by C. De Melo
I pondered his words for a long moment as he watched me expectantly. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my bodyguards stand up and stretch. They had finished their desserts and paid the bill, and now they were watching us from across the street while smoking cigarettes.
I smiled at my brother-in-law for the benefit of my bodyguards. “You have my silence…and my help,” I said through my teeth.
He breathed a sigh of relief and murmured, “Thank you.”
I stood up and took the cup from his hand. “The only reason I want to help you is to prove that Michael is innocent.”
“Zoë…”
“I refuse to believe that Michael would willingly involve himself with a terrorist. There must be a reasonable explanation. Maybe he’s being blackmailed. For God’s sake, Lance, the man is a national hero,” I said before walking to the trash can and tossing out the paper cups.
Lance followed me to the trash can. “I can accept that, and I hope you’re right. There’s nothing I would like more than to prove my brother’s innocence and have the CIA leave me alone. Let’s work together and see what we can find. Deal?”
“Deal.”
***
The day had lost its magic after Lance’s disturbing confession. We continued walking around Rome and enjoying the historical sites, but there was tension between us now. Later that evening, we went out for a light dinner before saying goodnight to each other. I went to bed, but couldn’t sleep. The digital clock on the nightstand read two o’ clock. I tossed and turned for a few more minutes before deciding to get up and get some fresh air on the terrace. I grabbed a cashmere sweater to wear over my satin slip and headed for the door.
This is madness.
There was no way Michael was guilty. At this late hour, the lights were turned off and the terrace was closed to the public. The moon was shedding its silvery light upon the leaves of the potted trees making them appear metallic. As I looked up at the moon, I replayed the conversation I had earlier with Lance over and over in my head. And then it hit me. Al Majed...
“Mom,” I gasped aloud with terrifying realization.
I flew down the stairs, through my room and out the door. With racing heart, I stepped out into the hallway in my bare feet. I heard the door across from my room open and my name being called. The security team was aware of my every move. One of Michael’s men called out, chasing after me.
I looked over my shoulder, completely oblivious of my scanty attire. “I need to speak with my brother-in-law. It’s an emergency.”
I didn’t bother with the elevator. I ran down the steps and stopped in front of Lance’s room. The security guard was watching from the open door of the stairwell. I pounded on the hotel room door until Lance opened it. He had a gun in his hand and I stepped back instinctively. He followed my gaze to the security guard, and gave the man an ‘okay’ sign by nodding his head. When the security guard turned his back, he pulled me into the room and locked the door behind me.
“You scared the hell out of me,” he said, placing one hand on the wall and allowing his shoulders to sag in relief. “When the alarm went off that you’d left the room, I was up instantly. You almost gave me a heart attack.” He looked down at my bare feet and my clothing (or lack thereof) before demanding, “What are you doing wandering around the hotel at this ungodly hour?”
“My mother knew about Al Majed!” I blurted out.
He looked at me incredulously. “Of course she knew about him. She worked for CAT.” He stopped short when he noticed I was trembling from head to toe. “Why are you so upset? What’s wrong?”
“Al Majed made an appearance at the Christmas party!” I was beginning to hyperventilate. “He showed up without an invitation!” Lance put the gun down on the dresser and frowned. “You own a gun?” I asked, surprised.
He led me to a chair. “Never mind about that now, slow down and breathe.”
I sat down and took a deep breath. “My mother must have recognized him…she had no history of heart disease!”
He knelt in front of me. “I’m not quite following you.”
“I saw her leave Michael’s office!” I cried. “Don’t you see? I saw my mother’s face- she looked very upset before walking into the kitchen. A moment later she was dead!”
Lance gripped my shoulders. “Are you implying that your mom may have been murdered at the party because she recognized Al Majed?”
I felt myself nodding. “Maddy and I were so baffled by her sudden heart attack. She had been fine all day at the spa. She was as healthy as a horse and even drank martinis that night! She never complained of heart trouble.”
I felt woozy and I placed my head in my hands. He walked to the bed and opened the drawer of his nightstand. I saw him remove a silver flask. There was a small glass on the dresser and he filled it with the amber colored liquid he poured from the flask.
“Drink this,” he said.
“What is it?”
“Good old fashioned scotch,” he replied. “It’ll calm you down and help you sleep.”
I drank the contents in the glass. It was like swallowing liquid fire and the heat radiated throughout my body until I felt deliciously relaxed.
“Better?” he asked. I nodded and he added, “Good.”
“You do believe me, don’t you?”
“I do, but right now you need a good night’s sleep because you’ve had a long day. Nothing will get resolved in Italy, so I want you to enjoy the rest of your stay in Rome. We’ll deal with this when we get back to D.C.”
“Promise you’ll help me?”
“I promise.”
He was wearing nothing but a pair of black athletic drawstring pants, and his hair was untied and disheveled. As my eyes roamed over his body, I noticed that every muscle of his chest was tense and hard.
“Come on, I’ll walk you to your room,” he said, helping me up and leading me towards the door.
We took the lift up to my room. Once inside, he did a thorough check to make sure there were no lurking gypsy thieves, and then he stepped into the bathroom out of the camera’s range. I followed him and leaned my hip against the sink. In the back of my mind I wondered what Michael’s security team was thinking. They would have an interesting report for my husband the next day. Perhaps I should have waited to speak with Lance privately; I had raced to his room in panic.
Too late to worry about that now.
“Are you okay?” he asked, looking at me intently.
“I just need to know the truth about my mother’s death.”
“And you will,” he assured. “It’s on my priority list.”
I sighed. “Sorry for waking you in the middle of the night…I reacted without thinking.”
He shook his head. “You did the right thing. Let’s get some sleep, okay? Big day tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
He nodded, satisfied. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Lance.”
But he did not leave. He eyed me steadily with a questioning look on his face. I took a step towards him and opened my mouth to speak, but he suddenly leaned forward and silenced me with a kiss. The feel of his lips were warm, firm. He pressed his body against mine and I did not pull away. My hands crept up his muscular arms and around his neck.
When he pulled away, his eyes were troubled. “I’m sorry- I need to go.”
He said nothing more as he opened the door and left the suite. I stood frozen with my fingertips upon my slightly throbbing lips. I closed my eyes; I could still smell his scent.
***
I received a message from Lance during breakfast stating that he could not accompany me to the Vatican Museum. For some absurd reason, tears welled up in my eyes. It was time to be honest with myself. I was falling for my brother-in-law and he was obviously mortified by our kiss last night.
I dressed in the bathroom and left my suite to further explore Rome. The Vatican itself was as opulent as ever and its museum was overwhelming. I enjoyed the Sistine Chapel with Bill a
nd Drew (who took turns looking up at the ceiling in awe), and tried to ignore the fact that Lance had not called me once throughout the day. Nor had he bothered to invite me to dine with him that evening. I was forced to eat my last dinner in Rome alone.
The next morning when I called the bellhop to carry my luggage down to the awaiting limo, I toyed with the idea of calling Lance. I decided against it, however. Since it was no longer a secret that Lance and Michael’s security team were spying on me, we all boarded Michael’s private jet at the same time.
“Good morning, Zoë,” Lance said pleasantly, passing my seat to take his own a few rows behind me.
“Good morning,” I replied quietly.
The security team members were discussing something with him and he tore his gaze away from mine. The flight home was smooth and Michael was waiting for me at the airport with an armful of white lilies.
“How lovely,” I said, accepting his kiss on my cheek.
“Welcome home, princess. I’ve missed you,” he said.
“I’ve missed you, too.”
Michael shook his brother’s hand. “Thanks for keeping an eye on her for me.”
“There is no need to thank me,” Lance replied with a smile.
“If you’ll excuse us, I have a wonderful evening planned for Zoë.” Michael turned to look at me and added, “That is, of course, if you aren’t too tired.”
“Not at all,” I assured.
“I have reservations at Babette’s and theater tickets to see Othello.”
“Sounds great,” I said.
“You two have fun,” Lance said, looking at me.
Michael led me to the car. When I looked over my shoulder, Lance was watching me with an expression akin to misery.
***
The day after my arrival from Rome, Michael informed me that he was going to London.
“Again?” I blurted out, causing him to raise an eyebrow at me. I quickly added, “You’ve been going there a lot lately. When do you leave?”
“In a couple of days,” he replied.
“Weren’t you there recently?”
He looked at me blankly for a few seconds. “Oh, yes, but I need to go back for another reason.”
“I see.”
“If you’ll excuse me, I need to get some work done.”
“Okay.” I looked out the window. “It’s nice out…I think I’ll go for a run.”
“Be careful,” he warned.
I drove to the nearby park and jogged over to a private bench. Making sure there was no one around, I called Lance. “Can you talk?” I asked as soon as his face appeared in the screen.
His eyes lit up at the sight of me, and then he composed himself. “Sure, what’s up?”
“Michael is leaving for London in a few days…or so he says.”
“I haven’t heard anything from the CIA so his trip may be legitimate.”
“Oh.”
“But we can take advantage of his absence. I want to take a look at that trunk.”
“You haven’t told anyone about it, have you?”
“No, but I do need to bring a lock specialist with me.” At the sight of my worried expression, he added, “How else are we going to open it without Michael knowing?”
“I guess you have a point.”
“A pro will be able to pick the lock so we can relock it afterward.”
“I’ll call you as soon as Michael has gone.” There was an awkward pause of silence. Finally, I said, “Okay, well, I hope you have a good day.”
“Zoë?”
“Yes?”
“Everything is going to be all right. Don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried about that,” I said pointedly.
He sighed. “I’m sorry about what happened in your room. I didn’t mean to kiss you and I’m so ashamed. I can’t even face you.”
“You’ve been blowing me off ever since,” I retorted, my pent up frustration finally released.
“I’ve been avoiding you, yes, but not because I don’t want to be around you,” he explained quickly. He ran a hand through his hair and looked down. “The truth is I want to spend all my time with you, but I can’t. The day we went to the Galleria Borghese was the best day of my life…and I have to continually remind myself that I spent it with my brother’s wife.”
“Lance…”
“You deserve respect and admiration, which is what I have for you, Zoë. I never meant to overstep the boundaries by kissing you. I just couldn’t help myself and I’m truly sorry.” He stopped speaking and I could only stare at him with my mouth agape. Finally, he said, “I’m going now before I make an even bigger ass of myself. I’ll see you soon.”
“See you soon,” I whispered to the blue screen.
***
Michael did not leave for London until the end of the week. Lance arrived at the house an hour after my husband’s plane took off. I’d given the entire house staff the whole day off. The last thing we needed was spying eyes and gossiping tongues. The lock specialist was a short, middle-aged man named Gary. He carried a brown leather case filled with odd-looking tools. I led Lance and Gary to the shed where the trunk was located.
“Do you think you can open it?” Lance asked.
Gary knelt down and inspected the lock. “This lock is custom made, but I can try. It will take a few minutes, but I think I can figure out the basic components and open it with relatively little or no harm.”
“I don’t want the trunk or lock damaged in anyway. And I want to be able to lock it afterward without a problem,” I said, noticing the look Lance gave me.
“I understand,” Gary said with a nod.
“Good. Can I get you something to drink while you’re working?” I offered.
“Water would be fine, thanks.”
“I’ll be right back.”
Lance followed me outside the garden shed and gripped my arm. “I want to talk to you,” he said.
“Come into the kitchen.”
We walked into the empty kitchen and he closed the door behind us. “You’re not changing your mind about the deal we made in Rome, are you?”
I frowned. “Why would I do that?”
“Maybe you’re angry at me for kissing you.”
I shook my head. “I’m not angry at you, Lance. Just…”
“Just what?”
“Michael saved my life- I owe him everything. Do you know how disloyal and dirty I feel doing this behind his back?”
“If there’s nothing in the trunk, then we have nothing to worry about. This is as hard for me as it is for you.”
I poured water from the tap and walked out of the kitchen. Lance was at my heels. I gave the glass of water to Gary. No one spoke as he worked on the lock. Twenty minutes later, it clicked open.
“My job here is done,” Gary said triumphantly.
Lance paid Gary and walked him out. I stared at the trunk, not daring to touch it until Lance returned. When he came back to the garden shed, he stood close beside me.
“Do you want me to open it or would you rather do it?” he asked.
“You do it,” I replied.
He knelt in front of the trunk, removed the lock and pushed back the lid.
“My grandmother’s linens!” I exclaimed, kneeling beside Lance and gently touching the old fabrics.
“Here, let me remove them so we can see what’s underneath,” he said.
He carefully removed the neatly folded linens until he came upon a wooden box and some manila folders. He removed those quickly, made sure there was nothing else in the trunk and replaced the linens.
“We should look at these inside the house- somewhere we won’t be disturbed.”
I shut the lid and left the open lock beside the trunk. We went inside to the privacy of my studio and sat down on the small sofa. Lance looked through the papers in the manila folders first.
“These are old property deeds from back when they still used paper,” Lance said dismissively.
“Deeds
to what?”
“Michael’s research facilities.”
“Oh. What’s in the box?” I asked.
He put the deeds back in their folders and picked up the wooden box. There was a tiny lock on it. “Damn,” he said.
“I have skeleton keys. There are several different sizes, so maybe one of them will fit that lock.”
I ran upstairs and fished the keys out from where I’d hidden them. I brought the keys down to Lance and he tried each one in turn until he came across a tiny key that made the lock on the wooden box click open.
He smiled. “Good job, Zoë.” He opened the box and took out a stack of papers that appeared to be lab reports. After shuffling through a few of them, he frowned. “Jesus Christ,” he said in a low voice.
“What are they?”
He stood and walked away, still looking at the papers in his hands.
“Lance, what do they say?” I demanded.
His face had turned completely white. “Zoë, maybe you shouldn’t see this.”
He held the papers closely to his chest and shook his head. I walked to where he stood and took the stack from him. I began to shuffle through the papers and saw the dates on them.
“What’s the big deal?” I asked. “These are old reports about the Pod virus...”
Then I saw what had gotten Lance so upset. I felt my knees go weak and immediately sat down in the nearest chair.
“Zoë…are you okay?”
“This is a mistake. There must be a reasonable explanation for this.”
The lab reports outlined the Pod’s creation, not its cure. My mind raced with possibilities. “Maybe Michael purchased this information so his research teams could find the cure. Isn’t it easier to find the solution to something if you know what caused the problem? Reverse technology.”
“Perhaps,” he agreed dubiously. “But where would he buy something like that?”
“Isn’t there a black market for this stuff?”
“Maybe…I don’t know.”
“Are you going tell the CIA about this?” When he didn’t respond, I said, “What if we’re jumping to the wrong conclusion? Shouldn’t we give him the benefit of the doubt? This is Michael we’re talking about here.”
