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Sam called from the station at noon the next day. “I’ve eliminated another passenger. A thirty-five-year-old realtor from North Van. Partner in a larger firm. Specialized in high-end residential. No controversial sales in his last year. Had a sizable life-insurance policy, but purchased it before the birth of his first child. Wife was the beneficiary. She remarried five years ago. Met the new guy two years before that. Nothing sketchy in there.”
“So two left?”
“The pilot and one passenger, other than your father. No word from Cain?”
“None. I’d thought one of us would have heard from him by now.”
“Assuming he wants a deal. Could be he’s comfortable hiding out.”
“Yeah, but for how long? It’s not like the Tribunal is going to give up looking for him.”
“It’s out of our hands. Did your mom get to Toronto?”
“Yeah. I talked to her this morning before my run. Told her you’d already eliminated a passenger. Of course, she thinks looking at the other passengers is a waste of your time. She’s more interested in your contact with the Mansfield Group.”
“That’s actually why I’m calling. I spoke with a man named Peter Caulfield. After I convinced him I wasn’t a whacko, he agreed to look at your mother’s charts. I’m expecting to hear back from him this afternoon, but Em, he already told me they wouldn’t touch it for less than a hundred and fifty grand—up front—and he said the cost could climb to over five hundred thousand.”
“When can they start?”
“Did you hear me, Emelynn? Five hundred grand.”
“I’ll cover it.” A slice off the top of Jolene’s inheritance would either clear her family’s name or condemn them.
Silence.
“Sam?”
“Yeah. Okay. I’ll let you know what they come back with.”
The next morning, I wired a hundred and fifty thousand dollars to the Mansfield Group. After they received confirmation of the funds, they marshalled their people. Peter Caulfield’s team and their specialized equipment would arrive within days, and Sam had their assurances that the search would be underway by next week. Mom was ecstatic.
When Mason called in the afternoon, guilt once again crawled under my skin and set up house. Would he understand my disloyalty when he learned about the Mansfield Group? Because, one way or another, he would learn. Either when he and Stuart were exonerated, or when . . . no. I refused to think about the or.
“I’ve sent the jet to Vancouver to collect you and Sebastian. James will meet you at this end. Thought you and James might like a night alone before the caucus.”
The guilt that was making itself at home kicked me in the ribs. It almost sounded as if Mason was softening to the idea of James in my life. “Thank you. You sure you can manage without him?”
“Yeah. He’s worked his ass off. We’re all set.”
“All right. I’ll pack. It’s a formal affair, right?” The Tribunal’s assembling to witness the leadership change hands was the social event of the half-decade. I knew that Tribunal members, their families and influential guests would be there.
“No. Wear the usual.”
“It’s not black tie, like the annual gatherings?”
“Not for us. Leather is as formal as we get.”
Leather? “All right.” My boots were leather, as were my gloves, but that was as much black leather as I owned.
Mason told me to meet Sebastian at the Vancouver International Airport at five o’clock.
I packed a small bag and collected the courier package with my new phone on the way out the door. During the taxi ride to the airport, I texted my contacts to give them my new phone number.
Sebastian didn’t arrive alone.
“You remember my wife, of course,” Sebastian said, touching Kimberley’s elbow. She bobbed her head as if she were royalty. She certainly looked the part in a pale-green dress with matching coat.
“Nice to see you again,” I said, hoping my face didn’t betray the lie. A few weeks ago, I’d eavesdropped on a conversation in their Point Grey home. Kimberley had referred to me in unflattering terms. That was the price for eavesdropping, I supposed. Regardless, it wasn’t nice to see her. I wondered for a moment if I wore the same smile mask as my mother.
“And my daughter, Tiffany,” Sebastian said.
I nodded. “Tiffany.” She was going for something more casual than her mother: flouncy layers over tight jeans. Shabby chic, perhaps. It was a refreshing improvement on the hooker-look I’d last seen her in, on the night of the massacre at Cairabrae.
The co-pilot introduced himself then escorted us onto the tarmac. The executive jet awaiting us was one of a dozen scattered on the apron near the terminal. Kimberley and Tiffany boarded first and headed to the rear of the plane and the sofa that lined one wall. Sebastian followed them and took one of the two chairs facing the sofa. With no desire to make small talk for the flight’s duration, I settled into one of the lounge chairs up front. Thankfully, Sebastian didn’t insist I join them.
After the jet was in the air and levelled off, I found my earbuds, plugged them into the jet’s sound system and closed my eyes. I got lost in the music until a few songs later, when I sensed someone nearby and opened my eyes. Sebastian stood in front of me with a glass of wine in each hand. I straightened in my chair and stole a glance at his wife and daughter. They weren’t paying us any attention.
He extended one of the glasses to me. “May I?” he asked, tipping his head toward the chair facing mine.
“Sure,” I said, accepting the wine. Note to self: check weather app for the temperature in hell.
The leather creaked as he sat. “Did Mason fill you in on what to expect at the caucus?”
“He mentioned a formal meeting followed by a reception.”
Sebastian swirled the wine in his glass. “It won’t be the affair it used to be. The numbers are down. Families are still in hiding because of what happened at Cairabrae.”
“They’ll be relieved to learn the Redeemers are no longer a threat.”
He nodded. I’d never known him to be contemplative, but he was now and it worried me.
“Will you miss it? Leading the Tribunal?”
He stared across the aisle, his gaze on the small window. “Your uncle will make a fine replacement.”
“He will. And you’ll have more free time. Any plans?” Like moving back to the States?
He swivelled his head back in my direction and smiled. “As soon as Cain is dealt with, I’ll resume mentoring you. I’ve been remiss these last few weeks.”
I nearly choked on my wine. That explained Sebastian’s cordial act. After he handed over the Tribunal’s reins, he’d no longer have authority over me. I’d never wanted Sebastian’s mentorship, and I had no intention of continuing it beyond the caucus. I considered my next words carefully. “You’ve been very generous, Sebastian. I know how fortunate I am to have had your mentorship, but it’s run its course.”
He tilted his head and frowned, as if he were genuinely confused. “After just three months? Surely you don’t think your skills are where they should be.”
“You and I are like oil and water. Opposing magnets.”
“I agree. You can be difficult. However, you’ll soon be responsible for your mother’s safety. There is still much I can teach you.”
His motivation had nothing to do with my mother’s safety. He wanted to keep me close. He was about to lose access to the Tribunal’s inside track and its power source. But I wouldn’t; Mason was family. “I appreciate your offer, but no.”
His expression gave nothing away. One of these days I’d have to define mentorship for him, and emphasize how trust and respect fit into it. He studied me as he took another sip of his wine. I decided to change the subject before he thought up another way to sell the mentorship idea. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”
“Oh?”
“Redeemers. The current threat may be gone, but the reason they formed in the first place remains.”
“Greed is the reason they formed. They wanted to usurp our power and our wealth. That they no longer exist will serve as an effective deterrent to anyone who gets the notion to repeat their mistakes.”
“I disagree,” I said. “The Tribunal operates in secret, making decisions that impact us all. Most Fliers never learn the reason behind those decisions, and that vacuum breeds distrust and fear. The way to prevent another rebellion is to include all Fliers in the process.”
“What are you suggesting? We give everyone a vote?” He flared his nostrils and scowled, as if he’d caught a whiff of sewage.
“Yes, Fliers or their coveys. Shed some light on the Tribunal. Humanize it.”
He rested his glass on the armrest and twisted it a quarter turn right then left. “Your naïveté surprises me, Emelynn, but it reminds me that you weren’t born to this. Keep in mind that there is a natural order with us. We are the hunters, not the prey. Ghosts are more powerful than Fliers, Fliers are more powerful than everyone else, but everyone else outnumber us many hundreds of thousands of times over. Even hunters are vulnerable when outnumbered. We exist and remain free only because the masses don’t know about us. They did, centuries ago, before the Tribunal Novem. Back then our kind were tracked down. We were killed like nature’s predators—lions, tigers, grizzlies. Now we’re safe. Secrecy is and must remain the Tribunal’s core principle. You will come to understand this in time.”
If Sebastian’s attitude was any indication then Mason had been right when he warned me the Tribunal would be opposed to democracy. “Perhaps in time it won’t be necessary.”
“Yes, perhaps,” Sebastian said. He raised his glass to his lips and swallowed. “Your mother told me you were considering rebuilding the home you lost.”
I hesitated, surprised she’d shared that with him, though I didn’t suppose it mattered. “Yes. I took her to the property a few weeks ago. She and my father lived there before he was killed.”
He looked away. “Laura mentioned it was built in the Arts and Crafts style. Is that what you had in mind?”
“I’ve nothing in mind yet but lots of ideas.”
“You don’t have an architect?” I shook my head. “I’ll make an introduction. The people who remodelled our home in Point Grey were very good.”
“That’s kind of you, but I’m a long way yet from needing an architect.”
“Ah, but early in the process, an architect can open up possibilities you can’t imagine.” Sebastian stood, his wine glass now empty. “That’s exactly what a mentor does, Emelynn. Opens up possibilities. You and I are not oil and water. Granted, we may need to have a little more patience with one another, but I’m not prepared to let you discard my offer.” With that parting comment, he returned to his family.
Had he taken some No Only Means Not Right Now sales course? If he had, he’d aced it. Admittedly, he’d made a good point about hiring an architect, but I was finished with his superiority complex and letting him belittle me under the guise of a mentorship I didn’t want.
The smell of jet fuel permeated the cool night air as we disembarked. Two vehicles waited on the tarmac. One was a stretch limo with a uniformed driver and the other a minivan circa 1990.
Kimberley and Tiffany were first off the plane. They walked directly to the limo’s open back door and climbed in.
Sebastian got out last and walked with me to greet James. “How is the lovely Grace Shipley?” he asked.
James stopped short, as did I. Grace was an American detective with a reputation for undercover work. Last September, she’d impersonated me in the hunt for Carson Manse. She was also strikingly beautiful. And James hadn’t mentioned her recently.
“You keeping tabs on me, Sebastian?” James said.
“Not at all. One of my companies owns the warehouse in San Diego that Miss Shipley needed permission to use. I simply recognized her name. Sent someone over to check it out.”
A baggage handler wheeled a cart of luggage past us and stopped at the limo. He and the driver began shoving matching bags into the trunk.
“Well then, thank you for your cooperation,” James said, and offered his hand.
A benevolent smile crept onto Sebastian’s face. He shook James’s hand and nodded. “I’ll see you both tomorrow.” He then stepped away and slid into the back of the limo.
After the limo started rolling, James took my hand and pulled me close for a kiss. “How was the flight?”
“Fine. You didn’t tell me you were working with Grace again.”
“Didn’t I? I thought when I was in Vancouver I mentioned I’d taken a private contract.”
“I suppose you did.” But he hadn’t told me about Grace. Then again, they were colleagues. And professionals. Who had unmistakable chemistry and a prior relationship I’d never asked about. Crap. I stomped on Jealousy’s green-toed intrusion and bucked up. I was not going to be that girlfriend, or rather, fiancée.
“Where are we going anyway?”
James slipped a tip to the baggage handler and took my bag. “North of Napa. A ninety-minute drive.”
We started toward his ride. “A family van? Is this your idea of a hint?” I asked, giving the minivan the once-over. Faded blue paint, wheels with no hubcaps and a rusted dent on the rear quarter panel didn’t inspire me to ditch the contraceptives.
He grinned. “Flashy transportation invites attention. Not my style.” James tossed my bag in the back then opened the passenger door for me. The hinge groaned.
“If this thing has a car seat in the back, I’m calling a cab,” I said. James’s laughter kicked my lingering jealousy to the curb.
He negotiated a maze of ramps and overpasses that dumped us northbound. I cracked the window to let in fresh air. “You’ve made an impression on Mason.”
“Yeah? Good or bad?”
“Good, of course. Why would you doubt that?”
“Mason doesn’t say much. Never asks for advice and I don’t give it.”
“Is he treating you all right?”
“Sure. Like an employee he wants to fire but can’t.”
“That’s not how he describes it. He told me you’ve been working your butt off.”
“I have, but not for him. I want this caucus over with so you and I can get away from here. If Mason succeeds in getting the Tribunal on board with his agenda, he’ll be too busy to interfere in our lives.”
“Interfere? You volunteered for this, remember?”
“Only because your name is on the caucus agenda, along with the seat they offered you.” The Tribunal seat was a thank-you for the role I’d played defending them at Cairabrae. “When you formally turn it down, we’ll be free of them.”
I wanted to argue with him, to remind him that Stuart and Mason would always be a part of my life, but I couldn’t. Not with the Mansfield Group on their way to Vancouver and about to start searching for Dad’s plane’s wreckage. I stared out the side window, watching the houses rush by.
“You going to tell me what’s bothering you?” James said. I realized I’d been quiet for a while.
“There’s something I need to tell you, but you have to promise me you’ll keep it to yourself.”
“All right. What is it?”
I told him about my father’s warning to my mother, about my mother’s research into my father’s crash and finally about involving Sam and hiring the Mansfield Group to find Dad’s plane.
When I finished, he looked over and searched my face. “What will you do if they determine it was sabotage?”
I looked away. Ahead, the art deco span of the iconic Golden Gate Bridge approached. “I promised Mom I’d report the findings to the Tribunal.”
James let that sit in the air between us. As we exited the north end of the bridge deck, he spoke. “Even if they find it’s sabotage, the Reynoldses may not be responsible. You know how the Tribunal are. Bunch of manipulative, back-stabbing, glory seekers. Any one of them could have done it.”
“But who besides the Reynoldses would have had a motive?”
“Jordan’s research may turn up someone else.” James reached across and squeezed my shoulder. “Put it out of your mind for now. Let’s just get through tomorrow.”
I nodded, inhaled a deep breath and tried to clear the negative thoughts on the exhale. It didn’t work. “Any word on Cain?” I asked, changing the subject.
“Nothing. Did Sebastian say anything about him on the flight?”
“Not a word. I think we were wrong about Cain. He doesn’t want to negotiate.”
“Maybe, but living in hiding isn’t much of a life.”
We passed through long stretches of residential neighbourhoods. Eventually, vineyards took over the hillsides. Row upon row of perfectly spaced vines stretched far into the distance. Even in the dark of night I could see the patterns repeat to the horizon. Where did the water come from that fed them all? I wondered. In some fields, large fans towered over the vines, ready to blow away damaging frosts.
James exited onto Highway 29, and we continued north to Napa. Endless miles of grapevines grew on both sides of the road, broken by the occasional Spanish- or Mediterranean-style villa. Some were wineries with signs advertising wine tastings, others looked like private residences. Sometimes, it was a modest farmhouse or a large barn that broke the pattern. Traffic was sparse along the newly paved two-lane highway.
At the ninety-minute mark, we passed Napa and kept going. I absently noted the signs, until one jumped out at me. “Reynolds Family Winery? Did I read that right?”
“Yup.”
“Mason and Stuart own a winery? Is that where we’re going?”
“No. No one knows where we’re going tonight. As for the family winery, you’ll have to ask them.”
I didn’t know why I was surprised. We weren’t far from Cairabrae, in Bodega Bay, and I’d known they owned properties elsewhere.
We’d been on the road almost two hours when James finally signalled a turn and pulled into a wide concrete driveway. Two hundred yards ahead stood a modern two-storey home. The size put it into the estate category.
“Wow. Who owns this?”
“Clients who owed me a favour. They’re away right now.”
Instead of driving to the front door, James drove past the house on a lane to the right. The lane circled around a well-maintained outbuilding, behind which were stored large stainless-steel tanks and racks of weathered oak barrels. We carried on over a ridge. A small home came into view, likely the original dwelling on the property. It put me in mind of a 1950s ranch house from a time when a thousand square feet was considered large. James rolled to a stop in front of it and cut the engine.
“Home sweet home,” he said.
“Not flashy,” I said, repeating his earlier words.
“Exactly.” He opened his door and walked around to my side. I’d already gotten out and was stretching my legs after the long drive. James opened the back door and started loading up: a cooler strap over one shoulder, my bag over the other, several shopping bags in his hands.
“I’m not an invalid. Give me some of that,” I said, tugging my bag off his shoulder. I grabbed his black leather satchel, closed the van’s doors and followed him to the darkened porch. He juggled his load to fish a key out of his pants pocket and fitted it into the lock.
“Bedroom’s through there,” he said, nodding to the right. I walked in that direction and found a comfortable bedroom—small but tidy and clean. The old iron bed was centred on the wall to the left. On the far side was an ensuite bathroom, and facing the end of the bed was a dresser with a large mirror. I dropped our bags on the floor and went to find James.
He was crouched behind the open refrigerator door unloading the cooler. The shopping bags were propped on the counter. I strolled over and peeked inside. “How long are we staying?” I said with a laugh. Three bottles of wine, a baguette and a jar of olives suggested a three-day stay, but I knew we had to leave for the caucus the next day.
James rose and closed the refrigerator door. I turned my back to the counter and he stalked toward me, stopping when he had me pinned with his hips. Even with the added height of my boot heels, he stood taller than I was. I slid my hands around the soft leather of his car coat and tipped my head up. A day’s beard stubble darkened his angular features. I had an urge to loosen the elastic band that held his hair but resisted. There’d be time for that later.
Pale-blue eyes took in every nuance of my face. I closed my eyes to his scrutiny and inhaled the scent of him.
“I’ve missed you,” he said, then bent his head down and kissed me. It wasn’t a casual kiss, and definitely not a kiss for public consumption. It was the kind of kiss that hardened a man and made a woman want every inch of him.
He stopped and pulled back with a smirk that told me he’d intended all that and more.
“Tease,” I said.
“How about a glass of wine?” He reached behind me and pulled a bottle of red from the bag. It was a Chateau Margene reserve cabernet.
“I suppose we should. When in Rome and all that,” I said, feigning umbrage.
He pressed in and dropped a chaste kiss on my lips before going in search of a corkscrew. While he rattled around in the kitchen’s drawers, I found two glasses.
He poured and then proposed a toast. “To seeing the tail end of this caucus.”
I touched my glass to his and tasted the wine. It was full-bodied and rich, just how I liked my reds. “What do you know about the caucus?”
“I’ve seen the agenda. I know what Mason has planned. I’d say it’s going to be an education for most of them.”
“You think Mason will change any minds tomorrow?”
He shrugged. “In my experience, they aren’t what I’d call flexible or open-minded. No offence, Emelynn, but they’re all Ghosts. Ghosts tend to think they’re untouchable.”
“If only that were true,” I said.
Wine in hand, James toured me around the house. The owners used it as a guest house. The vineyard was leased out. At my insistence, we went outside and I got a close-up look at the vines, which crowded the house. The grapes were still flower clusters that only hinted at the fruit to come. Soon enough, the cool evening air pushed us back inside.
While I refilled our glasses, James pulled a bag from the refrigerator and unpacked it on the counter beside the stove. He found a cast-iron skillet and set it over a flame on a burner.
“What’s for dinner?”
“Chicken puttanesca.”
“Yum. Can I help?”
He assigned me table-setting duty and baguette slicing—cook-speak for don’t interfere. When my chores were done, he placed browned chicken breasts back into the skillet that now bubbled with sauce dotted with fresh cherry tomatoes and black olives. The kitchen smelled like a fine Mediterranean restaurant. He replaced the lid and set a pot of water on to boil.
While we enjoyed his savoury meal, and a second bottle of Chateau Margene, we tossed around destinations for our dream trip after the caucus.
“We’ll be gone for a year if we visit all of them,” I said, but my smile failed, dragged down by the weight of the axe swinging over my head.
James pushed his plate away and leaned back, stretching his long legs under the table. “Did the Mansfield Group give you a timeline?” I loved that he knew what was bothering me.
“They start searching next week, but they’ve not promised results.”
“Understandable. It’s been years. The wreckage may have drifted.”
“I’m sorry. I know you wanted to leave after the caucus, but I can’t.” What I didn’t say was that I had no idea when I might be able to leave because I didn’t know what my future looked like if Mansfield’s search turned up sabotage. “Can you wait a few weeks?”
“For you?” His smile said yes. “Cain’s disappearance will likely delay us anyway. I’d rather he’s dealt with before we start travelling on passports he can easily trace.”
“Good point.” My anxiety eased somewhat. I yawned and checked the time. It was almost two in the morning. I stood and cleared the table. “I’ll wash up tomorrow. How about we go to bed?”
A slow smile spread across James’s face.
I used the ensuite, and when I opened the bathroom door, James lay naked on the bed, propped against a stack of pillows with his hands behind his head. I bit my lower lip and walked to the end of the bed admiring the sight.
He was lean and muscled with an honest-to-god six-pack and a fine dusting of chest hair that ran into a funnel at his belly button and poured out in a tempting line, like an arrow pointing to a fine-looking erection. “Been thinking about me again?”
“Always,” he said, shifting his hips under my glare. “Now, how about you get naked. Slowly.”
Stripping for a man didn’t come naturally. It had taken me ages to get comfortable being naked, let alone putting on a show to get there. But James loved it, and whether it was the show itself or the fact he liked ordering me to do it, it didn’t matter. The results were worth every impish instruction.
He had me take off my pants first, and then my socks, which completely undid any sexy I might have had going on. After that, I unfastened my blouse, one button at a time. I was ready to shirk out of it when he stopped me.
“No, don’t open it. Turn around.” I did as he asked and waited, watching his reflection in the big mirror above the dresser. “Fold the cups of your bra under your breasts.” I complied. “Face me.” His right leg was bent and he held his erection in his hand. I wanted to jump his bones right then, but I knew better.
“Now you can take the shirt off.” I slid it off my shoulders first then let it fall to the floor. Watching the lust on James’s face was all the encouragement I needed. I stood before him in a thong with my breasts thrust out. “Rub your nipples.”
My breath hitched with his words. My nipples were already hard, and the warmth of my hand brushing the hard nubs sent shivers up my spine. His hand slid up his shaft and back down. “Turn around and remove your thong.”
I did as he asked, knowing he was watching my ass. The bedsprings squeaked and a moment later, James was at my back, his hands all over my ass, my breasts. I rested my head against his shoulder and enjoyed the caress. “Open your legs,” he said. I shifted my feet and he immediately slid a hand between my legs and circled my clitoris. I nearly collapsed in ecstasy.
He turned me toward the iron footboard. With his chest to my back and his lips at my ear, he said, “You’d better hold on.” He stepped away and immediately, cool air skimmed my back. The tip of his erection slid between my legs. He dragged it up my backside and went back for seconds. I reached my hands to the iron railing and pushed back against him. He probed again, slipping through my wetness, and then he pushed inside me with a sharp thrust that took my breath away.
He tried to go slow, but he’d gone too far with the foreplay. “I’m not going to make it,” he said, as he pounded into me. He pressed his fingers to my clitoris and worked that magical knot of nerves like a reiki master. He brought me to a climax moments before he cursed and groaned to his own conclusion.
