by P. G. Forte
A helluva combination, that, Nick thought, startled to find himself actually starting to feel sympathetic toward the kid. “Look, maybe you should see about trying to get away from that place for a night or two? Maybe catch up on some sleep? I mean, I don’t know why you’re doing this, or how important it is that you stay undercover, but... you’re gonna lose it, if you don’t do something to pace yourself. And you’re not gonna accomplish anything that way, I can tell you that.”
“I have to,” Liam muttered quietly. “I have to.”
Nick sighed. “Right. So, what is it you want me to do?”
“I need to know if there’s been any new sightings of this guy,” Liam said. “I haven’t been able to check since I left the force. His name’s Jim Phelps. He founded the original TLV. In Ohio. Right after he got out of prison. Shortly after that, he disappeared. And then, a few weeks later, this one opened up. I know he’s involved, but I don’t know how. And so far, there’s been no sign of him.”
“What about this Stevens character? It couldn’t be the same guy under a different name, could it?”
“No.” Liam shook his head. “No way. I know Jim. That’s not possible.”
“People change, you know. Sometimes a lot.”
“Not that much. Not height. Not mannerisms. Not auras. I’m telling you, nothing matches. Besides... I’d know.”
Auras? Nick sighed. That’s great. I love it. Love the mystic mumbo-jumbo bullshit. “All right, that sounds easy enough. I’ll see what I can dig up for you. Just out of curiosity, though, what’s your relationship to this guy, anyway? What is it about him that interests you?”
“It’s personal,” Liam mumbled, looking sour. “He’s my stepfather.”
Nick nodded. ‘Course he is. Perfect. Nothing I like better than involving myself in somebody else’s family business. ‘Cause I don’t have enough of my own. And, speaking of which, “So, how’s Lauren doing these days? You haven’t mentioned her yet today, so can I assume you’ve dropped the idea that she’s trying to off me?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t count yourself safe just yet, she and Glenn have gotten awfully cozy this past week.”
Nick felt the hair rise on the back of his neck, a shiver ran down his spine and a very bad feeling began to take shape, lodging in his throat, in his gut, in his heart; tightening his chest to the point where he could barely draw breath. “What did you say?”
Liam sighed. “Well, I warned you, didn’t I? I told you what would happen. I don’t know what it is women like about a guy like that. Someone who’s clearly bad news, who’s all but got Abuser stamped on his forehead, but, man, they sure do.”
“A guy like who?” Nick growled as he struggled for control. “Who are you talking about?” Glenn? Glenn Gilchrist? Impossible. That bastard was dead.
“A guy like Gregg,” Liam replied, looking mystified. “What the hell is going on, Nick? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Maybe I have, Nick thought, as he forced a deep breath. Or maybe, it’s something even worse. “You said Glenn.”
Liam shook his head. “No I didn’t. Glenn? I don’t know what you’re talking about. I said Gregg.”
Nick gritted his teeth to keep from yelling. “You said–”
“I said Gregg,” Liam repeated insistently. “Gregg. Not Glenn. You’re imagining things. Anyway, so what if I did? You knew who I meant.”
“I wonder,” Nick mumbled, squeezing his eyes shut, squeezing the bridge of his nose, willing himself to speak calmly, quietly, reasonably, while adrenaline raced through his system. Glenn Gilchrist. His big brother Gregg. And a missing ex-con who might be holed up at the Gilchrist mansion. Three things that could definitely spell trouble. And one awfully big coincidence. “Look, why don’t you take off now, all right? I got work to do. If I find anything out about your step-dad, I’ll let you know.”
“Okay,” Liam agreed, getting slowly to his feet.”
“And I’ll see if I can’t dig up a blueprint of that house for you,” Nick continued. “Maybe it’ll show something about this tunnel you say is there.”
Liam nodded. “Good idea. Thanks.”
Nick could barely hear himself talk over the pounding of his heart, still he forced himself to continue. “If it’s there, it’s probably not still operational. But, if it turns out it is, and if you can determine where it exits... I’ll see what I can do about putting someone on it from this end. You know, to keep an eye out for any unusual activity. All right?”
Liam’s eyes widened. “Yeah. Okay. That’d be great, Nick.”
“Okay,” Nick sighed. “Good. I’ll be in touch.”
Nick leaned back in his chair and studied the ceiling over his head for a long while after Liam departed.
Glenn Gilchrist – the man who’d tried to kill Scout; who had killed her stepsister, Lisa, and at least three other people – was dead. Unequivocally dead. Nick had seen the body. If that son of a bitch had come back to life, he’d done it with one, fucking, great hole in his head. Which ought to make IDing the bastard real easy.
Gregg, on the other hand, was a different story. The other Gilchrist brother was also a murderer, though he’d only been convicted of lesser crimes. Almost certainly alive as of November, which is when Nick had last tried to check on his whereabouts, Gregg could be anywhere.
What if he were here? What if Lauren–
“Ah, fuck.” Nick’s blood ran cold as he thought about it. Now, that, he’d believe. That would be just the kind of almighty mess he’d expect his ex-wife to get herself into. He reached for the phone, and then stopped, his hand hovering in mid-air. What the hell was he doing? Calling Lauren? Why? To warn her? Yeah. Good idea. Cause she was really gonna listen to anything he had to say.
You’ve done a great job convincing her you’re one of the bad guys, Liam had told him last week, and, for once, the kid had a point. Now she’s got herself mixed up with a real bad guy and she can’t seem to tell the difference.
No, Lauren wouldn’t listen to him; she never had, and it was likely she never would. Not unless he had proof.
He dug in his desk for a minute, searching through folders, until he’d unearthed the background info he’d run on Gregg Stevens when he’d first turned up in town. He pulled it out and took another look at it. On the surface, it still appeared that the similarity in first names was no more than coincidence—which is what Nick had told himself back then. But he didn’t really believe in coincidences. And even if he had, there were now entirely too many of them to ignore.
He looked at the picture attached to the report, scanned his memory for Gilchrist’s face, and still saw no resemblance. But... people change. Hadn’t he said as much to Liam? It was true. People often changed. And over the course of twenty years? They often changed a lot. Especially someone like Gregg; ruthless and deranged, linked to all kinds of trouble, with a reputation as a shapeshifter, to boot.
Nick groaned. A shapeshifter? Right. Like I believe that crap. But he’d seen enough over the years to know that it very often didn’t matter what he believed. For some reason, reality didn’t always seem inclined to take his opinion into account.
So... he’d check again. On Gilchrist. And on Stevens. And then he’d see what he could turn up on McKnight’s stepfather, too. Maybe he had a connection with either, or both, of the others. Assuming there were two of them.
And if there weren’t?
He picked up the picture again, studied it hard, but still he wasn’t sure. Despite having grown up in the same small town, he and Gilchrist had never run with the same crowd. So, maybe he needed to find someone who had? Someone like...
Sinead. Yes.
She’d been connected with Gilchrist for a while. A very short while, it was true, but a little too connected for everybody’s comfort. Nick tossed the photo down on his desk and once again scrubbed his hands over his face. This time, however, he wasn’t smiling. This time, remembering that long ago night, the very first time he’d ever actually feared for
his life, he was not inclined to smile at all.
Once more he reached for the phone, once more he stopped, as he thought about what he was about to do.
He couldn’t call Sinead about this, could he? He’d been there last fall, when she’d collapsed. He knew how close she’d come to losing her baby, to dying herself. He couldn’t risk upsetting her now, without there being a damn good reason for it. And, again, some good, solid evidence, as well.
The third time he reached for the phone, he didn’t hesitate. This time, he knew what he had to do. He needed information. It was time to get the ball rolling, put the wheels in motion, start finding answers.
Sinead would be at the party tomorrow. With any luck, he’d have more information by then. He could tell her in person, if there was anything to tell her. However it went down, whatever he had to say to her, it was better to do it face to face, rather than over the phone.
Only cowards would use a phone for something like this. Unless it was an emergency. Unless there was real and present danger. And, hopefully, God willing, it wouldn’t come to that.
* * *
Sinead stood in the room she’d prepared for her daughter, studying the mural she’d commissioned. A Fata Morgana fantasy landscape of violet blue hills stretched beneath a verdigris sky. And, far in the distance – a bright flash of copper, where the cochineal sun set the sea ablaze.
It was perfect. Unearthly. Serene. It was just as she’d ordered it, just as she remembered it...
“I wonder if you’ll recognize it, when you see it,” she murmured, as her hands lovingly stroked the place where her daughter lay curled, asleep inside her. “I wonder if you’ll remember it, too.”
She’d been unconscious when she’d dreamt this place, when she’d dreamt her daughter. The way things stood now, it might very well be the last dream she ever had. Just as this was surely the first and last child she’d bear.
“Victoria,” she whispered the name, just for the pleasure it gave her to think of it. “You’ll be okay, you know,” she murmured, tears starting in her eyes as she was hit by a wave of emotions, hot, fierce, chaotic; so unlike her normal moods. “You will, little one. I promise.”
“I figured I’d find you in here,” a voice said from behind her.
Sinead turned to find Adam watching her from the doorway, his pensive expression changing to one of alarm as she blinked back her tears and tried to smile.
“Tesoro, what’s wrong?” he asked as he crossed to her. He put his hands on her arms, studying her face. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” she murmured, turning slightly so that she could settle herself against him. “I’m fine. I’m just... happy, that’s all.”
He held her close. “Happy? It’s not like you to cry over something like that.”
“Well, obviously it is – now,” she said, and this time she did smile. Another wave hit her, filling her heart with love, gratitude, trust. She craned her neck to look up at him. “Thank you for this,” she murmured, almost too overcome to speak aloud.
Adam’s frown turned puzzled. “For what, love?”
“For this,” she repeated, turning further, so that her back was nestled against him, taking hold of his hands and placing them on her belly. She shook her head in wonderment. “How did you know it was what I wanted, when even I didn’t know?”
“I didn’t.” She heard him sigh, felt him shake his head, his touch was gentle, his voice gentler still. “And, I swear, Sinead, I don’t know how it happened. I hope you know that. I didn’t do... anything... to cause this.”
Another wave unsettled Sinead’s mood, and she was once again knocked off her emotional center; swinging from tears to laughter in the space of a breath. “Not the cause, huh?” She could barely speak for giggling. “Well, that’s not a very nice thing to say. And what do you mean, you don’t know how it happened? You most certainly do.”
“Sinead,” Adam murmured as he bent to kiss her neck. “You know what I mean.”
His breath in her ear made her shiver. She turned to look at him. “I know. And I believe you.”
“Do you really?” He gazed at her searchingly.
She reached a hand up to cup his face. “Yes. I know that this was not what you intended. You’d never go behind my back to make something like this happen, or– What?” she asked, distracted by the laughter that flared suddenly in Adam’s green eyes.
“Well, as to that, I might have, actually.” He chuckled wickedly, as he reached for her, and pulled her close. “I doubt we’ll ever know for sure what position did it.”
She pushed him away. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she replied, struggling to sound severe, to keep from laughing, to simply keep breathing, as heated memories shimmered to life within her. “Stop it now. I’m trying to be serious here.”
“Very well,” Adam replied, giving up his attempts to hold her, snagging her hand, instead, and lifting it to his lips. He arched an eyebrow inquiringly. “You were saying?”
But, she could barely remember what she’d been saying. His lips grazed her palm, causing her entire body to tingle. She stared into his eyes, seeing her own desire mirrored there. “Adam…”
“Yes, tesoro?” he murmured, still smiling, still holding her gaze with passionate intensity. “I’m listening.” I want you.
The words weren’t spoken aloud, but she heard them all the same, as they echoed in her mind. I want you, too, she thought, in reply. And knew, from the gleam in his eyes that he understood.
It seemed inconceivable that he should feel this way, that he should be interested in her at all, considering the shape she was in right now. But, obviously, he was.
“Oh, Adam.” She shook her head, too overwhelmed to frame a sentence. Maybe they would be okay. If they could feel like this about each other now... maybe they could still feel this way five, or even ten years down the line. Maybe their love could weather life’s lulls, as well as its storms.
It was possible, wasn’t it?
His lips were still teasing her hand, his thoughts were still whispering in her mind. “Stop it,” she admonished as she removed her hand from his grasp. “What I was trying to say, before you distracted me, was that I trust you.”
The laughter fled his eyes, leaving them filled only with love. “Thank you.” Though his voice was pitched low, she could hear the tremor of emotion in it.
And, she could hear an answering tremor in her own voice as she continued, “I know how much you wanted a child. And I know how set you generally are on getting your own way with everything. But you’re not deceitful. You’re not manipulative. And I know you’d never– What now?” she asked, breaking off again, as a look of anguish flashed across his face. “Adam?”
He looked at her in silence, and the expression on his face seared its way into her heart. Then he turned. He crossed to the window and stood for a moment, staring out at the distant hills.
“We need to talk,” he said as he turned back to face her.
She nodded. That was obvious. But, “About what?”
He gestured helplessly at the room around them. “This place. This name. I, I–” he stuttered to a stop, gazing at her helplessly. “I can’t do it, Sinead.”
“Do? Do what?” She felt her heart drop as his meaning hit her. “Adam, you gave me your word.”
He nodded again, looking miserable. “I know. But my grandfather–”
“No.” She shook her head, suddenly furious. “Adam, I don’t want to hear it. This is not about him. This has nothing to do with him.”
“It has everything to do with him,” Adam replied insistently. “It’s his name. I can’t change that.”
“Well, I can’t change hers, either. And, I won’t!”
“Sinead.” Adam clenched his hands into fists. “It’s not the same. It’s not her name yet,” he said, trying to speak calmly, and almost succeeding. “I’m not–”
“Maybe your word doesn’t mean anything, Adam,” she told him, though she knew it wasn�
�t fair. “But mine does. I promised our child I would name her, and I won’t go back on my word to her. How can you ask me to do that?”
“How can you ask me to do this?”
They stared at each other in silence.
Adam shook his head. “Sinead, be reasonable. What possible difference can it make to her what name you choose? For that matter, what difference does it make to you? It’s just a name – pick another one!”
“It’s not just a name.” Sinead paused for breath, hoping to slow the panicked beating of her heart. “It’s her name, Adam. You have to see that.”
“Sinead–”
“I’ve met her, Adam. I’ve dreamt her. I know who she is.”
“No!” Adam shouted in denial. “Can’t you hear yourself? You dreamt her, Sinead. You made her up. She. Does not. Exist.”
“Of course she exists.” Sinead gestured at her stomach. “What do you think this is, then? Overeating? Too much bread with dinner? A second helping of dessert?”
“You know what I’m talking about,” Adam said, waving his own hands in frustration. “Our child... is a, a fetus! She doesn’t care what you call her. It will be years before she cares what you call her. Call her anything you like. Just, not–”
“Damn it,” Sinead snarled in frustration. She wanted to fold her arms across her chest, to fist her hands on her hips – something. But, she couldn’t locate her hips anymore and her chest was now to large for her arms to fold across. So she clenched her fists at her sides and glowered. “Her name is Victoria.”
“Sinead. Listen to me.”
“No,” she repeated sadly, feeling the fight go out of her. “No, Adam, you listen.” Tears obscured her vision, and her legs were shaking so hard, she didn’t understand how she was still standing. She crossed to the rocking chair and sat down. Tears coursed down her cheeks as she rocked, as she stroked her hands slowly, up and down over her belly. She could almost feel her daughter’s fear. Could almost see her, holding her breath, waiting, hoping. Don’t be afraid, Inionai, my little one. Mommy’s here.
“Sinead–”
She raised her eyes to his face. “She almost died, Adam. She could still die.”
