“Well, no. You see, there’s this fellow,” Ricky said. “He’s rather a big fellow and he’s always hanging about. I thought perhaps I’d wait a few days and see if he’ll go away.”
Benedict sighed. “A big fellow.”
“Yes. Apparently he’s shacking up with the veterinarian, and he often fetches her from work. But he has Texas plates on his truck, so I believe he’s just visiting. I imagine he’ll be out of the way soon, and I really would prefer my time with Dr. Eldanis to be uninterrupted.”
Benedict wondered if Ricky would feel the same way if the vet was seeing a small fellow.
There was nothing of note in the clinic itself. The most likely scenario was that Eldanis had run across a tidbit of useless information and her curiosity had gotten the best of her. That would explain away the Internet search. Blasted curiosity.
He wondered if the vet had heard the old saying about curiosity killing the cat.
Benedict allowed his anger to fade away when Janet exited the lab at the rear of the RV. Ricky’s efforts had proved to be less than satisfactory, and Benedict was annoyed that he didn’t have the answers he wanted. But there were more interesting concerns for today.
Janet was careful to close the door behind her—and to cleverly disguise the syringe in her hand by keeping it palmed and low. Ricky reacted to her entrance in a subtle but telling way. He smiled and straightened his spine. He got the same odd sparkle in his eye as when he spoke about the pretty vet and his plans for her, even though Janet was old enough to be his mother. Apparently the boob actually liked Janet.
That wasn’t likely to last.
“Dr. Sheridan,” Ricky said. “How are you this morning?”
“Very well,” she said calmly.
“You’ve been hard at work the past couple of days.”
“Yes, I have,” she answered. “As a matter of fact, I have something to show you. Please have a seat.” With her free hand, Janet gestured to the chair at Ricky’s right. He obediently moved there and sat. The man looked like a puppy, all eager and innocent. Driggs had been eager on occasion, but innocent? Never.
Ricky sat there, his hands in his lap, while Janet approached. He didn’t know what was coming until the needle was thrust into his neck and the woman he admired depressed the plunger with her thumb.
The reaction was immediate and severe. Ricky’s body stiffened, his eyes rolled back in his head and he gasped for breath. His body convulsed, once and again. His hands clutched at the air, trying to grab hold of something. Anything. Those flailing fingers were rather pathetic, especially when his flailing hands fell on Janet’s arm.
“There now,” Janet said gently as she removed the needle from his neck. She reached out to stroke his hair in an oddly caring fashion. “You’ll feel better in a moment, I promise.”
Benedict found the process fascinating. Just as Janet predicted, very shortly Ricky’s stiffened muscles relaxed, his eyes closed, his breath came easy once again. After a moment his eyes opened. Halfway, no more. Not understanding what had happened to him, he smiled and uttered a soft, “Smashing.”
Ricky would enjoy these first few moments. He was high, as he might be from using any other addictive drug. But in a few hours he’d need more to take away the pain. And the only way he’d get what he needed was to do as he was told.
“So far, so good,” Janet said softly as she stepped away from her latest guinea pig.
“He’s still alive,” Benedict said. “That’s an improvement.” He watched Ricky closely. Yes, the man was feeling no pain. Tomorrow would be another story. “When will he need more?”
Janet shrugged. “That has proven to be a variable. Given his body weight and metabolism, I surmise he’ll crave a second dose in twelve hours. After twenty-four to thirty-six hours, he’ll be useless without an injection.”
“Good. Are you ready with the second treatment?”
“Of course.” She sounded almost insulted that he’d suggest she was not prepared.
Together, he and Janet watched as Ricky’s body adjusted to the invasion of Titan VX103, the drug Benedict had named for himself. For his new self, with his new name. It was only fitting, after all. Yes, he had once been Benedict Payne, but Titan was the man he had become.
The Englishman closed his eyes, shuddered and mouthed another, “Smashing.”
The process was fascinating. The possibilities were limitless. Benedict smiled. As soon as the formula was perfected, no one would be able to stop him. No one. With the smallest sample of DNA, he could control anyone. He’d have the world at his fingertips.
“Are you ready to conduct another test?” Benedict asked as he watched a limp Ricky begin to drool.
“So soon?” Janet sounded more intrigued than surprised.
“Perhaps. If our experiment with Ricky proves to be a failure, or if he simply disappoints us, then we might have to turn elsewhere for the information we seek.”
“Please be specific, Ben,” Janet snapped. “I do so hate it when you ramble.”
He glared at her. No one else dared to insult him. No one but her. And she knew she was safe because she was invaluable. For now.
“Dr. Eldanis apparently has a lover. A large man, according to Ricky. If she tells too many people about what’s been happening at the clinic, someone might put two and two together. We can’t allow that to happen. As soon as we have the information we came here for, she must be disposed of.”
Janet nodded.
“I know Ricky will be disappointed,” Benedict said. He turned his eyes to the drugged man who was currently so out of it he didn’t realize where he was. Apparently he hadn’t yet realized what he’d been given. He knew what the designer drug could do, and yet he showed no concern for his own well-being. Not yet, anyway. “He has plans for the girl. But it makes more sense to handle her another way. If she’s accosted and murdered by a stranger, a lot of curious eyes will turn this way. But if she’s the victim of an unfortunate domestic situation, no one will look our way. We’ll use the drug on the vet’s lover and have him kill her and then himself. Murder-suicide.” He smiled. “Happens every day.”
“I’ll need his DNA.”
“I’ll get it for you myself.”
Unconcerned about the details of the next test, she turned her attention to Ricky, studiously attentive to his reactions to the drug.
The damn place didn’t look any different today than it had yesterday. It didn’t look any nicer, or any safer. But as Hawk stood in the center of the living room, on the very spot where he and Sheryl had come together for the last time, he realized that something was different.
Thanks to her, there was more than the past in this room.
He wished there was something here that might remind him of a happier time. Something that would prove to him his mother had been more than a crazy woman who’d been murdered by an abusive husband. He wanted her to be happy. He wanted her to be normal.
Who was he kidding? There was nothing normal about him, and there had likely been nothing normal about his mother, either.
Baby stood beside him, her eyes turned up anxiously. She was as ready to go home as he was, and they were on their way at last. He’d checked out of the hotel. The last of the useless files and his suitcase had been tossed into the back seat. If he could manage it, he wouldn’t even stop in Tennessee to spend the night but would drive straight through.
And still he stood there, expectant and curious and at a loss he could not explain. Every instinct he possessed told him there was something in this house. Something of her.
Baby growled.
“What is it, girl?”
Hawk couldn’t sense what was bothering the dog. His mind was too filled with other things today to concentrate.
But something was bothering Baby. She pranced and growled; she twitched her tail.
Baby knew, as well as Hawk knew, that what he wanted was somewhere in this house.
He could tear the place up looking for it, but surely
anything his mother had left behind was long gone.
It wouldn’t take much to find out.
He started in the kitchen. It was a woman’s place, right? That was a thought that could get his ass kicked if Sheryl ever heard it. Not that she ever would. He found nothing of interest. Not a teapot or a dish. Not a clue as to whether Deanna Payne liked strawberries or blackberries, green beans or carrots, red or yellow. The dining room was no better.
He ran up the stairs, ignoring the warning scream of old steps. There was less above stairs than below. The rooms here had been cleaned out completely, and there was nothing in the walls or the doors or the rotting floors to remind Hawk of previous residents.
By the time he worked his way back down the stairs and into the living room, his frustration and anger had grown. He’d come all this way for nothing. Worse, he wished he didn’t know the truth. How could he tell Cassie what he’d discovered? He certainly couldn’t deliver the news over the phone. Maybe it would be best if he told her he hadn’t learned anything about their biological parents. In this case a dead end would be a more satisfying answer than the truth.
As if he could hide the truth from Cassie. He could try, but she’d know. Somehow she’d know.
Hawk kicked at a broken chair, catching a wobbly leg and sending it tumbling across the floor. He turned over the table with three legs, and it crashed into the floor-boards with a splintering crack. His booted foot came down with such force he put a hole in the rotting floor.
It felt good to lose control. To let go completely and allow himself to express the anger he could no longer hide. But as always, he was not alone. Baby howled. Above the house a falcon screeched. A twittering squirrel escaped from its home in a hole in the wall and ran out the front door. Baby didn’t even think about giving chase.
Hawk kicked at the wall, punching a hole in the old sheetrock. He kicked again, and then he took an old picture, an ugly landscape, off the wall and tossed it. It sailed through the air like a big, square Frisbee and landed with a crash. Broken glass went everywhere, flying up and out as the frame skidded across the floor. When Baby headed in that direction, Hawk pulled himself back from his rage.
“No, Baby. Stay. You’ll get hurt.” He’d worked up a sweat taking his anger out on this house, and his breath came hard. His lungs burned, his heart pounded. Above the house another bird shrieked. In the forest near the old house, he heard the rustle of animals that had been disturbed by his anger. Deer fled. Rabbits hid.
Baby didn’t back away from the ruined picture, but stood at the edge of the destruction and growled. Broken glass sparkled in the sunlight.
And then Hawk saw it. Peeking from beneath the destroyed frame was one corner of a manila folder. Just a single corner, but the sight was enough to give him chills.
He picked his way across the room, ordering Baby to stay back, away from the broken glass. The shards crunched beneath Hawk’s boots as he turned the frame over.
The thick manila folder had been taped to the back of the frame. When the frame had scooted across the floor, some of the old, dry tape had come loose, and that was why the manila folder now peeked out as it did. Hawk very carefully pulled the rest of the old tape away, blew off a few bits of broken glass and opened the folder to discover a five-by-seven black-and-white photograph of his mother.
Hawk placed his hand over the photo. She had been so young, so pretty…
And the file was so thick.
He wasn’t going home empty-handed. This was what he’d come to Wyatt searching for.
Chapter 12
Sheryl smiled and said hello to the clients who greeted her as she walked the square. The walls at home had been closing in on her all morning. She usually enjoyed her quiet Sundays at home, but today she would have welcomed the opportunity to go to work. She could lose herself in work, as she’d done in the past.
But instead of heading to the clinic to rearrange files and clean, she’d come here to the town square for the final day of the Fall Festival. There were baked goods galore, but she had no appetite. She had bought a small cup of the apple cider, but hadn’t been able to finish it.
Not even Laverne was with her today. The cat had picked up on Sheryl’s restlessness and opted to stay at home where she could sleep and harass the others in peace.
Sheryl felt as if she’d never know peace again.
“Yoo-hoo!” a high-pitched voice called.
Sheryl turned her head and found herself almost face-to-face with Mildred Harris, who sat at her booth with Harold Johnston at her side. The table before the couple was filled with neatly arranged items for sale—including toaster cozies.
“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” Mildred said.
“Yes, it is.” Cool, clear, crisp—lonely.
“Where’s your friend?” Harold asked.
I don’t have a friend. “On his way back to Texas, I imagine.”
Mildred’s smile died, and Harold grunted, obviously embarrassed. Did the entire town know she and Hawk were involved? Of course they did. Secrets were hard to keep in a place like Wyatt.
Sheryl moved toward the table. She could just keep walking, she imagined, but as she’d meandered around town and tortured herself about everything that hadn’t happened and everything she hadn’t said, an idea had begun to blossom. Hawk was so certain he didn’t need anything more in his life, just as she’d been certain she didn’t need him or any other man. She wasn’t enough for him, but more than that, what he’d discovered here wasn’t enough.
“Did Hawk ask you about his mother?”
Mildred’s eyes went wide.
“His mother?” Harold asked sharply. “He never said Deanna Payne was his mother.”
“Yeah. I tried to do an Internet search on her last night, but I didn’t find anything at all.” It had been an incredibly frustrating attempt.
“Oh, dear,” Mildred said softly. “I would have handled his questions differently if I had realized. He didn’t even know her name, so it never occurred to me… He said he was just curious about an old picture he found interesting. Oh, dear. And he’s already left town? I feel like I should make amends somehow.”
“Did you know Deanna Payne?” Sheryl asked.
“Not very well, I’m afraid.”
“Is there anyone in town who knew her well?”
Mildred pondered the question for a moment. “Wilma Preston and Deanna were about the same age. I don’t know if they were great friends, but they did spend some time together. They had lunch after the ladies club meetings on occasion, if I remember correctly.”
Sheryl didn’t know any Wilma Preston, which only meant the woman didn’t have a pet. Or else she’d moved away years ago. Or else she was dead.
There was only one way to find out.
Hawk sat on the front porch and opened the thick file. The house hadn’t changed in any physical sense, but it did feel different to him. More peaceful somehow. Today he noticed the way the sun shone onto the porch in streaks of brilliant light, not the decay of the boards. He noticed the wildflowers that danced in the wind, not the weeds that had attempted to take over the yard. Maybe Sheryl had been right when she said this had been a nice place once upon a time.
He leafed through the pages in his lap, much as he had leafed through the files from the old fertility clinic. He moved much more slowly this time. There was a lot of information here, and he tried to soak up what he could as he quickly studied page after page.
Donor sperm. The words popped out at him as if they were bolder than the others. The man who had murdered his mother wasn’t his biological father. The force of the relief that rushed through him almost took his breath away. The murderer had been his legal father, perhaps, but at least he and Cassie didn’t carry those damaged genes. Cassie’s baby wasn’t the grandchild of a killer, and if he ever had kids…
No, that wasn’t for him. Cassie could have babies, and he’d be a great uncle. But father? No way.
At first he was confused by the
discrepancies in the dates, and then he realized that there had been more than one successful pregnancy for Deanna Payne.
The word triplets was typed and handwritten again and again, in these files. Not twins. Triplets.
A breeze kicked up and ruffled the pages, so he laid a hand there to keep everything in place. He didn’t want to lose a single sheet of the massive file.
A word caught his eye as he tried to absorb the information before him. Seizures. He read the notations on that page with an interest that made him hold his breath, and he sighed with relief and even grinned when he got to the bottom of the page.
The wind kicked up again, and he closed the file. He’d have to study the rest of this later, when he didn’t have to worry about the wind taking it from him.
He had a feeling he’d be studying these pages again and again.
He grabbed his cell phone and hit the speed dial. There was a lousy signal out here in the boonies, but this couldn’t wait.
Cassie answered on the second ring.
“Write this down,” Hawk said.
His sister laughed. “No ‘hello, how are you, what’s happening’?”
“Hello, how are you, what’s happening. Write this down.”
He waited a moment while Cassie got a pen and paper, and then he gave her the ingredients for an herbal tea their mother had used to treat the symptoms Cassie was having. Deanna Payne had suffered from something similar, though there was no note of the flashes of precognition. Still, if the herbal tea helped Cassie deal with her new problems, this trip was worthwhile.
He didn’t tell her that their mother had been murdered. That wasn’t news that should be shared over the phone.
“Where did this so-called remedy come from?” Cassie asked.
“Our mother had the same problem you’ve been having,” he explained.
There was a long moment of silence that had nothing to do with the bad connection. Finally Cassie said, “You found her.”
“I’m coming home. I’ll tell you all about it when I get there.”
“I don’t think so!” A crackle buzzed in Hawk’s ear. “You can’t tease me like this and not tell me everything!”
A Touch of the Beast Page 15
