Closer To You (Callaways Book 11)

by Barbara Freethy

  "Looking through my great-grandfather's journals."

  "What's in them?"

  "His passion for science and learning, his vision for the future, for his life."

  "I take it you never met him?"

  "No, he passed away before I was born, and I don't think he ever left Ireland. He taught school there. He was one of your father's teachers."

  "That's right. Your grandmother sent you to see my dad. It's funny the connections that linked us together. You might almost call it a little fateful."

  He saw the tease in her eyes. "I wouldn't go that far."

  She laughed. "Really? Even you have to admit, a lot of things had to come together to get you and me here at this moment."

  "I'll admit that, but I won't call it destiny."

  She sighed. "Of course not. That would be a little too magical. So did you learn anything from the journals?"

  "He did some interesting experiments. I'll have to read some of them again more closely." He paused. "It's weird, but I kind of feel like I could have written these pages."

  "Because you're interested in the same things?"

  "That, but mostly because I can feel who he is in his excitement to explore and to learn. Even when the experiments fail, he wants to try another one. And he talks about feeling isolated from his family. His brothers want him to party on the weekends, but all he wants to do is get back to his next experiment."

  "That's why you relate to him. He's you, just a bunch of decades earlier."

  Grace was getting to know him a little too well. "I always wondered where I'd gotten my love of learning from. Not that my parents didn't like school or value learning. They're both educated people, but I'm the only one who had the unquenchable thirst for knowledge. I know that genetically it didn't have to come from anywhere—"

  "But it feels kind of good that it did," she finished.

  He nodded. "It does."

  Her gaze moved toward the window, where light was filtering through the cracks in the plywood covering. "It's getting light."

  "We should get outside soon," he agreed. "See if we can find a phone signal or someone who can help us get out of here."

  "I'll get dressed."

  She got up, collected her clothes and went into the bathroom. He flipped through the rest of the journals, putting each one on the coffee table as he finished. He was about to close the last book when an odd page jumped out at him. The ink was different, brighter, newer. Chemical formulas played across the page followed up by a sketch. It looked like a bug of some sort. His gaze narrowed. What was it?

  He flipped the page, seeing more computations, but there was something unusual about them. They weren't in his great-grandfather's handwriting for one.

  His pulse sped up. Had Seamus sent him a message in the journal? Was that what someone was looking for? He'd thought the package he'd sent to Grace was the clue, but what if it wasn't? What if Seamus had hidden something in his great-grandfather's journals?

  When Grace came out of the bathroom, he said, "I think I found something." He held up the book. "The pages in the back of this journal stand out. They're in fresher ink. I think Seamus might have written down a formula for something. He hid it in the pages of these old science notes."

  "What would the formula be used for?" she asked, a sparkle in her eyes as she came forward.

  "I don't know. It would take me some time to figure out, but I think we might finally have a clue. I should have looked in the box before now. I need to figure this out."

  "You will," she said confidently. "But it will have to be later. We need to get some help."

  "You're right."

  As Grace put their snacks and empty water bottles in the cooler, he glanced back in the box. It was empty now, but there was something off about the bottom. He blinked, feeling like he was seeing something that wasn't there. He put his hand on the cardboard, shocked when his fingers curled around something hard. It felt like it was about the size of a pebble, but he couldn't really see it.

  He pulled his hand out, his heart thudding against his chest as he considered the implications. "Grace."

  "What?"

  He opened his palm. "What do you see?"

  "Nothing. Why are you showing me your empty hand?"

  "It's not empty. I'm holding something that's invisible."

  She gave him a look that suggested he'd lost his mind. "Maybe that bump on your head is worse than you thought, Ian."

  "Open your hand."

  She walked over to him and put out her hand. He put the object on her palm.

  She started. "Oh, my God, I can feel something, but I can't see it. How is that possible?"

  He pulled out his phone and focused the light on her palm and then he could see the tiniest bit of color. He picked at the one spot with his fingernail and revealed more color.

  "What is it?" she asked.

  As it became more visible, he took it out of her hand and scraped away what seemed to be paint. In the end, the object looked like a very small wasp. "It's a bee."

  "I don't understand," she said in confusion. "How could we not see it?"

  "Invisible paint."

  "There's such a thing as invisible paint?"

  He nodded. "There is. And I have a feeling the chemical formula in the book is what makes this paint."

  "But why would someone paint something that looks like a bee?"

  "It's not a bee, Grace; it's a drone," he said, turning the object around in his hand.

  "Are you serious? That's a drone? I thought they were much bigger than that."

  "They usually are, but several companies are experimenting with almost microscopic drones." His mind played with the possibilities. "There's been research into weaponizing drones. The fact that this is a bee leads me to believe that there might be a stinger."

  Grace stared back at him with uncertainty. "Seriously? You're saying that little thing is going to sting someone with what? Poison?"

  "Yes." His heart sped up at the thought. "You could assassinate someone from thousands of miles away with something that looks like a bee. How could anyone defend against that?"

  "The Fergusons work with drones, don't they?" Grace asked.

  He met her gaze. "And Harry claims your father stole something from him that he didn't want to talk about or take him to court over. Maybe it was this bee."

  "But I can't believe Harry or Westley would try to hurt me. They're family friends. I knew them when I was a child," she said in disbelief.

  "Maybe they didn't want to hurt you. First they just wanted to find this. Then, when they couldn't, they figured they could use you to get your father to talk."

  "That makes sense. But this bee—is it that special? Couldn't they just build this again?"

  "There must be something about it that they don't have, a formula to create one part of it. If it is a stinger, then it has to be activated in some way. The invisibility shield obviously could be picked away, as we did. It could be that parts of this are still experimental."

  "But my father left Draystar years ago, right? Why now? Why is all this happening now?"

  "Harry never said when your dad stole from him. Maybe it wasn't when he left; perhaps it was more recent." He thought for a moment. "Seamus said something to me about how science sometimes skates along a fine line between good and evil. You create something for one purpose, and it's used for another. That could be what happened here."

  "But weapons are always used for killing. That seems obvious."

  "Sometimes they're for defense. I'm speculating, but maybe the target turned out to be someone or some group that Seamus didn't see as an enemy. When weapons fall into the wrong hands—"

  "The wrong people die," she finished, her green eyes wide. "This could be huge, Ian."

  "It could be. I don’t have the feeling this bee is usable right now. I think there's something missing to make it reach its potential."

  "So you're suggesting that it's not the bee but the formula in the jour
nal that's important?"

  "Or both. I need time to figure it out."

  "I'm confident you could, because I'm pretty sure you can do anything right about now, but we don't have that time. We need to get out of here. We need to get to Ireland. We need to put all the pieces together."

  As much as he wanted to argue that deciphering the formula made more sense, he couldn't. Grace's logic couldn't be disputed. "You're right." He ripped out the pages from the journal, then put the other books back into the box. Then he got up and went into the kitchen where he found a baggie to put the prototype drone into. He slipped both into his pocket. If anyone wanted the items, they would have to go through him.

  Grace's frown told him she'd come to the same conclusion. "Maybe we should stash those somewhere. I feel like you just put a bullseye on yourself, Ian."

  "It was already there. I don't want to take a chance that we'll lose these things."

  "Your pocket isn't exactly Fort Knox."

  He smiled. "Better than your purse or this box here. Ready to go?"

  "Why don't you give me one of the pieces? That way they'll need both of us to get what they want."

  He looked into her eyes and saw her worry, and it touched him deeply. "No, but thanks for being concerned."

  "I can be your partner, Ian. You don't have to protect me."

  "But I want to protect you, Grace. And that's just the way it is." He held her gaze for a long moment, then added, "Besides, you've been the target more than me. This will change the game."

  She let out a breath. "All right. Since we're sticking together anyway, it probably doesn't matter which one of us is carrying the items."

  He would let her think that, but if there was a choice between sticking together and getting her to safety, he knew what decision would be made.

  "What should we take with us?" she asked.

  "Nothing," he said, a vision of them standing on the highway like sitting ducks was not looking too good. "Let's go find a signal; we'll call for help, then come back here to wait."

  "Really?" she asked doubtfully. "I don't know that it would take much for a few guys with guns to break down the doors, even if we barricaded ourselves in here with what little furniture we have."

  "I don't think we should wait inside the house. We'll set up somewhere outside where we can see the road and this cabin. If the bad guys get here before the good guys, they'll head to the house."

  Her green eyes sparked. "That's an excellent plan, although should I remind you that it's cold outside?"

  "We'll keep each other warm."

  She smiled. "And maybe we'll take some blankets, too."

  "First things first—let's find a signal. Then we'll figure out our hideout."

  "Yes," she agreed, following him out the door. "I'll feel better knowing help is on the way."

  * * *

  Despite her words, Grace knew she wasn't going to feel better until they'd turned the device over to the cops and the people who were chasing them had been caught. She'd thought getting to Ireland would be an escape, but maybe the danger would follow them there. The drone they'd discovered was obviously of great value. No one was just going to give up, no matter how many planes they got on.

  "I really hope my dad has protection," she said to Ian as they made their way down the road.

  "I'm sure he does," he said. "And hopefully, he's told the detective there exactly who's after him."

  "Maybe he can't tell the police that. I've been thinking about how and why he kept this drone a secret and hidden away in the box. It must not belong to him. He must have felt it would put his life in danger if anyone knew he had it. But he put your life in danger when he sent it to you."

  "That might have been a moment of desperation. We won't know for sure until we ask him. But right now, we need to stay focused on ourselves."

  She checked her phone, seeing one bar. "I have one bar. You?"

  "Nothing yet."

  She tried to contact the police, but the call didn't connect. They kept walking, staying on the edge of the road, so as not to leave visible footprints. Ian really did think of everything. When they got to where they'd gone off the road, they looked down at the car. It was still covered exactly as they'd left it, which made her feel good.

  They walked another twenty feet and around a bend. She could see the highway a quarter of a mile away. An occasional car passed by, but not a steady stream. It was only seven a.m.

  Ian stopped. "I've got a signal."

  "Me, too. I'll call the Tahoe police. I have Detective Johnson's number in my phone."

  "I'll call Kate and tell her what's going on."

  Her call to the detective went to voice mail. "He's not in yet," she told Ian. "Should I call 9-1-1? But I don't know where to tell them we are. We'll have to get closer to the highway to see the sign."

  "Hang on," he said, putting his phone on speaker. "Kate?"

  "Ian. What's going on?"

  "We're in trouble. We were trying to leave Tahoe last night but we were followed down Highway 50. We holed up in a cabin last night, but we need help getting out. I totaled Dylan's car."

  "Are you all right?" she asked worriedly.

  "Yeah, I'm fine. So is Grace. But I discovered a piece of technology in the box Seamus sent me."

  "I thought it was just old journals."

  "So did I, but there was a microscopic drone, about the size of a bee. It looks like a weaponized drone that was covered with an invisible paint."

  "Oh, my God, Ian. What have you stumbled onto?"

  "Something dangerous," he said. "Can you help?"

  "Yes. I'll call the field office and the local sheriff to get someone out to help you. Do you know your exact location?"

  "Let me walk farther down the road. I'll see if there's a sign."

  "You should have called last night."

  "It was dark, and I couldn't find a signal," he said as they moved closer to the highway. "Plus, I didn't know if someone was coming after us." He paused. "The sign says Hammeker Road. We're probably halfway between Tahoe and Placerville."

  "I'll get someone out there right away. In the meantime, stay out of sight."

  "Will do. After you send us help, I need you to look into Draystar. I'm pretty sure Seamus's old company is the one who created this drone. It looks like it has a stinger capable of injecting poison."

  "I've heard of that."

  "The invisibility cloak is an added advantage, but my guess is that Seamus found out Draystar was interested in selling the weapon outside of the US and that's why he took the prototype."

  "Got it. By the way, your friend in Ireland hasn't remembered anything, or if he has remembered, he's not saying."

  "Is there still a guard on his room, Kate? I think Seamus could be in danger, too."

  "They've assured me he's being protected. You need to turn off your phone, Ian, or put it somewhere far from you until the police get there. I don't want anyone to be able to ping your location through your phone."

  "Shit!" he swore. "I didn't think of that."

  "Stay safe, Ian."

  As Kate said good-bye, Ian turned off his phone. Grace was already ahead of him, doing the same with hers.

  "I should have thought about our phones," he said, new tension in his face.

  "We had to call for help, Ian."

  "Yeah, but we should have turned them off last night." His lips drew together in a taut line. "Nothing we can do about it now. Let's go back to the cabin. We need to get ready for whoever comes next."

  "I hope that will be the police."

  "I'm sure it will be."

  He might have said the right words, but she wasn't sure he believed them. She had to almost jog to keep up with him as they returned to the cabin.

  "So, what do you want to do?" she asked, as they moved into the house.

  "Grab blankets, water, and anything we can use as a weapon," he said briskly, as he went into the kitchen. He came back with a couple of kitchen knives. "These aren'
t worth much, but they're something."

  "I don't see anything else in here that will beat someone with a gun."

  "There has to be something." His gaze scanned the room. "Let's look in the garage."

  She followed him into the attached garage. He handed her a snow shovel. "We can use this."

  "Okay."

  He walked over to the tool bench, where she saw screwdrivers and twine, screws and bolts, and a couple of pieces of wood. On the ground were several paint cans and a can of gasoline.

  "Now we're in business," he said.

  She raised an eyebrow. "Really? What are you seeing that I'm not?"

  "The makings of a trap, of course."

  "We're going to try to catch them now?" she asked in astonishment.

  "Better than them catching us. But if they get into the house, we can take them down."

  "How so?"

  "We have matches, flammable liquid, and fuel."

  Her stomach turned over. "You're talking about setting this house on fire? We can't do that, Ian. What about the owners?"

  "Grace, I appreciate your sense of ethics. But we could be fighting for our lives. If we have to replace the cabin, we will."

  "You have that kind of money?"

  "I'm thinking whoever is responsible for this could be made to pay. But even if we had to rebuild the cabin, it's not much more than a shack; I could cover it. Look, if the police get here in time, nothing will happen. But until we're safe, I'm going to protect us. Help me take this stuff into the house."

  Watching Ian set traps to the front and back door of the cabin was both upsetting and mind-boggling. Within minutes, he'd created a scenario in which the front or back door opening would turn a lit candle into an open can of paint or bowl of gasoline that would set off an explosion, maybe take at least one or two people out, or at least slow them down. She was more than a little impressed and also happy to watch him finish off the trap from the safety of the back yard.

  Ian managed to get out of the house without setting off the trap, and then they took the blankets, shovel and knives with them as they walked through the trees. They were about a hundred yards away when Ian pointed to a group of large boulders about twenty-five yards up a steep hill. She liked the idea of a higher vantage point.