by Donna Fasano
Imagine Michael’s reaction to that, he thought. Imagine it, indeed.
The notion hit Cameron like a spark on spilled gasoline. Once ignited it spread though his mind so fast he could hardly contain it.
Where do you think you’d find a pot of gold? His father’s dying words had echoed in Cameron’s ears throughout the whole trip. At the end of a rainbow. The obvious answer, the answer that had led Cameron, on a whim, to the Lucky Lotto billboard, would direct Michaels path as well. If Michael thought the gold was in the park, then it had to lie at the end of the moonbow. And Michael had to intend to fish it out. But how?
The question haunted Cameron as he’d walked the trails and scoured the areas near the bottom of the falls. How could Michael hope to retrieve the gold with so many people always about? He didn’t have the resources a man in Cameron’s position had. He couldn’t call on the police or park security to cordon off trails or allow him access to restricted areas.
But Michael never intended to do any of those things. He intended for Cameron to find the gold and retrieve it, then to swap it for Devin. Nice and neat.
Cat and mouse.
Cameron eyed the solemn-faced James. He didn’t want to lie to the lad, and fortunately, thanks to an overactive imagination, he wouldn’t have to—really. Just a few well-chosen words and Cameron could set a tidy little trap for his childhood friend.
“All right, James. You’ve got me.” Cameron reached into his pocket and flashed his ID and badge.
“Interpol?” The kid’s voice cracked like a dry reed in the wind. “For real?"
“For real.” He returned his identification to his pocket.
“Then I was right.”
“Part right, my boy. Only part.” Cameron clamped his hand down on the protruding bones of the boyfe skinny shoulder. “We’re not looking for bodies.”
“What then?”
He leaned in. “Can I trust you?”
James tugged at the bottom of his black vest and squared his shoulders. “With your very life, sir.”
Cameron cocked an eyebrow and struggled not to laugh. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, son. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
Cameron finally eased a chuckle out as he carried Julia’s tray up the stairs to her room. Young James had fallen hook, line, and sinker for his fish tale. The boy’s awe-struck expression had made clear that the young man had taken in every detail, especially the ones Cameron had wanted repeated—that the trails would be cleared in the early afternoon and no one, including park security, would be allowed in a certain area until further notice. That would give enough time for the rumor to spread and for Michael to find a suitable hiding place in the wooded area to lie in wait.
Until then…
“Top o’ the morning to you, good sir.” Cameron gave a quick head bob of acknowledgment to Julia’s day shift bodyguard. “I trust everything is fine here.”
“Far as I know.” The man didn’t move from his spot two feet away and to the right of her door. “Been pretty quiet in there, but Carl said the lady was awake when he left.”
Cameron stopped, the breakfast tray balanced across one forearm. “What do you mean, when Carl left? Weren’t you here then?”
“Um, no, sir. He went down to breakfast a few minutes before I came on duty. We crossed paths in the dining room, and he briefed me on the situation there.”
The stainless steel dish cover clattered as Cameron clutched
at the tray. He gritted his teeth. “Carl left his post?”
“I’m sure everything’s all right, sir.”
“It had better be.” Cameron shoved the tray at the unfamiliar guard then lifted his fist to pound on Julia’s door.
“Julia?” His hand came down with enough force to rattle the window sills, but his fist only glanced off the shuddering wood as the force propelled the door open.
“Julia?” He stepped inside, the bodyguard on his heels.
“Is she in the bathroom?” the other man asked.
In two booming steps, Cameron reached the open bathroom door. “She’s not here.”
“I’ll alert park security” the man said. “If you’re sure she didn’t just go out for a walk or something harmless like that?” Cameron’s gaze fell on the new hiking boots tossed haphazardly on the floor. He glanced around in hopes the old loafers he’d replaced were missing. He saw the battered toes of the old shoes sticking out from inside the closet.
“I’m sure. Make the call.”
The bodyguard excused himself, leaving Cameron alone in the vacant room, with nothing but gut-wrenching guilt and the subtle scent of vanilla.
Chapter 13
The afternoon sun blazed down on Cameron’s back. The cool, wispy clouds of the morning’s damp fog had burned away and the air smelled of earth and water.
Before him, the Cumberland River plunged sixty feet down into a frothy turmoil. The sound of the falls rumbled in his ears at odds with the throbbing pulse in his temples. He lifted his head to survey the surroundings.
He seemed alone on the sun-dappled riverbank. He prayed that was not the case. He squinted across the water, using his hand to shade his eyes from the piercing glare. He could not see Michael, nor feel his friend’s eyes upon him.
Yet he felt something. Anxiety, yes. And that gnawing guilt that had never quite left him since Devin had been taken, now amplified by Julia’s kidnapping. He also admitted to himself the regret of having involved lovely Julia at all in his family’s difficulties. If he had read his nephew’s messages correctly from the start, Julia would be safe at work in St. Patrick’s Shelter.
Of course, then he would never have had the chance to get to know her as he had. So that regret was tempered with gratitude.
Still, this feeling nagging deep inside him was something else. Something he couldn’t quite name. He glanced toward the falls and caught in one breathtaking moment the sun catching the fine mist. What by night formed a moonbow, by day blessed the area with a faint, shimmering rainbow. A slow smile eased over Cameron’s lips.
He thought of Julia’s analogy. The moonbow, or today the rainbow, only happened when the river “let go.” For all Cameron’s attempts to persuade Julia that she wasn’t the only one who could do the job, whatever it might be, he now understood. He had needed the lesson as much as she did.
For most of his life he had held on to a shame that was not his to bear. He had struggled to be worthy enough to erase generations of misdeeds. He had sought a treasure that he did not want, one that would never make him happy. And today, he would let go.
“Where do you find a pot of gold?” he whispered to the nearly transparent arc of colors.
He moved to the water’s edge. The breeze stirred his hair and swept a fine mist of water over him. He crouched on a pile of river rocks, wedging his feet into the crevices to keep from sliding. Tiny droplets clung to his hands, his jeans, and shimmied on the hairs of his forearms exposed by the pushed-back sleeves of his denim shirt.
He gripped a flat stone jutting out from the river’s edge. He clenched his teeth. Then he plunged his arm into the icy, churning waters.
He drew in a deep breath, thinking he might have to stick his head under to locate the fake pot of gold planted during the minutes after he’d discovered Julia missing. Then his fingers skimmed the slick ceramic rim of the make-do container. He stretched. He strained. His fingertips squeaked off the smooth surface. Finally he latched on.
This was it. If he was right that Michael was watching him, he’d know any minute now.
~*~
“I wish I could tell you how sorry I am, Devin, that I just handed you over to Shaughnessy like that.” Julia strained against the coarse, prickly rope binding her hands to the side mirror of the green four-wheel drive they’d known Shaughnessy had rented. The edge of the passenger window cut into her underarm as she leaned farther out of the vehicle to slacken the restraints. The rope loosened enough to let her blood circulate again. She winc
ed as the red scrapes circling her wrists came alive with burning pain.
“Don’t fret yourself none over it, ma’am. Twas only into the hands of me own uncle you handed me.” Unlike Julia, the spry redheaded boy did not fight his constraints. He sprawled out over the soft upholstery of the back seat like a typical youngster vegging out in front of a TV
“Well, he’s not really your uncle,” she said, rubbing her ankles together in hopes of relaxing the knots of rope there as well. “And you did try to get away that evening when I found you. If I hadn’t been in such a hurry and had listened to you more closely—”
The boy sighed. “Tis true. You could have handled it better, lass. In fact, we both of us wouldn’t be in this stew if you had listened to me.”
She stopped her struggling. Obviously all the males in the O’Dea family carried the arrogant-obnoxious-but-in-an-irritatingly-charming-way gene. She rolled her eyes. “On the other hand, let’s take a moment to recall what you were saying, young man. That leprechaun nonsense?”
“Oh. That.”
She glanced at the boy in the rearview mirror and watched as his fair skin turned as red as a boiled lobster. “Yes, that.”
He squirmed. “Well, I, um. You see, my thoughts were on the gold and when your husband brought the matter up—”
“My husband?” She saw her brows dart down in the nearby side mirror and a deep crease form between them. “Oh, you mean Craig? He isn’t my husband. He’s the assistant director where I work.”
“Ah, that explains it then.”
“Explains what?”
“Oh, nothing. Just something me mother said, that’s all.”
She twisted to try to clap her eyes on the kid without giving herself a wicked rope burn, putting herself in a mangled position as she tried to wrangle the truth out of the boy who had his real uncle’s knack for saying what he wanted someone to hear. “What? What did your mother say? Something about me?”
“Not about you exactly.” The kid looked out the window. “About you and me Uncle Cam.”
Her breath stilled low in her throat. She blinked and tossed back her hair and forced the air out slowly. “I’m not sure I want to hear it then.”
“Trust me. You don’t. That is, unless—” He cocked his head, his green eyes sparkling.
The gesture reminded her of Cameron. Apparently, they also shared an Irish imp-style sense of humor.
The boy stuck out his lower lip and frowned. “Naw, you wouldn’t be interested.”
“Try me.”
“Me mother said that if all went well, ’twas more than family honor Uncle Cam would find in this folly.” He let that sink in for just a minute before he pressed on, making sure she didn’t miss his meaning. “Said he might just find a family as well.”
A chill crept over Julia’s skin, raising it into a million goose-bumps. She shifted her shoulders against the upholstery, drew in the smell of old forest and new car and cleared her throat. “That could have been about getting you back or the three of you being together again or—” She looked at him sharply “What makes you think it involved me?”
The boy shrugged. “No reason.”
“Just a lucky leprechaun guess, I suppose.”
“Could be.” His smirk denied his ready reply. “Either way— doesn’t mean no nevermind to me, you understand.”
She tipped her nose up to get a better peek at the boy in the rearview mirror again. “Is that so?”
“Because lovely lady friend or no, my Uncle Cam, me mother, and meself are headin’ back to Ireland when the trouble with the gold is settled.”
That tidbit of information hit Julia like a smarting slap across the cheek. Why it would shock her so, she didn’t care to speculate. She had known that Cameron would be gone as soon as he settled the matter of his nephew and the gold. She just hadn’t realized, she supposed, that he would go so very far away. She dropped her gaze from the image in the mirror and murmured, “To stay?”
“Me mother hasn’t decided yet for us. But my Uncle Cam— you know he never does stay one place too long. He’s awfully old to be changing that now.”
Julia thought of Cameron’s fit, muscular body, of the vital energy he exuded, of his unlined face and intense green eyes. “Oh, yeah, I see your point, son. Your uncle is a regular old geezer.”
Devin grunted in the universal language of young people that said he didn’t appreciate her humor.
“Anyway—my point, when I started this whole crazy conversation, was to apologize for getting you kidnapped.” She shut her eyes and laid her head back against the seat.
The boy grunted again, more a dismissive huff than an actual sound of disgust or annoyance.
“Even if the man is like a member of your family, this can’t have been a pleasant experience for you,” she went on. “And it hasn’t been easy on your mother or your real uncle.”
She heard the boy shifting in the seat behind her and opened her eyes to find him working his way into a sitting position.
“This part hasn’t been such a trial, lass,” he admitted, a grudging cross between a sneer and a smile on his face. Then his eyes lifted to meet her gaze in the mirror, and for the first time, his expression mellowed. “And I have to tell you, it has staved off the thing I’ve long dreaded. A thing that could be much, much worse.”
Her stomach clenched. “When Cameron and Shaughnessy face off over the gold?”
Devin nodded.
“But they’re old friends," she reminded the boy, with an encouraging smile that felt as forced as her words. “Really, now, how bad could it be?”
“If Uncle Cam surrenders the gold?” The boy gazed out the window a moment, seeming to try to assess the situation fairly. He sighed and shrugged again. “Not too bad, I guess. But if he doesn’t surrender it—”
“What?” She sputtered out a laugh, her attempt at lightness betrayed by a panicky, shrill note. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
The boy pressed his lips together. His green eyes darted to one side and then the other. Clearly, he had to consider the gravity of discussing this family matter with a stranger. Despite his confinement, Devin obviously had a deep affection for Shaughnessy, as he did for his uncle Cameron.
Julia understood how difficult it must be on someone so young to have his loyalties divided like this, then to have to choose between them. That’s why it meant all the more when the boy raised his grim eyes to the mirror and held her gaze there for a few, pulsing heartbeats.
“Uncle Mike has a gun,” he finally murmured.
She swallowed the gasp that rose to her lips. Her mind fumbled through a dozen thoughts without picking up on any one. She blinked and mumbled, “You don’t think Shaughnessy would kill us, do you?”
“No.” The boy shook his head, his expression earnest. “No, I don’t think he’d ever do that. Uncle Mike would never kill us.”
The implication sent a blade of freezing fear through her gut.
She knew Cameron was a trained professional, but she also knew he had gone to great lengths to avoid any risk to his old friend. As she sat there, her heart slamming out a punishing pulse in her ears, she had to wonder. If it came to a showdown, would Cameron’s loyalty to his friend ultimately cost him his life?
~*~
Cameron clasped the decoy pot to his stomach. He scrambled up the riverbank, aware that to convince Michael, he had to put on a credible show.
The tracks of his boot soles gripped the flat gray rocks as he made his way up along the side of the Waterfall. If he intended to make a spectacle of himself, he thought, he should do it in the most visible spot possible.
At the top, on the edge of the falls, he paused. His fingers tightened against the wet ceramic surface. He straightened his back. He gazed down at the weighted pot and tried to conjure up a reaction for Michael’s sake. His mind went blank. A little more than a week ago, he’d have known exactly how to respond to the moment he first held the long-sought-after gold in his hands. Today,
it all seemed so meaningless.
Julia’s face flashed in his mind. His chest constricted. How could his priorities have changed so quickly?
He glanced below his rocky perch, to the falls hurtling down into frothing whiteness and he had his answer, like the river, like Julia, once he had relinquished the struggle to win the gold, he had found something worth so much more.
The heaviness of both the bogus pot and the very hoax he hoped to perpetrate with it made his arms and his heart numb. If only he could find another way to reach Michael. If only he’d had his priorities straight before and could have approached his friend with this new outlook. If only—
“A penny for your thoughts, old friend—or should I suggest another type of coin. A gold coin, perhaps?”
The pure malevolence of the tone oozed over Cameron’s taut nerves like slick, black oil over still, dark waters.
He twisted his neck to peer over his shoulder. “Michael. If I said I was surprised to see you here, I’d be lying.”
“I told you—’twould be my shadow that fell across your back when you finally claimed the treasure.” The afternoon sun glinted off the black barrel of his handgun.
Cameron tensed his abdomen against the handle of his own gun, thrust into his waistband. “So that’s what it’s come to, has it? That you’d threaten me with a gun? For what? A few gold coins you can never spend?”
“For sure an’ I came armed, old friend. Just as I have no doubt that you did as well.” He motioned with his gun. “Now, keep one hand on me gold and with the other hand throw down your weapon.”
Cameron gritted his teeth. He tossed his gun with a soft thud onto a carpet of pine needles in a spot of dirt among the rocks. He supposed he should feel bested, but he felt relief instead. With the gun out of his reach, the temptation to use it was gone.
“Good. Good.” Michael edged closer, kicking Cameron’s gun farther away. “Now, if you’ll just give me the gold.” He held out his hand.
Cameron’s gaze dipped to the ruddy palm stretched out toward him. “First you tell me where Devin and Julia are.”
