Ms. Zelda took off her hat and examined the feather on it. "Let me tell you a little something about Lost Love, my dear. My onscreen 'true love' was a violent drunkard I wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole. I had garlic for lunch before every kissing scene to keep the creep from getting lecherous. And the tough city streets were a dusty back lot that still stank of horses from the western shot there the previous week. Things are not always what they seem." A knowing look from those eyes. "Are things always what they seem, young Matteo?"
"I don't know what you mean, ma'am."
"Don't play dumb. It's your least convincing performance. I know a bit about acting, young man, and if you're a cold-blooded murderer, I'm an innocent ingenue."
Matt felt the floor drop out from under him. "No," he said. "You're wrong."
"It's all right, Matteo. Your secret is still safe. I only realized it now. I always felt there was something suspicious about little Matteo DiPietro turning into a vicious killer. But it all seems clear now, seeing you here, so desperately trying to convince me you're evil so you can protect my great-niece from harm. What are you, really, underneath the gangster persona?"
This was too much like talking to Lori. How did this whole conversation get out of his control so quickly? "This is what I am," he said firmly. "It's not an act."
"Just the same, I think it's time I had a talk with your mother. She knows me better than you do. I have a feeling she'll tell me the whole truth, if I ask her nicely."
He instinctively glanced around the room, as if he could spot the bugs that might be there.
She noticed, because then she said with a little grin, "Of course I know you've been involved in a lot of criminal activity, but I don't believe you would hurt my great-niece." She winked at him.
He must have looked stricken, because she added, "Relax, son. I'm not going to pin a note to the bulletin board at Santos'. You'd be amazed how many secrets I've kept."
He swallowed hard. "Yes, ma'am. But spreading false rumors can be dangerous."
"I know, son. But I will insist you come clean to Lori before you marry her."
Before Matt could think of a suitable response to that, George re-appeared in the doorway.
"And now your friend's back." She smiled at George. "Nice gold chains."
She stood up. "I'll go see if I can tell Lori what to do without her defenestrating me, and you get some rest."
"Defenestrate?" George asked as soon as she left.
"Throw her out the window," Matt said. "You get the dvd?"
George handed it to him.
"This, my good man, will explain all."
A little while later they had commandeered the TV in the waiting room. Lady Versus the Mob, the title flashed across the screen.
"There's a football game on the other channel," George whispered.
"Shhhh!" Matt responded "Shut up and watch."
The petite blonde slinked across the screen, all eyes turning to stare as she passed. Even in a scratchy black and white film, the resemblance was uncanny. Pale, wispy curls, eyes wide as she glared up at the vicious gangster: "You mess with my kid sister and I'll... I'll kill you."
The villain laughed menacingly. Dumb ox had no clue what he was up against. Didn't the guy know he was in a Zelda Potter movie? He didn't stand a chance.
They watched in silence, a small crowd of nurses and other patients gathering around them as the story wound its way to the inevitable conclusion.
"I warned you," Zelda said as she pushed the evil gangster out the window in the final reel. The man plummeted to his death, the look of surprise frozen on his face.
The woman turned away from the window. "I told him I'd stop him, one way or another," she whispered.
The nurses applauded. "You showed him!" one said.
"It's her eyes," Matt muttered, watching the screen.
"Her eyes?" George asked.
"They see right through you. You can't lie to them. They know you. They know who you really are."
George reached over and felt Matt's forehead. "You're getting delirious, man. The aspirin must've worn off. How long did the doctor say it would take for those antibiotics to kick in?"
"I'm not delirious," Matt responded, brushing away George's hand. But maybe he was. He stared at the TV, as if watching the ancient celluloid images would somehow help him break free of the spell.
But other images were burned into him. The sight of Lori. The heat of her touch. The sound of her voice, deceptively soft, but not able to conceal a razor wit.
"Wow," George whispered. "The spitting image. You guys weren't exaggerating."
Matt glanced over at George, ready to tell him to shut up again, but George wasn't watching the movie. He was staring at a petite blonde silhouetted in the doorway.
Matt grabbed the remote and turned off the movie. The audience booed. He felt as guilty as if he'd been caught watching Buxom Babes From Betelgeuse.
Lori stood in front of Matt, anger written all over her face. "We need to talk."
"Not here," Matt said.
She seemed to pull herself back from the emotion gripping her—which Matt believed was a good thing, because she had appeared to be about to strangle him.
George helped him down the hall to his room, and Lori followed close behind.
"You really do look like Zelda Potter," George said to her while Matt maneuvered himself back into bed.
"So I've been told," she responded.
"About a million times, I suppose. Listen, don't throw him out a window, okay? He's a good guy."
"I am not a good guy," Matt quickly corrected.
"Oh, right. He's not a good guy. How's the dog?"
"Dog?" Lori asked.
"Didn't you take his dog? What was its name?"
"Shadowfax," Lori and Matt both said.
"Yeah, Shadowfax. That's from a book, right? What was that book about? Heroism and self-sacrifice or something like that?"
"Say goodbye, George," Matt said.
"Goodbye, George. I'll see you later, Ms. York. Please don't kill him."
Lori didn't smile. "I'm not making any promises."
Once he'd gone she laid into Matt: "How dare you go to my great aunt behind my back and order me to stay off the island!"
He put on his most dangerous expression and growled, "Just stay out of the way, kid. You've got no business here."
"You don't own the island. The historical society decides who can work at the lighthouse, not you. They wouldn't have given me the job if I couldn't handle it." She paced in the narrow space between the bed and the door. He'd never seen her so mad, even when he'd destroyed her radio.
But he pushed her harder anyway. "The hysterical society?" he sneered. "A bunch of blue-haired matrons trying to preserve the historical integrity of the town? When did they become experts on what it takes to live out on an island alone?"
"Aunt Zee invited me to come here."
"And now she's saying it's not okay."
"Only because you did something to scare her. What did you say?"
"It doesn't matter. You're not going back out there. You could get hurt."
"Hurt? I'm the one standing up, and you're the one in the hospital bed."
"I'm not hurt that badly."
"That's unfortunate."
He laughed. "Nobody's denying you have guts. But it's not safe for a woman to live alone out there right now."
"Charity Aiden lived alone out there."
"And rum smugglers threw her off a cliff. Come on, Lori. I know how smart you are. They're not smuggling rum these days. The stakes are high."
"What are you talking about? Nobody's smuggling anything." She paused, and then she got it. "Except you." Her eyes grew wide.
"Yeah. And don't get in my way, little girl, or you'll regret it."
She looked scared to death. He hated this. But this would keep her ashore.
"I should've let you freeze to death out there," she muttered.
"You don't mean that.
That would make you as bad as me."
"And I'm not. But I'm not helpless either."
"No. You're not. You saved my life, Lori. I'm grateful. Now I'm trying to protect you."
"You mean you're trying to keep me from getting in your way."
"Okay, that too." Tell her the truth, Ms. Zelda had said. No. He couldn't. He had to stay undercover. Something else inside him warned that there was another reason not to tell—a reason having to do with risking his heart, with opening himself up to the danger of loving a woman far out of his league, far beyond anything he could ever hope to have for himself. He pushed that thought away. It was irrelevant.
"Stay in town, Lori," he said. "Don't listen to the Shadow. Listen to Ms. Zelda. Call the Coast Guard and ask them if you should be out there on that island alone right now. They'll tell you to stay on shore. Okay, you don't like to be told what to do. So hate me. I don't care. But keep yourself safe."
She seemed to waver, then nodded slightly. "I'll stay with my aunt for a few days. And I'll tell the Coast Guard what you said about smuggling." That was a threat.
"They can't catch me."
She glared at him. "You really think you can walk all over people. Not with me. Don't you ever interfere in my life again."
He nodded.
"Do you understand? You're right—I saved your life once because I'm not the kind of person who'd let an injured man die. But don't count on my softheartedness protecting you twice. Don't get in my way again. Don't mess with me. Don't tell me what to do. Don't even speak to me. I am not falling for your game, Matt DiPietro. Don't cross me."
It was a speech worthy of Ms. Zelda herself. "I understand," he said solemnly.
"Good. Then we shouldn't have any problems."
He closed his eyes. When he opened them again she was gone.
Chapter Eleven
The next morning Matt stood in the waiting room of the medical clinic, ignoring the doctor's final warning that he should stay in bed for another day.
"I can get around just fine with the cane, Dr. Lil," he said.
"And you'll end up falling on your face if you don't take better care of yourself," she responded.
He looked down into the little old doctor's face. She was glaring at him like she had the time he'd broken his arm while cliff diving on the island with his childhood buddies Kyle, Xander and Joe. He still felt like he was eight years old around her, even though he now towered over her slight figure.
"I want you to understand that if you leave this clinic, I can't be held responsible for what happens to you, Matteo."
"My head hurts too much for a lecture, doctor."
"Your head hurts because your body is fighting an infection, exposure and exhaustion."
"I'll live."
"What do you have to do that's so important you can't spend one more day in bed?"
"I could tell you, doc, but then I'd have to kill you."
"I am not amused, Matteo. You are driving yourself too hard. And you're going to end up dead if you don't stop."
"Is that a medical diagnosis, doctor, or have you been talking to my mother?"
"I'm your doctor, not your psychiatrist. I know a bullet wound when I see one."
Matt edged closer to the door. "And you dutifully reported it to the local gendarmes. So you did your duty. I've had my lecture from the cops already, thanks to you."
The visit last evening from the local sheriff's captain had been intense. But Captain Knight couldn't find a reason to hold him, so he was off the hook. And there was nothing the doctor could do to him, either. "I'm going. Now. I have things to do."
"I can't make you stay. But I'm telling you to get some rest."
He glanced out the front window and saw George heading toward the building, this time dressed in a slightly more sane outfit of jeans and a purple polyester shirt. He still had on the gold chains and heeled boots, though, so he bore no resemblance to the Rhodes scholar he actually was.
"I'd promise to get some rest, Dr. Lil," Matt said, "but you'd know I was lying."
"At least take the full course of antibiotics," she said as George came in the door.
"I will," Matt said. "Cross my heart."
"And hope to die," said George. "Come on. We've gotta go."
Matt gave the doctor a final nod and headed out. It was going to be a long day.
George looked him over while they headed to the parking lot. "Is the cane going to be a problem for this?"
Matt shook his head. "I don't think so. But we may need to make a contingency plan if I can't move as quickly as we planned."
"This way," George said, and Matt saw they had stopped in front of the most outrageous car he'd seen in a long time.
"You're kidding, right?"
George shook his head.
"It's insane," Matt said. "Nobody in their right mind would drive this thing. It's perfect." He ran one fingertip over the baby blue metallic hood. "It's a Spyder, right?"
"Yup. Porsche 918 Spyder. Last year's model."
"Well, send it back then. I shouldn't be seen in last year's car."
George handed him the keys. "I need you to drop me off at the wharf. I'll tell you the story of how we got hold of this baby while you drive."
They got in and Matt started the engine. It roared to life, then settled into a rumbling purr that screamed quality. "I could learn to like this," he said with a grin. "This car's worth a cool half-million, right?" He glanced over at George, but his friend didn't smile back. "What's wrong?"
"I'll tell you in a bit," George said. "Just drive."
Matt carefully pulled out of the parking lot onto the empty and rain-washed street. The car purred like a contented lion as he headed down the hill toward the wharf.
George pulled out a small signal jammer and turned it on, then filled him in on the car's history, and how it ended up in the hands of the agency.
At the parking lot at the base of the wharf, Matt pulled into a space and cut the engine, then turned to George. "Now. What is it you didn't want to tell me while I was driving?"
George leaned back against the leather seat and sighed. "You're not going to like this."
"I already don't like it. Spill."
"NSA was monitoring a Moreno organization chat room, and there was a lot of chatter going on."
Matt looked out at the white foam swirling around the wharf pilings. "That's not news."
"I know. As usual, it was mostly coded stuff. Of course they changed the code after you were supposedly arrested."
"Yeah."
"The volume of messages had risen, and the code guys were working on it, but then something came through today and they got in touch with the Project about it."
"Okay. We already knew we'd struck a nerve. Moreno's working on something."
"On something based locally. You know how they ping off those international relays so we can't trace them?"
Matt nodded. He ran a finger over the dashboard. Not a speck of dust. "Everything you've said so far is just part of our plan. I know you're not just talking to hear yourself, George. Get to the point."
"The point is that they tracked a text message sent from within a few miles of Pajaro Bay."
"Got it. So it's happening soon. And our mole is somewhere in the area. None of this is news."
"That's not why I'm telling you about it."
George looked worried, and that made Matt worried. "Come, on, man. Tell me already."
"The message sent to someone local was in code, and they haven't deciphered it yet. But the reply was only two words, sent in plain text." George took a deep breath. "The words were Lorelei York."
When Lori woke up she had to take a look around to orient herself. The first thing out of place was the quiet. The plush guest bedroom in Aunt Zee's house was still. No ocean sounds, no foghorns, no wind whistling through the pine trees. Just the soft sound of a ticking clock on the bedside table, and the now-familiar snoring of Shadowfax next to her on the bed.
&nbs
p; When she had come back from her walk yesterday, she'd found the supposed "outside" dog curled up on the white couch in the living room, Aunt Zee feeding him sauteed chicken strips for an afternoon snack. So Shadowfax was officially an inside dog now. Lori didn't mind. She had gotten used to his overbearing ways and big, goofy smile. He wasn't the dog she had pictured herself eventually owning, but she was beginning to realize that in reality, dogs were individuals as much as humans were. And she found herself really liking this particular individual. Could he be trained to become an assistance dog to help her with her epilepsy? That she didn't know. But one way or another, she was keeping him. Unless his former owner tried to take him back....
The dog raised his head to look at her. "Time to get up, sleepy eyes," she said to him. After a kiss and a rub on his big head, she shooed him off the bed, then got up herself.
She checked the time on the gorgeous silver-plated anniversary clock with the inscription To Zelda, in your debt for all time. Lucas. She couldn't remember who Lucas was; maybe one of Aunt Zee's husbands. She would have to ask later. In any case, the time on the clock was 9:14, so she knew she hadn't slept too late for a plate of Sandy's wonderful eggs benedict.
Outside the window she could see the steel gray of the sea, but she heard none of the now-familiar ocean noises through the thick walls and triple-pane windows.
All was peaceful and still.
And boring, she thought, but then realized how ridiculous that was. She liked boring. She didn't want adventure, at least not the kind of adventure she'd survived in the last few days.
She went to the en suite bath area and washed up. After dressing in jeans and a gray sweater that matched the sea and her mood, she padded downstairs to the first floor.
The dog headed straight for the lotus door, so she let him out. He did his business, then came right back in. He had followed her all the way into the breakfast nook before she realized he was leaving a trail of muddy pawprints on the marble floor.
"Oh, no!"
Aunt Zee looked up from the New York Times. "What is it, dear?"
Lori pointed to the mud on the flawless floor, but Aunt Zee just laughed. "There are plenty of towels. Sandy?"
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