where he’s been forced to work with us. But then again, you know… The luck o’ the Irish.”

Angela laughed. “My mom’s mom used to complain that meant no luck at all. I guess we’ll see.”

And they did. They approached the castle not long after. Even by night, lit with great spotlights and the glow of the moon, it was truly a remarkable structure with three towers connected by two-story walls with hallways within. A stone wall with a gatehouse and a huge gate encircled the place, the family name fashioned in metal atop it.

Angela watched Jackson as they arrived. It didn’t appear that anyone could just sneak into the castle, not with the gatehouse and the gatekeeper.

But she knew what he was likely thinking. Just because something seemed incredibly improbable did not mean it was impossible.

Besides, it remained true that if someone murdered Mrs. Robertson, the killer had been within the castle walls that night.

“What are you thinking?” she asked Jackson as they approached the gatehouse.

“I’m thinking the Normans knew how to build.”

Angela smiled. “See what I mean, though? Way too much to clean, and we’d never be able to find the kids.”

“Ah, but a pool—”

“In Ireland?”

“They do have warm days. And from what I’ve heard, the Irish do swim.”

She laughed softly. The guard stepped out from the gatehouse.

They had arrived, and it was time to begin.