Eva had taken the dare Lucien issued the fated night of their interview, so many weeks ago. He’d been smoothly eloquent; discussing the upcoming investigation with Geoffrey Noah, explaining her presence would boost the channels ratings to a phenomenal level. He had stressed today’s population wanted reality television with a twist. Humanity thrived on the absurd and frightening and Those among Us had all the necessary oomph needed.
Geoffrey had fallen into the play, completely. Mute, she had listened to Lucien's smooth delivery. Later, she realized he was extracting his pound of proverbial flesh….in exchange for the kiss she forced on him. In return, he had scheduled an investigation in the one place she avoided…Miami, Florida.
Eva eyed his tense form. He had shed the trench coat, due to the warm climate. She detected the firm outline of tense muscles rippling beneath his lightweight silk shirt and his rigid shoulders. His back remained to the assemblage gathered at the table, his calm features raised to the blue skies beyond the glass. Among people he knew, he continued to be haunted, troubled by the echo of voices others couldn't hear.
She shook her head. She knew what he felt, and sympathized with a portion of what he heard. She had her own ghostly presence, one that frustrated her. Thankfully, her brother had been absent for the past few days.
Only she’d get an apparition with attitude, she thought with a grumble. Reese appeared irritated with the fact she’d sent him away a few nights past. Granted, she wouldn't have been able to endure his lingering presence when she performed her experiment on the unfortunate Lucien D'Angel.
“Mendelssohn House was built in the latter part of the nineteen hundreds by the prominent banker, Elijah Mendelssohn, for his wife, Rebeka.”
Brice Linton's voice was calm and soothing as it echoed across the conference room, interrupting her thoughts. She focused on the older man who stood at the head of the table and waited for him to continue. Hastily, Eva began to jot notes on the pad she placed on the table.
“The home is an architectural masterpiece. There wasn't an expense spared to appease Rebeka. As you can see by these pictures,” he paused, shuffling a stack he handed to the woman at his right. “Elijah took extreme pride in the construction and design. Take a moment and examine the gingerbread trim,” he waited for the photos to make their slow way around the table. “As you can tell, there’s a sweeping porch ensconcing the front of the building and large bay windows overlooking the street.”
She stared at the color images and smiled. The house looked like an illustration from a children's fairy tale novel, painted an attractive shade of teal blue with brilliant yellow gingerbread trim and pale green eaves. Eva sighed; entranced by the photographs until she remembered this was the next assignment for the people surrounding her.
She handed the pages to the young man seated at her left, not meeting the boy's over-bright eyes. Ethan Benecorte was one of the resident hi-tech engineers of NADGEL. He wouldn't look at the photographs and think how pretty the building was, despite its attractiveness. Instead, his fast-paced mind would wonder where to string infrared cameras and endless yards of electrical wiring.
“Unfortunately, Rebeka Mendelssohn died soon after the house was completed, leaving her husband to raise their three small daughters. A motorcar struck the youngest child, Sarah, in the front drive of the home. She spent the next fifty years of her life confined to the tower room overlooking the main street.”
Brice's comment brought a commiserating sigh from the frail woman sitting to his right, her birdlike features filled with sadness.
“The middle child, Ruth, was the toast of the town. She was a beautiful débutante, and the apple of everyone's eye.”
There was another shuffling of pages as Brice handed another stack of photographs around the table. This time, the images those of a serious faced man seated with a plump woman and three ever more solemn young women of varying ages.
“Ruth married well and, as was customary of the era, went abroad for her honeymoon. Her husband was a well-established Floridian banker who granted his young wife everything her heart wished. William and Ruth Chapman were returning from their honeymoon when their ship struck an iceberg and sunk.”
“Dear Lord,” Eva muttered and all eyes turned toward her. Guiltily, she shifted in her seat and handed the copies to the next investigator. “There’s one daughter crippled for life and the other drowning in the north Atlantic in the most famous shipping disasters recorded. What, pray tell, happened to the oldest?”
“Marian appears the most fortunate.” Brice heaved a long sigh, his eyes wide and massive behind the thickness of his lenses. “She wasn't the toast of the town or rambunctious. After the death of her father, she became an heiress and prospective beaus sought her out, perhaps solely for her money.”
Deborah tut-tutted beneath her breath, the sound nearly birdlike, as the woman was herself. Her graying head bobbed as she screwed her eyes up tight, her features skewed into a grimace of thought.
“That appears to be the unfortunate curse of a pretty girlie with lots of money.” She tittered, and each word sounded more like a needle scraping across the vinyl of an old record.
….understatement
Eva stifled a smile at the whisper echoed so closely to her ear. Oddly enough, she found she missed Reese's obnoxious company the past few days.
….miss me?
She nodded, not wanting to draw attention, and bit her lower lip. A chill shot down the side of her neck, tickling briefly before she glanced at Lucien. Eva noticed he had turned on his heel and, if his expression was anything to judge by, was gracing her brother with the familiar so-you're-back-again looks.
….think he misses me?
“Don't hold your breath.” Eva muttered, pretending to scratch away at her notes. There was the unmistakable sound of laughter filling her ears, and she pulled at the offending lobe while she listened to Brice's lecture.
“Marian never married and inherited the house in the early twenties. Ruth and she stayed at the home, unmarried and reclusive. Sometime, before Ruth's own death, Marian willed the estate to a close friend. In the early eighties, the grandchildren of the owners converted the building into a prosperous bed and breakfast.”
A bed and breakfast equaled cozy and quaint, Eva notated. As she remained studiously bent over her notepad, she was vividly aware Lucien had moved from the windows. His steps were silent on the carpeted floor as he walked to the far end of the conference room. He folded his arms across his chest and his features appeared paler and more serious behind the darkness of the shades.
“What have the owners reported about the occurrences at the house?”
Ethan bounced with the eagerness of a young puppy in his seat, constantly fidgeting and moving restlessly. Eva gained the impression he had restrained the effort to raise his hand, as if he had been present in a class lecture.
“Over the past eighty odd years there have been several documented happenings.”
“Each occurrence has been recorded by residents and guests alike,” Brice interjected, using the tip of his forefinger to push his ever-sliding glasses back to the bridge of his nose.
The retired professor was nearing his seventies, although he appeared ten years younger. His hair was white and his scalp shown through the nearly military cut. His glasses, Eva mused, gave him a nearly owl like appearance behind the bottle thick lenses. She smiled and ducked her head as the lenses did another slow slide down the large protuberance.
Her thoughts drifted back to Lucien. She stared blankly at the papers she neatly arranged on the table, her pen poised mid-air. She didn’t want to be in Miami, but she didn’t have a choice. The decision had been her boss’s and Eva knew her hands were tied.
“Miss Keegan.” Brice Linton's use of her name caused Eva to leap guiltily, a crimson blush flooding her face. She looked up at him and low titters of laughter filled the conference room.
“If you're caught daydreaming, he’ll banish you to a corner with a du
nce cap,” Ethan accused beneath his breath.
“Nah, he can't exact corporal punishment anymore. That's why the old duck retired.” Gilbert Copeland giggled.
“No corporal punishment allowed in school, you fool.” Ethan snarled playfully, tossing a wadded up scrap of paper at his cohort. “Why do you think the boss hired him?”
“Dunno,” Gilbert whispered out the side of his mouth. “Maybe he hired him for the brains, since we ain’t got much.”
“Hell, no, and speak for yourself!” Ethan rolled his eyes. He shoved a well-placed elbow into his Gil’s side, smiling widely as the other man issued a decided oomph. “He hired the professor to beat us when we get out of line, stupid.”
….save me from fools
“I'm so sorry, Brice.” Eva stuttered. All eyes were on her, and the retired professor gave her an understanding nod.
“They make me feel like I was back in school.” Brice granted her a lop-sided grin, his grandfatherly features warm.
“Ditto,” Eva squeaked, placing her pen aside. She looked around the room at the curious faces.
“I didn't mean to expound on the house, in itself.” Brice continued his lips quirking into a self-conscious smile. “I’ve a tendency to go on and on.”
“No,” Eva repeated the denial a few times. “I enjoyed the background information.”
“Brice has that effect on all of us, dear.” The woman at the professor’s side chuckled sympathetically, her tones as soft and warbling as a bird. Deborah sat across from her at the table, her petite and fragile features filled with mild amusement, the palms of her hands resting on the cool veneer of the tabletop. “The first few weeks after we had begun NADGEL, when Brice would update us of each new assignment, a few of us would either wander off in our minds….”
“Or nod off.” The Russian's deep tones were oddly fluent when he interrupted. Eva discovered the heaviness of Nikolai's accent was affected for the benefit of the television program, his English tinged with a distinctly Jersey infliction. “Sorry, man, but it’s the God-given truth. There are times I wonder how you kept the attention of a class at the damned university.”
Accustomed to the good-natured ribbing, Brice squinted myopically and took it all in stride, removing his glasses and wiping the lenses.
“I had the same reaction for nearly twenty-five years.” He cheeks flushed with the admission, placing his glasses back on the bridge of his nose. “You know, the best student I taught wasn't enrolled at the college.”
He strained to see the silent figure at the far end of the room, his separation appearing deliberate. Lucien smiled benignly and inclined his head at the off-handed compliment.
“Ah, all hail our venerated commander-in-chief, Luke.” Gil rose from his seat. He executed a deep waisted bow at his employer. “Mr. Angeles, you're a savior to us all.”
“I'm far from being anyone's saving grace.” He supplied in a monotone. Only Eva was capable of reading more into the words he uttered.
Lucien knew the reporter had been her dogged self, perusing the website of the North American Department of Ghostly Experience League. What she hadn’t discovered about his team members, she found by calling in various favors.
Ethan Benecorte and Gilbert Copeland had been teens on the verge of possible long-term jail time. The duo, currently leveling well-placed jabs at each other, had unimaginable abilities with computer equipment and legal documents. Their various skills defied logical reasoning, and were undeniable. She had read the various charges filed against the youths. The pair would've spent an outrageous amount of years behind bars all for doing what they did best, playing with computers and electronic equipment. Their arrest records noted the pair was arraigned on charges of hacking into a supposedly secure bank system and withdrawing huge amounts of cash for their personal use.
Lucien's encounter with the pair never appeared on court documents. Somehow, and she knew he would deny all knowledge; Lucien managed a deal that prevented the jail time. The youths had come under his tutelage, but their boss didn’t put a stop to them using their self-taught skills.
Instead, he directed the duo into a field where their skill granted them fame, not notoriety. Eva imagined, with their combined knowledge, the pair could adjust any paperwork required for travel.
Deborah, her kind features speculative, was another lost sheep drawn into the strange fold. She had been homeless, bordering on insanity, begging for money in New York's seedier sides of town. There had been a secreted report Lucien had interrupted a near rape and robbery, although the details of the actual event were unclear.
Whatever the deed, Deborah became part of NADGEL.
The Russian's New Jersey locales had been simple to locate, Eva admitted, but his past remained sketchy. Nikolai Rasmonitov sat at the furthest seat available in the room. Despite the heat, he still wore a heavy corduroy jacket and scuffed work boots, his dark hair in disarray. Even as she examined his rugged form, she noticed his eyes glowed with an unusual fire.
Where Lucien found the man, she didn't know. The secrets of Nikolai's past were his own, and she’d been unable to discover much else. All she did unearth was his origins were in some obscure location in deep Russia. He had purposely sought out the company of the paranormal team, his intense knowledge of ancient lore an immense boon to the group.
Brice Linton was something else, and Eva's soft heart went out to him. He had suffered three mini-strokes during numerous years of teaching at the university. The students, on occasion, had ridiculed his instructions and the years of cutbacks slashed his class funding in nearly half. Broken and downhearted when his walking papers were delivered, he lingered on the fringe of suicide, when his only so-called non-student stepped in.
NADGEL granted Brice a new lease on life. His knowledge supplied the group with believable solidity and he offered the group what Lucien couldn't…a sense of ease.
They had been alone in the world, and at the end of their rope before the founder of NADGEL entered their lives. Luke Angeles, as she discovered, was precisely what he denied.
He was their knight gallant.
“Mendelssohn House,” Lucien remained leaning against the far wall of the room as he spoke. Without saying the words, it was obvious he was attempting to redirect everyone to why they were in Florida.
“Yes, yes, Mendelssohn House.” The professor cleared his throat, catching the obvious meaning in his employer's tones. “The inhabitants have documented cases of wall rapping, voices….
….like mine
Reese interrupted, and she stopped herself from reeling about at his interruption. She lifted her pen and focused on her notes, her gaze intent.
“The house has a multitude of going-ons, as well as shadowy images revealing themselves.”
“In other words, the sightings are the norm for most sites,” Gil interjected, tossing a wad of paper across the table.
“Yes,” Brice nodded, his ever-slipping glasses sliding back to the tip of his nose.
“When do we begin, Boss Man?” Ethan questioned and twisted about in his seat.
“You can start the day after tomorrow.” Luke supplied easily, aware they all turned startled eyes toward him.
“Two days?”
“Consider this a vacation, of sorts.” Lucien pasted a congenial smile on his lips. “You’ve two days to enjoy Miami before I put you to work.”
“But?” Brice asked.
“Your day off is all at my expense, of course.”
A gathered mixture of happy sighs surrounded her.
“Is our boss granting us a Christmas holiday?” The Russian interposed and Luke nodded.
“You may consider the break as my gift.” He shoved away from the wall, and moved back to the windows. The room erupted with applause, laughter bursting from the younger group members.
“We’ll meet back here in two days, roughly,” Lucien interrupted, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I would say about three o'clock. That should give us plenty of tim
e to gather our equipment.”
“What about prepping?” Gil inquired.
“Set up shouldn't take so long.” Luke continued without turning. “We’ve seven investigators on hand.”
“Seven?” Nikolai questioned. “There’s just the six of us, as usual.”
“As you're aware, Miss Keyes is accompanying us.”
“What's this little vacation going to cost us, Luke?” Deborah chirped, her inquiring eyes sliding to Eva.
Lucien turned from the window and his lips twisted ironically.
“It’s not going to cost us anything.” He supplied, appearing to focus on the group at the table. “Geoffrey Noah, since we’ve borrowed his illustrious Keyes in New York star, has decided to foot our expenditures.”
“So, he pays for the investigation for the television ratings and you pay for the vacation?” Nikolai's question made the rambunctious pair of boys issue appreciative whistles.
“Yes.” His attention moved back to Eva. She knew he wished he could read her thoughts, but she kept her expression bland.
She would get him, later.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
There are moments in life that confound and amuse even the most bitter of souls
Evangeline cornered him in the lobby of the hotel, Reese dogging her shadow. Lucien acknowledged the ulterior motive in their confrontation, and the similarity of their expressions. Fierce determination, as well as uncertainty, glowed in her normally warm eyes.
“You do know I couldn’t bear the shame.” She sputtered.
He shrugged, his expression enigmatic.
Miami meant one thing to her, family. She couldn't here, knowing the show would be televised in a few weeks, and not visit her parents.
“I can't arrive alone.”
“Where?” He asked, deliberately obtuse.
The Soul Collector (previously released as Angel's Fire, Demon's Blood) Page 13
