by Sue Duff
“Before he is placed in the ground, I require a package.”
“What?”
“His son.”
Jaered gave his father a puzzled stare. “Why?”
“There’s a rumor about the child’s . . . origins. I want to see for myself exactly what he’s made of.” A gust of wind. His father was gone.
{53}
They’d settled on the patio, but the sun’s energy did little to revive the group. The drawn faces and slumped figures seated at the round table resembled the aftermath of a frat party. Ian ran on adrenaline in spite of his restless night. Sorrow at the loss of Zoe had given rise to their newest nightmare.
“You think someone baked Bryant this way?” Patrick shook his head.
“If he was genetically bred,” Tara said, “that would explain a lot.”
“QualSton couldn’t have been the only Weir facility dab-bling in genetic engineering,” Ian said. “Galen told me that the Weir turned to science decades ago in search of answers to our extinction.”
“I can’t see Carlene agreeing to something like that,” Patrick said.
Ian shrugged. “I doubt she knows.”
Patrick scraped his chair back with a nervous laugh.
“What part of this is funny?” Tara said.
“You’ve got to love the irony. My mother had no idea what she got us in the middle of.” Patrick peered at Ian with concern. “If he’s a Duach Sar. What are you going to do?”
Ian had spent several sleepless nights wondering. He looked at Tara. “Protocol would be to either confront the Sar or inform Marcus about his existence.”
“You wouldn’t—”
“No, Patrick, he wouldn’t.” Rayne crossed her arms and stared at Ian.
“That doesn’t erase the problem,” Ian said. “It only stalls it.”
“Who’s going to inform Carlene about Bryant’s heritage?” Tara said. “And who is going to guarantee Bryant’s anonymity and protection from both the Pur and Duach?”
“Nature eventually kicks in. Playful lion cubs grow up to be formidable foes,” Ian said. “If Bryant isn’t raised to understand and control whatever power he’s inherited, he could pose a threat.”
“To himself, Carlene—” Tara looked at Patrick, “—humans.”
“What if he’s raised as a happy, well-adjusted child?” Rayne looked at Patrick. “Like one of us. Doesn’t nurture play a part in his nature?”
“Especially now that Daddy Dearest is out of the picture,” Patrick said. “He’s barely three years old. He hasn’t exactly been tainted yet, has he?”
“This is virgin territory,” Ian said. “Unprecedented.” Movement inside the kitchen. Marcus gestured at Ian through the patio door. Ian lowered his voice. “For now we only trust each other. Have faith that I’ll come up with something we can all live with.”
Marcus opened the door. “Ian, a word?” The old general’s disgruntled expression twisted the throb at Ian’s temples into hyperdrive. What had they uncovered at Lux Pharmaceuticals? The others excused themselves and scattered.
“What happened last night?” Ian leaned against the railing.
“Others got there before us. Most of the data was erased, but the boys were able to salvage enough for us to begin piecing together some information.”
“Worth giving to the Primary?”
“I’m hoping it will provide a trail to Duach enterprises and where their money is tied to.” Marcus signaled to his guard on the lawn. “Maybe give us some insight into tracking down this Eve who has the Primary so riled.” The Pur guard escorted a twenty-something man onto the patio.
“Pur Heir, this is Vael,” Marcus announced formally. “My son.”
Ian extended his hand. “Ian, please.”
Vael hesitated before he accepted Ian’s hand. The shake was brief, his greeting indifferent. The young man’s cold shoulder piqued Ian’s curiosity. “Are you visiting your father?” Ian asked.
Vael glanced in the direction of the nearby guard. “Does it look like it?”
“I found Vael at the facility, literally with his hand in the safe.”
“That’s me. Wayward son and all around pain-in-the-ass.” Vael plopped down in a patio chair and put his feet up on the table between them.
Marcus swiped Vael’s boots off. “Behave,” his father growled.
“You were robbing the place?” Ian asked.
Vael shrugged. “These two guys cornered me at my favorite hangout last night and told me they needed me to get them into a safe.” He held up his hands. “It’s my power.”
“Whoever Vael was helping had a delete virus. We only got the tail end of that data.” Marcus rubbed the back of his neck. “Ian, whatever their research was, at least a piece of it involved you. My boys unearthed copies of your medical records.”
Ian leaned against the railing. What could Donovan have possibly wanted with his medical information?
“But that’s where they made their mistake,” Marcus continued. “There was only one location where we kept that information. The Primary’s bank in Belgium. I’m confident we can trace how it was compromised.”
Vael’s breath sucked in like a black hole and he grew stiff. Ian stared at him. “You know something about that?”
Marcus startled. He glared at Vael. “What is he talking about?”
Vael crossed his arms. “No clue,” he said, but wilted in the chair.
Ian focused on the beat of the man’s heart. “You were there, but your accomplices kept you in the dark.”
“It wasn’t like that. It was just the two of us.”
“I knew it,” Marcus said. “The company you’ve chosen to keep has you at odds with the Heir.” He smashed a fist onto the patio table. “With me.”
“It was a bank job. We grabbed money . . .” Vael hesitated.
“You were separated, at some time or another,” Ian prodded.
Vael nodded. “For about five minutes.”
“Was he a shyftor?” Marcus said. Vael’s downcast eyes confirmed it. “He returned to the vault to grab the Heir’s records and God knows what else.” Marcus glanced in the direction of the guards standing at the base of the patio steps. He lowered his voice but kept its edge. “As if you weren’t foolish enough to get yourself involved, you had to do it in the one place connected to the Primary. I’ve already set men on reviewing the videotapes. How am I going to keep this from him?”
Vael’s heartbeat came to a standstill. “The Belgium bank job wasn’t the only one, was it?” Ian guessed. “How many others?”
Vael shot Ian an irritated glance. “What are you, some kind of lie detector?”
“Spill it, Vael,” Marcus said.
“His name’s Jaered. We did half a dozen jobs together, maybe more. The bank was the last one. He was injured trying to escape from the rooftop that day. I thought he died. I never saw him again until he showed up yesterday.”
“Ian, something to write with, please.”
Ian touched the patio table. A tablet and pencil appeared.
Vael stared at it. “What’s that for?”
“You’re going to write down everything that you remember about the jobs. What you took, when they occurred, and where.” Marcus shoved the pad and pencil at Vael. “And I mean everything.”
“Was it always Jaered?” Ian asked.
“Yeah, only him, no one else.” Vael hunched over the pad and started writing. “I didn’t know, dad, honest.” From the beat of Vael’s heart, that part was true.
“I need to be able to trust you, son,” Marcus said. “But it’s impossible with the choices you make.” Marcus stormed across the patio, headed for the back door. “Ian, keep an eye on him. I’m getting my laptop to check the sites on his list.”
Ian stood by as Vael added robbery after robbery to the list. “How did you and Jaered connect in the first place?”
Vael paused and leaned back in the chair. He tapped the end of the pencil against the pad. “I wasn’t in
a good place. Strung out on drugs, I’d spend whatever I made on some bad shit. Jaered found me on the street, cleaned me up, and gave me jobs. You’re wrong about him. He’s not bad.”
“He taught you to steal, and by the sound of it, deserted you when it suited him.”
“The guy saved my life!” Vael shouted. “That’s more than you or my dad ever did for me.”
“Cleaning you up to do his dirty work isn’t the same thing,” Ian said.
“I was cornered on the bank rooftop. The guard had an itchy trigger finger and a hero complex. When Jaered shyfted nearby, he didn’t even hesitate.”
“He took a bullet for you?” Ian said.
Vael scoffed. “You with your cushy life, a mansion, an army at your beck and call. What do you know about the rest of the world?” Vael hunched over the pad and kept writing. “I’ll give you what you want, but you gotta give me some-thing.”
“What?” Ian asked.
“A get out of jail card. I want nothing to do with the Syndrion, you, or my dad.”
{54}
Tara rang the bell. A couple of minutes later, the door opened. Patrick froze. “Mother!”
JoAnna smiled wide. “I’m so glad you’re here.” She ushered them all into Carlene Donovan’s house.
Rayne peered past her. “Where’s Carlene and Bryant?”
“They’re in the backyard.” JoAnna shook her head. “I thought Ian was coming?”
“He had to run an errand. He should be here soon,” Rayne said.
“Carlene was touched that you called to see how they were holding up.”
“She was sweet to invite us for the day,” Tara said.
“Mother, what are you doing here?” Patrick swiped his palms on his slacks.
“Of course I flew here as soon as I heard.” She pressed a fist to her chest and lowered her voice. “I feel somewhat responsible, as tragic as it is, what happened to Richard and all,” she said. “But I can only hope that Carlene and Bryant will have a happy life together once this tragedy is behind them.” She brightened up. “But enough about the ills of the past few days. I’ll play hostess and get everyone some refreshments. Carlene has been slaving away in the kitchen. She’s planning on all of you staying through dinner.” She linked arms with Tara and led them through the house.
Rayne’s steps dragged as JoAnna herded them toward the back of the house and opened the rear French doors. Carlene was pushing Bryant on a swing at the far edge of the lawn.
Two tables had been pushed together with a long tablecloth spread across them. Folding chairs surrounded the banquet table waiting to accommodate their large group.
Patrick held up next to Rayne. “This turned into a cluster-fuck.”
“His funeral is in two days. Who knows when we’ll get another chance to search for Donovan’s safe.”
“Ian should reconsider my idea,” Patrick said. “We would have had the house to ourselves for a month. No pressure. Plenty of time to search,” Patrick muttered. “But hell, I only think like a human.”
Rayne gave him a sideways glance. “Rigging a contest and having her win an expense-paid trip to Europe wasn’t a sure thing, Patrick. In spite of everything he did, Carlene and Bryant are still mourning the loss of a husband and father.”
“Who is this Eve, anyway?” Patrick said.
“If we can crack the safe, we might be one step closer to finding out.” Rayne chewed on her lower lip and watched Carlene pick up Bryant. When the young mother took him to greet Tara, he held out his arms to give her a hug. Rayne sighed and pulled out her cell. “I’ll give Ian a heads up.”
Patrick looked around. “The grounds might be spacious enough, and the mansion’s extending wings are a plus. Ian’s plan just might work.”
She pressed his number and held the phone to her ear. “It better, for Bryant’s sake.” And mine, she kept to herself.
“Fuck!” Jaered lowered the binoculars and rubbed his hand across the tree branch in a feeble attempt to erase the needle-like tingling that had set in once the pain meds wore off.
He had counted on the widow to seek solitude in her time of grief. When he woke up that morning, he’d decided to get in and out before the mansion became overrun with acquaintances offering condolences.
When the Heir’s group arrived, Jaered’s plan tanked.
From the tree’s vantage point, he had a clear view of the office and a portion of the backyard. The child tossed a ball at Patrick, then raced to get it. Tara sat on the patio with the mother.
Rayne stepped outside. Jaered lifted the binoculars. The longer he studied her, the more intrigued he became. When the mother brought the child over to say hi, Rayne tickled the boy’s nose with a peacock feather she had been twirling in her fingers, but she leaned back when he reached toward her.
Jared lowered the binoculars. Sweat broke out along the back of his neck in spite of a cool breeze sifting through the tree. His cell buzzed. It was Eve.
“I don’t see any way around this. Kidnap the child as planned.”
“Do you know why Aeros wants the kid?” Jaered said.
Silence. He slumped against the trunk. Jaered needed to trust her. Lately, there’d been too many reasons not to.
“By the end of the day,” she said. “And there’s one more thing. I need you to bring me everything you find in Donovan’s safe.”
A crucial puzzle piece slipped into place and revealed the unknown that had plagued Jaered for days. “Your history with Donovan. It concerned the boy.” Jaered’s thoughts sped up when she didn’t deny it. “Donovan didn’t have the knowledge, the background to create his kid. But you did.”
“Building our rebel force hasn’t been the only step I’ve taken to save this planet, Jaered. I’ve also worked tirelessly to save the Weir race.” A moment of silence passed between them. “Are you good for this?”
The squealing child ran across the lawn chasing Patrick with a stick. Memories of Kyre’s screams drowned out the sounds of innocent delight. “For the greater good,” he said and hung up. A moment later, a text arrived with intel on the safe. The location wasn’t going to be a challenge. The obstacle was getting inside.
Rayne knocked on the walls at the back of the built-in bookshelves. Ian stood in the center of the office and turned a keen eye on everything else. Between knocks, he listened for any sound of gears or other mechanical lock mechanisms working on a preordained schedule. Except for the tinny strikes of an antique mantel clock, all was quiet.
A loud knock came from the office door. Ian leapt onto the couch and tossed one of the throw pillows under his head. Rayne covered him with the quilt, then answered the door.
Carlene entered carrying a silver tray with a steaming teapot and mugs. “Are you feeling any better?”
“I’m afraid not,” he said and sat up. He gave her a weak smile.
Carlene set the tray on the desk. “I was hoping you could join us for dinner. It’ll be ready in a few minutes.”
“I’ll see,” he said and accepted the steaming mug. “If the queasiness doesn’t settle soon, I may just head back. I’d hate for anyone else to come down with this.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to lie down in one of the guest bedrooms?” Carlene glanced about her husband’s office with a pained expression.
“It’s quiet and comfortable enough here,” Ian said. “But thank you.”
“Well, come find me if you need anything else.” She let herself out.
Rayne listened at the door and then gently pulled the dead bolt until it locked.
Ian sat in Donovan’s desk chair and studied the surface while he sipped the herbal tea. Pictures and mementos of Bry-ant littered the desk.
Rayne stood next to him. “There aren’t any of Carlene.”
“It’s not her absence, but Bryant’s prevalence that’s significant,” Ian said. “Born without a core, Richard was the one to bring their family’s Weir power to a grinding halt.”
“Donovan’s childhood couldn
’t have been easy,” Rayne said.
Ian set the mug on the desk. “Bryant would have been Donovan’s chance to follow in his father’s Duach legacy.”
Rayne picked up one of the pictures. “Carlene mentioned that he often brought Bryant in here behind locked doors.”
Intrigued, Ian glanced about the room with a different set of eyes. “He may have needed Bryant for the safe,” he said.
“Why?”
“Carlene said the mansion has been in Richard’s family for the last three, maybe four generations. That means Bryant’s grandfather and his great-grandfather also lived here. Before Richard, the Sar power would have been passed down through their generations. What if it takes core power to trigger the safe?”
Rayne brightened. “Start touching things.”
Ian swept his hand on the walls and behind the books at the back of the built-in shelves. He pulled back the rug and brushed his palm across the floor. The furniture in the room was modern, but he swiped his hand over it anyway. Except for earning a dirt-smudged palm, he found nothing that reacted to his touch. He ended up at the French doors leading onto an attached patio.
“Rayne, what did your research say about Richard’s father, something about his hobby?”
“He was into horticulture. Crossbreeding plants was a passion of his.”
Ian stepped onto the outside deck facing a dense wooded area. He paused and studied the thickness of the exterior wall. When he checked, the opposite wall wasn’t nearly as wide. Ian touched the surface of the wall, but stopped when he came to a plant growing out of a sizeable pot. It trailed large fern-like leaves up the surface. Over time, the vine’s stems had fused themselves into cracks and ridges.
Rayne kept watch from the open patio doors.
Ian stroked one of the feathery leaves. It shriveled to his touch.
She joined him. “What did you do?”
“It reacts to touch, much like the Shame-Old-Lady plant in Jamaica. But that species is quite small and it grows along the ground.”
She brushed a leaf with her finger. It didn’t respond. “I don’t have the magic touch.”
