"Duplicity is a compelling read with depth and a protagonist you’ll want to spend more time with. I’ll be first in line to see what’s next for Brick Kavanagh!” - David Putnam, bestselling author of the Bruno Johnson crime series
“The plans of the righteous are just, but the advice of the wicked is deceitful.”- Proverbs 12:5
September 2013 Inishmore, Ireland
Brick Kavanagh stepped to the edge of the cliff and watched the waves crash against the rocks. He closed his eyes, hoping this sight would be seared in his brain the same way his mind tended to store images from twenty years of being a cop.
During all those years with the Metropolitan Police Department in Washington, D.C., he didn’t recognize the emotional toll the job was taking. But there was no denying the price he paid after the devastating conclusion of his last homicide case. How to deal with the aftermath of a case that became so personal? The sage advice of bar owner Eamonn Boland provided the answer—a one-way ticket to Ireland. He figured he’d probably be there for a week, maybe two. Now, with his stay closing in on ninety days, he needed to leave or be in violation of the country’s visa-free travel regulations.
Brick fumbled in his pocket for the slip of paper Eamonn had given to him before he left D.C. It was wrinkled and the ink was smudged but it didn’t matter; he almost knew the quote by heart.
“We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea, whether to sail or to watch it—we are going back from whence we came.”
When Brick first arrived, the words John F. Kennedy delivered to the America’s Cup crew didn’t have much significance for him. But the longer he stayed, the more they resonated. Spending time in a place surrounded by the ocean had a cleansing and calming effect he hadn’t expected. He was grateful he would be leaving in a much healthier state of mind than when he had arrived.
Brick checked his watch. He still had time to take in one last view from Dun Aengus. He made his way to the prehistoric fort, being careful not to photobomb any of the selfie-taking tourists along the way. He didn’t feel like a tourist himself anymore as he stood on the highest point of the cliffs. He looked in every direction absorbing the breathtaking panorama before he fell in step with the others making their way in the direction back to the boat dock.
Dark clouds were now blocking the sun and the wind had picked up. In the three months Brick had been here, he had gotten used to the weather changing quickly. Part of the charm, although it would probably mean a choppy ferry ride back to Rossaveal. For the sense of tranquility he had experienced, forty minutes of rocking and rolling was a small price to pay. Standing on the upper deck of the boat, Brick watched as Inishmore became shrouded in fog.
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