Dusk

by Miller, Maureen A.

  “You should try Raymond on for size.”

  Sam flashed a wide grin. “Ray it is.” He nodded. “Welcome to the Marquis.”

  Confused, Ray’s eyes slid around the modest apartment littered with tell-tale signs of an inhabiting cat. There were books everywhere. Not NY Times bestsellers. Vintage binders with classical tales and all manners of non-fiction. In the middle of this chaotic den stood a slumped muppet with the most engaging smile−a man who didn’t like to go by his full name. A man who demanded a password for entrance into his building.

  Ray smiled openly. It was rare that he had such opportunity to do so. Even when he got together with his remaining SEAL teammates, they generally rehashed old missions, and heralded the men they had lost. No, no smiles there.

  And there had certainly been no smiles with Amanda Newton. Hell, talking about old missions was probably a lighter romp than engaging in conversation with the Ice Queen.

  He had taken his niece to the movies, a mundane task thought up by his brother to restore some normalcy in Ray’s life. It had been remarkably relaxing to hear his eight year-old raven-haired niece screech the main tune at the top of her lungs. He must have caught enough of the movie to notice the similarities between Elena, the Snow Queen, and Amanda Newton. Both beautiful−with a frigid touch.

  Snapping out of his reverie, Ray glanced down at the GPS app on his phone. “The Marquis? I’m glad I found the right place. I keyed in Gloucester Court.”

  Sam waved that off. “Haughty title thought up by a bunch of stiff British real estate entrepreneurs over a century ago. I gave it my own name.”

  Ray nodded, more for effect. “Ahh, so The Marquis wouldn’t have come up on a GPS search?”

  “People who know The Marquis would know where to find it,” Sam stated.

  Well, alright. Certainly a mysterious character−in a quirky way.

  “Follow me, then,” Sam shuffled out the door, a little more sure-footed with his cane. “You are in apartment D. Do not−” he turned around and narrowed his green eyes. “−talk to the woman in apartment C.”

  It wasn’t his intention to stay here long enough to run into any neighbors.

  “No worries. I keep to myself,” Ray said. “But is there something I should be aware of? Does she bat people over the head with her broom?”

  Sam’s face scrunched up like he’d eaten too many olives, and then a smile plumped up his cheeks. He pointed his finger at Ray. “You’ll fit in just fine here. You’re Mandy’s security guard, right?”

  There wasn’t much security of the sort if this virtual stranger knew of his reason for being in London.

  “Mandy?” His eyebrow hitched.

  “Yes.” The ginger-haired man delved into his abyssal pocket again to retrieve a key which he jabbed into the lock of the door marked D. “She fancies herself invincible, but I’m glad to see that BLUE-LINK hired a specialist.”

  A specialist.

  Ray was suddenly fascinated with the conversation. “I wasn’t aware that she went by the name of, Mandy.”

  Even in the dusky shadows of the fluted hallway lamp, Sam’s blush was evident. “Oh, well, don’t be telling her I called her that. She’ll smack me on the side of the head with her broom.”

  That, Ray could imagine.

  “I’ve known Amanda since I was a child,” Sam explained. “Please keep her safe,” he asked in earnest.

  Ray peered over his shoulder into the darkened apartment. “To be honest with you, I won’t be needing this apartment for very long. She is not interested in hiring me.”

  Sam reached out and flipped a light switch to reveal an intimate studio with two L-shaped loveseats facing a flat screen TV panel affixed to the wall. Behind them sat a small dining table next to a galley-style kitchen. In the far corner, a bed and nightstand rounded off all the necessities.

  “Mandy’s a stubborn one. Don’t take her dismissal personally. She may come around after she’s considered it some more.”

  “Thank you for putting me up tonight.” Ray shook the man’s hand. “I may stay here a couple of nights if that’s alright with you?”

  Sam pumped his hand and then reached with his cane to swipe at a cobweb linking a tabletop lamp with the wall. “You’re paid up for the month by BLUE-LINK. Stay however long you want. But don’t forget—”

  “Stay away from the woman in apartment C,” Ray recited. “And, snowflake.”

  A loud guffaw filled the vaulted chamber. “You’re a smart one, Mr. Gordon.” He stepped into the doorway. “But that’s no surprise. BLUE-LINK only hires the best.”

  Pivoting awkwardly in the hall, he saluted Ray. As he shuffled away Sam tossed back over his shoulder. “There are some essentials in the kitchen if you’re hungry. Knock on my door if you need anything.”

  Ray closed and locked the door, and turned to scan the small studio. The kitchen beckoned—to the point that his stomach churned in demand. But something greater than that discomfort summoned. Curiosity. Curiosity about Amanda Newton.

  Crossing over to the double bed, he quirked an eyebrow at the elevated bunk perched above it. An odd boudoir, but certainly far better than some of the places he had slept in. He dropped his canvas bag on the floor and squatted down on the mattress, delving into his bag to haul out his laptop. It was best to be on top of his research in case the Ice Queen’s colleagues convinced her to retain him.

  It wouldn’t be the end of the world if the contract did not go through. He would board the first plane back to New York and resume his startup procedures. Truth be told, he liked the idea of a permanent security stint, but feared that over time he might grow restless and want to work in the field again. Maritime security was his ultimate goal. Special ops ran thick in his blood. Many nights he wondered if he could ever be a normal civilian again. He never envisioned himself getting married−raising a family. They were foreign customs that he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around.

  Stick to what you know.

  Ray clicked on his laptop and began his search.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Amanda paced her spacious office. For its size, it was much better suited as a conference room, but she liked the open floor plan. She liked to pace. She liked to walk along the wall of glass and gaze out on at London’s business district. The twisting Gherkin Building looked like a giant bullet sitting upright, ready to shoot into the sky. The modern, stainless steel Lloyds of London Tower looked like a misplaced ocean oil rig, and above it all sat The Shard, like a giant glass javelin. She knew these skyscrapers intimately. Every day she stood here with her arms crossed, studying their fascinating architecture, staring at them until they winked and offered enlightenment on whatever troubled her.

  Perhaps there was too much cloud coverage today. Today they did not enlighten. Today they just stared back blankly.

  Amanda stopped at the fish tank in the far corner of the room. The six-foot coffin-shaped aquarium sat atop a rich mahogany stand. Filled with vibrant coral reefs it housed a diverse sampling of saltwater fish. Yellow tangs. Blue tangs. Clownfish. The tank was an expensive exaggeration of what she could remember her parents having in their living room. At the time, their tank had looked larger than life because her nose could barely reach the colored gravel at its base.

  A ding sounded on her desk.

  Miss Wyatt alerted her of a visitor. Kazuki Kanagawa from Japan had a ten o’clock appointment to discuss starting up a business outside the exclusion zone of the nuclear power plant damaged in the tsunami.

  Amanda pressed a button on her console. “Yes, Miss Wyatt, send Mr. Kanagawa in.”

  An hour later Amanda was seated at her desk, scrolling through email when her hand quivered on the mouse. The same ‘no-reply’ address showed up in her inbox. Her palm perspired enough to cause suction. She couldn’t release the mouse. More a reflex than a conscious effort, her index finger pressed down.

  With one lumbering beat, her heart fell still. It sat like a rock in her chest until it finally jer
ked to life with enough ferocity to leap up and out of her throat. Desperately clinging to the mouse she stared at the photo attached to the note.

  She had never seen the picture before. The image it captured, however, was forever stamped in her eyes. On old televisions if you watched the same program often enough its image burned into the screen. This image was burned into her retinas. In her eyes the picture wasn’t black and white, though. It was orange, the color of the road. It was gold, the color of her mother’s hair. It was blue, the color of her father’s shirt. It was purple, the color of the invading night. And it was red. So very red.

  Her intercom beeped. It made her convulse, but she ignored it.

  She tried to read the accompanying text. It was impossible. The photograph imprisoned her. Each breath she took sounded like a fighter jet flying between her ears.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Newton, I couldn’t stop—”

  Some part of her acknowledged the intrusion, but she did not lift her eyes.

  “I will only be a few minutes,” Amanda heard the deep male voice declare. “I’m heading to the airport immediately after this.”

  “Miss Newton?” Miss Wyatt pleaded.

  Amanda’s head jerked. Perhaps her receptionist took it as a sign of assent, rather than the nervous convulsion it really was.

  The door snapped shut and silence descended.

  Too preoccupied to care if anyone remained, Amanda stared at that image—that godawful, haunting image. Two lives shattered on a remote South African road. A man and a woman crumpled in the dust, their hands reaching for each other, but never connecting.

  Tears raged behind her eyes, but she angrily blinked them away. She needed clear vision. She needed to read the email.

  They took my diamonds.

  I took their lives.

  I thought I lost those stones that day.

  Now I know who has them.

  Amanda’s hand snapped off the mouse with enough propulsion to edge her chair back an inch. She stared in horror at the text, but the image still danced in the margin−damning her.

  “That must be some email you’ve got there.”

  The deep male voice made her convulse.

  Was he here? The man from the email?

  Before lifting her eyes she chronicled what might be in her desk drawers that could serve as a weapon. Would heaps of paperwork do the job? Just launch the piles in the air and make an escape as they fluttered to the ground?

  “Hey,” concern rumbled from that voice. “You look a little tense.”

  A little tense?

  Amanda raised her eyes and clashed with the amber gaze of Ray Gordon.

  Yes, she was relieved to find it wasn’t the anonymous email menace, but what was more perplexing was the relief at seeing who it was.

  “I—I’m very busy right now, Mr. Gordon.” Shoulders back. Composure. “And you don’t have an appointment.”

  In any ocular duel, she was always the victor. Today she fought desperately not to avert her gaze from his penetrating stare. It didn’t intimidate her, but she felt vulnerable—naked—exposed in a manner she had never experienced before.

  Quickly, she dropped her eyes to her desktop before he could glean any more.

  “It’s my job to read people, Miss Newton,” he declared in a deep voice. “I don’t like what I’m reading right now.”

  “Good. Then you can leave, as you were not invited.”

  To her frustration, the man stepped up to the desk and measured her for an uncomfortably long time before he tucked down into the chair.

  “Mr. Gordon. I’d like to be alone right now.”

  She could feel her lips begin to quiver. Damn. Hold it together, Mandy. Hold it together.

  “Do you want to tell me about it?” he asked steadily.

  One thing she never did was curse. Cursing was a loss of control. But damn, she was tempted right now.

  “No,” she raged, feeling her shoulders start to quake.

  Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

  Like a mosquito to the light her eyes sought a glimpse of her monitor. A morbid need to connect with that photograph again. She flinched at the image.

  They took my diamonds.

  I took their lives.

  For the first time in her adult life she felt out of control. She could not fix this. She didn’t even know where to begin. The Newtons had a successful jewelry business in New York State, but no one knew the reason behind their trip to South Africa. All Amanda could remember was being told she would see zebras. Her aunt had not been in contact with her mother prior to the trip. All her aunt knew was that she was left with a six year-old girl that she had only seen maybe two or three times to take care of for the rest of her life.

  There was nowhere to go. The police? What could they do about a murder that took place twenty-four years ago in South Africa? The local authorities at the time said it was a band of burglars in the area. Everyone believed that. Including Amanda.

  Now she wasn’t so sure.

  She needed help. The kind of help that walked the fine line of darkness. Someone without censure. Someone who could handle the iniquity that conventional law could not.

  Raising her eyes she met that steady golden stare. There was no censure. No threats. No pity. This man had seen it all−some events probably as traumatic as what she had witnessed.

  Could he be trusted? There were three people she trusted unequivocally. She would never jeopardize them. She would never expose them to these malicious threats.

  No, she didn’t trust him. But she needed help.

  “Perhaps I could use your assistance,” she whispered.

  ***

  It troubled him to witness the fear in Amanda Newton’s eyes. There was no more disguising it. She was scared. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize that she was uncomfortable with her meltdown. Those few hushed words were wrenched from a well inside her chest that had never been tapped before. In the Middle East he had seen women−strong women−brought to their knees by that which was out of their control. It was a sight that still troubled him in his sleep, and he didn’t want to witness it in this woman’s eyes.

  Amanda was not someone to coddle. She would want everything straight up. Facts. Facts and direct questions were the best forms of comfort he could offer a woman like Amanda.

  “Well,” he began quietly. “That’s convenient being as I work for you.”

  Not even a quirk of a lip. Nothing. She was locked to her monitor and not even an earthquake could break that connection.

  “Let’s get something straight first,” he said.

  She didn’t move, but he could tell she was listening.

  “Anything you share with me will die with me. Anything,” he emphasized, trying to capture her eyes.

  She still stared at the monitor.

  “I know you have no reason to trust me. All I can do is offer my word that our conversations are completely private no matter what the context is.”

  He leaned forward, an elbow resting on his knee. “If you confess to me that you committed a crime−that knowledge dies with me. If you tell me that you secretly want to escape this job and become a clown in the circus−I will drive you to the nearest Big Top and never tell a soul. If you fear something−that fear remains in my confidence.”

  Tension volleyed between them, but still no connection.

  “These are facts that don’t stem from you paying me. They stem from my character and how I operate.”

  A flicker of her eyelid conveyed that he’d hit his mark.

  “So that’s the deal with me,” he offered before sitting back in the chair, waiting patiently for her response.

  Releasing her death grip on the mouse, Amanda’s pale hand delved down to her lap to wrangle with its mate. Still her eyes remained locked on the laptop screen. Finally they swung to him and he swallowed down the effect of that gaze. It knocked him off balance.

  “Besides the incident in the alley,” she spoke so softly he had to
lean in to hear better. “There have been other−” her voice drifted.

  “Tell me,” he commanded, surprised by the raw concern in his tone.

  She blinked, startled. Slowly she regained composure and the satin-sheathed shoulders drew back. When she spoke there was no tremor in her words.

  “There have been other incidents beside the episode in the alley.”

  He was aware of the attack in the alley−both from the BLUE-LINK board member that had contacted him, and from his own research last night.

  Amanda cleared her throat. “Someone tried to gain access to my apartment. They told the doorman they were there to repair a leaky toilet. I had no leaky toilet.”

  Glancing at her computer screen she added, “And there have been emails.”

  Angry at the assault on this woman, Ray waited a moment and then encouraged, “Go on.”

  A ripple down the ivory column of her throat hinted that she wasn’t as composed as she proclaimed to be. “They were vague at first, but gradually grew more threatening. I’m not sure how they’ve gotten through our email security. It leads me to believe that whomever I’m dealing with is a bit tech savvy.”

  “Will you let me read them?”

  Her head twitched in denial, and something akin to a sob passed by her lips.

  Don’t push too hard, he thought. It had to have been a herculean effort on this woman’s part to admit that she needed help. Though he barely knew Amanda, he felt a small sense of triumph that she had extended this trust. Okay, maybe not trust, but the concession that she could not do it alone, and felt that he could help.

  “Alright,” he said softly, “tell me what you can. And we’ll go from there.”

  That approach worked. Some of the tension left her slim shoulders. Those shoulders shuddered as she viewed her laptop screen again, but she reached out and clicked it shut. She was definitely still rattled, but with whatever had been on her monitor now gone, a bit of control returned to her demeanor.

  “Why are you here, Mr. Gordon?” she asked as she folded her hands atop the desk. “I thought you were on your way back to the States?”