The stranger’s attention had left Archie completely. “I work with computers. What seems to be the problem?”
“We’re supposed to have a wireless link to the room down the hill. It won’t stay up, I keep having to reboot.”
The stranger moved to the computer and leaned over. “May I try something? If there’s anything here you want to keep, save it to file.”
George moved off his seat and the stranger replaced him. He called up a few windows, made a few adjustments, and the thing was done. “Try that.”
Archie made a move to watch what the stranger was doing. “I kept asking for a computer tech but English Heritage never sent one.”
“I’m happy to help.” Evan Howell stood up, and stuck out his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
“Archie Hamilton.” Archie touched the proffered hand. “Who are you here to see, Howell?” Like a dog at a bone.
“Sofie Adams. It’s a personal matter.”
Everyone looked at her, so Sofie shrugged and stepped forward. “I’m Sofie. You know I’m on leave? I’m supposed to be getting married next week.”
He didn’t question her deliberately enigmatic comment. “Yes, I know. As I said it’s a personal matter.”
Sofie frowned. What on earth could it be? His gaze was steady, fixed on her. Sofie shifted from one foot to another, uncomfortable under his gaze before she broke the impasse. “You’re a computer expert?”
He grinned, a flash of ivory teeth; then it was gone. “A geek. I’m a geek.”
He didn’t look like any geek she’d ever met. They had pasty white skin and spectacles. His eyes were keen, and she was sure he missed nothing. His skin was lightly tanned. Under his T-shirt was nothing but muscle. It made her want to do things with him her mind skittered away from. Archie wasn’t particularly possessive, but this seemed more intimate, more like a betrayal.
As it would be if she let her mind wander any further. She had to make the break with Archie before she could even consider dating anyone else.
Archie made a move. “We’re finished here for the day. There’s a nice pub in the village. Join us and we can talk there.”
Howell gave a superficial smile of acceptance. “It sounds good to me.”
The scramble down to the village was the worst part of the day. The climb up wasn’t so bad. However at the end of the day it was hard to tackle the precarious stone staircase and the narrow bridge that was the only way off the site. After gathering the finds, the laptop and the geophysics equipment, they began the descent.
Sofie watched the CIA man scramble down the narrow path, admiring his surefooted descent. He paused to wait for Sofie and Gwyneth, slower than the men. Archie, tired like the rest of them, stumbled on the granite outcroppings, nearly falling a couple of times.
A few tourists joined the small band of archaeologists leaving the castle to its ghosts. In the morning it would start again, tourists from all over the world wanting to see the place Arthur was conceived, forgetting or conveniently ignoring the fact that the castle remains dated from the eleventh and twelve centuries, a full six hundred years after Arthur’s time, if he existed.
It wasn’t hard to forget, to immerse oneself in the heady atmosphere of legend. Sofie had once sat in Merlin’s Cave, lost in the thick atmosphere that seemed to call to her until the tide threatened to engulf her. If Archie hadn’t come looking for her, she would have been in trouble. People had drowned in that cave.
Sofie shuddered and at once felt a steadying hand beneath her elbow. “You’re all right?”
“I’m fine, thank you.” She didn’t pull away, not wanting to appear rude, but Howell’s touch unnerved her more than it should have. He was only steadying her from what he must have thought was a stumble. But the jolt from his hand on her bare elbow shot through her like a charge of electricity.
Archie glanced behind and immediately came back to join them. “Tired, old girl? Want me to carry you?” He gave her a cocky grin.
Sofie looked down the sheer cliff at the waves crashing against the rocks and shuddered in earnest. “No, thank you Archie.”
The journey to the pub was filled with pleasant chatter and inconsequential comments. Just before they reached the pub Sofie felt a tug on her jeans. It was Gwyneth, and her wink told Sofie she wanted a private word. She obligingly walked a little slower, until the others were out of earshot.
“He is fine, isn’t he?” Gwyneth murmured.
Sofie didn’t bother to ask who she meant. She’d felt the raw, sexual appeal for herself. “He’s interesting,” she admitted.
“He likes you.”
“Well he can’t have me!” she snapped, annoyed at the implication. Knowing from Gwyneth’s raised eyebrow that she had over-reacted, Sofie deliberately softened her tone. “I don’t know what he wants, but it’s not that. He might be one of Elaine’s friends.”
“From what you’ve told me about your New York flat mate, she goes in for one night stands.”
Sofie sighed. “I’m just glad none of my most precious possessions are in that apartment. It’s only temporary. Most of my stuff is in storage. Elaine brings a different man home every night. It’s highly likely he’s one of her friends, but a bit odd if he came all the way across the Atlantic just to see me.”
Gwyneth shrugged. “Perhaps he’s on holiday, and just thought to look you up.”
“Yes.” Sofie watched Gwyneth tracing the shape of the cobble with the point of one foot. Her tennis shoes, filthy now, had been pristine that morning. Sofie fully expected Gwyneth’s shoes to be pristine tomorrow, too. Gwyneth was very particular about her shoes.
“Do you mind throwing him in my direction?”
“What?”
“Well, he wants to talk to you. When you’ve done, can I have him?”
Gwyneth might stand a very good chance with him, if he was one of Elaine’s men. It would probably mean he wasn’t averse to the odd casual encounter. Not that it was in Gwyneth’s style normally. Sofie knew that Gwyneth fancied Archie, would have taken him had it not been for their friendship. The stranger had a feral, animal quality that she was sure drew women into his orbit like iron filings to a magnet. It had drawn Gwyneth. It would have drawn her, had she allowed it.
Sofie quickened her pace to catch up with Archie. Having reached him she threaded her arm through his and allowed him to hug her to his side.
The pub was comfortably filled with talking, laughing people. Archie secured a table by the window, close to the fireplace. The magnificent timber fireplace made Sofie itch to get her hands on it and send off a sample. If it was a reproduction, it was the best one she had ever seen. If it were real, it was magnificent, solid, blackened timber set over a pedestal of hand made bricks, the cold logs set in a basket supported by shiny black firedogs. The objects around the fire weren’t the reproduction horse brasses of the typical English pub, but quirky, strange objects with pagan symbols, made to protect the precious livestock.
The stranger stood, head cocked to one side, contemplating the fireplace.
“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” Sofie said, pleased to find a fellow admirer.
“It is indeed. I wonder what that’s for?” He pointed at a large wooden spoon, so heavily carved it could never have served its ostensible purpose.
“It’s a Welsh loving spoon. The man would carve it himself for his loved one, to prove his devotion.”
“So he carved a spoon rather than made love to her? I think I might have been jealous of the time he spent on the spoon, if I’d been his sweetheart.”
She ignored the flippant comment. “If she accepted the spoon it was an acceptance of his suit, and they were married.”
He turned away from the fireplace to look at her. “So they entered marriage with at least one spoon to their name. A different world, wasn’t it?”
Caught by those dark, gleaming eyes Sofie felt unable to look away. Brown, his eyes were brown. What was it with this man? He seemed similarly mesmerized, but perh
aps he was indulging her. Perhaps that was his pick-up line. She’d heard worse.
Forcing her attention away, Sofie went over to the table and sat next to Archie on the Windsor chair he’d saved for her. Evan Howell went and sat on the other side of the table. “Is your business urgent?”
Evan shook his head. “Nothing that can’t wait.”
They ordered lasagna, Archie’s favorite. “It’s just as well you’re active, Archie,” Gwyneth commented with a grin. “It’s not the sort of diet you should have on a regular basis.” She turned to Evan with a flirtatious bat of her lashes. “Aren’t Americans obsessed with healthy eating?”
“Not all of us are quite so concerned. New Yorkers are more interested that their food tastes good, as a rule.”
Sofie remained relatively quiet, and after the meal, when Archie leant back in his chair, replete, she allowed him to take her hand, growling like a Neanderthal after a good meal of roasted boar. Evan Howell might be of the same ilk. He certainly looked the part, dark as sin, authoritative in attitude, with a build more athletic than Archie’s, but just as impressive.
There was something about him though. He held himself apart from everyone, joining in and responding but volunteering nothing. Eventually someone asked him a question. It was George, the man who’d had problems with the laptop.
“Evan Howell,” he said thoughtfully. “Don’t I know you?”
Howell’s attention immediately went to him, the gaze sharp until he lowered his eyelids. When he looked up, all Sofie could see was mild interest. He’d replaced the revealing emotion so quickly she doubted anyone else had noticed. “Really?”
“There was an Evan Howell accused of computer hacking, a few years back. He was one of the first hackers to be jailed. Don’t suppose you’re the same one?”
Howell laughed; a sound that surprised Sofie, so uninhibited and joyful was the brief peal of laugher that rang through the cozy lounge. “That’s me. I work for the good guys these days. I did two years in jail, but I was sentenced to ten. My mother plays the stock markets, and I thought I’d try to help her investments along. Stupid thing to do.”
Gwyneth leaned a little closer, the slash in her pink T-shirt opening to reveal her cleavage. “How exciting!” Somewhere along the way she had loosened her braids and now her fair hair tumbled around her shoulders in careless, sexy disarray. Her green eyes gleamed with enthusiasm. “What do you do for the CIA?”
Howell grinned the one-sided smile Sofie had seen before. She wished he wouldn’t. It was just too disturbing. “Nothing too exciting. Mostly testing security systems, building networks.”
“Did they make you an offer you couldn’t refuse?” That was Archie, leaning back in his chair, a twinkle in his blue eyes. Sofie had thought them heavenly once. Now they were just – blue.
Howell joined in the laughter. “No, that was the Mob. Truth was, in prison I was offered several lucrative jobs, mostly illegal ones. The authorities got to know about it, and they recruited me instead. They helped me get out early.”
Despite his jocular tone, Sofie saw the genuine amusement had gone. The last sentence sounded bleak, but no one else seemed to notice. She recalled the case now; it must have been ten years ago, when computer hacking first became newsworthy. That made him – she shut her eyes, calculating.
“Thirty,” came the amused voice. She opened her eyes. He was watching her. “You’re working for the FBI? What are you doing in New York?”
“A killer emerged in New York, and they wanted to consult me about the case. I can’t say too much about it. The case is ongoing.” She bit her lip. Meeting his gaze she realized – he knew, he knew why she was in New York. That was why he wanted to see her. They’d brought in, The Child Abduction and Serial Killer Unit, CASKU, when the unusual features made it apparent there was a pattern in the cases to date. Working with the prestigious serial killer unit had helped Sofie decide what she wanted to do with her life. Lecturing was no longer enough for her. She wanted to be involved.
Why was Evan Howell interested in the Runes Murders, as someone in the Department had labeled them?
“How did you manage, after years of handling skeletons and ancient remains?”
“It was hard. But I felt I was doing something to help. It got easier. You?”
He spread his hands. “I’m a geek. When would I get to see dead bodies?”
She knew he was lying. A guarded look had come over his face. She understood, as the others didn’t, that it was forbidden to talk about some areas of their work, and bad manners to press when the person made it clear they didn’t want to go on. Once they had eaten she would try to find somewhere private, somewhere they could talk. “I’m based at the New York field office for now.”
Sofie was watching Howell closely, and he knew it. His stare was direct, communicating only with her, as though only the two of them existed.
Archie pushed his chair back and started to get to his feet before Sofie realized she had missed her round. She was always meticulous buying it, as otherwise Archie would buy it instead, and use it to ‘prove’ his masculinity. A trait in him that increasingly annoyed her. She got to her feet. “My round.” She reached into her pocket for the money and pulled something else out with the notes.
The whistle, shining silver in the bright, friendly pub lights, inviting her to touch it. Smiling she bent and picked it up. “My find,” she said, and raised it to her lips.
The sound was surprisingly clear, and the note a high pitched single note. It didn’t sound like a police whistle at all. The blast silenced conversation for a moment, then there were a few laughs when she shrugged and showed them the whistle. She returned it to her tight jeans pocket.
Archie gasped, one hand clutching the table, one hand on his heart, his face contorted with pain. Panicked, Sofie reached for him, as did George, on his other side, but neither could prevent Archie tumbling off his chair to the floor with a solid thump. What was wrong? What had happened?
Terrified, Sofie forgot anything else, and knelt by Archie’s side. She acted by rote, following the basics of emergency training, feeling for a pulse, bending to try and discern some breath coming from his half open mouth. Electronic beeps meant someone was using their mobile phone, and footsteps sounded behind them. “Let me look. I’m a doctor.”
Sofie recognized him as a doctor attached to the local surgery. She leaned back, heart racing in terror. Archie was out cold, not moving.
The doctor snapped out, “Ring for an ambulance,” then rolled Archie onto his back. Sofie watched the doctor place his hands on Archie’s chest, and counted with him. “One, two, three, four, five,” then he bent and pinched Archie’s nose, breathing into his mouth.
A female voice, high pitched and panicked, broke the silence. Gwyneth cried, “Archie’s dead!”
Chapter Four
Confusion. Light. Mordred sat up, eyes open, senses alert.
His first emotion was overwhelming joy. His second was anger. People hovered over him, with – resuscitation equipment. How did he know that?
Yes, there was someone else in here with him. He heard his mother’s voice, deep inside this new body. Be careful, my son! Take what you need first!
Mordred closed his eyes, the better to concentrate. Someone was here, battering his senses, panicked. He needed some of this. He selected the memories, isolated the pure, flickering spirit.
And killed it. Such wonderful power, to snuff a life out like that, pinching it between a metaphorical finger and thumb! He allowed himself a moment to savor the experience.
He opened his eyes. A woman hovered before him, blue eyes clouded with anxiety. “Sofie,” he managed, curling his tongue around the unfamiliar name. She wasn’t his type, all skin and bones, untidy dark hair curling out from where it was secured behind her head. He recalled she was this person’s fiancée.
“Are you all right? Oh, Archie, you gave us such a fright!”
“Best he comes with us, miss,” said a voice fro
m above. Mordred/Archie looked up to see a man in a yellow vest, holding paddles he knew were supposed to revive him. He grinned. “You won’t need those now. I don’t know what happened, but I’m fine now.”
“Could be anything,” the man volunteered. “Are you allergic to anything? Peanuts maybe?”
Mordred shook his head. Hands under his armpits helped him to his feet. He stood, shakily taking stock of his new self. He was pleased to see he towered over most of the people who were standing, which was most of them. Sofie kept hold of his elbow, staring up at him, frowning in anxiety. He shook her off. “I’m all right now. I don’t want to go anywhere.” He smelled ale and his mouth watered. He had all the senses now, all intact. All his. “I could do with a drink.”
“Not a good idea. You should come with me and get checked over.”
It was the man again. He searched his new memories. Paramedic. “No need. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Please, Archie. For me?”
He turned to stare down at the woman. Full mouth, but a body not nearly filled out enough for him. “Why should I do anything for you?”
He watched her step back, her face white with shock, and felt a curl of gratification. “Because I’m Sofie,” she suggested, and he watched her face go cold. This was fun.
“Yes. I’m sorry, I don’t know what I’m thinking.”
He let his gaze wander. Another woman, dressed in a pink clingy top that made the most of her luscious curves. Much more his type. Blonde, too, wavy blonde hair he could imagine falling over his chest as she worked him. Very nice. He swallowed the extra saliva the thought had engendered and moved on.
Holy mother of God!
After all these years, all this time, he was back as well.
Well wouldn’t you know it? I get back after a lifetime away and you’re here to meet me. Well, we’re on equal terms this time. You don’t look any older than I am, and you’re not my King any more.
Arthur stared back, the only one at the table who wasn’t smiling in relief to see Archie on his feet. “You’re feeling better?” he suggested gently. Even the timbre was the same, gently musical, with the hidden threat only Mordred had been able to hear.
Lynne Connolly Page 2
