The Wanderer's Children

by L. G. O'Connor

  “Wow, this place is gorgeous, Cara.”

  Cara smiled. “Thanks. Let’s drop your suitcase off in the guest room.” She led Irene deeper into the apartment and down past the other bedrooms. Jessa followed.

  “This place looks like it belongs in Architectural Digest. I’m jealous.”

  “That makes two of us, and not just because of the apartment,” Jessa said with a mischievous grin. Lowering her voice, she whispered into Irene’s ear. “Wait until you see Simon.”

  “I heard that.” Cara chuckled. “And don’t be jealous. This place is great, but it comes with its own set of problems.”

  I’d be willing to take on a stopped up toilet or two, Irene thought, glancing at the museum-quality oil paintings that lined the hallway.

  “Do you think you’ll stay at Simon’s security company long-term, or are you still looking for another finance job?” Irene asked. Cara had been laid off from her investment banking job in March, and within weeks, she had found Simon, gotten engaged, and uncharacteristically changed careers. Irene couldn’t help but think that working with your future husband might be a dicey arrangement.

  Cara shrugged. “I might. But after killing myself for five years at Cabot, I’m happy to have time to sort things out before I make another permanent move. For now, I’m happy working for Simon. Money isn’t a problem, so why not?”

  Irene added that to her list of things to be jealous over. Having a government job would never allow her the same flexibility.

  Cara opened the door down the hall across from the master bedroom and led them into a nice-sized guest room with a private bath. The French décor was feminine and fresh, painted in mocha with a queen-size bed with oatmeal-colored linens. Landscape paintings graced the walls, and a blue slipper chair next to the bed offered a nice place to read.

  Setting down Irene’s suitcase next to the closet, Cara pointed to the bathroom. “There are fresh towels and every hair care product you can think of in the shower. Freshen up if you like, and then meet us in the kitchen.” Her face took on a dreamy look. “I can’t wait for you to meet my honey.”

  “Me, too. I owe him one for saving you from your despair over Kai.” Irene smirked. Having a ringside seat to the “Cara and Kai Show” after he was married had been painful. Thank God that spell’s broken, she thought.

  Jessa high-fived Irene. “Hallelujah, sister!”

  Cara scowled. “Thanks. Sienna would join you in celebration if she were here.”

  “How is Sienna?” Irene asked, brightening. Although Sienna hadn’t attended Georgetown with them, she’d come down often enough, and they’d kept in touch on and off ever since. Irene enjoyed Sienna’s irreverence. Like a sister-in-arms, together they balanced the more conservative Cara and Jessa.

  Cara released a breath. “She’s good, but having some romantic challenges of her own.”

  Irene’s eye lit up. “Oh, do tell!”

  “I really shouldn’t be sharing—”

  “Oh, nonsense. Spill.” Irene waved her hand and sank down onto the edge of the bed.

  “I agree.” Jessa plopped down next her, looking just as eager to hear the gossip. “It doesn’t have anything to do with her ex-boyfriend, Mark, does it?”

  Cara’s shook her head and sat on the blue slipper chair. “No, thankfully.” Taking a deep breath, she said, “She and my friend Michael, who you’ll meet this weekend, are perfect for each other. Only they don’t know it yet. I’m hoping they can hook up at the party tomorrow night and work it out.”

  “Umm, sounds intriguing,” said Irene with a wide grin. “Anything we can do to help?”

  “Yeah. Don’t tell her I told you—or she’ll kill me. And pray a little,” Cara said, getting up. “We better get to the kitchen before Simon thinks we’ve gone AWOL.”

  Irene’s cell phone rang in her purse and she went rigid.

  “Why don’t you get that, and then meet us in the kitchen whenever you’re ready? It’s down the hallway past the foyer,” Cara said with a fleeting look of confusion like she’d picked up on something.

  “Sounds like a plan. Be there in a couple of minutes,” Irene said, pasting on a smile.

  As the door clicked shut behind Cara and Jessa, Irene pounced on her purse and answered her phone. “What?” she snapped.

  “Miss Hickey, have you arrived?” She recognized Caswell’s grating voice.

  “I just got here for Pete’s sake. I don’t have anything to report yet.” The joy she’d been feeling trickled out of her.

  “I realize that. Please activate one of the tracking devices, so that we know where you are,” he said and hung up.

  Irene sat on the edge of the bed, paralyzed. In a fit of defiance, she shut the phone off, placed it back in her purse, and headed to the kitchen. Forget them. She planned on having a good time tonight. She could play superspy tomorrow.

  On her way, she took a mini-tour, poking her nose into the other rooms along the hallway. The place was incredibly huge and gorgeous, a far cry from her teeny-tiny one bedroom apartment in Capitol Hill.

  I’d give my eyeteeth for a fraction of this space, she thought enviously.

  Voices grew louder as she approached the kitchen from the long, narrow corridor. A rich, masculine voice joined Cara’s and Jessa’s. Irene spotted some white cabinetry through the open doorway. From what she could see, the kitchen was just as magnificent as the rest of the place.

  A timer sounded from inside. “Stand back, ladies. The hors d’oeuvres are ready.”

  “I guess I’m just in time,” said Irene, rounding the corner into the kitchen. The sight of the massive, ponytailed blond man wearing an apron froze her in place. Her knees buckled, and the air flew from her lungs in a sharp gasp.

  Holy Mackerel! Simon was the guy from the surveillance tape.

  Alarm filled Cara’s eyes and she came running over with Jessa. “Eye, are you all right?” She grabbed Irene’s arm to help steady her.

  “I suddenly felt faint. I must be hungrier than I thought.” Truth always makes the best lie. She’d learned that in the CIA.

  Simon pulled out a glass and filled it with orange juice before joining them. “Here, drink this. It will help if it’s your blood sugar.”

  Taking the glass, she stared up into his kind, concerned eyes and tried not to melt. He was breathtaking with the body of a god. His finely chiseled face was beautiful yet masculine with blue eyes so bright they blazed. Her gut screamed that the NSA’s terrorist angle was bunk. His only crime, from what Irene could fathom, was probably stopping traffic and causing five-car pileups. One look at him and she’d happily plow her car into the back of another.

  Her eyes stayed glued on him. She smiled and tried not gape. “You must be Simon. I’m Irene.” She offered him her other hand.

  He returned her smile, and her hand disappeared inside of his. “Simon Young.”

  “Cara, I agree with Jessa. He’s worth being jealous over.” She continued to stare.

  His laugh was rich and deep. “Why, thank you. I’m glad you approve of Cara’s choice.”

  She sighed. “Any more where you came from?”

  Cara cocked her eyebrow. “Actually…”

  Simon gave Cara a cautionary smile. “Sweetheart, we’re still trying to smooth over the situation from the last time you played Cupid.”

  “Um, I think Constantina had a little more to do with Michael and Sienna than she’s willing to admit. Don’t you?” Cara challenged with a lifted brow.

  “Perhaps,” he said, mildly amused, and pointed to the tray of cooling hors d’oeuvres. “Ladies, may I interest you in some appetizers before they get cold? Dinner will be ready shortly.”

  She, Cara, and Jessa each took a stool around the kitchen island.

  He transferred the hot canapés onto serving trays and put them out, and then opened a nice bottle of chilled Chablis. He poured them each a glass to enjoy while he completed dinner.

  “These are fantastic,” Irene said, popping a s
econd one into her mouth and washing it down with the remainder of her orange juice.

  Cara raised her glass. “Thanks so much for coming, guys. I’ve missed you and I’m so glad to see you both.”

  “Here, here,” said Jessa, touching her glass to Irene’s and Cara’s.

  Was it Irene’s imagination or was there a touch of sadness surrounding both of her friends? As far as she was concerned, she was the only one here who had any right to be glum.

  Irene frowned. “Hey, you two look like you’re going to burst into tears any second. Stop it and drink up.” She picked up her wine glass and downed the contents. “Wow! Fantastic Chablis.”

  Simon raised his eyebrow at her and smiled. “I’m not sure it will help your cause to drink so quickly.” Lifting the bottle, he refilled her glass. “How about taking this one more slowly?”

  “Aye, aye, Captain,” she said and saluted. “So, what’s for dinner? I hear you’re an amazing chef.”

  Simon blushed as he worked. “You’re too kind. Tonight, I’m making a favorite of Cara’s. Chateaubriand with herbed potatoes and roasted vegetables paired with a nice French Cabernet. For dessert, chocolate soufflé.”

  Irene’s mouth watered. “Sounds delicious.”

  “I’m one lucky girl.” Cara winked at Simon.

  He winked back at her. “I’m the lucky one.”

  “You guys are too cute,” Irene said, wearing a grin.

  “So, Jessa,” Cara asked, “how’s everything working out with Serenity?”

  Jessa’s face came alive. “Good, really good. We’re growing, and finally, there’s a nice cash flow.”

  “Well, I’d be interested to know how you think tomorrow’s spa services stack up against your offerings,” Cara said.

  Jessa’s eyes brightened. “I’ll let you know. I’m always on the hunt for new ideas. I’m really looking forward to it.” She turned to Irene. “How’s Washington?”

  Irene sniffed. “Political.”

  “And you wonder why I chose to go into finance.” Cara chuckled.

  “You always were the smart one.” Irene raised her glass to Cara. “If it wasn’t for my dad, I think I would’ve gone civilian. But the government really is a good place to work as a linguist.” Most days.

  Cara waved her hands in a fast flutter. “Oh, I almost forgot! I have a surprise for you guys. I hope you don’t mind, but I rearranged some of our plans for tomorrow night.”

  “What? You’ve come to your senses and want a bachelorette party at Chippendales?” Irene asked, nursing a seed of hope.

  Cara threw a sexy smile at Simon. “Who needs Chippendales when I have Simon?”

  “Me,” Irene whined. “Sorry, Simon. I see her point, but I’m not above looking.”

  Simon cleared his throat, an unmistakable flush across his cheeks. “Um, why don’t I leave you ladies alone for a few minutes?” Holding up the timer, he walked toward the doorway. “I’ll be back when this rings.”

  Cara winked at him before he disappeared through the doorway with Chloe. “Anyway, as I was saying… I have front row seats at the Beacon Theatre tomorrow night for King Metaljam.”

  Jessa fell back in her stool and her lips parted in surprise. “How the heck did you manage that?” Then she clasped Cara’s shoulder. “Wait! I can’t believe you’ve actually heard of King Metaljam!” Cara was self-admittedly musically challenged when it came to anything current. Stuck in the ’90s, she’d never made it past Grunge.

  Cara smirked at Jessa. “Thanks.” Then she broke into a wide grin. “Brett King is my new BFF.”

  “What? How’s that possible?” Jessa stared at Cara, dumbstruck.

  “She leads a charmed life, or haven’t you noticed?” Irene sighed.

  “I met him at a café back in March, and now he’s a client of our security company.” Cara shrugged. “True, I didn’t recognize him when we first met, but we’ve been hanging out lately. He’s staying at Simon’s loft until Wednesday.”

  Jessa shook her head, doe-eyed. “Irene’s right. You do lead a charmed life.”

  Cara frowned. “Hardly. It only looks that way from the outside.”

  The buzzer rang in the living room and Simon returned to take their dinner out of the oven. “Ladies, the dining room table is set for you. Why don’t you go settle in, and I’ll serve you dinner there,” he said, setting the Chateaubriand down on the stove top.

  “What service,” Irene said and hopped off the barstool.

  “Are you joining us, Simon?” Jessa asked.

  He reached into the cabinet and pulled out some plates. “No, I have some work to catch up on. And I wouldn’t dream of imposing on your ‘girl time,’ as Cara puts it.”

  “Are you sure?” Cara asked.

  He nodded. “Enjoy yourselves.”

  They left Simon as he prepared their plates. Entering the dining room, Irene let out a low whistle. Simon had set the table and lit candles for them, their glasses already filled with red wine. His thoughtfulness spoke volumes to her not only about himself, but of his feelings for Cara. This guy was a keeper. Her list of those she needed to prove innocent just increased by one.

  They huddled at one end of the table that easily could have sat a small army.

  “Tell us everything. How did you meet Simon again?” Irene pulled her chair up and clasped her hands together, eager to learn more.

  Before Cara could reply, Simon returned, this time carrying three plates. He served them one by one. The presentation of the meal rivaled that of a high-end restaurant.

  Irene spread her linen napkin on her lap after Simon departed. “Well? Don’t make me beg. Give us all the gory details.”

  Cara sighed, resting her elbows on the table wearing a gooey “I’m in love” look. “I tripped and fell into his arms at a restaurant downtown.”

  “That crap really happens?” Irene asked, picking up her knife.

  “Charmed life,” mumbled Jessa, stabbing a potato with her fork and popping it into her mouth.

  “Enough about me. What about you guys? Any new men?” Cara asked with interest.

  Irene turned to Jessa. “Did she just deflect?”

  Jessa arched a perfectly shaped brow. “She sure did, Irene.”

  Cara rolled her eyes. “Come on,” she whined. “I want to hear about you guys.”

  “No men for me,” said Irene.

  “Me neither. Okay, that’s us. Now back to you.” Jessa grinned wickedly.

  Tag-teaming, she and Jessa spent the better part of an hour weaseling details from Cara about Simon, the wedding, why her engagement ring hung from her neck instead of being on her finger, her family, and everything else they could discover about Cara’s charmed life. By the end, Irene contemplated changing her career to private security, if for nothing else than to meet a man as hot as Simon.

  Their dinner consumed and the soufflés still in the oven, Irene remembered Cara’s hostess gift in her suitcase. Cara and Jessa chattered on as Irene excused herself and headed back to the guest room.

  As she walked down the hallway, a beam of light from the master bedroom cut a swath in front of her. Her ears picked up the timbre of Simon’s voice, the sound distorted through the wall. The carpet muffled her steps as she approached.

  On her way past, he spoke again. This time, she caught the snippet of speech clearly. Her breath caught in her throat, and she stopped dead. It was the same language she’d heard on the surveillance footage, solidifying his connection to the suspected terrorists and the unknown language.

  Holding her breath, she peered in through the partially open door.

  Simon sat on the bed, his large, hulking frame hunched over, talking to Chloe. Her little Whippet head was cocked with one ear up, listening.

  Heaven help me, he’s having a conversation with a dog in the proto-language!

  Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly and cracked the door open wider.

  Startled, Simon raised his head and Chloe’s other ear shot up. They both f
ixed her with a wide-eyed stare but recovered quickly. Chloe jumped off the bed and trotted past her in the direction of the dining room as Simon rose to his feet.

  Irene shifted uncomfortably. “Sorry to interrupt. Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure. Come in,” he said, and motioned her inside. “How can I help?”

  Entering the room, she followed Simon to the sitting area.

  Irene lowered herself onto one of the two chairs and rubbed her damp palms together. “That language you were speaking, what is it?”

  He flashed a controlled smile. “Cara tells me you’re a linguist. I guess we have something in common. I have a degree in ancient languages. Chloe happens to be a gracious audience; she’s fascinated by the sound.” Simon crossed his legs and rested his clasped hands on his knees. The chair looked small under his huge frame.

  Irene measured his words. Cara hadn’t mentioned his education. “Yes, but it sounds like a proto-language somehow associated with the divine languages according to my studies.” She’d done some research since her visit to the NSA, and was sure that’s what she had heard on the security footage.

  A slow smile crept back onto Simon’s lips, his blue eyes dazzling her. She could have sworn his eyes got brighter the moment she mentioned her studies. “You have a very good ear,” he said with a nod. “Its origin reaches back before Aramaic.”

  She regarded him suspiciously, narrowing her green eyes. “How is it that you learned to speak it? I can honestly say it would be almost impossible to learn, not to mention rare. There are no complete lexicons available anywhere in the world from what I know, only fragments.”

  He shrugged. “Not so. You’d be surprised what’s hidden in the Vatican,” he said, and winked. “And not impossible. That’s the precise reason why I chose it. My entire security team is versed in it. Using it eliminates the worry of electronic eavesdropping.”

  Irene’s breath caught in her throat. Maybe he already knew about the footage and the NSA. A sharp intelligence peered at her through crystal blue eyes. Working in Washington, she recognized power when she saw it. Behind his polished and kind demeanor lurked the kind of power wrought from a backbone of pure, male steel. He could easily run a large company or lead troops into battle. But a terrorist? Her gut still said no. Regardless, she needed to tread cautiously.