the Treasure
“It’s gone, all gone!” The man’s dark eyes were locked, fixed forward in disbelief. Anya had never seen such an empty, dreadful look in her father’s eyes before. His cheeks drained of color, and a ghostly appearance like white slate was frozen on her father’s face. It was haunting to the point of hellishness, she thought, continuing to peer into the book-laden room where her parents sat close together. Her strained eyes saw plainly the strong hands of her father shaking as he reached to encase the delicate white hands of her mother.
Anya held her breath as she slowly closed the bedroom door, blocking the unsettling scene from her eyes. She wished to erase it from her mind forever, leaving no memory, only a small sliver of dull light into the blackened room. She stood unmoving, like a statue. What was gone? Why so much anguish in her father’s voice, she wondered.
Anya lay back on the bed in the darkness, closing her eyes as she turned to her side, pulling the covers tightly around her neck. The ritual normally brought security, but tonight the blankets felt as if they would strangle her, not providing comfort to her eighteen-year-old body.
Sean lay collapsed on the daybed in the light-filled atrium. His dark blue shirt was wrinkled and unbuttoned, exposing a fair but well-developed chest. His blond curls were tossed and disheveled, and his green eyes teetered between open and closed. He slowly raised himself from the daybed, planting both feet on the floor as he ran his hands to the back of his neck, pushing his thumbs deep into the swollen cords that seemed to run right to his brain. He tried to rub the knots that had formed, probably from not sleeping in his own bed that night. Where had he slept? he asked himself, struggling to remember. A corner of his mouth turned up in a half-smile as he continued to nurse the results of an indescribable night of too much Irish beer and a beautiful woman whose name he wasn’t quite sure of. His grin broadened as he replayed the illicit acts over again in his mind while waiting for Anya to join the family for the morning meal.
Sean caught a look of her as she opened her bedroom door. He watched the graceful movement of her body down the stairs. “Ah, there you are, my bit of a sister,” he said, greeting her in a semi-chipper voice.
Anya paused to glance his way. Her green eyes narrowed. “You don’t amuse me this morning, brother.”
He reached out and took hold of her. A surge of energy bolted through him, and he squeezed hard, leaving deep prints on her bare pallid arm as they walked. “And why might that be, small one? Have you been careless and self-centered as to not have looked out into the gardens yet?” he asked, wanting to tease her with his words. “The bright sunlight is bathing the long stems of the sprouts.” He leaned in close to her. “It truly is an alluring sight to behold,” he whispered seductively into her ear.
“Do not talk to me in such a way,” she whispered, pulling away from him contentiously. “Mother may hear you and take it that I have the same sick mind that you do.”
He laughed roughly, but quietly enough that only she could hear. His grip once again tightened on her. “Oh, little sister, do not play your word games with me.” His breath was wet and heavy in her ear. “I may be out of your private school, but do not think for one minute that you can hide behind iron bars and make all people believe that you are innocent.” He pushed her aside to survey her. “Your body may be pure, but what of your thinking?” he whispered, looking from the room, hoping no eyes were upon them.
Sean saw Anya’s eyes widen at his forcefulness. He tightened his grip at her resistance.
“I do not understand what you are talking about Sean.” Tears formed in her eyes from the pain.
Sean gazed through her tears, his hand bracing her chin. “Oh, I believe you do, little lass.” His words pushed hot on her face. “I’ve seen your sweet, sultry reaction to men as they give you a second look in passing on the street. And what of that sly little encounter in the park with my friend Aedan? He told me lass of the kiss.” He shifted his eyes darkly upon her. He had her now, and he knew it.
Anya gave a sudden unexpected jerk, pulling her arm free, and walked straight ahead, away from him, dabbing her eyes.
“Good morning, Mother,” Anya said, kissing their mother on the cheek as she passed and took her place at the table.
Sean tipped his head. “Mother,” he said, glancing around the room, noticing his father was not present. He sneered under his breath, laughing inwardly at his father’s grand but empty chair. As of late, the head of the house seemed to have impressive excuses for not eating with the family in the evenings, and now the morning as well? Brazen thoughts came to his mind. And what excuse will he give his wife for his absence? It would not matter. Their mother worshiped her husband and would believe he was God in the flesh if he would state it. Sean reveled in the thought and laughed. “May I ask where Father is at the top of this day?”
Mrs. Alanna O’Connell motioned for him to sit, smiling warmly as she gazed at both of her children, reflecting back, as she often did, to when they were young and innocent. Now they were eighteen and twenty-one—young adults—but in her mind still youngsters who needed to be protected. Their eyes were locked on her and held certain expectancy, even at their current age. Alanna O’Connell’s husband provided her only enough information to arouse interest and awaken questions in the children that she could not answer that morning. Daniel O’Connell, her loving husband, had arrived home late the night before. They had briefly discussed business affairs before he left again and headed to the warehouse on the water’s edge. Mrs. O’Connell was in the dark about much of the business dealings of her husband and preferred it that way. “Your father has fallen on hard times with some of the businesses, which has affected…” She stopped, looking down at the delicate hankie she held between her fingers. She searched her mind to find the right words, but she could not. I must wait, she thought. Their father would be able to explain the loss in greater detail. “Children…” Her words came soft and quiet, mirroring her very being. She did not look at them as she spoke. “I’m afraid that I cannot tell you.”
“Mother,” Sean hit the table hard with his hand, a distinct ring of agitation in his voice. “I can tell this is hard for you, but how can you expect us to go through this day waiting for what seems to be poor news about our father’s business when you will not share what you know? I hope you do realize, my sweet mother that I am not a child, and I have invested time and money of my own into the family business. I have heard nothing of ill report as of the past few weeks.”
Sean rose quickly to his feet, pulled at his shirt and vest, and then rested his hands on the table closest to his mother’s side. He leaned down, face to face with her, his voice rough. “With respect, I request you tell me about these hard times and tell me this minute,” he said, once again hitting his hand firmly on the solid oak.
“You will not speak to your mother in such a tone,” a voice cut through the room.
Surprise fell across each face as they turned to see Mr. O’Connell entering the dining room from the kitchen. Only the servants entered from that set of doors, and they found it odd to see the dignified man of the house swing them open.
“Sean, take your place,” he commanded in an earsplitting voice. Turning his back on his son, he made his way to the head of the table.
Sean slowly pulled his chair from its place at the table; his eyes cut in cold slits and fixed hard on his father. He was ready to spew the deep contempt that filled each chamber of his dark heart. He loathed his father’s demands and self-righteous attitude. In times like these, it made him burn with anger to his core, making it almost impossible to hold his tongue. The verbal encounters, much like this one, had been occurring more regularly between the two of them. This was the breaking point. Sean would not allow his father to treat him as one of the poor boggers from the countryside any longer. He held a blatant stare on his father, waiting for his next words. No way would he have the last word this time. Sean was waiting for the moment he would tell his father about how he had been secretly investing, making his own way in the business world, and would be well gone before long. Sean took a long drink of whatever was in the glass at his morning place setting, and then turned his attention to his mother. She certainly did not deserve the commands he had just given her, and for that a twinge of regret lodged in his throat. But he would much worse if she ever found out about the mistress her beloved husband had been keeping for the past two years. Sean smiled in disgust, taking another drink. He knew more about his father and his dealings than anyone realized, and one day he would use it for his benefit. But now his father would stand before his family and with a noble voice tell them what? How failure had come to the O’Connell Empire? Perhaps Mother and Anya would be sucked into his sad lie, but he knew the real man who stood before them, and it sickened him. He was away in the head, and one day Sean would make it very clear to his father just how he felt about him.
Anya stretched out on a blanket among the multicolored flowers and red rose bushes of the garden, watching flecks of light dance from dewdrop to dewdrop as the sun’s rays caressed the earth with pure warmth. Her lips gave way to a contented smile—how she loved the gardens and the lush life they possessed. She rose and rested on her elbows, the smile fading as she scrutinized the beauty with her now saddened green eyes. The garden is so simple, she thought, considering the stone pathway, and then the exquisite whitewashed statues of beautiful men and women, their detail intricate and anything but simple. Yet even they in all their beauty could not upstage the multiple colors the ground itself produced. Anya closed her eyes. She craved answers to questions that had been suppressed at the morning meal, but she tried to distract all of her senses by convincing herself she could hear the plants grow and smell their sweet aroma as the tender stalks pushed through the soil. Opening her eyes, she surveyed the immediate grounds once again. Nothing had changed. Not yet. Would this all be gone, too?
That morning, Father’s entrance from the kitchen had been explained. He had let all the servants go. Those who did not benefit from the living quarters provided on the estate, and even those who had a residence on the grounds, would not receive their usual tender each week. Then there were the caretakers and the countless others who served their family. What would happen to them? How would her home of eighteen years change in appearance? Anya’s family had depended solely on others to maintain the look of wealth and affluence her father had built for himself and his family. Would it now be compromised? Could it take on the look of a slacker or one who given over to too much drink and slumber? Her mind grew increasingly troubled with each acrid thought. Anya envisioned the stone walls broken, large gaping holes and beastly, brown thorn branches protruding through and over the defenseless walls. Her chest tightened as she pictured dark green and black leafed weeds twisting around to slowly subdue all the beautiful color. There was so much she did not understand—unlike her brother, who seemed to know much but gave the impression of one unaffected by the plight of family affairs. Just the thought of him made her dark thoughts even darker. It was as if he knew something, something kept hidden from Anya. But how could he? How could he have known that three of Father’s merchant ships would go down in raging ocean waters near the Canadian provinces, everyone on board perishing, the cargo never reaching the merchants they did business with? How could he have known that two of the warehouses sheltering military merchandise would be set ablaze and left to burn to the ground the very night the news came about the ships? Anya pulled out a green satin hankie, tracing the intricate handwork of red roses and splashes of mint leaves that had been needled into its fabric. She wanted calm, but her mind would not let loose of her brother and his intentions. Surely he knew nothing of these life changing events, she reasoned, not wanting to think so ill of him. A sigh escaped her lips. Sean, in recent months, had become more and more difficult to trust. She shivered at the thought of the cold way he looked right through her and then laughed. And his frequent arguments with Father…what was happening to her brother? Had a life with large amounts of money at his disposal hardened him, dulling his compassion toward his family and countrymen? The time she would need to come to an understanding would be too long, she reasoned. Anya stood to consult the sun as to the time. Impatiently, she pushed the petals she’d plucked from defenseless flowers from her skirt. Watching them fall to the ground brought thoughts of the merchant ships. She felt dark for thinking it but was secretly glad the ships went down on the way back from the Canadian Provinces. They were loaded with goods to supply her father’s portside warehouses, but at least the loss of life would have been decreased. Anya surmised that the tragedy was a factor in the poor financial situation her family found themselves in at the present. She also knew very well that the cargo ships—or coffin ships, as they were so coldly referred to—were loaded with her countrymen, immigrants hoping to escape the plagues ravaging her beloved Ireland for so many years. Father expressed little regard for the families boarding his ships to other countries. He considered most of them cowards and deserters, but as long as the fee could be paid for a place to squat, he allowed the boggers transportation, even though he would laugh at times as he recounted of the reports of less than one-fourth of the immigrants ever seeing foreign shores. They would die on the journey, their carcasses tossed into the ocean to feed the biggest of fish. The thought of the unjust deaths and the death of hope brought sudden sadness to Anya’s mind. She wasn’t one of them, one from the countryside, so she wondered why it saddened her so.
A smile parted Sophie’s lips as she penned the last letter grade on a lengthy but interesting research paper. The school year felt unusually long, she thought, but it was finally the end of the last semester, and it had been an enjoyable year at the university. What made this year different than any other? she wondered, tapping her pen against her palm as her mind worked. Could it have been that she had taught some of the brightest students in her five years of employment? Emotion swept over her. Here she was—she had arrived. She had gained a position at the college, which gave her a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction, but more than that, she was filled with the sentiment that she had made a difference in the lives of some of her students. Her smile returned as she thought about being named the top history professor at Pullman. It was like icing on the proverbial cake, helping to end the year on a high note. But major success always has a price. And that price was called, sacrifice. As much as she loved her profession, Sophie was looking forward to some time off. She had resolved early in the school year not to teach a summer class as she had the past four years, needing the time off to fill her mental tank, she reasoned. Her professional career was right on track, but there was still something she couldn’t escape, a gnawing in the back of her mind, a suspicion that her personal direction was off course. Where was her life heading, and what roads did she need to take to get there? Then there was the intrigue of the diary she had found which had entered the mix. Maybe that’s why this weekend was like an invitation, an invitation to at least explore the possibilities for answering some of those pressing questions.
Sophie pushed her chair back from her desk. Her eyes automatically dropped to the floor as she rolled. “That wheel still squeaks.” She shook her head with a smile on her lips. Her plans to get it fixed months ago, well they… She shrugged her shoulders. It just hadn’t happened yet. She reached for the picture of her mom and dad, her hoodie, and a few books from her personal library to take with her for the summer break, picked up her briefcase, and headed out the door. An entire weekend with no essays to read, no reports to finalize, and no students to think about—Sophie felt relief run through every pore.
She walked the few halls down to the lobby. “Goodbye, John,” she said, checking out with the security guard. “See you on Monday to get the rest of my things.” She continued to the parking garage, feeling like she was walking on air with such a heavy load lifted from her shoulders. “I need to make a couple of stops before going home tonight,” she thought to herself, checking her reflection in the rearview mirror. Then Jeffrey came to her mind. She sighed deeply and ran a hand through her hair. It was Friday, and at six o’clock, the guy with no apparent life would show up at her door. Just like clockwork. Sophie rolled her eyes as she pulled the car door shut. Jeffrey was a great neighbor, but ever since she had asked him to look after her fish for a week last summer, he’d felt the need to check on her, “just to make sure everything was all right.” It was a line he used to spend time with her, although he’d never admit to it. It was painfully obvious by the way he hung around until she asked him in. Maybe I should give him a chance, she thought. He was probably everything a girl should want in a guy. He had a great body, worked in sports medicine, and had a nice smile. But trying to stomach his lack of self-confidence and sick sense of humor made their time together almost unbearable. Sophie thought he had probably watched too many sitcoms as a teenager, and it had warped his mind to the point of no return. He would probably always be one of those bumbling, silly guys on TV—the ones whose wives had to direct them where to stand and where to sit until the day they died. Sophie wasn’t in the market for that.
She made her last stop, and fifteen minutes later, the car was parked in the garage. She pulled in a deep breath, letting it out sharply as a random thought passed through her mind. Why don’t I have a social life? Am I like Jeffrey? Her face bunched at the thought. No, not even close. Realistically, having someone around would make Friday nights a whole lot easier, she reasoned, slamming the car door a little harder than was necessary. It didn’t take long for the real answer to the question to come to her. It came in the form of a bad movie that played every time she thought of Trey. He was flawless and had a perfectly wonderful career as a pilot and soon-to-be flight instructor for one of the major airlines in the country. “Everything was fine until he found God,” she said aloud, leaning against the car. Sophie recalled the handsome, brash young man who had begged her to abandon teaching and enjoy his newfound faith with him. She shook her head. “Who did he think he was?” she asked. She closed her eyes, still sensing his passion as he would hold her in his arms night after night, describing how they would fly medical supplies to underdeveloped areas of the world and, best of all, share their intense love for God with those in need. But he was the only one with the intense love, or at least he thought so—she always believed he was only on a temporary high. She remembered how she tried to talk him out of his life-altering plans, but it hadn’t worked. Trey wasn’t changing his mind, and she wasn’t leaving her profession. Sophie made it clear she wanted nothing to do with God, and that had settled it for them and for their relationship, a relationship that had been over five years old at the time and was soon to be tied with a knot. She remembered giving the ring back, the look in his eyes. The memories continued to flow. Trey’s goodbye kiss was long, and his words were soft and gentle as he said he would no longer push her to do things his way. She remembered his last “I love you, Sophie” and the way he touched her lips. She found herself putting a finger to her lips as her eyes welled with tears. That awful night was two long years in her past. “Enough of that pathetic story,” she announced loudly. Sophie wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’ve got better and more important things to think about than men who chase invisible gods.”
Sophie slept later than usual that Saturday morning and woke more relaxed than she had been in what seemed to be a decade of Saturdays. She pulled pillows behind her to cushion her back against the headboard and threw the deep brown and beige comforter over to the vacant side of the bed, allowing the throw pillows to slide to the floor. Even seeing things a little messy in her never-messy house didn’t change her mood. She smiled and turned to the nightstand. The tattered diary she had found was lying there, beckoning to her. She reached for it, recalling the dismal afternoon she and her mother had spent high in the attic of her great grandmother’s now rundown two-story house.
They had rummaged for hours, opening box after box of dishes, hats, jewelry chests, and old letters tucked into books and magazines. Sophie remembered the house being thick with a chalky, colored dust that covered the windows and drapes. She cringed at the thought of so much dirt in one house. The place looked like one from those old spooky movies, complete with dust-laden cobwebs spreading like tentacles from ceiling fixtures to furniture and doorknobs. The house had been shut up for years—some dispute over money or something, she recalled. She’d returned home with a thick grayish layer of dirt under her fingernails, in her hair, and on her clothes and a splitting headache that had lasted almost a week. But now it all seemed worth it. She held in her hands a treasure from that old house—at least it was a treasure to her. The diary, although it looked more like an old book, had been buried beneath sheets of paper bearing odd drawings and words in a different language and a few delicate handkerchiefs that, in their time, must have been expensive and of great value to the owner. The items seemed to be related to the diary in some way, and all had been the sole possessions of a private person who lived a private life. She ran her fingers over the cover of the diary, holding someone else’s memories in her hands, and smiled. Memories spelled history, a chance to experience a time in someone else’s life, and in this case, a time that had been significant enough to write down in a book. The diary held so much passion from the past. Each time she read from it, held it in her hands, it felt like two arms reached around her and held her firmly. Each time she touched the book, it seemed to draw her in, wanting to tell her something—something of importance.
Sophie reluctantly returned the book to the nightstand, thinking as her eyes traced its ragged edges. Was it strange that the diary was the reason she was planning a trip to Ireland? She thought back and could not recall ever having a great desire to visit the country until the first time she had opened the book and had run her fingers over the pages. Sophie had felt an instant call, something tugging at her mind. From that moment, she had begun her study of the diary, but her enterprise proved to be brief. She concluded that the author of the diary had lived in the western part of Ireland at the time of its writing, but that’s where she got stuck because the entries inside were in Gaelic. She sighed, still staring at the book. “I need to understand your language, Diary. I need to find out who wrote in you and all the whys that are attached to the life of your author.”
She pushed her legs off the side of the bed. I should check my email, she thought, looking at her dangling feet. Professor Kian Smith had not returned her email requesting a translation of the diary from Old Gaelic to English. Sophie considered herself lucky to have stumbled upon his name on a history teacher’s website. The site had included a post mentioning his translation services and stating his desire to translate manuscripts from the sixteenth through the eighteenth century. He wanted to research those time periods for comparison to the culture of twenty-first century Ireland. He hoped to gain access to the papers, books, and diaries of regular people who had lived and died in Ireland hundreds of years ago. His post made it clear that the work would be done for history professors only, not historians. Sophie had hoped to hear back from him before now, but it had only been a week, and she knew how history buffs could be when they believed they held something authentic. She had to remind herself to be patient and wait for his response.
Sophie completed her usual Saturday routine of light housework and laundry and finished the morning with coffee and a wheat bagel topped with blueberry cream cheese. She changed into blue jeans and a plain white T-shirt, and then quickly applied some blush, mascara, and lip gloss. She stood in front of the mirror, inspecting herself as she ran a brush through her long dark hair. “Who in the world spends a beautiful Saturday afternoon at the city library?” she asked the thirty-year-old woman in the mirror. She laughed and answered herself. “People with no real life,” she said to the image looking back at her. But today it didn’t matter. The hours spent poring over books about Ireland at the university library was at least a change of scenery and a chance to get out of the house. Besides, the diary was calling to her once again, and she wanted only to be alone at a quiet table with a reference book on the Gaelic language. And hopefully, no one would recognize her.
The city library was always quite predictable. It was quiet and void of too many people. But then again, why would people be inside? The day was perfect, warm with a light breeze from the south and a hint of green brushing the tips of the trees. Springtime in Washington was always beautiful. Driving into the heart of the city, she had passed two parks littered with small children who were running, swinging, and playing with family. She saw people walking dogs, couples jogging together, and still others getting some welcome tee time on the local golf course. No wonder Pullman had been named the best place to live, pulling a number one rating for its quality of life.
The beautiful spring weather was doing its best to tempt her back outside as she stood on the steps of the downtown building, but as she entered, the smell of old books and new ink within the walls of Neill Public Library was stronger than the warm sun shining on her back.
Sophie pushed on the heavy oak doors, listening as the large rusty hinges turned in their cradles. Even though they smelled of fresh oil, they still emitted a sound of stress and were a bit reluctant to open. She passed by four well-used wooden tables before finding the exact spot she had studied in before. It was near the west wall of the large room of bookshelves. She was close enough to the children’s reading area to notice they were finished with Story Time with Darcie for the afternoon, so there would be no little ones interrupting her thought. She set her purse on the smaller of two round tables near the shelves where she would be searching, far enough from the front desk to allow plenty of privacy. The area she needed was in the nine hundreds, and glancing to her right, she saw the nine-hundreds almost directly in front of her.
“What luck,” she said, smiling as she pulled the diary from her backpack. Opening the old book, Sophie headed to the first set of shelves in hopes of retrieving the book on the Gaelic language she had opened earlier that month. That encounter with the reference book had been brief, she recalled. A couple of students had discovered her and consumed much of her free time, asking questions about Gaelic history as well as offering their opinions. Shaking her head, she moved through the narrow aisle, perusing the selections. How amusing that people thought she only wanted to talk about school and history as if she had no other interests. Running her fingers over five or six titles, she discovered the coveted volume. “Here it is,” she said, quickly pulling it from the shelf. Sophie anticipated what she would find between its yellowed pages, feeling like a kid in a candy store, wanting to learn as much as she could about the language dominating the diary she balanced in her hand. Sophie turned and leaned against the shelf of books, randomly thumbing through the pages. The words were foreign to her yet deeply familiar. She had memorized the handwriting of some of the words from the diary and could form them in her mind as she looked at the same words in the reference book. It seemed a little more difficult today than she remembered, trying to put the words together to form sentences while struggling to hold both books open at the same time.
“If you want a good book on understanding the Gaelic language, may I suggest this one?”
Sophie’s head rose with a jerk. “What?” Her eyes were automatically drawn to a man with deep blue eyes, brown shoulder-length hair, and a Yankees baseball cap pulled over his eyes.
“This book,” he said, opening to an obviously familiar page, “has origins—as well as dates and definitions—of the lost language of the Irish people. It’s one of the best I’ve ever read on the subject,” he said, looking up and catching the noticeable expression of surprise on her face. Recalling a job he’d done for a friend at the television station several months earlier, he decided she was much prettier than she had looked from behind the camera. Her hair was as brown as her eyes, and she had a beautiful mouth that held a slim smile as she continued to look at him with a bewitching bewilderment in her eyes. He had already sized her up, something he had grown accustomed to doing in his profession. She was quite a beautiful package, he decided.
Her eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?” she said, trying to decide if he was one of her students or a new faculty member.
“Do I know you?” came out of her mouth just seconds later as a wrinkle formed above her eyebrows. Then Sophie realized he hadn’t been one of her students because she would have remembered his self-assured mannerisms—not to mention that every pore on his body screamed sexy, and he had a smile to match. She decided he must be one of the new teachers for the summer semester.
“I’m sorry, let me introduce myself,” extending his hand to her. “My name’s Kevin Gates. I’m sure you don’t know who I am, but I—along with perhaps the entire city—would recognize you a mile away. You’re Sophie Hanes, am I right?”
Sophie narrowed her eyes at him again, still questioning how this Mr. Gates knew her. “How could the entire city—” Just then the diary slid from atop the reference book. She quickly bent to retrieve it at the same moment Kevin Gates bent to help her.
“Here, let me get that for you,” he said, settling his eyes on her. “I seem to have rudely interrupted your thoughts, and the least I can do is pick up your book for you.”
“Thank you,” she said, returning his gaze but only momentarily as he put the diary in her hand. “So Mr. Gates, if you don’t mind my asking, can you tell me just how you know who I am?”
Kevin looked past her to the round table where he had seen her put her purse and backpack. “If you don’t mind me joining you,” nodding toward her table, “I’d love to tell you everything I know about you,” he said, flashing a questioning look her way.
Sophie’s cheeks warmed, and she knew color would quickly follow. She gave him an uncertain smile then turned and started for her table. As they sat, the muscles in her shoulders tightened and her breathing quickened. She glanced around to make sure they weren’t completely alone in the library. No matter how great Mr. Gates looked or how sincere his voice sounded, she didn’t trust him. Normal, sane people don’t just pop up to make suggestions on what you should read and then, without missing a beat, tell you they—and everyone else in the city—know your name.
She shifted in her chair, scanning the library again.
Kevin knew he had come on a bit strong, a trait he had acquired from his earlier days as a reporter in New York City. It often made people uneasy, but in the right situation it could be an effective tool for getting information. As he slid his chair out, he sensed he’d done it again, but this time not on purpose. He needed to ease Ms. Hanes’ anxiety as quickly as possible. That is, if he still wanted to get to know her better—and avoid being arrested for harassment.
“So Ms. Hanes, I said I’d tell you what I know about you, and I think it’s only fair that I first tell you how I know what I know.” Kevin continued, noting the perfect shape of her brown eyes. Everything about her was exquisitely shaped, but he tried not to be too obvious with his assessment. In fact, he was finding it difficult to stay focused. The facts, he told himself. Stick with the facts and you’ll be just fine.
“I have a friend who’s a cameraman for the television station, and a couple of months ago, he asked me to fill in for him. I had no idea I’d be filming an interview at the university featuring the top-ranked history professor in Pullman, and soon, I’m sure, in the entire state of Washington.” He continued, trying to focus on her eyes but struggling because she wouldn’t look directly at him.
“Needless to say, it was a privilege, and I found it very interesting— that is, after we were finally able to get through the entire interview—how such a young professor rose to the top of her profession in such a short amount of time,” he said, a hint of laughter in his voice.
Sophie shifted in her chair, self-conscious that Mr. Gates had been at the interview. She glanced at him and then back at the books on the table, feeling the heat of embarrassment on the tips of her ears and on her neck as she remembered all the takes they had to do, and the frustration that had emanated from the reporters and the despondent looks on the faces of the stage people. She also reluctantly remembered her nerves, which gotten the best of her. Several times, she’d had to ask to leave the set. Sophie had tried to tell them she was a really private person and all the attention was making her sick to her stomach, but they’d had a job to do and reminded her that they needed the piece for the news that evening.
Looking up, she saw Kevin’s eyes fixed on her.
“I don’t know what to say, Mr. Gates,” she said, dropping her eyes back to the diary. She tapped her finger nervously.
“You don’t have to say anything, Ms. Hanes. I can see I’ve made you uncomfortable, and if you’d like me to leave, I will. But before I go, I just want you to know I wasn’t upset with you during the interview. I understand what pressure can do, and considering the pressure you must have felt, I thought you did a great job.” Kevin slid his chair back and stood to leave.
“No, you don’t have to leave,” she said, looking him in the eye. “I mean, if you have somewhere to go. But if you want to stay, I’d like to hear about your work. And you also mentioned a book you thought I’d like?”
Kevin went back to the shelf and returned with the book he had referred to earlier in their meeting. “This is the book I was talking about,” he said, sitting down next her. “I’m not sure exactly what you’re looking for, but if you could give me a little information, I think I could be of some help. I’ve studied the country of Ireland some and know a little bit about it.”
He couldn’t help but study her face as he talked. She was listening intently to his every word, like what he had to say made a difference for some reason. And her physical features seemed to grow more beautiful the longer they talked. He wondered how he was going to keep his mind going in the right direction. He cleared his throat. “So why are you interested in Ireland?”
Her eyes moved to the old book in front of her. “This is why.” Sophie carefully slid the diary in front of him.
He opened the front cover and studied the writing. “This is definitely Gaelic,” he said, then turned the diary over and examined it for another brief minute. “By the markings on the back, it looks like the diary was produced in the early to mid-nineteenth century, but that would be odd.”
Sophie inched closer to look at the diary. “Why would that be odd?”
“Because, by that time in Irish history, the Gaelic language had almost—and let me repeat, almost—been replaced by other languages. Plus more than two million people had been lost to disease, famine, and immigration, so only the poor and uneducated that remained would have spoken Gaelic.”
A wrinkle crossed the bridge of Sophie’s nose once again. “So that means that this diary belonged to a poor woman?” she asked, not completely following his thoughts.
He looked directly into her eyes. “No, it didn’t belong to a poor woman,” he said, pointing to some faint markings in the lower right-hand corner. “See this?” He took her fingers in his and rested them on the markings. “This diary was the property of a woman of wealth. Poor women could not have afforded this book. But the question is, did she purchase it, or was it given to her? And if it was given to her, then by whom and for what reason?” he said, thinking out loud. “I guess those questions can only be answered by the writings within the pages of this little book,” he said, placing his hand over the cover. He stared at the book, thinking. “You know what makes this really odd? Very few wealthy people spoke the Gaelic language. So how did this woman know it, and why would she use it in a personal document?” He leaned back in his chair, pinching his lower lip. “Ms. Hanes, could it be that the woman who owned the diary was trying to hide something, or could she have been an accomplice to something deceitful?” Kevin glanced carefully at Sophie. Her eyes were wide, and the questioning look on her face was priceless. A faint smile set on his lips. He noticed her shoulders had relaxed, but the look on her face was still of surprise, and that was worth a thousand words on paper. He wanted to know her thoughts. He tried to read her but couldn’t. “Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked. He smiled and looked deeper into her eyes as he waited for an answer.
Sophie wasn’t taken aback by his notable stare this time. She couldn’t help but be amazed by his knowledge of the topic at hand and the way he reasoned through different aspects of the diary. This man was much more than a cameraman.
“How do you know so much about the Irish people and their history? And the questions you were asking, what are you besides a cameraman, Mr. Gates a reporter?”
He didn’t answer her question.
“I should have known,” she said flatly.
Kevin tried to read the tone of her voice and the way her eyebrows lifted with her questions. He wondered if she would find his being a reporter a bad thing or a good thing. He knew that many people looked at reporters the same as they did lawyers, and he was hoping that wouldn’t be the case when he told her what his true profession was. There was no way to get out of answering without lying, and he was quite sure that wasn’t an option with this woman.
“All right, the first thing you have to do is call me Kevin. And you have to promise to have dinner with me tomorrow evening before I’ll reveal my true identity,” he said with a waning smile, waiting again for an answer.
She straightened in her chair and pulled the diary from in front of him. “I don’t make deals with strangers,” she said, stacking the books in a neat pile near her backpack. She stopped, looked up, and then stared at him firmly as she spoke. “But I guess if I want to pick your brain and know your true identity, then I have to say…” She paused, unsure if she should say yes. It had been so long since she’d dated or spent any time with a man since Trey, but it was only dinner, and she was sure she could stand to be with someone that period of time. “Yes, I’ll have dinner with you tomorrow, Kevin,” she said, looking down at the diary.
He had cleared the first hurdle with her and was going to make sure he had counted the steps carefully before he attempted the next jump. “All right then, I’ll pick you up at your house around seven tomorrow night. Will that work for you?”
She nodded.
“So Ms. Hanes, to answer your questions about my work—yes, I’m a cameraman, and yes, I used to be a reporter. Three years ago, I discovered that my true love was telling stories through still photography. I love to capture real people in their real lives. Sometimes it’s good, and sometimes it’s bad. But either way, I want my readers to experience the same emotions I did as I witnessed it firsthand. I like to call myself a photojournalist, but you can call me whatever you want.”
“I think photojournalist will be fine,” she said, scribbling something on a piece of paper. “Here’s my address, Mr. Gates—ah, I stand corrected—Kevin. I don’t live too far from here.”
He studied the street name. “Yeah, I know where this neighborhood is,” he said and then looked back at Sophie. “Does this mean our conversation is over for today?” he asked, hoping the disappointment didn’t show in his voice. “I mean, I’d really like to look into your diary a little more, and if you have any more questions, I would be happy to try and answer them.”
“Thanks for your offer, but I really need to get home. There are still some things that need my attention before the weekend is over,” she explained, giving him a quick glance as she stood. “But I’ll see you tomorrow night at seven, right?”
“Seven it is.”
Sophie put the diary in her backpack, and pinched the other two books into the bend of her arm, then looked straight at him. “Kevin?” She stopped short of telling him how nervous she felt around him. There was no denying that he was good looking, smart, and…so much like Trey. It was just too much all at one time no matter how badly she wanted to work on the diary. “Maybe after dinner tomorrow night, we could look at the diary again?” she asked. “That is, if you have time.”
“That’s a great idea, Ms. Hanes,” he said, pushing his chair to the side of the table.
She turned to leave, stopped, and then looked back. “If you want, you can call me Sophie.”
Her brown eyes operated like a snare, trapping him in a cage. He wanted to call her more than Sophie. He wanted to call her on the phone and talk to her all night long. Or better yet, he wanted to invite himself over to her house right then and spend the entire evening with her, maybe longer. He wondered what she thought of him. Did she feel his excitement when he touched her hand earlier? Could she not picture what was going on in his mind when he looked at her? She definitely was a private person, and that meant intrigue and allure to a guy who loved a challenge and enjoyed getting to the bottom of a good story.
“I’ll call you Sophie,” he said, giving a wave of his hand and watching as she walked to the front doors.
“Yes, Sophie Hanes, you are a complete package,” he said quietly as he broke a smile. “And with any luck, I’ll be the guy who finds out just what that package holds.”
Anya found her mother in the front garden, sitting on the marble bench nestled among the hanging flowers.
“Where is Father this morning?” Anya asked as she sat down.
Mrs. O’Connell sat without a word, lost somewhere in her own world.
Anya had noticed an absence of self in her mother after she had been attacked by a high fever several months earlier. The fever had lasted for more than seven days. When it had finally broken, Mrs. O’Connell exhibited a notable change. She would sit, smile, and say a few words, but as of late, the smiles were few and the words not spoken. She would just sit, staring for long periods of time, saying nothing. Anya questioned the doctors as to whether her mother would ever recover and be her old self. The truth was not encouraging.
Anya took the hand of the woman who had raised her and kissed it gently, feeling a sick emptiness build in her heart.
“What has happened to my family?” she questioned. “First the decline of Father’s businesses, followed by Mother’s illness?”
Her mind’s eye narrowed in hopeless thought. And now, the change in the extravagant life they once lived. She circled the area with her eyes. The one thing the McConnell’s hadn’t lost was the castle Goregoo and the estate just outside their beloved Dool. It remained home for their splintered family.
She looked once again at her lifeless mother sitting and staring, totally unaware of the beauty surrounding her. “Mother?” she asked, hoping once again for a response, none. Alone, she would enjoy what the gardener and groundskeeper had preserved for her. Even they were at the count of two. And their jobs were made possible only at her never ending request that her father continue to employ them for the sake of their families.
Her persistence came with a price, however. Anya no longer went to private school. The cost for three days’ instruction with a governess in the castle trumped the cost of five days away at school. Besides, she was eighteen and nearly finished with her studies, secretly hoping to enjoy more of the social graces that women of her age were privileged to. Her mind quickly grew heavy at the thought. But with Mother not herself as of late, who would guide her in making proper decisions about going to the gatherings and other social activities? Father was hardly suited for such a role, and he was away at work for days on end. She stopped in thought, certainly not Sean. Although he was now twenty-two and older than she, he disturbed her. When he was near, she sensed something about her only brother, something dark. Maybe it was his intense mindset on growing his wealth, his new brewery, his obvious disdain for Father, and his appetite for excessive behavior with women—and men, for that fact. She wished she knew not these things about him, but with Father away so many nights and Sean still living at the castle, she could hear him come in late, and much of the time he was not alone. His behavior was dreadful. Perhaps it is good that Mother was at the castle only in body most of the time. It would kill her to see her son caught up with such people and involved in such coarse behavior.
“Anya, would you ask the gardener to cut some flowers and bring them to my room? I’m frightfully sleepy and need to rest.”
“Mother, you’re here,” she said, taking her hands, clutching them firmly to her cheek.
“Yes, little lass, I will always be here,” Mrs. McConnell said, looking at her daughter through dimly lit eyes. “Will you walk with me to my room?”
Anya held her hand as they rose from the bench. Mother had always been quietly beautiful, and even in illness she possessed that soft quality. It was clear why Father had married her, and yet Anya couldn’t understand his absence from his sick wife’s side over the past long months. As with Sean, there was so much she didn’t understand. Perhaps one day she would.
Over the next several months, Anya watched as her mother’s body slowly deteriorated until she passed in her sleep one night. She watched as her father, who had been so absent, shed tears over his wife’s lifeless body, and then abruptly stopped to make appropriate arrangements for her burial. Everything seemed to be orderly but happening in a thick, wet fog. Even Mother’s request to rest among the trees and flowers was granted. Father followed her wishes precisely. Sean, too, felt the sting of Mother’s passing, but he handled his grief with large amounts of spirits that left him sick and in seclusion for days after.
Days passed into weeks, and Anya would sit in her mother’s bedroom for hours at a time. Being in her mother’s space was comforting. Her mother had said she would always be there, and she was. Anya could sense her.
“Sorry to disturb you, Miss O’Connell,” Colleen said, stepping quietly into the room and seeing Anya sitting near the window, looking out over the eastern garden as did her mother in the last weeks of her life.
“Miss, we need to properly clean your mother’s bedchamber. Your Father feels it is time to air the room.” Colleen was a longtime faithful servant to the family, assuming the running of the household since the day Mrs. O’Connell took ill.
Anya knew what that meant and immediately clutched her stomach. “What of Mother’s things, Colleen? What are we to do with them? Throw them in the street as if they mean nothing?”
She spread her hands out in front of her, fear of losing any last vestiges of her mother evident on her face.
Colleen heard the panic in Anya’s trembling voice as she spoke. The young woman was no stranger to grief—she had witnessed it before. The family servant, only seven years older than the young Miss O’Connell, wrung her hands together, at a loss for kind words. What could she do to help soothe the pain of this delicate matter?
“Miss O’Connell, your father has instructed that her belongings be given to charity.”
Anya jerked her head up, question in her eyes. “What? Has my father gone mad? These are my beloved mother’s personal things. Where but this house should they remain? Nothing is to be taken from this room, Colleen,” Anya said, sitting firmly on the bed.
Colleen looked at the young woman, seeing the hurt and loneliness in her beautiful green eyes. “Miss O’Connell, may I sit with you?”
Anya said not a word as Colleen sat gently next to her. “Miss O’Connell, I know you grieve over your mother, as I do. She was as much a friend as she was the Lady of the house.”
Colleen looked around the room, not wanting Anya to see the glassiness in her own eyes. She cleared her throat. “I do agree with your father, I do. But how about we go to cleaning your mother’s room of things you want for yourself, aye?” She put her hand on Anya’s. “Miss, we can take several days if you like, going through Mrs. O’Connell’s things slowly so you have time to think and decide what you would want to keep.”
Anya squeezed Colleen’s hands as she turned to look into her face. She saw sadness in the pretty face of the woman who had served them since she was but a child, and heard honest concern for her feelings. “You will help me in the cleaning then?”
“Aye, Miss O’Connell, I will help you as you wish and report to your father that the room is being aired.”
Anya looked away, fixing her eyes on the delicate lace curtains and matching throw over the back of the chair. “Can we wait until tomorrow after the governess has left?” she asked, her voice beginning to shake.
“Miss, we will start tomorrow after biscuits and a wet of tea, and if you like, we will open the wardrobe first and then stop for the day until the next.”
“Yes.” Anya wrapped her arms around herself, standing to look out the window once again. “And Colleen, if my brother asks about what we are doing, please send him to me, not my father, for answers.”
“Aye, Miss, I will do as you wish. I will leave you now and attend to my evening chores if there is nothing else?”
“No, nothing else Colleen,” she said, her voice as distant as her long gaze across the garden.
Anya woke from a fitful sleep, her nightgown clinging tightly to her damp body. The air was close and stale in her bedchamber, in much need of a fresh spring breeze. She touched her feet to the floor and walked to unlatch the closure that allowed the windows to swing open freely. A light breeze rushed in, caressing her face while it tossed her hair from her neck.
“Oh,” she sighed, lifting her chin, allowing the gentle wind to dry the moisture from her skin. She leaned on the sill, continuing to drink in the refreshing breeze, when she heard the faint sound of voices. It was her father’s voice and…Sean. At this hour, what could they be discussing of such great importance? She strained to hear the broken conversation, to no gain. Slipping her robe over her shoulders, Anya padded quietly down the stairs. She glimpsed a sliver of light coming from the door to her father’s study. Anya stepped to one side of the great double doors, Father and Sean in plain view. Both men held a strategic stance, standing dangerously close to one another, their hands tightly fisted and white knuckled.
“What do you know of trust, Father?” sounded the venomous voice of her brother, the veins in his neck protruding in anger. “You say you have others who are trustworthy, others who can take care of your business and the warehouses on the waterfront? Then what of me, Father? Leaving me in charge of nothing but the family estate, to be but a caretaker for Anya?”
She watched as Sean’s eyes seemed to darken.
“Do you take me to be a fool?” Sean pulled on Father’s outer coat. “No Father, you are the fool, and the one who lacks trust.”
“Sean.” Mr. O’Connell’s sharp voice split the dimly lit room. “Be reasonable, you are young and busy with your own dealings. The warehouses are busy with merchants and dock workers. You have spent little time there and know nothing of the comings and goings of the business at hand. I think it best that in my absence; the waterfront is taken care of by those who are familiar with the details and everyday—”
“And who will take care of your mistress, Father? Or is that part of my duties, too?” Sean said with a wry laugh, stepping into his father’s shadow.
Anya’s eyes widened. Her hands rose quickly to cover the gasp that threatened to escape her throat. What was Sean talking about? Her father had no mistress. He had loved his wife, and Anya could prove it. She had witnessed his tears at Mother’s death. Her eyes went as slits. What was she seeing in her father? Her eyes began to burn with hot tears as she listened to the deadly silence.
Mr. O’Connell sat hard in the chair beside his desk.
“I know about her, Father,” Sean’s voice rang out, accompanied by a sadistic smile of satisfaction on his face. “I know you have had her for more than two years, and I know where she lives.”
Anya watched as Sean strut like a cock only inches from where Father slumped.
“But what made my skin crawl, dear Father, was all the evenings you were gone from Mother, and yes, even mornings as of late. Then telling her how hard you were working for her and your family. And you do know that she believed every word you said. She was blind to your antics. But not me, oh no, I could tell by your mannerisms that it was more than work that occupied your time. You see, Father, I am your son, and I have learned a great deal from you.” Sean bent down close, close enough to look directly into his Father’s reddened face. “Be well assured that while you are away to Canada, I will take very good care of the estate you have put into my hands. And oh, let me not forget about your sweet little Anya. She will be put to good use, too.”
Anya stood still as a figurine in disbelief, not wanting to believe what she had seen and heard. Sean, her only brother, appeared to be something of a large sly cat taunting its prey before the final fatal blow. And her beloved father sat in a state of awful shock, his eyes large, and his hands gripping the arms of the chair as if they would protect him from the blast of truth that was evident.
Sean straightened and walked to the door. “I will not be joining you and Anya for the morning meal, so you may tell her anything you like about your trip.” He turned and, without expression, walked out of the room, not seeing Anya hiding in the darkness beside the staircase.
Colleen served the morning meal in the garden. It was at Father’s request that the table be set proper and in the open air. Anya knew that meals in the garden always meant there was family-altering news to be presented. But this morning, she did not care about the news, she did not care what Father had to say. She, for the first time ever, found it hard to look at him as he spoke. The only image encompassing her mind was that of Sean and the dangerously cynical look on his face as he took pleasure in exposing Father’s unfaithfulness. Then the dreadful look on her father’s face at being caught in adultery. It brought shame to her mind and made her stomach tighten with knots that were being doubled with each silent minute at the table. She wished it was not true but feared that it was. Father’s lack of words in protest last night and the look about his face told a story that was unforgettably haunting, yet rife with truth.
The silence was broken by the deep sound of a man with too much pride to admit he was a traitor to himself and his family. “Anya, I am going to be sailing to Canada in a few days and will be gone for two—maybe three—months,” her father said, continuing to consume his bun and tea. “Your brother will be in charge. Please listen and do as he requests. I have instructed Colleen to attend to your personal needs as they arise.”
Anya listened but did not want to hear his words. He had betrayed Mother, and for that she could feel hot anger build within her body, anger that had been experienced only with Sean, but never her father. Sean’s words of last night rang loudly in her ears, even as Father spoke. “I am your son and have learned a great deal from you.” Had he truly learned his mannerisms from Father? Was this beloved man someone she really did not know? Too many questions that had no real answers circled round and round in her head.
Anya could hear her father’s voice as if through a hollow tube. “Little lass, you are to listen to Sean and allow Colleen’s womanly advice to take hold of you, just as if it were coming from your mother,” he said, raising another forkful of food to his mouth.
Her anger rose. How could he eat so heartily and look very little at her as he spoke, she wondered, picking at the food on her plate.
“I know for a fact that Colleen is only a bit older than you, but she is sound and has had much experience in her youth. She will advise you properly, and you would do well to heed her advice.” He glanced up only briefly, not catching her eye. Anya remained expressionless and gave no immediate response to his words.
Anya’s face mirrored her lifeless words as they finally escaped her lips, “Yes, Father, I will do as Sean says and take the advice of Colleen, just as you request.”
At that, Mr. O’Connell rose from the table and gave his daughter a kiss on the top of the head as he passed to enter the living quarters. He turned slightly just a few lengths from her, adding, “Oh Anya, I will not be home this evening. I have many things to get done at the waterfront before I leave. I will say my goodbyes before I depart.”
She sat motionless, her eyes fixed on the stillness of the garden. Were those the very words he had said to her mother? She closed her eyes and covered them with her hands. “Mother, help me never to be deceived as you were,” she said, fighting back the tears and the ever building anger within.
Anya sat covered with the lace throw that usually graced the large fan-shaped back of her mother’s wicker chair. It now provided security that was missing from the men she shared the castle with. She found herself spending more and more time in Mother’s room, enjoying the eastern garden and trying desperately to see what the lady of the house had seen among the bushes and mature trees before her passing.
There was a knock on the door. Anya turned, praying it wasn’t Sean. The thought of talking to him at this time made her heart sink. The door eased open. “Miss O’Connell, are you in here?” she heard a soft voice ask.
“Yes, Colleen,” she whispered, relieved at the sound of her voice.
“I have been a bit worried about you. You did not come for tea, and you hardly touched your morning meal. Miss, you must eat to remain strong through this ordeal.”
Anya smiled, returning her gaze to the garden. “I guess I wasn’t very hungry this morning, and my lessons ran over the allotted time this afternoon.” She turned her head to meet Colleen’s eyes. “I will try to do better.” Anya breathed deeply, pulling in a large amount of air as she wrapped the throw tightly around herself. “I needed to think of other things before we—” She stopped and turned to stare out the window again. “I’m not sure I can go through Mother’s personal things, Colleen,” she said, not taking her eyes from the outdoors.
Colleen hesitated to think of the best words before speaking. “Oh Miss,” she sighed. The job of airing the bedchamber was necessary for cleanliness, but even more importantly, the command had been given by Mr. O’Connell, and he had left no options with his orders. Colleen tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. What can be said to convince her that the airing must be done? She closed the door behind her and walked closer to where Miss O’Connell was resting. I must say words that will brighten the thoughts of this young woman and yet get her to understand the need at hand, Colleen thought. She stood at the foot of the bed, close enough to see Anya’s face from the side. “Say, Miss O’Connell, I was thinking, let us not look at the familiar things of your mother’s today. Let us look at the things you know little of. Perchance then you will have questions in your mind in place of the gripping sadness, aye?”
Anya sat, continuing to stare out the window and listening to Colleen’s words blend with the music of the garden birds. Her lips turned up slightly at the corners. “You may be right. I really want no more sadness today.”
“Good,” Colleen said quickly, not wanting her to change her mind. “Let us start over here near your mother’s writing table. She loved this part of the room almost as much as the windows that overlook the gardens.” The young servant ran her fingers along the edge of the black walnut table as she spoke.
Anya studied Colleen’s face as it shone in the dimly lit corner. She could see an endearment for the one who had used the table. Anya’s eyes filled with tears. How did a servant know so much about her mother and care so deeply, she questioned as her heart filled with regret. She wished she had known such special things.
“There is so much I did not know, I wish I had—” Colleen abruptly slid a door open. It rubbed against the wall with a scraping noise and exposed a floor-to-ceiling case of books. Anya’s eyes widened, and her mouth dropped. “I had forgotten about the hidden bookshelf,” she said, rushing to Colleen’s side. “I did not realize Mother had so many books in her possession.”
Colleen watched as Miss O’Connell ran her fingertips over the covered spine of each book. She could see Anya’s eyes move with excitement as she read one title then another. Miss O’Connell stopped, pulled a book from its resting place near the top of the shelf. She opened it to her face and breathed deeply from its pages. Colleen dared not ask but guessed it was to experience more of her mother by its smell.
Anya replaced the book and pulled another from the shelf. She now held a small black book in her hands. She stroked it with the palm of her hand, curious of its shape and texture. “Do you recognize this book, Colleen?”
“Ah, I do, Miss,” she said, smiling as Anya put the book in her hand. “This is one of a set of books Mrs. O’Connell would write in during the long afternoons you were gone away to school.” She slowly ran her hand over the cover. “Miss, look here, on the back.” She turned the book over to expose the engraved name of Alanna O’Connell. “Your mother purchased the blank books from a merchant in town. His name is Mr. Sweeney.”
She looked caringly at the engraved name. “He was so fond of Mrs. O’Connell,” she said as if reliving a treasured moment. “Anya your mother had shown such kindness to Mr. Sweeney and his family during a hardship they were going through. That is why he took it upon himself to have her name engraved on each book.” Colleen turned the book back to the front cover. “Miss, your mother loved to write her thoughts and feelings among the pages of these precious books, if for no other reason than to share them with you at this time in your life.”
Anya looked at the engraved name once more. What a treasure these books will be, she thought, opening to the first page. She stopped. “What?” a crease formed across the bridge of her nose, she looked curiously at Colleen. “But why are the words in Gaelic? Why not in English, as she spoke until her death?”
“May we sit, Miss?” Colleen asked, pulling a chair from the desk for Anya to rest in. “Your mother loved her homeland and had said many times that when she wrote in her native tongue, it was as if she were speaking right out loud. Out loud to the people she loved as she grew up in the country, and even more now to those she had shared her life with on this grand estate. I believe, Miss, that these books have something to do with why Mrs. O’Connell was so insistent on you learning the old language.”
Anya’s eyebrows rose. “How did you know what Mother wanted for my education?”
Colleen was surprised at the questioning look on Miss O’Connell’s face. She quickly shifted her weight on the bed away from the closeness that had been realized as they talked. “Miss,” Colleen began, her eyes firmly fixed on her clasped hands in her lap. “During the days of school, Mrs. O’Connell would be home alone, and as I worked, she would sit and talk with me. She talked of both you and Sean, but mostly about you. Miss, I really do think that the book you have in your hand is your real connection to your mother, her past and her present.”
Anya looked from the servant to the diary she held in her hand. She laid it in her lap, and it instantly fell open. Her eyes locked. The date, she thought. How were words written the day her mother died?
“Colleen, this writing is of right before Mother’s death. I didn’t think she was awake, how could she have…?”
“Mrs. O’Connell was a surprisingly strong woman. What is written is of her hand on the day she passed. Miss, you have many of the same traits she possessed. I can see them in you, I can.”
“Colleen, I do not want to do any more cleaning today,” Anya said, clutching the black book tightly to her breast. “I will take this book to my bedchamber. If you could find any of the others, would you see that they are put away for me?”
“Aye, it will be done for you, Miss.”
Anya stood and made her way hastily to the door, not wanting to talk about anything further. “Colleen, I need to be alone with Mother’s thoughts,” she said, opening the door, “Oh, and Colleen?”
The young servant pushed the chairs to the table. “Yes, Miss?”
“I would like you to have the dresses, underclothes, and shoes in the wardrobe. I have no need of more clothes, and you have proven to have been like a daughter to Mother. I see now how she loved and cared about you, and you about her,” she said, a smile lighting her face.
Colleen stood resolute. “Miss, I could not. Mrs. O’Connell’s things are much too lovely for someone like me.” Her gaze lowered to the floor. “I am a servant from the country, and—”
Anya broke into her words. “Remember, Colleen, so was my mother. Please take what you wish and give the rest to those you think can use them best.”
“Thank you, Miss, you are very kind.”
“Thank you for being so kind to Mother.”
Anya lay on her bed, poring wide-eyed over the entries in the black book. There was a brief knock on the door, and only seconds later, Sean abruptly appeared. Her eyes automatically moved to him as he greeted her coolly but gently.
“So little lass, I finally find you in this big house,” he said, lying on the end of her bed. “Tell me, why you are closed up in this room when you could be out enjoying the light breezes of the early evening?” he asked, looking at the closed book in her hand. “Don’t tell me you have taken to reading now?” Sean rolled his eyes and moved closer to her. “You are too young and beautiful to have your nose stuck between the pages of someone else’s writings. You must live, so one day you will have something to write to others about,” he said, running his eyes over his sister’s shape.
Anya caught his eyes considering her, and then looked away. “Sean, is there something you wanted to talk to me about this good evening?” Her voice was civil but held a direct tone.
“Aye, little one, come downstairs with me and sit for a while,” he said, pushing off the bed to stand and holding his hand to her.
She wanted to protest but knew he would be in charge as soon as Father said his goodbyes. She needed to learn to do as Sean requested. Anya gave a deep sigh and, without a word, took his hand as he easily brought her to her feet. She turned to see to the diary’s safety. It seemed to have hidden itself from her brother’s eyes.
“So what is it you wanted to tell me, brother?”
“Not so fast, Anya,” he said, pouring something black in a small cup. “First, we must toast.”
The change is his voice put her on guard. The tone had changed to something murky, and it startled her for a moment as did the look in his eyes. They flashed something she did not understand but had seen a time before. “And to whom, may I ask, are we giving a good wish to?”
A look of distinct evil filled his eyes, and she felt his mind look right into hers. “Father wanted me to say his goodbyes. He left a few hours ago.”
“What? Father said he would say goodbye to me personally before he sailed. You are lying to me, brother,” she said, standing to her feet.
“Sit down, Anya.” His voice boomed loudly, his body tensing.
Anya lowered herself to the edge of her chair, narrowing her eyes at the man sitting across from her.
“Good. Now let me finish.” He rubbed the lines that had formed on his brow. “The first ship was ready to sail and the winds were in their favor, so they set out. It was the proper thing to do, Anya,” he said, touching his fingers to her reddened cheek. He moved close to her, matching his eyes with hers. “Besides, he had, let’s just say, some fine company to join him on his journey. I do believe, little one, that you were the last thing on his mind,” Sean said, enjoying the pain in her face, laughing as he held his glass up to her.
Anya watched as he tipped his head back, allowing the descent of the dark drink from his mouth to his stomach. She wished he would choke on it, but even more, she felt an unexpected loneliness fill the room in spite of her brother’s presence. She wished Colleen was still in the house but knew she was gone for the evening. Mother I need you. I need someone, she thought.
“Drink, little one, for as you may recall, I am in charge of you while Father is absent. So you will need to get used to a few changes,” he smiled as he pushed her hand, holding the cup to her lips. “Drink it!” he yelled, tensing again.
Anya took only a sip then loosed it from her hand. It spilled, landing on Sean before the glass shattered on the floor. Her eyes filled with tears as she looked up. Her brother was laughing deeply. Tears trickled down her cheeks. “Sean please do not make me do things that are against Mother’s—”
Sean stood suddenly. “Mother is dead and is not here to protect you any longer.” He slowly bent over her slender body. “She has kept you pure for too long, Anya, and that is going to change,” he said as he reached to catch a tear.
Sean felt power run through his veins as Anya’s tears continued to trickle. He had not felt such a strong sensation of control before, and he reveled in the feeling as he watched her fear of him. “Anya, tomorrow night I am going to a gathering, and you will accompany me.”
Her eyes widened with question. “What type of gathering, Sean? You know I have never been to gatherings that were not in this house.”
Sean poured another cup of the black drink, hastily downing it before he spoke. “It is a meeting with potential customers and a few men I do business with at the present.”
Anya’s voice faltered. “Then why do you need me with you, dear brother? I know nothing of your business dealings, so how can I possibly be of help to you?” she pleaded. “Besides, you have plenty of women friends you can put on your arm, so do not use me unnecessarily.”
His lips tipped up into a casual smile as he turned from her. “Anya,” he said, running his hands back through his hair. “You will know soon enough my plans for you, so in the time you wait, you must do all that I say.” He turned and held his hands out to her.
She took his hands in reluctant obedience, looking at the person she thought was her brother, but he was away in the head and stupid with pride. Feared gripped her mind—she did not want to be the tool her brother used to carry out his sinister plans, whatever they may be.
“Miss,” Colleen said, walking up the garden path as fast as her feet would carry her. “I happened to see you as I entered the front gate. What are you doing out here so early in the morning?”
Anya noticed a look of concern had replaced Colleen’s usual soft features.
“And you are still in your bedclothes?”
Anya eyed her once again with a feeling she could not explain. What could she tell Colleen about Sean and the gathering she had been ordered to attend? She sat silent, too deep in thought to search for words.
“Miss, there is something troubling you, I can see it on your face. Possibly when your father rises for the morning meal, you can speak to him about your troubles.”
“He’s not coming for the morning meal,” she said, her words quiet with lack of expression. “He sailed yesterday.” Her lips continued to move, but no sound escaped them.
Colleen stood, considering her words. “Ah, I see. Come with me, Miss. That is, if you would. Sit with me in the kitchen while I make up some buns and wet some tea.”
Anya’s brows perked. “The kitchen?” she rarely entered the kitchen—it was a place for the help.
Colleen recognized her surprise. “Your mother sat with me often, Miss,” she said, urging her with her hands. Anya agreed and walked alongside the young servant woman.
Anya watched as Colleen skillfully floured a board and kneaded the soft cream-colored dough. “How did you learn to bake and cook as you do, Colleen?” Anya asked, sipping a small cup of black tea.
“My mother,” Colleen said, smiling as she pushed the dough flat to the board. “She works for a lovely family in town, and before I was hired by Mrs. O’Connell, I would go with her each day and do just as you are—I watched.”
Colleen gathered the dough and pulled it into three large sections.
“Sean has requested I go to a gathering with him tonight.” Anya’s eyes followed the skillful hands of the servant. She swallowed hard. “I am fearful, Colleen,” she confided, now looking into the face of the young woman who was partly in charge of her. Anya now realized her feelings for the servant. It was as if she were a Mother or perhaps an older sister. Either way, she was someone to guide her.
Colleen didn’t look up or say a word, but continued to separate the dough into small balls, placing them in round pans. Each pan was then draped with cheesecloth and positioned near the heat of the cooking stove.
“More tea, Miss?” she asked softly.
“Yes.”
Colleen poured the tea then sat down near Anya at the servants’ table. “Sean is in charge of you while your father is absent, aye?”
Anya nodded her head.
Stillness filled Colleen’s heart as she looked at the young woman. Once again, she was pained, not knowing what to say. She knew Miss O’Connell dare not disobey her brother, but also knew that, if the night’s course of events unfolded as she suspected they might, it would not be a pleasurable evening for the young woman. There would be too much Guinness and men forgetting their manners.
“Has Mr. O’Connell told you what he would like you to wear for the gathering, Miss?”
Anya’s face fell into a wrinkle, “Colleen that is a strange question to ask of me. Unless you know something about these gatherings that I do not. Tell me what you know. I insist on it.”
“Miss, I have had little experience at these gatherings but know that not all men are perfect gentlemen whether they have Guinness in them or not. I do know that many of the women who attend flaunt themselves, and the attire they wear tells much about their intentions. I pray, Miss O’Connell that your brother does not expect you to act in such a way.”
Anya felt a thread of alarm enter her mind. She stood to make her way to the dining room. “Come now, Colleen, we have had gatherings in this house and no such display took place.”
Colleen followed close behind the young woman. “Your words are true, but your mother and father were present and would not allow such behavior.”
Colleen looked away to hide the grim feeling in her chest that she feared had made its way to her face. “Please be aware tonight, Miss.”
Anya turned, and she saw grievous fear steal across the face of the young servant. “I will, Colleen, I will.”
Anya stood to observe her reflection in the mirror. The black dress fit her small waist tightly, showing off her figure. The short puffed sleeves were perfect for the warm evening, and the scoop neckline was not so low as to make her look like a bar girl. She smiled at the image in the mirror.
“Mother, I think you would be very pleased with this dress,” she said, as if her dear departed parent was about the room. She tied a small string of pearls around her neck and touched the long blonde curls that hung loosely on her shoulders.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the hurried sound of her brother. “Little lass, are you ready to go?”
No, she thought, her smile fading. She would never be ready to go with her brother, but there was no choice. Anya turned from the mirror. She had to be submissive. She stepped lightly down the stairs to join Sean near the door. Anya could feel his gaze burning through her as she faced him. “So brother, what do you think?” she asked without a true smile.
Sean’s thoughts ran wild as he touched the pearls around her neck, his fingers caressing her skin at the same time. “I am feasting on you with my eyes just as I know every man in the house will be doing tonight.”
He put his hands on her waist and pulled her close to him. “You look perfect, little one,” he said, kissing her forehead. His lips traveled to the side of her face near her ear. “And tonight you are going to play a little game,” he whispered, his hot breath lingering, almost burning her skin.
“Sean, I don’t want—”
He cut her off sharply. “It matters not what you want—it’s what you will do,” he said firmly. “Now listen to me and listen closely,” he said, his eyes darkening. “I am going to introduce you to a very influential businessman from France, and you are going to spend some time with him tonight.”
“What do you mean by time, brother, and how will that be a game?”
His smile became raw as he looked into her large green eyes. He loved the thought of her innocence. Mother had done a fine job of keeping her from being promiscuous, as many of the other young women her age were. She would serve his plan perfectly, and by the end of the night, he would have the business deal in hand that would help him surpass his father’s financial empire.
“Your questions will be answered as the evening goes on. All you need to do is be just as beautiful as you are right now and leave the rest to my thinking.” Sean laughed under his breath as he gently took his sister by the hand.
“Good evening, Sean,” Aedan said, looking past him to Anya, who followed behind. Aedan complimented her with his eyes as he spoke. “Anya, you look absolutely beautiful tonight. All of twenty-one now, aye?” he asked, his eyes surveying her shapeliness.
She gave him a sweet smile. “No, still eighteen, but my brother treats me as if I’m no more than ten,” she said, pressing her lips together and folding her arms in front of her. “But thank you, Aedan,” she said, returning her gaze back to her host. “You are very kind.”
She had always enjoyed Aedan’s sense of humor but wasn’t allowed near him for any length of time. Mother said his influence would be in poor taste, and perhaps so. There were times she wondered how Aedan could be such good friends with her brother. They did not think the same, nor haunt the same places. Aedan was the perfect gentleman and had never stepped out of line with her as long as she had known him.
Sean cut into their light chatting. “Is Mr. Dubois here yet?” he asked, giving his cloak to his friend.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, he arrived about twenty minutes ago. He asked about you as well. Seemed quite eager, he did.”
Sean let the locked air from his lungs out audibly and bared his teeth in a wide smile, “I bet he is, my friend, about as eager as I.” His smile melted into obscurity. He reached for Anya’s hand and lightly kissed it then met her eyes. “You are going to have a memorable night, little one,” he said, looking at her after his second kiss. “Just remember—do everything you’re told. And as for your words to Aedan, know this Anya, I am well aware of your age, and it will be put to good use.” His eyes pierced hers as he kissed her forehead. “Now let us play the game.”
Sophie relished in the quietness of the university campus. Summer classes didn’t start for another two weeks, and her plan not to teach set her mind at ease, allowing an unusual calmness to settle in. She opened the door to her office, first glancing at the marks on her calendar. It had been three weeks since she had sent an e-mail in response to Professor Smith’s post. Why hadn’t he responded? She really wanted to dig into the diary but needed help reading it accurately. Maybe I should try to contact someone else, she thought, pushing the button to boot up her computer. Then Kevin’s words filled her mind. “I have a friend in New York that would be happy to interpret the diary, and besides, she owes me one.” She leaned back in her chair remembering how he had bent down, getting much too close for an answer. And that sultry look of his—it alone brought a smile as well as the thought of their time together after dinner a few weeks ago. He’d jumped out of the car, ran to open the door for her, and then just stood looking at her with those expectant eyes, the same look she’d gotten from Jeffrey most Friday nights. She shouldn’t have laughed. It had been obvious from the puzzled look on his face that it threw him, and she even wondered if she’d hurt his feelings. But hat thought had been dismissed after he asked if she was in the mood to research some of the entries in the diary.
Sophie’s attention was brought back to her work by a message in her inbox. It was a response from Professor Smith. She nervously clicked to open it.
“Ms. Hanes, I would be delighted to look at the diary in your possession. It sounds like a perfect document for my research. I would like to get started as quickly as possible. Please follow the instructions below as to how we will communicate. Also, you had made a comment about visiting our lovely Ireland in the near future. If your plans come to fruition, please allow me to be your host. It would bring me great delight to visit with a young professor from America. Your stay would be one to remember, Sincerely, Professor Kian Smith.”
Sophie touched her cheeks. Her face flushed at such a wonderful invitation, not to mention the fact that the professor was going to do the work she had requested.
“It looks like I won’t need your services after all Mr. Gates,” she said, rereading the e-mail. She would begin to fax pages to the professor as soon as she got home.
“I think I’ll call Kevin and give him the good news.” Too late, her phone rang in mid-thought. She checked the number—K. Gates. Sophie smiled as she pushed talk. “Hey, I was just thinking of calling you.”
“Great minds think alike!” His voice was laced with a light laugh. “Sophie, the reason I’m calling is I talked to my friend in New York, and she’s agreed to read and rewrite the diary for you. Are you interested?”
“That’s so funny, I just received word that Professor Smith is anxious to start going through the diary himself, and Kevin—get this—he’s offered to be my host if I decide to visit the country this summer. Isn’t that amazing?” The line fell oddly silent. She looked to see that they were still connected. “Kevin, are you still on the line?”
Red flags were flying everywhere in Kevin’s mind. There were things about his last trip to Ireland he had not told Sophie about. He hadn’t told anyone except for a very few close associates why he’d traveled there and what his assignment had really been. “Yeah, I’m still here. Hey, do you have plans for dinner tonight?” he asked, sounding more serious than he’d wanted.
She sensed an immediate mood change, but why? “No, no plans. Would you like to come over? It’s not Friday, and Jeffrey won’t be at my door,” she said, trying to lighten the mood.
“Good, I’ll see you around six then?”
Her eyes tapered in question. “Yes, six is fine.”
“Okay. See you a little later.”
She lowered the phone from her ear. Strange, I’m sure he’ll tell me what’s up this evening, she thought, her mind still pondering his abrupt reaction.
Kevin pulled into Sophie’s drive, taking note of the area as he walked to the front door. He noticed that Jeffrey, the friendly neighbor, had pulled into his driveway just ahead of him and was leaning against his car, watching his every move. Kevin gave a wave as he walked up the steps. He made a fist and pounded hard on the front door.
“Hey,” he yelled loudly, turning slightly to see the effect on the faithful neighbor. “I know you’re in there, so you better open up,” he smirked, trying not to blow his cover.
Sophie swung the door open, already laughing at the sound of his voice. “Kevin, that’s not very nice,” she whispered, giving Jeffrey a neighborly wave. “He’s a good guy—he watches out for me,” she said, holding the door for him.
Kevin looked at her, a grin still on his face. He knew what Jeffrey wanted, and if he had any brains in his head, he would have taken a few different tactics to get it. But the guy was too late now, Kevin thought, giving Jeffrey one last look as he closed the door. He wasn’t giving any guy a chance to get too close to this girl. He was going to do everything he knew how to win this beautiful college professor.
“What’s in your hand?” Sophie asked, still laughing at the way he had messed with Jeffrey.
“I decided we’d celebrate your diary tonight.” He pulled out a bottle of chilled white wine from the brown bag.
“Mr. Gates, I thought you didn’t drink!” She laughed, taking the bottle to the kitchen.
He followed close behind, admiring the view. “Usually I don’t, but this is a special occasion, and besides, I needed it to finish an undercover news article about local businesses carding for controlled substances. I paid for it myself, so I thought I’d keep it.”
Her laugh still lingered from his antics with Jeffrey, and now this. “So how did our fair city do in complying with the law?” she asked, popping the cork and pouring a small amount into two coffee cups.
“Tune in at ten, my dear, for the answer to that cliff-hanging question,” he said over the rim of his cup. He rarely talked about work and wanted to keep it that way. The fewer people knew, the safer they would be—at least that’s what he’d been taught and what he’d practiced for the last several years. And why talk business when he could admire how snuggly Sophie’s skirt fit over her body, and how completely gorgeous she was, top to bottom? He took another drink, swallowing slowly. His eyes, as well as his thoughts, continued to travel as she moved around the kitchen. Her eyes seemed darker tonight, and the way her hair brushed her cheeks gave a shy seductive look to her face.
She gets better every time I see her, he thought, wishing his hands were holding her close and his lips were pressed hard onto hers.
“You look amazing,” he said with a whisper.
“What did you say?”
He cleared his throat. He needed to go in a different direction, fast. “I was thinking we could read, or at least attempt to read, from the diary tonight,” he said, tipping his cup back to get the last drop of wine.
“What about dinner? It’s ready unless you’d like to eat later.”
“No, now is great,” he said, taking the mitts from her. He lifted the dish from the oven and placed it on a waiting cooling rack.
“So what can you tell me about this Professor Smith?” he asked, tossing the mitts on the counter. Kevin wanted information about this Smith guy and the trip that surrounded the diary. He wanted to know everything about her pending vacation.
Be casual, he directed himself, and don’t be too obvious in the way you get information from her. The last thing he wanted was for Sophie to think he didn’t trust her to handle her own plans or that she was a poor judge of character in being flattered by the invitation of some unknown professor. He just wanted to do some checking, ease his mind, and make sure this would be a safe thing for her. He waited for some kind of response, but he just looked at him with those I’m not telling you anything right now eyes. He smiled. In time, Kev, in time, he told himself.
“Dinner was wonderful, Sophie,” Kevin said, his arm brushing hers as he sat down beside her on the floor.
“Thank you, and thanks for the wine.” She held the bottle up, exposing the bottom. “Look, we’ve almost finished it.”
He smiled as he took the bottle from her hand. He, too, held up the tinted glass, a surprised look settling on his face.
“You know, for two people who don’t drink, it certainly didn’t take us long to finish it,” he joked, lightly shaking the contents back and forth. “But hey, it cost less than forty bucks,” he said, trading the bottle for her hands. He bent, lightly kissing her fingertips. “Whoa,” he said, feeling his head spin. He lifted his face to meet Sophie’s. His eyebrows rose. “My thoughts are a little muddled right now,” he said, trying to blink his confusion away. “But Sophie, all I’ve been able to think about this evening is that I’m so glad to be with you. A week in New York was too long to be away.” Without another word, he leaned in and kissed her exposed neck, allowing his lips to travel, his hands following right behind to her shoulders.
“I felt a little lonely this past week, too,” she said, trying to decide if she wanted to move from his embrace.
He pressed his lips to hers, trying to make the kiss last. She pulled away with no explanation, offering only a shy smile.
“Kevin, let’s look at the next entry in the diary. I marked it,” she said, reaching for the book. “Here it is. The entry we talked about the last time you were here.”
“Right now?” he asked, feeling the sting of second place to a book. He rubbed his hands over his face, trying to remember what they had read last. He couldn’t concentrate. His mind was swimming with aroused emotion and cheap wine, the combination of which was doing things to his entire body, things that had nothing to do with books, professors, or trips. He wanted to touch this woman, to continue where they’d left off just seconds ago. Why couldn’t she see what he was feeling when he looked at her? Why did she always conveniently change the subject or worse yet, move away? The woman drove him crazy.
Sophie pointed to the middle of page twenty-nine. “Can you make any sense of it?” she asked as she pushed the diary into his hands.
Kevin pulled away and slumped into the couch, the diary planted in his right hand. Sophie waited a minute before joining him. He propped the book up against his knees and began to focus in on a few key words.
“This looks like the final line of someone who’s dying. I only recognize a few of the words, but it says that she enjoyed her life, her regrets were few, and she will love her children to her death. There are a few more sentences, but I don’t recognize the words, Sophie. Sorry.”
Kevin turned the page, and then flipped back again to page twenty-nine, his brow furrowed. “This is interesting,” he said, putting the diary on the coffee table and sitting up to get a better look. “See this?” He pointed to an entry on the next page. “The handwriting is different on page thirty than it is on page twenty-nine.”
Sophie examined the writing. “You’re right, but how can that be?”
“That’s simple. The owner of the diary died, and someone found it and started using it, but the bigger question is who?” He tapped his fingers on the table. “It could be someone in the family, or perhaps after the person died, it was given away and a stranger used it. We’ll be able to find out as we read the entries that start on page thirty.”
Kevin felt Sophie’s eyes on him, not the diary. He turned his head. Her eyes held an element of surprise—or disbelief. He wasn’t sure, nor did it matter. At that moment, she was thinking about him, he could tell.
“You’re beautiful, Sophie.” The declaration came unexpectedly from his lips, without thought, without intent, simply natural. Kevin leaned toward her, wrapping her hair in his hand, slowly pulling her close to him. His lips touched hers. Sophie’s lips were sweet and warm, just as they had been a few minutes earlier. He watched her close her eyes to enjoy what had been on his mind all evening. But—
There she was, pulling away from him again, cutting their embrace shorter than he would have liked.
“What’s the matter?”
Her cheeks reddened. “I didn’t mean for that to happen, Kevin, I mean, leading you on like that. Something just came over me.”
“And that’s a bad thing? Honest to God, Sophie, I don’t get you.”
“You amaze me,” she said. “The way you think, the way you know things, and…”
“I’m sitting with one of the most intelligent, beautiful women I know, and you think I’m something special? Come on, Sophie, you’re the one with the school title, the one with an antique diary, and you’re the one planning a trip to Ireland, which I think I should be going on with you.”
“What? Are you crazy?” she said, standing and moving decisively away from him. “I told you Professor Smith offered be my host and show me around. I don’t need you with me, and I’ve already faxed several pages of the diary to him so you don’t have to trouble your friend in New York about reading it for me.”
“Speaking of,” he purposely ignored her last comment, “would you mind if I made a copy of it for myself?” He asked, meeting her unspoken challenge.
The two stood in silence. Kevin gave a short agitated sigh then turned and picked up the diary again, examining page thirty-two. And with that, the tension between them vanished.
“This is not good.” His eyes widened as his thoughts raced back to three years ago when he was on assignment in Ireland. He could make out the beginning but couldn’t understand all of the words that followed.
“What Kevin? What’s not good?” Sophie asked, inching closer to see what he was reading.
“The second person writing in the diary isn’t a stranger. The second writer is the daughter of the woman who died. Her life has taken a painful turn, Sophie. My guess is that it’s one that’s going to change her life forever.”
“What’s happened to her, what’s going to change her life Kevin?”
Anya sat grimly on a stone bench in the eastern garden, far from the castle. She held herself, gently rocking back and forth in the cool darkness as a small child. She was hidden away in the secret place of her youth. It was more overgrown with wildflowers, unkempt shrubs, and vines that touched the tall fantailed grasses than she remembered. Yet it was still a wonderful place of solitude and protection from the outside world. Protection from those within the walls of the estate, even from those within her own family circle who would choose to harm her. In the past, she had used this part of the garden to be alone with good thoughts or to escape punishment for misbehavior. But today it was to escape her mind and her feelings, an attempt to purge the body of the physical and mental touches of a man she didn’t love, a man she did even know.
“Mother,” Anya whispered through cracked lips, “how do I wash my mind as I have tried to wash my body of this man?” She cradled her face in her hands, softly weeping, her tears soaking into her pale yellow dress.
“How do I ever look my brother in the face for what he has taken from me? And for what, a business deal? You, Mother, instructed me to keep myself pure for the man who would love me and want me for his wife. I would have done that—really, I would have—but how can I now?” Her tears ran faster and began to thicken her eyes, her head pounding in deep colorless agony. Anya’s mind tortured her for hours in the dark of the garden’s secret place. How would she survive the gloom that had grown within her, this feeling of total despair? She caressed the diary she thought to bring with her, opening it, wanting to read her mother’s first entry.
“Dear diary. You are my third book and will take a course not traveled by my words before. I find myself with an illness that will soon take my life, and I have deep sorrow within, not for myself or my husband, but for my children. My son is much like his father, and I fear will increasingly emulate him, possibly to his own destruction. To that, I shed many tears. And diary, my beautiful Anya is my heart’s tear. She is more beautiful than she knows and grows in her beauty each day. I have kept her from the wiles of this age, perhaps to her great loss. Many at her age are married or living loose unrefined lives. I have never wanted either option for her. I have wanted the taste of true romance and the deep love of a man who would care for her and be true to her as long as they both would live. If I have taken anything from her, I hope one day she will forgive me and know it was my love for her that fought to keep her pure.”
Anya put her face in the fold of the pages, trying to breathe deeply of it, to regain the precious woman now lost to her. “Oh Mother, you have done a great service to me, and I will always thank you for keeping me innocent of what I could have become,” she whispered as if talking face to face with the dead.
Lifting her head, Anya touched her pen to the empty page. Her trembling hand began to stroke out the mounted feelings welled up in her.
“My mind is in anguish in the dark of this garden. How can I put into view the dimness that has draped my mind? One day, Mother, I will be redeemed, and others will know what you have done for me.”
She ceased writing, turning the diary to run her fingers over the name on the back cover. Suddenly, there was an ever darkening gloom forcing its way into her mind, just as Mr. Dubois had forced himself onto her body. She couldn’t shake from it. Anya stood, wanting to start back to the castle, but hesitated. What was holding her back?
The day was approaching evening, and long shadows had fallen, creating an elusive eeriness and spooking her thoughts.
“I will gain my strength from your writings, Mother, and I will learn— without the knowledge of my brother—what rests beyond the walls of this fine estate,” Anya declared under her breath.
She felt deception swell in her chest. It was never the way of her mother, but always the way of her father, and now that of Sean. She, too, could use it as a tool of her choosing, she reasoned. Drawing in a long breath, Anya released a half smile and started up the path toward the castle. “In time, I will receive my victory,” she whispered.
Sean slouched lazily in the atrium as she entered by the side door. He ran his eyes over her, enjoying what they feasted upon.
“Well done, little one,” he said, rising from his reclining position on the couch.
Anya gasped, gripped by the sound of her brother’s voice. She stood frozen just a matter of steps from the door.
Sean bowed low and then made his way to her. He breathed long of her hair. “You smell of the grasses in the garden, lass,” he said, gently taking her hands. “I must tell you. You have made me a very wealthy man,” he said, kissing her damp skin.
Anya looked into his eyes and saw nothing but cold, dark stones looking back at her, more sinister than two nights earlier.
“Mr. Dubois had a most enjoyable time with you. He has requested that I send you to him in France in a short while,” he held her arm firmly, leading her to the couch.
“I have agreed to do so, Anya, but in time.” Sean motioned for her to sit, pouring himself some black drink and dropping beside her onto the couch. He leaned back and caressed her cheek. “But before I send you off for a moon’s cycle, I have others you are going to meet.”
Anya felt the sting of hot tears in the corners of her eyes. She sat, not moving as her chest tightened at the unpleasant sound in her brother’s voice. Her inner defiance was not allowed to be expressed, as she knew she was under her brother’s complete control while Father was away. But that didn’t stop the seed of hatred planted in her heart from growing. The feeling became stronger with each word dripping from Sean’s lips.
Anya’s nostrils stank of putrid offal. She felt as if she would vomit all over the floor, spewing refuse at Sean’s feet. Indeed, how could she allow such odium to enter her mind? But more than her mind, her entire body had grown to loathe Sean, her own brother. Her eyes locked in on her brother, the man she hated beyond reason.
Sean watched her body stiffen at his words. Seeing her discomfort gave him a rush unsurpassed by his many liaisons and lovers. “You will prove to be valuable in my aim to exceed Father’s business efforts little one.” He tipped his head back for another drink as laughter rolled from deep within him.
“Poor Father, little does he know what lies ahead for his shipping business, not to mention his contracts with the government.” Sean reached to touch her cheek again. Caressing it gently, he spoke with an unnatural hiss in his voice. “And you are going to be what I use to entice those contracts into my hands,” he said, looking deep into her tear-filled eyes.
“Mr. O’Connell,” Colleen’s gentle voice broke the tension. “Dinner will be served at your request, sir.”
Colleen glanced at Anya, noticing something she had not seen in the young woman’s eyes before. Behind the tears, Colleen saw a vein of coldness. Startled, she quickly lowered her head, waiting for Mr. O’Connell’s answer about dinner.
Sean raised himself from the couch. “Will you join me, dear sister?” he said, his words quiet and gentle as he stood holding his hand out to her.
Her stomach oily, Anya put her hand in his and rose.
Sean watched Colleen moving about the room, noting her coached, graceful movements, but even more how well-formed she was. Why had he not noticed her before? She was but a few years older than he, not married, and possibly a tool he could use when the need arose.
“Colleen?” Sean said, stopping her before she entered the kitchen.
“Yes, Mr. O’Connell, is there something I can get for you?”
“Colleen, didn’t my father ask you to assist Anya in the female issues that may arise in his absence, those things that Mother would have taken care of?”
Colleen glanced at Anya for approval then faced her superior, Mr. O’Connell. “Yes, he did Mr. O’Connell. Am I not performing to your satisfaction, sir?”
“No, you are performing as requested, but there is one thing I would like you to do. Tomorrow, would you take Anya with you to Dool and help her pick out a new dress?”
Sean looked to his sister, noting the sudden way her mouth opened in surprise. “We have a very important dinner to attend Anya, and I would like you to be the center of attention.” He turned from her to address Colleen.
Anya interrupted his thoughts. “What dinner are you referring to, brother?” she asked calmly, biting her lip to keep from screaming at him.
Sean ignored her. “Colleen, that will be all,” he said, waving his hand in dismissal. He strode to the side of the table, close to his sister’s chair.
“Sean, why do you treat me as a child and—” Anya stopped, feeling the heat of rage build as he leaned on the table next to her. She turned to him. “I am eighteen years old, old enough to be married and have children, yet you think of me as one with no mind, one who cannot make decisions for herself?” She stood quickly, pushing her chair back with force. “I know when I need a new dress, Sean, and I know if I want to attend dinners with you, and—”
“You will stop with your outburst right now, Anya.” Sean’s eyes cut through her. “I have made it clear to you what you will do and when you will do it.”
He stood erect, turning his back to her. “I told you earlier that you will be useful in my business dealings, and I will not allow your childish manner to get in my way.” He turned back to her, pivoting on one heel, taking hold of her shoulders forcefully. “Do you understand me?”
Fear gripped her for a second time as she felt Sean’s hands now closing tightly around her neck. He looked as if he would do her in and put her in an open grave simply for spite. Anya nodded her head. “Aye, dear brother, I will do as you say,” she pressed from her vocal cords, thankfully feeling her throat open as he loosened his grip.
“Don’t push me, little one,” he said, putting his finger firmly to her lips. “And concerning the dress, make it something more eye-catching, more revealing. I want you to be as sensuous as possible.”
He gave a sick laugh as he removed his finger and left. Thankfully, he would be away for the rest of the evening.
She stood looking after him as he strode away, wearing his pride. Anya heard the door shut behind him.
“I hate him so much, Mother,” she said, putting her hands to her heart. “I know he is of your body, and he is my brother, but how could he use me like this, caring nothing of my feelings or what he is doing to me?”
She turned, wanting to find Colleen. She was nearly an arm’s length behind her, watching also as Mr. O’Connell left the house. Anya fell into her arms weeping as the two sat down near the fireplace.
“I am sorry, Miss,” Colleen said, tears in her eyes. “I wish there was something I could do to change Mr. O’Connell’s mind about the way he is treating you.”
She raised Anya’s face from her breast. “Just know, search for caps, your mother would not approve of Mr. O’Connell using your body as a commodity to further his own interests and his greed.”
Anya’s eyes opened wide as she finally understood. “Yes, my brother uses me as a prostitute.” Anya breathed in sharply as her mind repeated the word silently. Prostitute. Her heart burned with contempt for her brother as she thought about the evening at hand and what she would be expected to do.
“Colleen, help me. Tell me what to do,” she sobbed, grabbing Colleen’s hands firmly, pleading with her through her steady stream of tears.
A deadening hush and quiet sobs were the only sounds for a great time. What could a mere servant do against a young, powerful man such as Mr. O’Connell? Colleen pushed Anya’s blonde hair from her eyes.
“Miss,” Colleen said, “I am no use to you. I am powerless against your brother and his plans.” She looked straight into Anya’s frantic green eyes as she spoke. “Please forgive me for what I am about to say, but your brother is evil and seeks power and revenge against your father. Miss, his vengeance is all that will satisfy his craving and sadly enough, people such as he will use the weakest among them to accomplish their plans.”
Colleen pulled Anya close. “Miss, this will not solve the problem at hand, but tomorrow when I go into Dool, you go with me. We will make your studies short so we can spend time together, away from the Castle Goregoo, aye?”
It was little reprieve, but it had been some time since Anya had traveled away from the castle. Except for the night with—
Anya shut her mind. “Yes, Colleen, I will go with you tomorrow,” she replied, quickly dismissing the dreadful night.
“Good, we will leave shortly after the morning tea. You can be ready?” Colleen’s words stopped and her expectant eyes took over her request.
Anya nodded her head; a slim smile crossed her lips as she rose from Colleen’s side. “Yes, and thank you for helping me, without you, I am not sure what I would do.”
She put her hands to her eyes and turned to leave. “Colleen?” she asked, looking back at the young servant sitting near the fireplace. “Will you always be for me, even if it means going against my brother?”
Colleen could see fear in her young subject’s eyes. She smiled somberly, knowing a commitment like that, such as it was, could cost her job, or maybe more. “I swear to you, Miss, I will always be for you, no matter the cost.”
Anya nodded with no expression as she left. The bond between the two was beginning to tighten.
As they walked the short distance to Dool, the women agreed that the day was sunnier than usual.
“I’m glad we decided to go this way,” Anya said. “The countryside is so alive and vibrant.”
Colleen remained silent for a long minute. “Yes, it is, Miss. I have the privilege of enjoying the sights and sounds each morning on my way to the castle.” Her face was void of expression.
Anya stopped, reaching to touch the servant’s arm. “Colleen, I am sorry. I forgot that you walk this road every day, and some distance at that. We could have hitched the buggy.”
“Nonsense, Miss,” Colleen said, looking directly into her pretty face. “Besides, do you know how to drive a buggy?”
Anya’s eyebrows rose, then a broad smile filled her face.
“I did not think so,” Colleen laughed. “I think this is a safer way for us to travel. Come on,” she coaxed, putting her arm around the younger woman’s waist.
Dool was full of activity as they walked the narrow street that ran between small mercantile shops on the left and the market on the right.
“Is it always bustling like this?” Anya asked, her eyes and ears absorbing the sights and sounds of peasants and animals milling about.
“This day of the week brings more farmers to the village. They are selling their produce to the local vendors, see? Look there,” Colleen said as she pointed to a middle-aged man in well-worn brown trousers and a faded blue shirt. He was unloading a crate of potatoes and five small containers with wooden lids. “I like to shop on delivery day. The meat and vegetables are fresh, and the best part is I get to see some of my friends and even a neighbor now and again,” she said, stepping onto the wooden platform that lined the front of the market.
“I feel a little awkward,” Anya said, trailing slightly behind Colleen. “I’ve never been to the market.”
Colleen smiled as she continued to walk slowly, listening to the weary sound of the planks beneath their feet, eyeing what the vendors were showing in their baskets. “Mrs. O’Connell started taking me to the market when she first hired me.”
Anya looked up. A soft smile lay on Colleen’s lips as if reflecting upon a fond memory.
“Really? Why would she do that?” Anya asked a curious tone in her voice. “I always thought when Mother was going to the village; she went to get personal items and to see my father at the water’s front?”
Colleen stopped to buy two green peppers. Handing the merchant two coins, she tipped her chin to him and continued. “Your mother wanted to guide me to the stands with the best produce.” Her glance went to Anya, who had a pepper in her hand and was breathing deeply of its freshness. “But to tell you the truth, I think she had her favorites, just as my mother still does. She would say, don’t buy the first red pepper you see, look further down the line. Then she would smile at me.”
Anya slid her fingertips along the vendor tables as Colleen reminisced about her time with Anya’s beloved mother. Her eyes soaked in the brightly colored vegetables as they walked. She breathed deeply, pulling in the strong smell of lemon grass, cilantro, garlic, and onion. The herbs were soothing to her senses, bringing calmness to her mind so absent in the early morning. Anya’s expression softened.
“What are you thinking about, Miss?” Colleen asked as she looked over the small, light-skinned potatoes.
“Oh, not much,” she said, sliding alongside Colleen. “Just wondering how I could be so removed from all this, from those who live so close to me?”
Colleen giggled. “Miss, you haven’t been removed from anything. You have just lived a different life from many of these.” She stopped, thinking out loud. “But in an indirect way, you are very much a part of what goes on here. Many of the supplies in the market are a result of your father’s shipping business.”
She looked about. “Here, let me show you.” Taking her arm, she led her across the street.
“I’ve been in this store before,” Anya said, reading the shingle that announced the name of the fabric shop.
Colleen opened the door, quickly scanning for a seamstress. “They must be working in the back,” she said. “They will be out to greet us in a fast minute.” She watched Miss O’Connell move among the bolts of fabric. “Miss, most of what is in this store is a result of your father’s travels to Canada and other shipping ports.”
“There are some very lovely prints, Colleen. And to think my father had something to do with this!”
“Do you see anything you like?”
“Oh, what do you think of this color?”
Colleen turned to find Anya wrapped in a lilac-dyed fabric, expertly arranging the piece around her shoulders. She gasped in sheer delight. “Miss, that is the most beautiful color I have ever seen,” she crowed, hurrying to hold the fabric near Anya’s face. Colleen smiled. “And against your blonde hair and green eyes? Miss, you would look absolutely breathtaking in this.”
Her eyes met Anya’s. She watched the excitement vanish as quickly as it had appeared. Colleen guessed what was in the young woman’s mind. The last thing she wanted was for every man to be taking to her with his eyes. She also knew that in that color, Anya would be more sensual than ever. “Get the fabric, Miss,” Colleen urged softly. “You will look beautiful.” She tapped Anya’s hand with hers. “I will see to a seamstress for you.” She hurried to the back of the store, disappearing behind a dark brown curtain. Soon a middle-aged woman appeared, a measuring tape looped around her neck and a red, tomato-shaped pin cushion in hand.
“Miss O’Connell, it’s so nice to see you,” the woman said, sizing her up as she spoke. “We heard about Mrs. O’Connell, Miss, and are truly sorry about her passing. She was a lovely lady inside and out, and a very good customer she was.”
“Thank you, Mrs.—?”
“Clancy,” the woman said, bending as she wrapped the measuring tape around Anya’s waist. The older woman continued to chatter as she did the work of getting the details of the dress the two women desired.
“The dress has to have tight tucks, Mrs. Clancy,” Colleen said softly.
“And a plunging neckline,” Anya said, interrupting her constant chatter.
Mrs. Clancy stopped in midsentence and stood, hands on hips and eyebrows raised.
Colleen noticed the look of disgust on her face right off. She quietly scooped the bolt of material into her arms and headed to the counter, hoping to ease any ill feelings the storekeeper may be forming toward Anya.
“Ladies, when do you desire for the dress to be finished?” she asked, tight-lipped.
The two looked at one another. Anya spoke sheepishly. “Could you have it completed by tomorrow afternoon, Mrs. Clancy? I have a party to attend and am in need of it by late day.”
The seamstress set her forehead in several deep lines. She looked down at the lilac material then hard at the young women. “If I start on this right away, I do believe I can accomplish the task,” she said, her facial lines softening a little.
“Thank you,” Anya said, gripping the woman’s hands tightly.
“I will be by tomorrow then,” Colleen said as she watched Mrs. Clancy carry the bolt of fabric to the back. She breathed in and released it in relief. If Anya had not been able to accommodate her brother’s wishes, well, she feared what he would have done. The thought sent a sudden chill through her.
The door to the front of the store opened, causing both women to turn automatically. Looking past Anya, Colleen saw a familiar face. “Olivia, is that you?” she asked excitedly.
Anya watched as Colleen made her way between the multicolored bolts of fabric, settling at the side of the slender woman who had entered the shop. She watched Colleen and this new dark-haired woman interact. Their friendship was deep—it was obvious by the way they greeted one another. The woman raised her head, and Anya gasped quietly. She had a beauty that she had never seen before. Her skin was a soft olive color, and her eyes—they were as black as a moonless night, with long dark lashes that curled, adding a loveliness that gave pleasure to all the senses. Her lips were small with a tint of natural pink that deepened as an indescribable smile emerged, warm and unassuming. But there was more about the young woman that kept Anya’s eyes and mind glued to her. She possessed something else. Something that wasn’t natural, something not of herself, she thought. It was a spirit not displayed by her outward beauty. Anya tensed, yet smiled, as the two filed through the fabrics to where she was standing.
“Miss O’Connell,” Colleen said, with strength in her voice. “I would like to introduce you to my friend, Miss Olivia Neely. She lives in the area near me.”
Olivia turned, looking directly at Anya. “Nice to meet you, Miss O’Connell,” she said, her tone pleasant and inviting. “Colleen says many nice things about you. Seems she is very fortunate to have a position working for your family.”
Anya was struck by the shining sincerity in Olivia’s voice, by the flow of her words and by something else, but what?
“Thank you, Miss Neely, for your kind words. But it is my family and I who are the lucky ones to have Colleen in our home.” She smiled at Colleen, meaning every word as a compliment. “So you and Colleen are close neighbors?”
“No, not close as the crow flies, but we do attend some of the same meetings in the evenings,” Olivia said.
Anya watched Olivia glance at Colleen, whose smile seemed to flatten out.
Colleen could feel her cheeks start to burn, knowing color had set in. She glanced at the floor, then back at the two staring back at her. Clearing her throat, she said, “Unfortunately, as of late, I have worked past the hour of meeting, so we don’t see each other as much as before.”
The three stood silent for a moment.
“What are your meetings about?” Anya asked, looking at both women as she touched Colleen’s arm in reassurance.
“We meet to read the words of scripture and pray, Miss O’Connell,” Olivia said softly. You could call it church, but it is more than meeting in a building. It is true concern and communion among each one that attends.” She gave a smile to her friend. “Colleen has asked for much prayer for you and your family, Miss O’Connell, but especially for you.”
Anya’s cheeks felt warm as she briefly looked away and then back at the women. No one had offered prayers on her behalf before. She felt humbled and somewhat small in the presence of the two standing with her.
“Miss,” Colleen said nervously. “I have been quite concerned about you these past months, which is the only reason I have asked Olivia and those who meet to think of you.”
Anya heard the shakiness in her servant’s voice and her eyes filled with tears. “Colleen, I had no idea you were religious, and it is good you have had others pray for me,” she said gently, trying to alleviate the discomfort she saw in the servant’s face. Anya turned to engage the attention of Olivia. “I do not know religion the way you and Colleen know of it.” Anya weaved her fingers together and rested them on the front of her dress. “My mother would go to the church on occasion and carry her string of beads. But that is all I know about religion.”
With each word from Anya’s lips, Colleen’s body became increasingly tense. Heat began working its way up her neck, and she became more and more uncomfortable with the uncertainty that was creeping into the conversation. She had not talked so openly about such things with Miss O’Connell, not knowing how she would react later. “Miss, it is time we make our way back to Goregoo if I am to prepare dinner for you and Mr. O’Connell,” she said, lifting her basket from a table near the door.
“Certainly, Colleen,” Anya said, turning quickly to Olivia. “Do come to visit Colleen and I, would you? I think I would like to hear more about your meetings if you do not mind to tell me, Miss Neely.”
Anya felt struck by Olivia’s bright smile—so totally perfect, captivating, and sincere.
“Miss O’Connell, I do not work for my family tomorrow. Would that be a good day to visit?” Olivia asked.
Anya’s eyes widened, “That would be perfect,” she said, agreeing quickly, knowing far too well that that was the evening she was to go to a party with Sean.
“Good.” Olivia turned to Colleen. “I will see you Friday, late morning for tea, aye?” She touched Anya’s hand before turning to find the seamstress.
The breeze moved gently through the sun-filtered treetops as tea was served promptly at Miss Neely’s arrival. Sean was away from the castle for the day, giving the women time to enjoy uninterrupted conversation involving anything they wished to discuss.
“Please sit, Colleen,” Anya said, touching the back of the chair next to her. “And please, a place setting for yourself as well.”
Their eyes met, the exchange heartfelt as deep respect continued to grow between the two like sisters. Colleen gingerly pulled the chair to sit at the garden table across from Olivia.
“Now, both of you call me Anya. We are all near the same age, and class means little to me,” she said. “Besides, since when have friends referred to one another by their surnames?” A playful look flickered in her eyes.
Olivia smiled in agreement as did Colleen. “So Anya, what was it you wanted to know about our meetings?” Olivia asked, breaking a warm biscuit from a plate Colleen had served earlier.
Anya took a sip of tea as she formed her thought. “I have questions, yes. But until yesterday, I did not realize I needed to know about religion much less learn about your meetings. Olivia, I watched the both of you and could see how very important all this is, so, yes, I wish to be enlightened by your words. Whatever you tell me will be new, and I trust it will benefit me as it has the two of you.”
Olivia leaned anxiously toward her. “So what makes our religion different than your mother’s, Anya? And please know that I ask with full respect,” she said, a warm smile filling her words.
Anya broke a sigh before she spoke. “I am not sure,” she admitted, her face strained. “There is just something between you and Colleen when you talk, something I cannot explain or even understand. I thought if your meetings had anything to do with that, then possibly you could tell me.” She stopped and took another sip of tea then searched their faces for a true answer.
“Anya, meeting with us can help you understand. As far as what you are feeling between Colleen and me? That is the Spirit. We both have willing hearts and have vowed to allow something stronger than we are to lead us no matter what we go through.”
Anya’s eyes narrowed. “I have heard upsetting stories of spirits, Olivia. But what you and Colleen share does not seem unkind to me. So how can one know this Spirit as you say?”
Olivia glanced at Colleen and smiled as Anya continued with her questions.
“You and Colleen have experienced something different at your meetings than my mother. I think of her and wonder what she really knew of religion when she spoke not a word about it?”
“I do not know about your mother, Anya, but I do know about you. You can know far more than a simple religion. The Spirit we speak of is more than just one. He is Three.”
Anya’s brows shifted in surprise. “What? There are three?”
Olivia giggled. “Your knowledge of the Spirit has no maturity, but you will learn of him, and not only will you learn, but you will grow to depend on Three for many things, perhaps, Anya, for your very life.” Her voice softened even more, her demeanor taking a serious, thought-provoking tone.
Anya studied Olivia’s face for a long minute. She was caught in a moment of time that held witness to what she had just said. “Can you tell me more about Three, Olivia?” Anya asked, intruding into her thoughts.
Olivia blinked, a gentle expression returning to her lips. “Here, let me show you,” she said, reaching into the shoulder bag she had brought with her. She opened a book with a black cover and laid it on the table. This book tells us all we need to know about Three. Look here, a letter, thousands of years old. It tells us that the Spirit Three was sent to this earth to be our guide and protector.”
Anya studied the writing. “I see the words, but I do not see what you see,” she said, as sweet silence fell among the young women. “Colleen, have you seen a book like this in Mother’s collection?”
Colleen’s eyes dimmed in disappointment. “Sorry, Miss, your mother did not have a book as this. I do remember at her mention that she had heard readings from the priest and then the priest would convey the meaning of the words to the people, but this is not of your mother’s understanding.”
“But I do not understand. You have words about this Three,” Anya said, concerned excitement in her voice. “Olivia, you read the words and know their meaning. Was Mother deceived by her religion?”
“I will not speak against her religion. Nor do I believe your mother was deceived.” Olivia leaned onto the table, grasping Anya’s hand. “I have letters and was taught from them as a small child. You must know that anyone who desires can learn for themselves the meaning of Three.”
“So what do we have here?” Sean said brazenly as he pushed on the gate, allowing it to swing freely and crash onto the inner fence of the garden.
Colleen quickly rose, gathered the cups onto the tea service, and made her way from the garden.
Surprise filled Anya’s face, and her smile tipped as she watched her brother enter the garden, his eyes on her dark-haired guest. “Sean, I did not think you would return from your day’s work so early,” she said, an anxious tone to her voice.
“Early? Dear sister,” he said dryly.” It is already three in the afternoon, and we have a very important invitation to keep this evening. Certainly you have not forgotten,” he said, his eyes fixed solidly on Olivia. “And dear one, were you going to be so rude and not introduce me to your friend from school?”
Anya glanced at Olivia, who gave a reassuring smile. “No, dear brother, I would not do that to you. Miss Neely, I would like you to meet my brother, Sean. He is in charge of Father’s affairs during his absence.”
Olivia’s head hung low out of respect as Mr. O’Connell had approached them. She now slowly raised her head to meet his eyes. “Nice to meet you, sir,” she said with a warm smile and a soft voice.
Sean stood, not moving a muscle, instantly enthralled by her indescribable beauty. Her lip, skin, hair—all so uncommon—but it was her eyes that caught him. They pierced deeply, right to his soul, and her smile cut at his very flesh. He attempted to breathe deeply, but it was impossible. What was he feeling from her? He needed to look away as quickly as possible, shift his eyes from her. He glanced at the table where a book lay open. He cleared his throat, not looking back to her face.
“What were you girls reading? Spooky things about the she-banshees?” he asked, reaching with a shaky hand for the book.
Olivia placed her hand swiftly on the book and slid it from his reach, then put it in her bag for safe keeping. “No, just some old writings I thought your sister would be interested in, sir,” she said, lifting the bag to her shoulder.
“Thank you for tea, Miss O’Connell. I hope we have the pleasure of coming together again soon,” she said, meeting Anya’s eyes with a sincere slant. “I will show myself out…oh, and nice to have met you, Mr. O’Connell. Have a lovely evening.” She gave him another soft smile before she turned to leave.
Sean sensed something foreign in her presence, and he didn’t want to admit it, but he was glad she was gone. He turned his attention to Anya. “What power does that woman possess, Anya. Tell me this instant,” he growled his voice deepening as he spoke.
Anya saw evil emerge from the wildness in his eyes. She breathed out a nervous laugh of self-concern. “I know not of what you speak, dear brother. You say power…what power? Miss Neely is but a friend. She possesses no power.”
Sean grabbed her arm and pulled her firmly to himself. “I felt something when she looked at me. Who is she?”
“I told you, Sean. She is Olivia Neely, now let go, you are hurting my arm.”
He dropped her arm from his grip. “Where did you meet her, and what old writings were in that book?” he demanded, moving in close to her again.
Anya watched his chest rise and fall as if he had just run a great distance. Why had Miss Neely’s presence caused him so much agitation?
“Dear brother, I met her in town, and the writings she brought are unfamiliar to me. We did not have the chance to look into them.” Anya searched his cold eyes for satisfaction and watched his breathing slow, but his look was unconvinced. “I must go and get ready for the gathering, Sean. I will be down in one hour.” She turned, not knowing if he would allow her to go or if she would be forced to remain for more questioning.
“Yes, be ready in one hour,” he called after her.
Anya could hear faint, frigid laughter echoing in the hall as she made her way to her bedroom. Why was Sean laughing? Was it at her, her obvious displeasure with him? The feeling of safety enveloped her body and soul as she quickly opened the door and stepped inside, closing the heavy door firmly behind her. Her head gently rested against the polished wood. She closed her eyes for a brief instant to think. Who was Miss Neely, and who is this Three she talked about? Anya shifted her feet to move from the door, and as she did, she felt something underfoot. Her eyes moved to see several small pieces of paper resting on the floor.
“How did these get in here? What in the world are they?” she asked quietly, reaching for one of the pieces. Gasping, she ran her fingers along the edge. It was jagged. “This is a page from the black book on the table. Olivia must have ripped them from her book, but why would she do that?” She tried to reason, her heart pounding hard in her chest. She plucked the rest of the pages from the floor and picked up her mother’s diary, tucking the fragments among the pages for safe keeping. She would read them when she returned later from the gathering. Yes, the gathering. A new fear gripped her as she unbuttoned her dress to bathe, another unknown tonight. She resigned herself unwillingly, feeling the bitterness of earlier creeping back into her heart. She tested the bath water with her fingertips. “I hate you, Sean,” she said, stepping into the warm water.
A gentle breeze pushed lightly on the long linen curtains hanging on the great windows near Anya’s bath. She closed her eyes as she turned, allowing the same breeze to caress her face.
“The merciful one doeth good to his own soul; but he that is cruel troubleth his own flesh.”
She gasped, almost losing her breath. Her eyes opened in panic, shifting from side to side. “What? Who said that?” she asked, gripping the sides of the clawed bathtub. Her eyes widened, her hands now grabbing for the bath sheet. Anya could see no one as she frantically looked around the room, her wet body now standing on the floor beside the tub of water. Was she hearing voices, or was it the wind? Her mind raced back to Olivia’s words about Three, and how there is a Spirit, and that he talked with her on a regular basis. Were the words she heard from the Spirit? She didn’t know Three as Colleen and Olivia knew him, so how could the Spirit speak with her—and even more baffling, why? She tightened her towel and tried to breathe at a normal rate. Anya knew Sean would be expecting her to be on time. But her mind was crashing in all around her. Her body calmed as she continued to prepare for her brother’s inspection, but her mind became increasingly troubled by the words she had heard.
“I must show mercy to have a good soul?” She laughed, trying to interpret the words still sounding in her ears. “Then who will show mercy to me tonight?” she whispered as she finished preparing for the evening’s gathering. “If you are here, Three,” she said, looking in the full-length mirror at her reflection, “then you will be here when I return, if I return.”
“Dear Ms. Hanes,
“I am pleased with the diary you have allowed me to interpret. I have found the first fifty pages interesting—no, intriguing. As you may or may not know, after page thirty, there is a change in authors. The new writer is Anya, the daughter of Mrs. O’Connell, the owner of the diary. Anya has experienced some new and traumatic situations since she started writing in the diary. The unpleasant encounters come at the hands of her brother, Sean O’Connell. But in spite of her disturbing situation, I find it fascinating reading and will wait for the next fifty pages. I do need to warn you, the writer is graphic in describing her first encounter with a French businessman. He is a much older man associated with her father’s business. She is brought to Mr. Dubois to serve as payment for a business deal. I find the situation most amusing and memorable. From what I can gather, the son is attempting to destroy his father’s empire, which has taken a “hit” of sorts from fires. You may refer to the information of such in the earlier writings of the mother. Sean is using his sister, which you will read about soon. Anya also mentioned a young woman named Olivia Neely whose beauty is by all standards incredible. There is one last person, or should I say Spirit. She calls the Spirit, Three, and has had one encounter with him. I think you can see why I am anxious to get the rest of the diary.
“I’m making plans for your arrival. I see you have rented a cottage near Dool. That’s fantastic as the Castle Goregoo, where the diary originated, is not far from the village. I will arrange for a visit. Ms. Hanes, I am anxious to meet you and promise your stay in Ireland will be memorable, perhaps so much so that you will find it hard to leave. Sincerely, Professor Smith”
“Knock, knock,” the words gave Sophie a start, causing her to jump. She turned to see Kevin opening the front door. “You really should keep this locked Ms. Hanes,” he said, admiring the way her body moved in the yellow skirt as she came to greet him.
“Hey, how are you tonight?” she asked, taking his hand.
He stopped, kissed her cheek, and worked his way down to her shoulder.
“Better now,” he said, focusing on her shiny pink lips.
She knew what he meant and smiled. “I made egg rolls if you’re interested in dinner?” Sophie knew he would be and left for the kitchen.
“That sounds really good,” he said, noticing a message on her laptop from Professor Smith. He looked Sophie’s way then back to the message. He didn’t mean to be nosy and read it, but he used to be a reporter, after all. After a quick skim, he decided the e-mail seemed okay, except for the questionable enthusiasm about the abuse to the girl in the diary and the final line. Your stay will be memorable, so much so that you may find it hard to leave. He was sure he had read that somewhere else once—but everyone says that when promising a good time, right? Still it was too familiar, and the vibe didn’t feel right.
“Since when did I give you permission to read my mail?” Sophie asked, shutting the lid of her computer and sitting down in front of him. Her eyebrows flattened as a determined look filled her dark brown eyes.
Kevin felt the sting of her displeasure.
“Sometimes I revert back to my reporter days and do things that can get me in trouble. I’m sorry, babe.”
Her facial expression didn’t change. He’d have to do better than “sorry” with her—she was too smart for a sappy apology like that. “Sophie, this trip you’re taking in two weeks has really got me bothered.” He reached over, taking her hands in his. Kevin traced the lines on her palms and admired the way her nails rounded. Should he tell her about having Professor Smith checked out? No, maybe not. He wasn’t sure what her reaction would be, and he was already skating on thin ice when it came to prying into her business. “Sophie, Ireland is not the states.” He hesitated. “I’m wondering if you really know what you’re getting into. I think I should go with you,” he said, squeezing her hands tightly.
Sophie’s face brightened as she gave him a warm smile. “Listen, Kevin, I’m glad for your concern, but I’m going on this trip solo,” she said, squeezing his hands back. “I love it that I see you almost every night of the week. I swear, Kevin, I’m lucky to have such an intimate, caring friend, but—”
He held his hands up. “Okay, Sophie, I know when I’ve been soundly rejected, and you’re killing me on this one, so let’s eat and stop talking about it.” Kevin stood, helping her to her feet. Friend, he thought. She always referred to their relationship as if they only ate popcorn and played video games together. No thought at all of the long evenings lying out under the stars or the early mornings at his apartment. He couldn’t crack this woman, and it was driving him crazy. No matter, he had other things to concern himself with first. He wasn’t bringing the issue of him traveling with her up again, but he wasn’t playing dead on the issue, either. He was going to continue to have the diary translated and get the information he wanted about Professor Smith.
Kevin watched as she checked her bags, overcome with the urge to protect her from something, something that made his gut turn too fast. Maybe the realization that he had fallen deeply in love with her months ago had finally caught up with him. He had been careful not to push his feelings on her, as difficult as it had been, and now seeing her prepare to leave—and meet another man no less—made him want to rush in, grab her, and take her away to keep her for himself. But there was that nasty little word, kidnapping, and it wouldn’t be a professional move on his part. Honesty finally hit him, and it hit him hard, right where it hurts, making him want to double over. Had he been playing the fool? Did she share his feelings? He wasn’t sure about much of anything with her as of late. She had been so consumed with the diary and Professor Smith that she hardly noticed he existed.
She turned, the diamonds in her eyes sparkling, making her leaving more than he could handle. “You’re beautiful,” he said. Kevin waited for his emotions to catch up with his mind. “So are you ready to go?” Sophie smiled, making it even harder to let her go.
“Yes, I’m so excited I can hardly stand it,” she said, examining her flight documents. She looked up; hoping the man standing in front of her could feel her enthusiasm. Instead, a troubled look had taken hold of Kevin’s blue eyes and clouded his sexy demeanor. “Hey, don’t worry,” she said, moving close to his side. “I’ll be fine. And besides, I’ve done a pretty good job of taking care of myself this far, don’t you think?”
His lips turned up, forming a slight smile as he pulled her close, tight to his body. He pressed his face into her hair, breathing in its flowery scent. It took him back to the nights spent together, talking and touching. He wanted more of that.
“Sophie,” he closed his eyes and kissed her neck, “please be careful.” He grazed her cheek with his lips. He looked into her eyes once more then pressed his lips to hers, tender and lush. Kevin wished there was some way to make her stay.
She pulled away, not wanting to get emotional. “I need to go, Kevin.” Her eyes were still locked with his and her lips wet from their kiss.
“I’ll call you,” he said, letting go of her.
“Let me call you first. I’ll need time to get settled, okay?”
“It’s that private thing, right, Sophie?” he asked, wishing she would commit to some sort of feelings for him before she left.
She smiled as she turned. “I’ll call you when I’m settled.” Slinging her purse over her shoulder, she hurried toward security.
He watched until she was out of sight, more determined to have her within reach, but for now that was not going to be possible.
Kevin stopped by Sophie’s house to feed the fish and check on things as he’d promised. Jeffrey pulled into his drive as he was leaving. Kevin waved. “How’s it going?” he asked, seeing Jeffrey’s biceps flex as he shut the car door.
Without answering Kevin’s greeting, Jeffrey leaned against his car, obviously something he’d learned from a character on a Television show. “So where’s Sophie off to?” he asked coolly.
Sophie’s neighbor was in much better shape than he, and Kevin didn’t know what might set him off. He needed to stay on this guy’s good side if he could. “She’s in Ireland for the next few weeks. I’ll be stopping by to check on things occasionally,” he said, getting no response from the man with the rippling muscles. “Hey, I was wondering if you could keep an eye on things, too. I’m going to be out of town and—”
“Yeah.” Jeffrey moved and straightened his impeccable body. “I’ve got a key, so that’s no problem,” he said with a relaxed smile. His massive biceps relaxed.
“Thanks. You really are a good neighbor to Sophie,” Kevin said, knowing that putting Jeffrey in charge would score a few brownie points that may come in handy down the road.
Sophie opened the notebook that held the translated version of the diary. Professor Smith had been kind enough to fax additional pages shortly before she left for the airport. He wanted to make sure she had reading material for her long flight. She sighed with a smile, wondering about the professor and why he was going out of his way to make her comfortable. Maybe that was just the way of the Irish, she thought. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. The translated pages proved to be compelling and thought-provoking, to say the least. She settled in and continued to read carefully, but she found that more than reading was taking place. Sophie found herself drawn in deeper and deeper the more she read. She shifted several times in her seat. There was something strange happening, a pain she had never experienced before. It was physical pain as well as mental anguish. It was disturbing, yet she was compelled to continue to read.
“Three, where are you? You have been silent to my ears during this, my time of great need.”
Sophie breathed in deep, trying to catch her breath, but she couldn’t. She could not tear her eyes away from the page.
“You have spoken to me on the wind and have said that the heavens themselves display who you are, so why have you grown silent? What have I done to cause even you to desert me? Do you not see that my brother has given me to yet another man? I hate them. They use me for their own pleasure with no concern for me—just as my brother treats me. Do you have no concern for me? Do you care that my room is dark even in the daytime? Or that I wake from dreams that are not pleasurable? Do you wish for me to remain in them forever?”
Sophie caught herself sitting straight up in the seat, her eyes fixed on the words. She settled back once again and opened the original diary, laying it on top of the interpreted pages.
“Oh Anya,” she said, feeling a connection with the young woman even though she had gone through only the first sixty pages or so. “The more I listen to you, the more I feel you are trying to tell me something.” Her eyes traveled to water stains near the bottom of the page. She touched the blurred words, and her fingertips immediately felt damp. Her heart jumped, and she slowly turned her hand to see what looked like tear drops resting on her fingers. Her eyes widened. “What? How?” she asked, her lips moving but no sound emerging. The diary was over two hundred years old. She looked closer at the formation of the old Gaelic words. Her ears began to ring with an unfamiliar sound.
“Each heart knows its own bitterness, and no one else can fully share its joy.”
“Three? But how then do you know my heart, and why do you say such things to me about bitterness? You know my foes, the cause of such hurt within me.”
Sophie’s breathing quickened as she felt the cut of Anya’s words. She clutched her chest, and a thought of Trey stabbed at her mind. Was it he and his new love for God that had caused bitterness in her own heart? The reason she couldn’t find true joy in a relationship with—? She stopped short of saying his name. Her eyes were drawn back to the page.
“You speak of joy? Three, what joy do you want from me?” Anya’s words thickened with anger.
Sophie didn’t understand how she could possibly comprehend the words on the page. They weren’t yet translated, but they continued.
“I feel you are cruel and have held back from me. Olivia, one of your own speaks of how you make her completely content, happy.”
“No one can cause you to be happy, Sophie.”
She looked quickly to the gentleman on her right. He was asleep. She was sure of it. Sophie looked closer. His mouth was open with the sound of deep breathing.
“Who said my name?” she whispered her heart beating hard as her eyes looked blankly at the open page. Was it something in the diary?
“Books don’t speak, Sophie,” she said under her breath. Could the writings in the diary have anything to do with her? She shook her head and laughed. Don’t get all weird about this. It’s only a book, she reminded herself. Yet the words were distinct and full of life, spoken to her, not to an eighteen-year-old woman from Ireland.
“Man will steal the good, dear child. Look only to me for the good within and without.”
“I do not understand, Three. I do not understand your ways,” Anya’s tear-filled voice rang out.
“You will, my child. Read and listen to my words, and you will experience peace in the midst of your pain and suffering. Trust and lean on me in all things, and I will send you help.””
The words between the Spirit and the flesh and blood fell silent. The war going on within the young woman as she struggled with the words of Three permeated from the pages, thick with indecisiveness and her inability to trust. Sophie could taste the anger in Anya’s words.
Sophie was now able to close the diary.
“What just happened?” she asked, turning to focus on the cloudless blue expanse outside of the plane’s window. She had been consumed by the words of the diary, by the illusiveness of Three and his exchange with Anya. Was any of this real? No. Spirits are not real. She didn’t believe in that sort of thing. Besides, in the time in which the diary was written, attitudes of this type were common among the people, right? Strong attitudes of unworthiness, distrust, and a lack of respect for the powerless. Uneasiness draped her mind. “Be careful, Sophie,” sounded gently in her ears. Kevin? She sighed, rehearsing his words in her mind. What did he know that she did not?
“This is great,” A. J. said, greeting Kevin with a slap on the shoulder. “Like old times, huh?”
Kevin smiled, laying a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Yeah, old times except for your signature preppy old guy look. What’s happened to it?” he asked, laughing.
A. J. ran his hands back through his thinning light blonde hair. “Been doing a little undercover work and needed a rougher look,” he said, smiling, rubbing his unshaven chin.
Kevin laughed again, and at that, he knew not to ask questions. If A. J. thought it was safe to talk about what he was doing, then he would.
“So what’s so urgent that we couldn’t take care of this over the phone, Gates?”
Kevin looked straight ahead. “Ah, you know, it’s been a while since I’ve been back and—”
“And nothing, Kev,” he said, his voice taking a serious turn. “There’s more to this sudden visit than just missing your old friend and boss, so let’s have it.”
“Take a turn here,” Kevin motioned. The two took a right into the Gettin' John’s coffee shop on the lower level of LaGuardia.
“I’m buying,” Kevin said as they stood and studied the menu on the wall. Kevin was saved from giving a response to his friend’s earlier comment when it was his turn to order.
“You didn’t answer the question, Gates.” A. J. followed Kevin to a table with a view of the incoming jets.
Kevin took a sip of coffee, pulling back fast, almost burning his mouth. His eyes met A. J.’s. “There are a few things that seem to be gnawing at my brain, A. J., and I just can’t seem to shake them.”
“Does it have anything to do with that college professor and her diary?” A. J. looked hard at Kevin over his large green cup.
Kevin adjusted his ball cap nervously. “Yes, it does.”
“You know Theresa has been all over that diary, right? Has she sent you any information on it yet?”
“No, nothing yet. Do you know anything?” Kevin leaned in, both elbows on the table.
“Not much, but according to Theresa’s translation, the diary starts out pretty status quo, but then the author changes, and things begin to get a little weird.”
Kevin pushed his cup to the side, “How so?”
A. J. smiled and took a drink.
Kevin’s eyes narrowed. “I studied a little of that diary myself—that is, what I could understand of the language. I found a turn of events, but I’m not sure I’d call them weird.”
“There’s abuse to a woman, Kevin. Seemingly a young woman named Anya O’Connell. We did a little premature checking and found that the O’Connell family was quite wealthy in that time period. And then, to add a twist, the girl begins to dabble in the spirit world introduced to her by someone named Olivia and the family servant. Now if that isn’t weird then—”
“What about the abuse, A. J.?” Kevin asked, wanting to go deeper.
“All Theresa said was that the woman was very graphic in her descriptions about what was happening to her.”
“I need to see Theresa. Can you make that happen?”
“Tonight? Are you crazy? People do have lives, you know. We’ll go downtown tomorrow during regular business hours and see how far she’s gotten, all right?”
Kevin hesitated then nodded his head in agreement. “Sorry. I guess I’m a little anxious.”
A. J. smiled, “Anxious about what? A two-hundred-year-old diary or a certain history professor friend of yours?”
“Her name is Sophie Hanes,” he said defensively.
“Hey Kev, listen, I didn’t mean anything.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said, cutting him off. “Let’s get out of here and grab a bite to eat. I’m starving. And I’m also paying for dinner,” he said with a quick grin.
“In that case, you’re on,” A. J. said, sliding his chair out, then standing. He put his hand on Kevin’s shoulder. “Whatever’s going on, we’ll get to the bottom of it. You know that, right?”
He met his friend’s eyes. “Let’s just hope and pray that’s the case,” he said, his smile dissolving.
***
“So what do you know about Ms. Hanes?” A. J. asked after the waitress left with their order.
“Nothing out of the ordinary, really,” Kevin said, thinking back to some earlier conversations with Sophie. “She was raised in a well-adjusted home, has a married sister with a couple of kids, graduated top of her class in high school and college, and was just named top history professor at Pullman University.”
A. J. drummed his fingers on the table. “What about relationships, any past or present?” he asked, smiling, “besides you, Kev?” He laughed.
“Your undercover work must include stand-up comedy, huh?” Kevin said, shaking his head. “The only significant man I could find in her past was a guy named Trey. He seems to be on the up and up. The man is currently a pilot for a major airline and does some work on the side for a low-key ministry. I’m not sure, but I think he smuggles meds to a mission hospital somewhere in South Africa.”
A. J. shook his head, listening. “For the most part, the guy sounds decent.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought, too. The way Sophie talked about him, their relationship had been different than any other she had experienced. She said he would refer to her as a treasure, someone he wanted to hide in his heart just to make sure she was safe.”
A. J. nodded his head. “So that’s it? No other relationships?”
“None that I could find, and in the time we’ve spent together, the subject just hasn’t come up.”
A. J. took a long sip of lemon water then set it back on the table. “Either the girl doesn’t get around much, or this Trey guy meant a great deal to her,” he said, taking another drink and glancing at Kevin. “Maybe she isn’t completely over him.”
Kevin looked across the table, mirroring A. J.’s actions. “That’s the way it seems, and that’s almost fine with me.” A deep line crossed the bridge of his nose as he frowned. “It is a little funny, though—” He stopped before he said it, about the last time he touched her, their last embrace at the airport, how beautiful she was.
“What’s funny, Kev?” A. J. asked, shaking the ice in his glass.
Kevin regained his present thought. “That she hasn’t had more guys in her life. She’s been split with Trey for two years.” He leaned back in his chair. “Have I mentioned that Sophie’s a gorgeous black-haired beauty? And a pretty good cook to boot. But now that I think of it, she’s kind of cold,” he said, staring past his friend. “Sophie calls it her ‘private’ life.” Kevin straightened and shrugged his shoulders. “But I call it a challenge.”
“So what’s the problem, Gates? Is she playing hard to get, or is it that hunch of yours about the diary and Pro—”
“Yes, it's Professor Smith and the trip she’s on. The whole thing feels wrong to me. I just told you she’s a knockout, and a private person, and more intelligent than anyone I’ve ever met—no offense, A. J.,” he said with a straight face.
A smile spread across A. J.’s face as he raised his glass of ice water. “None taken, my friend.”
“Say, has any information come back from the crime lab on Professor Smith yet?”
“No, not as of last night. We can check on that in the morning, too, all right?” A. J. knew by the unsettled look on Kevin’s face that tomorrow morning wouldn’t come soon enough to suit him. “So not to change the subject, but does Ms. Hanes have a clue about what you do for a living, Gates?”
It was Kevin’s turn to shake the ice in his glass. “She knows I’m a photojournalist.”
“For the FBI?” A. J. asked, his voice raising a couple of decimals.
Kevin’s eyes dropped to the glass in his hand. “She doesn’t need to know that part of it.”
A. J. laughed. “You’re quite the guy, Kev.” He leaned on the table. “Man, listen to me. Things can happen to relationships when you’re not totally up front about important matters, or have you forgotten?”
A. J.’s statement brought back one of the reasons Kevin was transferred to Washington State at his own request. The girl he had been so enthralled with didn’t like the fact that his work took him all over the world. That’s when he finally had to tell her why he was gone for weeks at a time. His job demanded his life and total trust. That’s what Kevin had wanted from Beth—trust. He trusted her, but his deceptive character, whether it was for a good reason or not, wasn’t something Beth could deal with in the end. It was his fault for not telling her the entire truth about what his occupation from the beginning of their relationship. The flashback brought a pang of regret, but his loyalty to his work overrode the sensation, at least for the moment.
“A. J., do you remember the case we were on a few years ago in Ireland?”
“Smooth, Gates,” A. J. said, admiring his friend’s ability to drop a hot topic and turn to a cold case. “Yeah, two teachers and a history buff ended up missing. We never solved that one.”
“That’s right. We never solved it. We didn’t even come close before all went quiet. It still ticks me off that that guy is still out there and…”
“Oh, so that’s it. You think Ms. Hanes might be walking into a trap? What have you been watching on TV, my friend?”
“A. J., listen to me. I’m hoping this is nothing. But, well…this could be our case reopening itself.” He took a long drink from his sweating glass. “I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but Smith sent Sophie an email. The sentence structure of parts of it, along with some of the wording, looked and sounded familiar to me.”
A. J. studied Kevin’s face. He’d seen that look before—the look of knowing something, feeling something, but having the answer hidden right under your nose.
“I’d like to look at that email, Kevin. Can you get your hands on it again?”
Kevin smiled. “Okay, I know it was wrong, but I sent a copy of it to my address while Sophie was in the kitchen the evening I found it on her laptop.”
“You really can’t be trusted, can you?” A. J. said, knowing Kevin was one of the best in the business. He was smart, and he only took things he thought would benefit the case he was on. Or in this instance, the one he would soon be on.
“We’ll check that out tomorrow, too. You know, Kevin, this whole thing could be very innocent and clean. Try not to stress about it so much. It’ll give you gray hair.”
Kevin smiled but remained unconvinced. “A. J., can you get me to Dool, Ireland any time soon?”
“Let’s check your email and discuss your hunch with some of the team. We’ll go from there. But for right now, I’m not sending you anywhere. Besides, we have a diary to read, and here comes my dinner,” he said, settling his eyes on the blonde coming toward them with two steaming plates in her hands.
Kevin laughed, taking notice himself of how well-proportioned the girl was. He checked his phone. Sophie hadn’t called him yet, and it had already been two days. He glanced once more at the waitress. Sophie’s beauty trumped that of the waitress in his mind, and what he suspected she was getting into filled the pit of his stomach with something toxic. There was something not right about this trip. He was sure of it.
“I owe you one A. J.,” he said.
“You bet you do, and you’d better be ready to pay up at a moment’s notice,” A. J. said firmly, his eyes still fixed on the waitress.
Sophie woke to the sound of the Atlantic crashing on the jagged moss-covered rocks. She rolled onto her side, clutching the pillow tightly in her arms. The jet lag had finally vanished, and she was ready to enjoy a few weeks exploring the countryside and learning more about the diary that had originated in the area in which she was now staying.
She stared at the ceiling, thinking about what had transpired thus far in her reading of the diary. Fear, loneliness, and dread were written all over each page. And then there was Three. Who was Three? A spirit guide or someone Anya could really see and talk to? The questions circled in her head like an annoying housefly. Either way, she felt a deepening connection to Anya as if she was a part of her somehow. But how? How could she be a part of someone’s life that existed in the past?
Sophie sighed, hitting the sheets with both hands. “I can’t lie here all day and try to figure this one out,” she said, flinging her legs over the side of the bed and allowing her feet to dangle just above the cool, wooden floor. “This place is going to tell me everything I’m supposed to know, Anya,” she whispered, looking out the window through the slit in the country green curtains.
Sophie put on a pot of coffee, dressed, and then stepped onto the porch, letting the screened door close gently behind her. She breathed, tasting the salty ocean air. Yes, this little place was going to serve its purpose well, she thought, smiling as her eyes scanned the deep blue and green water. As a child, she had seen plenty of water. But this was different. Its white caps moved in time, with grace, and seemed to be driven by a force that was hidden from view but present all the same. Sophie took a sip of the hot Irish coffee from the cup in her hand. “Umm,” she murmured as she savored its boldness. “Kevin,” she breathed. She had promised to call him when she was settled in, but she had been so tired, sleeping on and off for almost a day and a half. Her phone was tucked in the bag close to where she was relaxing on the front porch. She reached for it and slid it open. Kevin had asked to put his number in her phone before they left for the airport and said he’d left a surprise for her that she’d find when she went to contact him. Sophie touched his name, “Gates.”
Pictures of the two of them began to scroll across the screen. “How did he do that?” she asked in surprise, smiling and reminiscing as each picture passed. She held the phone to her ear. He picked up, and then there was a loud thump. Sophie listened curiously. What was going on? All she could hear was a bunch of scuffling and words she couldn’t quite make out.
“Yeah, Gates here,” he finally said, sounding winded.
“Kevin, are you all right? You sound terrible, and what was all that noise?”
“Sophie? Girl, are you okay? I’ve been waiting for you to call! It’s been two days, almost three. And do you have any idea what time it is here?”
She had forgotten about the time difference between them. That would explain why he sounded like he was hung over. “Kevin, I’m sorry for waking you.”
“No Sophie, don’t be sorry. I’m so glad to hear your voice. You can’t believe how worried I’ve been.” He was fully awake now and wanted to keep her on the phone as long as he could. He not only wanted her voice, but he had installed a tracking device in her phone that needed to be activated, and that could only happen if her phone were on for three minutes or longer.
“Tell me, babe—now that I’m not just dreaming of you—tell me where you’re sitting, what you’re wearing, and what kind of coffee you have in your hand,” he said, lying back on his bed.
Sophie laughed. “Are you for real, Mr. Gates? You sound like a reporter trying to get a story.”
“I am a photojournalist, remember? So give me all the angles, Sophie.” His voice grew quiet as he pictured the two of them together. He didn’t wait for an answer from her. “I wish like anything I was there with you. I miss you. I miss holding you on the couch while we watch stupid reality shows, I miss kissing you, I miss—”
“Kevin, stop,” she said, her words gently interrupting his convincingly sexy voice. She swallowed hard. The sound of his voice always had a way of moving her into his world, and for the first time, she had to admit that she missed him, too. “I’m sitting on a porch overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. There are dark-colored cliffs that have black and red ribbon-like lines running through them. They stretch as far as the eye can see—they’re beautiful. And as for what I’m wearing, I’m wrapped in my white bathrobe And the coffee? Well the coffee is black, very black.”
There was a long break in their conversation as she contemplated telling him what she knew he didn’t want to hear. Kevin Gates was a reasonable man, but in the past month their relationship had changed, and they both knew it. In a shift from the getting to know you and the physical attraction stage to something deeper, an unspoken possession stood between them, making Sophie a little uncomfortable. She had not contemplated a serious relationship for two years and wasn’t sure she was ready to embark on one now with Kevin. A deep sigh escaped as she walked out onto the rocky pathway from her cottage to the ocean. The breeze was strong and sent a light chill through her. She pulled her robe tightly around her waist as the wind tugged, pulling it open at her knees. It didn’t matter. What mattered was what she was going to tell Kevin next. He had not said anything negative about Professor Smith, but he didn’t have to. His body language did all of the talking for him. She remembered telling him about how she found the professor on an exclusive site for history teachers and after some research had found it to be upstanding and reputable. But little of that mattered. It was all too evident that he didn’t approve of her cyber involvement with the professor, nor this meeting. Well, her next words wouldn’t brighten his morning, either.
“Kevin, I’m meeting Professor Smith at a pub in Dool later this afternoon. I thought you’d want to know.”
In the United States, Kevin slumped against his headboard. He cleared his throat, giving himself time to think of how he was going to react to the news, knowing he had to be careful not to give the impression he was concerned or on edge about the two of them meeting, even though that was exactly how he felt. It would be best to keep it light.
“Sophie, there are three or four pretty good pubs in Dool. Which one are you meeting him at?”
“Professor Smith said his favorite was Folks Pub. Have you heard of it?”
He smiled to himself, “Folks Pub, yeah nice place. It’s known for great music, and some of the friendliest people in the entire country,” he said, taking notes as they talked. “What time are you supposed to be there?”
“About two o’clock.”
Kevin checked the international setting on his watch. About a five-hour difference—it was about eight a.m. in Dool. That gave him six hours to connect with an agent in Ireland and try and get him to Folks Pub. “So what are your plans after you meet?” he asked, trying not to sound like he was pumping her for information.
“I’m not totally sure. It’s still early morning, I haven’t thought a lot about it yet. Why do you ask? Is there something you’d recommend?”
“Ah, yeah,” he said, lowering his voice, still trying to choose his words carefully. “But it depends if you’ll be alone or with someone.”
“So that’s it. Why didn’t you just ask if I was going to spend the day with the professor, and hey, maybe the evening, too. I would have told you the truth, you know that. Don’t you, Kevin?”
Kevin felt the sting of her words. He had stepped over the line with his questions. He had questioned her integrity and, more importantly, he’d raised the touchy trust issue. “Come on, Sophie, I trust you. It’s just Professor Smith.” He sighed. “Let’s face it, we don’t know much about him, and well, to be completely honest, it’s him I don’t trust. You have nothing to do with it.”
“Kevin, you don’t own me. I’ve been making my own decisions for a long time, and who I spend time with is my business.”
He cleared his throat again. “You’re right,” he said quietly, thinking back to about a month ago when he questioned her about a male colleague he had seen her with. He had watched him kiss her. He tried to tell himself that it was only on the cheek and as innocent as a father’s kiss, but the act evoked an over-protectiveness that had grown stronger each day they spent together—and now even stronger that they were so far apart. Get a grip, he reasoned with himself. Don’t let your thoughts control your words. The situation’s too vulnerable for you to screw things up. “You’re right, Sophie, when you love someone, you never plan on owning them.”
Sophie stared at the roiling blue ocean, jolted. What did she just hear? She clasped her hand over her mouth and turned her back to the pummeling wind. Kevin’s statement shocked her. She said nothing for an instant.
Kevin pulled his phone away from his ear and looked at the keypad. Had he lost the connection? No. “Sophie, are you still there?”
Tears formed in the corners of her eyes as guilt began to fill her mind. “Kevin, I’m sorry for questioning your motives,” she said, steadying herself against the wind.
“Babe, I never planned to tell you I loved you over the phone, and certainly not while you were thousands of miles away.” Okay, it’s been on the tip of my tongue. I guess it’s now or never, he thought. Kevin inhaled deeply then exhaled slowly. “I need you in my life, Sophie. I want every part of you for myself. I don’t want to share your body or mind with any other man. I want you to understand that this love I have for you isn’t about owning, it’s about owing. I want to be indebted to you. I’m thankful for every moment I have with you, and right now, to play the honesty card, I feel threatened.”
What was happening to his guard? It had suddenly dissolved. He couldn’t think of a time when that had ever happened to him, but for some reason, he couldn’t help himself. It was as if she needed to know what he was feeling at that moment.
Her voice broke. “Kevin, I’m not sure what to say.”
“You don’t have to say a thing, Sophie. I just want you back here with me, so be brave, be aware of your surroundings and who is watching you, and promise me something, would you?”
The unrealized passion in his voice had taken over the conversation, and she couldn’t help but promise him anything he wanted. “What do you want me to promise?”
“Please keep your phone on and be careful, okay?”
She closed her eyes and nodded her head. The request seemed strange, but he had his way of ending a conversation bluntly and directly. “I promise, Kevin,” she said. At that moment, she wished his arms were around her, his lips on hers. She wanted to feel the warmth of his body. “I promise. I better go. Call me?”
“I’ll call you later tonight, babe. I love you.”
Her choice to walk the mile to Dool proved to be a good one. It was easy to admire the rolling countryside, littered with yellow and white flowers that grew wild everywhere, as she strolled. Then there were the rock walls that lined the blackened path. Had she read that the walls had been erected during the great potato famine? Sophie couldn’t remember. It was a funny thought. She was a history teacher—you’d think she’d know all this stuff. The walls added a distinct charm that couldn’t be found in any other part of the country. Sophie stepped up the pace after checking her watch. She wanted to make it to Folks Pub before Professor Smith arrived.
Heads turned as she entered the pub, but only briefly before the patrons returned to their pints and cottage pies. Sophie had made it a point not to look too much like a tourist but guessed that people who lived in a tourist town knew to expect new faces on a regular basis. She looked around for a table near the fireplace. Professor Smith had suggested that so he could spot her with ease in case she arrived before him. She settled in and began to survey her surroundings. Old railroad lanterns with red glass hung above every table. Each barstool was a forest green shade and sat on large brown and burnt orange blocks of carpet. It all fit nicely, she thought, as she continued to admire the wood behind the bar with its rich carving of a lake and forest that gave the pub an autumnal feel. Sophie heard someone clear his throat behind her. Turning, she looked up at a man most likely in his early forties. He was clean-shaven, unlike many of the men in the states, she noted. But what set him apart were his eyes. They were the greenest she had ever seen, and they seemed to be looking right through her.
“Ms. Hanes?” he asked softly, holding his hand out to her.
Sophie broke her stare, looked quickly to the chair next to her and then back at him. “Yes, I’m Sophie Hanes,” she said sheepishly, putting her hand in his.
“I’m Professor Smith. We’ve been communicating via email about the diary in your possession.”
“Yes, Professor,” she started to stand, but he motioned her back to her seat. “So good to meet you finally and thank you for all the work you’re doing to translate the diary for me.”
“The pleasure has been all mine,” he said, his smile beginning to fade. “Do you mind if I join you?”
She felt her cheeks warm with embarrassment at her lack of manners. “Of course,” she said, sliding her chair to allow him in beside her. Sophie watched him remove his coat, put a fold in it, then drape it on the back of his chair before he sat. He rubbed his hands briskly together then motioned for a waiter.
“So, Ms. Hanes, I trust you’ve found the writings in the diary stimulating,” he said, looking at her briefly and then around the room.
Her eyes widened. “I’m not sure stimulating is the word I would use, Professor,” she said, curious at his choice of words. “If anything, I’ve found the writing rather sad or maybe disturbing would be a better description.”
His eyebrows rose. “Really, how so?” he asked, a slight smile emerging, obviously from her statement.
She looked briefly into his eyes then away. Did she notice sick excitement in them as well as a hint of pleasure in his voice? Suddenly, Sophie felt something. Something she had sensed on the plane while reading the diary, and bringing that back to her mind was not something she relished, not now, not with a stranger sitting right beside her. Was the diary itself trying to tell her something? Was it Three? Think Sophie, she told herself, as she now held the professor’s direct gaze. She shifted in her seat. “Professor, can we talk about this another time?” she asked.
“Of course, forgive me for being so direct. It’s just that I’m so gripped by all that is unfolding in the diary that it’s hard not to talk about it. I think you’ll understand as you read more, as you experience in your mind what is going on in—” He stopped. “Well, I don’t want to let the cat out of the bag,” he said, as his smile changed. “Waiter, the house beer, Ms. Hanes, what can I get for you?”
“Oh, I don’t drink, but a clear soft drink would be good.” She watched as the professor continued to talk to the waiter. He said something she didn’t understand. “What was that you just said to the waiter, Professor?” He laughed. “That, lass, was Gaelic for something clear with bubbles,” he said. Sophie almost felt as if he was enjoying her puzzlement.
“Hey Gipson, it’s me, Gates.”
“Gates who?” The line was silent for a moment. “Oh, yeah, Kevin Gates! I haven’t talked to you in a couple of years. How ya been, man?”
“I’ve been great. Hey, I checked the logs, and I see that you’re still working for the agency. I was wondering where you are in Ireland these days.”
“Right now, I’m in Limerick, why? Are you planning another visit?”
“No, but I do have a friend who’s staying in Dool for a while and was wondering if you’d have a little time to check on her?” Kevin heard a distinct change in Gipson’s voice as he echoed his words to check on Sophie. Had he made a mistake in getting in contact with Agent Gipson? He needed help, and well, Gipson was the only one on the force he trusted, or did he?
“Is she pretty?”
“Come on, Gipson,” he said, agitation showing in his voice at the guy’s obvious lack of self-control. “Some things never change, do they?” He rubbed his temples, “No, Gipson, she’s not pretty, she’s beautiful, and she’s—”
“Well, in that case, I’ll do it,” Gipson said, cutting Kevin off. “You said Dool? I’m only ninety-five kilometers from there. So what’s up with her? Why is she in Ireland?”
“Her name is Sophie Hanes, she teaches at a university in Washington. She’s meeting a guy named Smith. Professor Smith. Ever heard of him?” There was silence on the other end, but Kevin remembered Gipson as one to just stop and think. He had a sharp mind and never rushed in with his words. His only flaw was a strong fetish for beautiful women, which had gotten him into trouble on occasion. “Gipson, did you hear me?”
“Yeah, man, I heard you. Professor Kian Smith? No, the name doesn’t ring any bells, but Smith is a pretty popular surname so—”
“Gipson, I’ll let you know where she’s going to be, but you’re on for this, right?”
“Yeah, sounds like a fun diversion. Too bad you can’t be here, though. It’d be like old times three years ago, working on that missing person’s case.” Gipson laughed. “Burr, that case is still as cold as ice,” he said, his laughter growing colder with each sound from the other end of the line. “Call me and hook me up with your lady friend. I’m available.”
“Got that, Gipson, talk to you soon.” Kevin could feel his heart beating in his throat. “There’s something very wrong here,” he said aloud, grabbing a pair of pants as he punched in A. J.’s name on his phone.
“A. J. here, and Gates, what the heck are you calling me this early for?”
“A. J., I just got off the phone with Gipson.”
“Who?”
“Wake up man, this is serious.”
“Gates, everything is serious to you.”
Kevin knew he was getting nowhere with his superior. “Sorry sir about waking you up. I guess I wasn’t thinking, kind of lost my head.” He checked his watch. “I’ll talk to you in a couple of hours. Like at eight a.m. sharp?”
“Sharp it better be, and Gates, buy me coffee and put a double shot in it. And I want it hot when I get there.”
The phone went dead. “Ouch, that didn’t go well,” Kevin said, throwing the phone on the bed. “Hope his mood is a bit more pleasant in the morning.”
There were twenty-five squares on the floor on either side of A. J.’s office door. Kevin paced back and forth for exactly sixty-two minutes, counting them with each rotation.
“Hey, good morning, A. J. Good to—”
“Don’t talk to me,” A. J. growled. “Where’s my coffee?”
Gates slipped the hot mix into his hand. “Here, this’ll help with that mean morning streak of yours.”
A. J. stared at Kevin soberly over the brim of his cup. “This better be good, Gates,” he said, sitting down hard in the chair behind his desk. “Let’s have it.”
Kevin knew better than to hesitate or try to lighten the mood. “I was on the phone this morning with Gipson, sir.”
Kevin waited, knowing A. J. was taking time to process the name. “Why on earth would you want to talk to him? As I recall, the two of you didn’t get along so well when you worked together. I believe you called it a conflict of interests?”
Kevin perched on the edge of A. J.s desk. “You’re right. I do think the guy’s a jerk, but he’s a strong agent, and I need someone to look after a treasure I’ve found.”
A. J. removed the cover from his coffee, blew on it, and took another sip. A grin slowly changed the line of his lips as he allowed the thought to sink in. “Women, how do they do it?” he asked. “Making men to call their superiors at ridiculous times in the morning, almost getting them fired.”
“I read that loud and clear, sir,” Kevin said, standing, knowing that his good friend meant business. He was still his superior, and business always took priority.
“Now tell me about Gipson.”
Kevin squared himself with A. J., pulled in a deep breath and exhaled before answering. “I assumed Gipson was still in Ireland, so I called him to see if he would check on Sophie for me. He agreed to, and then I asked him if he knew Professor Smith.”
“He said he didn’t know a Professor Kian Smith.” Gates gripped the edge of the desk as he leaned closer. “A. J., I didn’t tell him Smith’s first name.”
Thick silence filled the room, and their eyes locked.
“Sir?” a voice came from the open door. “May I come in?”
A. J. motioned for his senior investigator, Detective Wells, to join them.
“Here is the report you ordered on a Professor Smith, first name Kian, sir.”
“What did you find, Wells?”
“We found out that he’s not a professor, at least not at any of Ireland’s universities or colleges. As a matter of fact, sir, he doesn’t teach at any high schools, grade schools, or daycare facilities in the entire country, either. His profile is pretty clean except for one incident.”
“What incident is that?” Kevin asked, holding his hand out for the file.
“It came back that just over thirty-six months ago, Mr. Smith had made two threats. One was to a female history professor, something about failing him, and the other to a university’s female vice president. He had said that the university was prejudiced against men, and he was going to see to it that they paid for it. From what I found, both confrontations took place on the same campus. He cooperated with the authorities, sir, but made it clear in his statement that he would take his revenge out on professional women, that they were going to pay the price for him not receiving his full education. His statement is in the report. He was arrested, but the charges were dropped.”
“Dropped? Why were they dropped?” A. J. asked, walking to the front of the desk to join Gates.
“From what I can make of this,” Kevin said, “is that all pending charges were pending were dismissed, no reason given.”
“Is that all we have?” A. J. asked.
“I’m afraid so, sir,” said Wells.
A. J. turned without a sound and looked out the window of the five-story office building. “Wells pull the files on that case with the three missing women in Ireland. You’ll find it filed under foreign-cold. Get it to me as soon as you can.”
“Yes sir.”
“So what are you thinking, sir?”
Still deep in thought, A. J. turned from the window. “Kevin, are you sure Ms. Hanes had been up front with you about this professor of hers?”
Kevin tossed the file he was holding on the desk, his brows narrowing. “A. J., she’s been in communication with Smith for some time.” He stopped and sighed, trying to regain some of the composure he was beginning to lose. “Look, she has a reputation that is second to none. She’s not hiding anything, sir.”
“Okay then, if Smith doesn’t teach language or history anywhere in Ireland, then what was his motive for telling Ms. Hanes that he did?” He sat again, opening the file on Smith. “Have you talked to Ms. Hanes since she left?”
“Actually, she called earlier this morning.”
“Has she made contact with Smith yet?”
“She had agreed to meet him at a pub called Folks a little later today. Why, A. J.? What’s rolling around in your head?”
“I’m not quite sure. After those files from three years ago come in, I want to start making some comparisons between the women who ended up missing and Ms. Hanes. I wish there was a way of tracking her to see if there are any similarities in her movements. I’d like to know if she frequents any of the same places the women did in our earlier case.”
“I have that covered, sir,” Kevin said, his voice low but confident.
A. J. slid his chair from the back of his desk in front of Gates. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Kevin carefully contemplated his next words. He was well aware that using surveillance equipment without authorization was against unspoken rules. “Ah, before Sophie left, I put a tracer in her phone. It was successfully activated this morning.”
A. J. leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Who authorized that little trick, Gates?”
“No one, I acted alone, sir.”
A. J. shook his head. Without missing a beat, he looked directly at Gates and asked, “Does Ron still do inventory at the Washington branch?”
“Yes.”
“Good, I’ll get that cleared up, but get clearance before you do something like that again, would you?”
The warning look he got from A. J. came from a superior, not a best friend, and Kevin knew he had crossed the line.
“Did you tell her to keep the phone on at all times?”
“I did, sir, but she’s a really smart girl—” he stammered. “Well, she doesn’t know it’s on her phone.”
A. J. laughed. “What else have you not told your friend, Kevin?”
He smiled, feeling the tension ease slightly between them. Just then, there was a brief knock on the door. It opened, and Theresa walked in.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” she said, making brief eye contact with each as she made her way to a chair opposite the two. She smoothed her skirt as she sat down and opened the folder she held, laying it in her lap. She looked up to see both men staring directly at her. She lowered her glasses. “What?” she asked in an authoritative voice.
A. J. cleared his throat. “Nothing, Theresa, I was just admiring how nice you look today.”
“Yeah, nice legs,” tumbled from Kevin’s mouth as he sized up his fifty-something coworker.
“Thanks, Gates, I keep them shaved. That’s more than I can say for your face.” She leaned forward. “If you don’t mind me saying, I always liked the way you looked when you were working undercover. You know, that clean sexy thing you used to have going on—not the constant shadow you’re sporting now.” She cleared her throat and moved the discussion forward. “Sirs, I have the photocopy of the diary with me and have gone through the first one hundred pages. I must say this is the most interesting personal document I’ve ever read. I’d like some information as to where it was found and if the family to whom it belongs might have the original in their possession?”
Gates shifted in his chair. “All I can tell you is that Sophie found it in a relative’s home. She didn’t say if it belonged to anyone in her family tree. Why is that important?”
“Gates, there’s a lot of history in this diary, and a relative may have information—even if it’s a minuscule amount—that could shed more light on all the tragedy that took place in the life of the woman in this document.” Theresa turned her attention to her superior. “And sir, there’s something else. As I read between the lines—”
Kevin interrupted her as he moved closer. “Read between the lines? Why read something into the diary that isn’t there?”
“That’s where you get most of your information, Gates. Such as how Anya knew there was more to it than her brother using her for business deals and revenge against their father. Those goals would have been easy for Sean to achieve. No, he had an even greater motive. I would think with all your specialized training you would have known that. Or does it take a woman to solve things around here?” she asked, directing her full attention to Kevin, who was now a little too close for comfort.
“Theresa, what is this greater motive you’re talking about?” A. J. asked.
“Sir, there’s another woman he wants, but for what reason I’m not sure. Her name is Olivia Neely. But I believe there’s a force—I’m not sure what—that doesn’t allow Mr. O’Connell to get close to her. It angers him, making him more determined than ever in his pursuit of her. The writer is very descriptive about her brother’s behaviors where they concern Miss Neely. He treats Anya like a princess at times. But when Miss Neely rejects his advances, he’s out of control— evil, as Miss O’Connell puts it. Again, I’m puzzled as to what his motive is for wanting Ms. Neely. It doesn’t make sense that Sean wants her only for sexual pleasure. There’s got to be something more. I thought perhaps money or connections that would advance his business empire. But in my research of the Neely family, I found that they lived in the country and had little monetary resources. There’s got to be another reason,” she said, looking blankly at the file in her hand. “Sir, there was also Sean’s alcohol use. It continued to increase along with his attempts to abuse his sister.”
“You read all of that between the lines?” Kevin asked, leaning down to look at her notes.
Theresa smiled as she continued to report her findings. “Sir, absolute control is what motivated Sean O’Connell, and he was willing to do anything to get that control. The man would use revenge to any degree.”
“Okay, so what does this have to do with anything?” Kevin asked.
“Gates, I can see why Ms. Hanes was drawn to this diary. It’s a magnet of the strangest type. It’s incredibly compelling. Even within the first few pages, I found myself pulled in—one page, and then another page—into a world of emotion, turmoil, and conversations I’ve never experienced the likes of before. I believe all of it has something to do with Three. He has become somewhat of a guide or mediator, I’m not sure yet. But reading this provokes me to book a flight to Ireland myself.” She glanced A. J.’s way. “Do you think that would be in the budget sir?” she asked, smiling with her eyes. Her look and tone quickly changed. “Sir, I realize this document is very old, but some Irish people are very illusory and imaginary. If this ever fell into the wrong hands,” she looked at her file and sighed deeply, “it could be duplicated to set up a tragic scenario.”
“Theresa, finish interpreting that diary and fill Gates in on every detail. And I mean everything. I want him to know the way it makes you feel and anything else that comes to mind from a woman’s perspective.” A. J. stood and walked briskly toward the door. “Gates get packed. You’ll be leaving for Ireland in five days, maybe less, but before you go you need to clear a few things up in Washington. I want you back here in New York in two days max. You’ll be working with Theresa here at home base. I’ll arrange for an agent to work with you when you get into Dool.”
“Gipson, sir?”
He hesitated. “No.”
“Why, sir?”
“I think you know, but I have a hunch, and if it comes together—” he stopped in mid-sentence. “Gates don’t make contact with Gipson until you’re back from Washington. He already knows you’re connected with Ms. Hanes. And whatever you do, don’t let him know you’ll be on your way to Ireland. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good, now you both have things to attend to, so I suggest you get out of here and get it done.”
Sophie opened her eyes wide as they approached a large gray and white structure built of large cut stone, well-weathered and crumbling some around the edges. It was the Castle Goregoo, and it looked just as Sophie had pictured it in her mind. Two towers several feet above the rest of the castle were quite majestic, giving an old but strong and dignified impression. Anya had commented that the two towers were built strictly for a show of power and were of little use except for storage. Sophie looked to her left, seeing an area that could have been where Anya spent much of her time—one of the gardens, she thought, remembering how Anya had written so fondly about them. It was obviously overgrown and slightly unkempt, yet there was a silent beauty all the same. Sophie could almost feel the young woman’s presence as her eyes scanned the great property. She recalled the eastern garden that Anya had referred to so often in the diary and wondered if that was it off to her right. And what of the small trail near the wall? Could it be the one Colleen had used as she arrived to serve the O’Connell family? Had it been preserved over time by constant use? If so, by whom and for what reason?
The car slowed, coming to a stop. Her voice cracked. “Are we stopping, Professor?” she asked, questioning his unexpected action. He didn’t answer. A quick twinge of panic flickered, and she reached for her stomach. She needed to say something but didn’t want to sound alarmed. Professor Smith mentioned that they’d only be driving around the estate that afternoon. He had also made it clear several times while at the pub that the arrangements to spend time on the estate would be in a couple of days, but he had said nothing about stopping today.
The professor glanced at her with a stern look then stared back through the windshield. “You look frightened, lass,” he said, his voice low and his eyes fixed, not looking toward her.
“Frightened? Why would I be frightened?” she asked, tightening her grip on the bag holding her phone.
Professor Smith formed a tight-lipped smile as a deep, low laugh crept up from his throat. He continued to focus his gaze out the front window. “I could see Anya in your face just a minute ago, Ms. Hanes.” He turned his shoulders to square himself to her. “As you may recall from her writings, she was frightened of what she perceived as impending danger.”
Impending danger, she thought, searching her intellect for answers. The professor may be a little unstable emotionally, but these days that’s not uncommon. Dangerous had never entered her mind. “Yes, I do recall that, Professor,” she said quietly as her heart raced in her chest. Sophie tried to figure out what he was driving at.
“But as you may also recall, Anya had good reason to be frightened. Her danger was real. I, on the other hand, have no danger to fear. No danger to fear at all.”
His eyes enlarged, looking as if they would swallow her up. She saw something cold and dark in his gaze. What was looking back at her? It wasn’t normal, and whatever it was penetrated more than her mind, it penetrated her soul. She turned away to look at the castle. “Professor, I’m ready to go,” she said, still feeling the discomfort of his eyes on her.
There was a long silence. “Of course, Sophie,” he said, putting the car in reverse. He reached over, touching her shoulder as he turned the car.
She gasped and moved away from his touch.
He smiled like he hadn’t noticed. “You don’t mind me calling you by your first name, do you?”
She hesitated, and then took a shallow breath. “No, it's fine, Professor,” she said, trying to dismiss his touch from her mind.
“Good and I would like you to call me Kian. No more professor, is that clear?” he said, the smile still on his face but a decisive demand in the tone of his voice.
Uneasiness swept through her body. I’m not going to argue with a man I just met. A man I know very little about, she reasoned in her mind. “Yes, I think I can do that,” she said quietly before addressing him by his first name. “Kian,” she finally said, gingerly eking out a smile.
“I’ll pick you up tomorrow,” Kian said as he watched her open the car door and slip out.
The minute her feet hit the ground, she hastily shut the door, wanting something solid between them. “No, I would really like to walk to town and meet you at Folks Pub again, that is, if you don’t mind?” she asked, peering through the open window. She watched him tap his finger on the steering wheel, his body language contemplating her answer. He leaned over to look directly at her.
“No, that will be fine. Shall we say about two again?”
She smiled for a moment, as warmly as she could fake. Was this the same Professor Smith she had talked with through email and met just hours earlier? His pleasantness was back, but who was that other man she had been afraid of just a short time ago, and would he return? “Great, I’ll see you tomorrow.” She turned quickly away from the car and started for the cottage.
“Sophie, be watchful at all times, in the light and in the darkness,” sounded in her ear.
She turned to see if the professor had spoken. He was still watching her, his eyes still looking after her, that same cold, twisted smile on his face. She turned back to the cottage and opened the door, shutting it hard behind her. “Be watchful at all times,” she repeated out loud but heard only the blood pounding in her ears. Sophie turned on the light and threw her bag in the chair. Her mind went at once to the diary. The old document lay open on the kitchen table along with the interpretation in the folder lying next to it. She was drawn to it and sat to look at it, focusing her eyes near the bottom of the page.
“Three, you know of my brother’s plans in two days. Why does he long to carry out his evil wiles near the far wall? Yes, I know it is a beautiful place in the early afternoon, with its long shadows and heavy leafed-out vines supporting large hangings of flowers. But the night, the night brings out a smell of nauseating bittersweet dampness that signals the undergrowth is dying and in the process of decay. Why would my brother desire for his guests to witness such natural sickness and death? And why ask Olivia to the gathering? Each time she visits, he is taken in deeper by her exquisite beauty, yet is disgusted by a spirit or power that surrounds her as he puts it. What is his plan? It is as if there are two of my brother, each equally sadistic. Oh Three, his revenge has gone deeper to affect more than just his family. I witness that he enjoys what takes place.”
“Anya, why do you fret so? Do not depend on your own understanding; trust in Three to protect you. And the walls you ask about? They are meant to protect those on the inside from the outside. But this wall must be torn down from the outside to rescue those within from themselves.”
“Three are you saying that I must be rescued from myself? Diary, I hate and fear the words that I write next, will they be my—?
“He is calling me again. My eyes steal to the door each time I hear him, Three, when he speaks my name. Oh diary, Sean asks to see me early. This makes it many days this week, always trying the handle on my locked door. I plead with him to leave me, but he insists on looking upon me, making it clear with his words that I am to be kept for him and his use.”
“You will be rescued when the walls are torn down. So who will you put your trust in, Anya? Surround yourself with me, with the wisdom of Three and those I put on your good path.”
Sophie jumped, her hand automatically gripping her chest. There was a sudden intrusion into her reading. It was her phone ringing. Her breathing slowed. “It must be Kevin,” she whispered with a pang of relief. She’d been so caught up in the diary that she had forgotten to call him. She looked at the flashing display—Gates. “Hello?”
Kevin grinned. Now, that sounded sheepish, he thought, pulling the phone from his ear to get a quick look at the face on the display. “Sophie, it's Kevin, is everything okay?”
She cleared her throat. “Yeah, the phone startled me a little, but I’m fine.”
She didn’t sound fine, but Kevin decided not to push the issue just yet. “I was wondering if you were going to give me a call before two in the morning, so I decided to take the chance you’d be alone, and if not, your Professor Smith is going to have to share you for a few minutes,” he said, pulling the towel tightly around his waist.
In the rented cottage, Sophie shifted in her chair, trying to alleviate both the pain in her back from sitting so rigidly and the something that kept gnawing at her brain. “No Kevin, I’m alone.” At least in body, she thought as her eyes flitted to the diary once again.
A smile came to his lips. “Good.” But there was something she wasn’t telling him. Kevin sensed it in her tone. Even so, knowing Sophie was alone was a welcome confirmation to go along with the joy he felt at just hearing the sound of her voice. But what had she been up to, he wondered? Something was definitely different. He started to put two and two together. His heart sank—she hadn’t fallen in love with the professor, had she? Can’t be, people don’t fall in love that fast, he thought, pinching his bottom lip nervously. But then again, he had, with the woman on the other end of the line. “Are you sure everything’s all right?” he asked again. “You sound different.”
She thought for a moment and then touched her shoulder. The tension from earlier was gone and a relaxed feeling had taken over. Sophie knew why. It was the words of Three. ‘Those he puts on your good path.’ My good path, she thought. It had to be Three—her day had been anything but totally enjoyable. “Yeah, Kevin, I’m really good,” she said calmly.
They both started talking at once then laughed.
“You first, Sophie,” Kevin said, lying back on the bed.
She sighed, the peacefulness now filling her entire body. “All right, I know you’re going to ask about Kian, so I’ll just tell you so we can get it out of the way. I found him interesting, among other things.”
“Kian, huh? So you’re on first name basis already,” he said, not listening to the last half of her sentence.
“He insisted, Kevin, so I went along with him. We talked for some time at the pub and then he took me for an unexpected drive to Goregoo Castle.” She had mixed feelings about telling him of the professor’s seemingly strange personality traits. She understood the man on the other end of the phone, and anything less than positive information would end up in complete disaster.
“So that was it? You found him interesting, and he took you to the Castle? There must be something you’re not telling me, babe. I thought he’d be the man of the century, or at least above average in looks, height, and intelligence.”
Sophie didn’t respond with words. She decided to let him think about his comments. “I’m spending time with him tomorrow so—”
She was cut short by the reporter in Kevin. “What time tomorrow, Sophie?” he asked, sitting up and grabbing a piece of paper. His suspicion had been activated, and the firing squad wasn’t far behind, but this time it was okay. She knew his motive now. He loved her, after all, and she was spending time with a man he didn’t know or trust. He made that clear before she even left the states.
“I’m meeting him at Folks Pub again around two.”
“So what are your plans tomorrow? That is, if you want to tell me.”
She ignored his question. “Kevin, the diary spoke to me.”
“Yeah?” he asked, knowing she had just given him a deliberate slip into another subject. That was his specialty. Nice one, he said to himself. But he still needed more information about her plans so his informant could be ready to follow her if necessary. He’d have to wait for a better time to ask again.
“Yes, I heard it speak to me after I was out of Kian’s car.”
Kevin pinched his lips again, this time not from nerves but out of curiosity. “That’s weird, Sophie,” he said. “How do you know it was the diary? Maybe it was just a thought running through your head. You’re a smart girl, you know, and I’ve heard about things like that happening to people with high intelligence.”
“Kevin, it was the diary.” Her voice raised, and with strong conviction. “When I walked through the door of the cottage, the diary was open on the table, and the very words I heard were written on the bottom of the page. The same words Three had said to Anya.”
The word supernatural entered Kevin’s mind. He had once researched the world of the unexplained and mystical, finding most of it to be little more than people who wanted something to take place in their lives that could never in reality happen on this earth. But Sophie didn’t believe in the supernatural, nor was she reading anything into the diary—at least he didn’t think she was.
“What did it say to you, Sophie?” he asked, pen still in hand.
“It said to be watchful at all times, in the light and in the darkness.”
He took down her words, his mood falling into something more serious. “What page are you on?”
She squinted, trying to make out any markings at the top or bottom of the open diary. “I’m not sure,” she said, her fingers rubbing where the numbers should have been. “This is really strange.”
Kevin’s pulse quickened, the volume rising in his voice. “What’s strange? Come on, Sophie, numbers. I need page numbers.”
She hesitated. “They’re gone.”
His heart had moved to his throat, beating extra hard. Hard enough that sweat droplets had formed on his brow. “Gone? What do you mean, they’re gone? Are you looking at the original diary or the one from Smith?”
“Kevin, I was reading from the interpreted version. I don’t know how, but I can read the original, too, and the page numbers, they’ve completely vanished.”
Kevin imagined Sophie scouring the old document for numbers or anything that could possibly answer the question at hand. Her voice started cutting in and out, but it wasn’t the connection. Sophie was confused.
“This doesn’t make any sense,” he heard her say.
“You’re right, Sophie. None of this makes sense. The original is in Gaelic.” He took a deep breath, letting it out in mid-sentence. “You can’t read it.”
“Kevin, listen to me. This same thing happened on the plane. What’s going on with me?” she asked in a whisper.
The desperation was loud and clear in her words, even though her voice continued to soften. Kevin pinched his bottom lip again, thinking. It was hard to imagine Sophie being desperate or confused about anything. He didn’t understand what was happening, but there had to be a logical explanation for it, but what? “Sophie, what are you reading right now?” He wanted to keep her talking as long as he could.
“Anya’s brother visits her in her bedroom in the mornings. She fears him, but Kevin, Three is there with her. He tells her to trust in him and the good people he puts on her good path. I don’t understand who the good people are or what the good path is. I have so many questions. Kevin, I’m getting tired. I need to go.”
“Are you sure you can’t talk any longer?” He waited for an answer. “Sophie, are you still there?” Kevin quickly moved to the edge of the bed. She needs my help. The feelings he had for her were deepening, and she needed to be protected. Then there was that strong hunch. That gut feeling that told him there was more to this than met the eye.
“Good night, Kevin.”
The click of her phone was loud and had a disturbing finality to it. “I need to know where she was reading,” he said, pulling on a pair of jeans while searching for Theresa’s cell number in his phone. He slipped into shoes as he pulled a T-shirt over his head, grabbed a jacket, and headed to the street to flag a taxi. “Theresa, Gates here, how far are you in the diary now?” he asked, slipping the cab driver the address of the main office.
“Good evening to you, too, Gates,” she fired back.
He exhaled. “Sorry, Theresa,” he said, laying his head back on the headrest, “I need to know where you’re reading right now in the diary.”
“Are you serious?” She sighed loudly into the connection. “Without looking, I couldn’t tell you where, but I can tell you I’m just about done interpreting. Why do you need to know at nine o’clock at night? We have a meeting set to go over the diary when you get back from Washington.” There was a long pause. “Gates, what are you up to?” she asked.
Gates knew good and well she thought him guilty of compulsive behavior. “I’m not returning to Washington before I fly to Ireland. I’m hoping to be out of the country as soon as possible, maybe right after we meet tomorrow.” He gave Theresa time to think. She was smart, too smart, and would be putting questions and conclusions together before he had an answer.
“Tomorrow? When did the plans change Gates? I thought A. J. had a man ready to follow Ms. Hanes.”
“He does. Look, I just got off the phone with Sophie. Can you meet me at the office? I’m in a cab, already on my way. I can explain everything to you there.”
“Gates?” He could hear her talking to someone in the background. “I’ll have you know that I’m spending the evening with a really neat guy, who happens to be my husband, whom I haven’t seen in weeks.”
“This is really important, Theresa.”
“So is he,” she said.
Kevin heard more muffled sounds.
“I’ll meet you in thirty minutes,” she said sharply.
He looked at the receiver. “She hung up on me,” he said loudly enough for the driver to hear.
“Yeah, happens to me all the time,” the driver said, laughing as he looked at his passenger in the rearview mirror.
Kevin was waiting in Theresa’s office when she arrived. He took quick note of her. This was the first time in how many years of working together that he had seen her in jeans and a tight little Yankees tee. Her blonde hair was down. It touched her shoulders and framed her face in a perfect heart shape. Her eyes seemed to be a deeper emerald green and more beautiful than he remembered. She was a knockout, and he hadn’t realized it until now. He watched her enter the office, hoping her mood was as beautiful as she was, but he wasn’t holding his breath.
She shook her head, “Gates? You are so lucky that I’m not your superior,” she said, her green eyes fixed on him.
He knew better than to respond sarcastically to a woman who had the upper hand on him. Besides, he needed information that only she could provide.
Theresa looked away to retrieve her notes. She had to remind herself that they dealt in people, and Kevin had a personal interest in this case. She also knew that cutting Gates slack was something you should never do. He was a user and a charmer. She smiled slightly. He could charm his way into a mother bear’s den and convince her to give up her cubs. Even so, she reasoned their department watched out for each other, and she knew he’d do the same for her.
“Gates, I took the liberty and called A. J.” She paused before she continued. “I thought he should know every move you’re making. It’s a keep-your-butt-out-of-hot-water-thing, if you know what I mean.”
“Thanks, I sometimes get ahead of myself and don’t think things through.”
“You’re kidding,” she said sarcastically, giving him a smile as she sat behind her computer. “A. J. said he would be right down to meet with us. New information has come in, and he wants to fill you in anyway. Sit,” she said, opening the photocopy of the diary. “Gates, tell me what Sophie said to you that prompted this urgent meeting.”
Kevin opened the pad of paper he had scribbled on while the two of them talked earlier. “Sophie said that the diary—or Three—spoke to her. It said, “Be watchful at all times, in the light and in the darkness.”
“Yes, I recognize those words. They were spoken to Anya by Three,” Theresa said, finding the exact page of the words.
“So what’s the page number?” he asked.
“That portion of writing can be found on page eighty-five. See, there it is,” she said, directing his attention to the writing.
Kevin looked and saw the exact words Sophie had read to him. “So why couldn’t she see the page numbers, and why was she able to read Gaelic?” he asked, thinking out loud.
“Read Gaelic? I thought you said she didn’t know the language!”
“She doesn’t, and that’s where this starts to get weird,” he said, standing. “She said the diary talked to her while she was on the plane, and then again at the cottage. She thinks she can see right past the words into the meaning of the diary.”
Theresa thought for a moment. “Does Ms. Hanes use any kind of drugs?”
Kevin’s crossed his arms. “No. I’m almost sure she doesn’t.” He threw his hands in the air. “For all the tea in China, the girl doesn’t even drink. No, I’m positive drugs are not the cause of her hallucination if that’s what you’re thinking, Theresa.”
“Thinking, who’s thinking around here?” a familiar voice came booming from just outside the opened office door.
“Sir,” Kevin said, standing as A. J. walked into the conversation.
“Carry on with your thought process, you two,” he said, sitting on the edge of Theresa’s desk, large coffee in hand.
“Thank you, sir. We were just discussing some pages in the diary, as well as a conversation I had with Ms. Hanes.”
A. J. focused his eyes on his photojournalist, observing his mannerisms for a long minute. “Is she doing okay, Kevin?” His voice was low with marked concern.
“Yes, sir, for the most part, I think.”
There was an odd hush in the room. Kevin could read something in A. J.’s face. He looked at Theresa, and he was sure she could see it, too. He turned the tables on his boss. “Is there a reason she shouldn’t be?”
“Sit down,” A. J. said. He took a long swig from the cup in his hand. “We had information from our new man come in about fifty minutes ago. His name is Taylor. He’s from Ireland. Talented pretty boy. Best of all, not a soul knows he works for us. He’ll be your contact person in Dool. You’ll be given the details tomorrow night. As for the current information, Taylor followed Smith after he dropped Ms. Hanes at her cottage this evening.”
Kevin’s eyebrows rose. “He’s already in the area?”
“Yes,” A. J. said, continuing. “The information pertains to Professor Smith and agent Gipson. Taylor saw them together at the pub a short time ago.”
Kevin looked down at his watch, calculating the time.
“He wasn’t able to hear what they were saying, but it’s significant that they’re even associated with each other.” A. J. turned to Kevin. “Now Gates,” he said, “have you had any more contact with Gipson since you talked to him the other day?”
“No, sir, I’ve been waiting for further instructions.”
“Good. You’re going to call him early tomorrow, about seven his time. Ask him if he can still keep an eye on Ms. Hanes for you. If he asks you why, tell him only that she’s a good friend but tends to be a bit flighty. As I told you earlier, don’t let him know about your trip to Ireland. Just make it clear that you need him to watch her and keep her safe, do you understand?”
“Yes, sir, but what about Smith? He already knows that Sophie has an FBI agent for a friend. That is, if he and Gipson are working together.” He bit his lower lip, realizing what he had just said. “Sir, that could spell imminent danger for Sophie,” Kevin said, sure that his assumption was correct.
The choking silence confirmed his suspicions.
“Gates, the department has decided to reopen that missing person’s case of three years ago. I’m sure you remember the details,” A. J. said, opening the file folder he held in his hand. “You’ll be leaving for Dool the day after tomorrow. We’ve arranged for Taylor to meet you at the airport.” He eased his stance and looked up from the file. “Oh, and I was also notified that you didn’t check back in at your Washington assignment desk. Is my information correct?”
Kevin sat a little straighter. “I—”
A. J. held his hand up to stop any answer Gates might give. “Don’t answer. We don’t have time to talk about that right now, but tomorrow at eight o’clock Eastern, you have a conference call with the chief. You’ll be taking it in my office,” he said, walking to the door. He turned. “And Gates, listen to me very closely. Don’t do one thing on your own. Don’t think for yourself, don’t dream on your own, don’t do anything.” Seriousness hung heavy in A. J.’s voice, but more disturbing was the hardness of polished steel in his resolve.
Kevin nodded his head as he watched A. J. leave the office. His superior was one of the best men around, but he was not someone to mess around with. He would chew you up and spit you out for not following direct orders.
Theresa looked hard at Gates. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m too keyed up to go home right now. How about I start filling you in on the diary? That is if you have any nerve left.”
Kevin continued to stare at the closed door. He couldn’t drive the fact from his mind that Sophie was in terrible danger, and there wasn’t one thing he could do about it. “Yeah, let’s get started,” he said, turning from the door. “I need a distraction.”
A brief moan escaped Sophie’s lips as she turned her tired body over on the bed. The room seemed to revolve as she looked around in an attempt to gain her bearings. Did I fall asleep on the bedspread? she wondered, examining the wrinkles all around her. Sitting up, she looked down at her clothes. “And I slept in my clothes. What happened last night?” she whispered. What had led to such odd behavior? She hated sleeping in her clothes, but even worse, she hated the feeling of not knowing why she couldn’t remember what she’d done or why. The diary. It was the last thing she had looked at before everything went blank. She stood up only to have nausea grip her. “Whoa.” She grabbed her head and sat down hard. She stood again, this time slowly easing to her feet. “Some aspirin and fresh air will help this, I hope,” she said, carefully walking to her purse to get the medicine.
Sophie eased the door open. The cool wind rushed in, hitting her face and stinging her cheeks. She accepted the outward discomfort as a welcome exchange for the pain pounding in her head. She drew in a long, deep breath, allowing the salty air to soothe her mind. It took but a few minutes before she was able to focus on the day and not the pain. A smile returned to her lips as she stood gazing out over the misty Atlantic. She squinted. In the distance, she saw on a ship. It looked like a large ashen speck bobbing on the water.
She turned. The large wooden chair just outside the front door sat empty, perhaps awaiting her return from the comfortable encounter the day before. She opened the diary she’d retrieved from the table before leaving the cottage, but before she had a chance to look down; her eyes were drawn to the ship again. It had grown slightly, allowing her naked eye to make out its perfectly shaped hull and starboard side with green lighting. Sophie remembered how Anya had talked in great detail about her father’s fleet of ships. Some large and beautiful on the outside, but on the inside used for selfish and dishonorable affairs. The ship that had carried Mr. O’Connell away was the grandest of all. It was handsome and full of new beginnings for her father, but as Sophie recalled, all Anya could see was that it carried him farther away from her. “I wonder if he ever made it back?” she asked out loud.
Suddenly, her mind jumped to Trey. His dreams had carried him away, too. His grand escape paralleled that of Anya’s father—all for self, she thought. “No, I will not think of you,” she said out loud. She pinched the bridge of her nose, wanting to shake the thought of his leaving from her mind. I hope Anya’s father made it back—he’s all she has left, Sophie thought. Anger filled her chest. “Thankfully you’re not all I had left, Trey,” she said, still trying to ease her troubled mind.
Sophie had a man waiting for her back in the states. His dreams didn’t involve leaving for months at a time, trapping those he’d left behind in a guessing game with life. No, Kevin was much different. Still, she wondered if Trey made it back to Pullman from time to time. Had leaving with his God shackled his life as Anya’s father’s business and mistress had shackled him? Did either think about who they had left behind solely for self-pleasure?
Her eyes closed for a moment as she settled back in the chair. Sophie wanted to go through as much of the interpreted diary as she could before meeting with the professor that afternoon. She smiled as she turned one page, and then another. The diary offered much more than she could have imagined, and Three? The immediate word that came to mind about him, or it, was the word “puzzling.” Yet inexplicably, this object of disquiet brought a calmness she had not experienced before. She felt the same calmness she recognized in Anya’s writing after each time she’d had an encounter with him. Sophie opened the original diary, and the binding cracked with self-eagerness, giving the illusion of opening on its own. She laid it beside the interpreted version. Her eyes focused on the entry she had left off with the night before.
“This isn’t where I finished reading last night,” she breathed. Her eyes widened. The page was unrecognizable. It was sloppy and dirty, not prim and proper as she was used to seeing in the original book. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. Fear crept into Sophie’s mind. Her eyes fell to the words that were heavy with sadness. She felt emotion emanate from the pages even before her mind had a chance to read the words. Her eyes switched from the original to the interpreted version.
“So diary, this night I write to you as one who is very weary and used. As I lie on my bed, I feel dirty and ashamed on the inside and dirty and disheveled on the outside. I wrote earlier about the gatherings in the deep of the garden. You know why Sean delights in such darkness, and I now know as well. The darkness within him loves the darkness that surrounds him. He enjoys the wet, tangled mess of the night plots, and the activities? He calls them games. They are not games at all. They are nothing more than the hunter hunting the helpless. I hear something or someone…
“Oh, it is you. You now come? And why, may I ask? To see what happens when the innocent are put into the hands of evil dogs? I, Three, am the innocent being hunted by the hunters and devoured for their own lustful delights.
“And what of my friend, Olivia, she has attended two gatherings only to please my brother’s request of her. She is protected, untouched by the will of my brother. I can see his anger bubbling just as a hot liquid boils in a caldron. It burns within him because of his inability to take her and use her as he has me and others. She possesses something deeper, Three. A protection that you have not afforded to me. Why must I go through such disgrace and pain, and you leave her untouched? Look at me, Three. Look at what they have done.”
“Anya, dear child, you are protected. Remember my words. Think back, and they will comfort you. I sent Olivia to show you more of me and what it looks like to come out victorious when faced with affairs that are beyond your control. Olivia has gone through trials, dear one, even giving up a man that would not believe in me. You must do the same and follow her example. She is the good on the good path I have spoken to you about, Anya. Give yourself up for me.”
“Three, you ask more of me than even those who mistreat me. Can you not see my tears? Why are you so harsh?”
“Dear child, I want all of you, so you will know how to guide the one that follows in your footsteps.”
“Three, you allow me to experience pain and disgrace for one I do not know?”
“Yes, I am your hope, Anya, and you will be the hope for the one who follows. Allow me to make a way for you so you can make a way for the next.”
The fear gripping Sophie’s mind disappeared the moment Three spoke his words to Anya.
“Three, who are you,” Sophie asked, rereading some of the words. “Why is it you want so much from her? What is your motive? Are you that selfish? If you’re a man, it would make total sense, much of the male species are greedy and controlling.”
Trey once again entered her mind. He wanted everything, too. He wanted his God, his career, and Sophie to jump on the bandwagon with him. She breathed in and then allowed a laugh to escape. She couldn’t blink. “Wonder how that’s working for you now, Trey?” she said, but this time with a bit of sadness.
She looked once again at the last line of Anya’s entry before turning the page.
“I am your hope, Sophie. I will make a way for you.”
She slammed the old diary shut. Her heart beat fast in her chest as panic gripped her shallow thoughts. Who had written in the diary, and how had she missed it earlier? Sophie quickly examined the interpreted words. The new entry wasn’t there, only in the old document. Her heart continued to beat hard. She was still taken back by the words directed at her. She stood, ready to go into the cottage. Her head hurt, and she pushed her fingers deep into her temple in an attempt to relieve her confusion.
Kevin said there was an explanation for everything. She wanted to believe him, but how could she on this? “Kevin,” she whispered to the breeze. She turned the doorknob then glanced once more at the ocean. The ship was close enough now to read the name on the side. Hope Will Make a Way.
Kevin sat reading a page from the diary Theresa had laid in his hands when he entered her office. They spent much of the evening reading, taking notes, trying feverishly to get into the minds of each of the family members, friends, and servants Anya had written about. He continued, slowly thumbing through the pages, still not grasping why the diary was so important to what was going on with Sophie—but he knew it was. He had listened and watched Theresa meticulously dissect words and phrases from the document. She seemed obsessed, totally taken in by the words. Strangely, the impact of what she read exhausted her, something he had seen in Sophie before she left for Ireland.
Kevin exhaled slowly. “But why not me?” slipped from his mouth. Kevin pushed back in his chair, mulling over Theresa’s facial expressions from earlier that day. What was he not seeing? What did he not understand that these two women were obviously getting?
The names Smith and Sean were scribbled in the margin of page eighty-two. Theresa mentioned their names together many times, paralleling their actions and motives. But what did Smith really have to do with this whole thing except for just interpreting the document? Kevin pulled a tired breath into his lungs and unbuttoned his shirt, pulling on the collar to free his neck.
And now Gipson—what piece did he bring to the game board? Kevin knew him to be a clever agent. But he also knew Gipson could be bought and, in the wrong hands, he would be a tool of great destruction. Kevin leaned back in his chair. He wanted to be relieved that he and Gipson worked for the same agency, but reluctantly, Kevin knew Gipson was up to something that wasn’t on the right side of the FBI, and he’d figured it out during the first conversation the two of them had. Kevin ran his hands through his hair. Why had he been so caught up in Sophie’s protection that he failed to use his knowledge of Gipson before putting Sophie in his hands? Stupid.
A. J. also had a strong suspicion about Gipson. Kevin knew A. J. suspected something but was holding his tongue. Kevin thought back, and all he could remember Gipson saying was, “Even good men have to be watched sometimes.” But the look in Gipson’s eyes said something completely different.
Kevin turned a page in the diary. Three was circled. Who was this all-knowing entity? One who brought great questions to the minds of some and calmness to others? And then torture to Sean as he tried to get the girl who would have nothing to do with him. And why was that anyway? Because of her dedication to this one called Three?
“This is crazy,” he said, slapping the notebook shut and giving it a toss to join the confusion among the pages on the table. He stood and made his way to the small kitchenette in his hotel room to find some food, but he couldn’t shut his mind off. Each person is put in a place or situation on purpose, he thought, but why?
“We’re missing something here,” he said, pouring a large glass of milk, and then stretching his lean body against the counter. He checked the time on his watch. Call Gipson at seven, he thought. But more important in his mind was the fact that Sophie was with Smith at that moment. She had agreed to call him no matter the time or who she was with, but when she was with somebody, she gave them her full attention. And if it was past ten, there was no chance she’d call. Sophie was one who needed sleep to function properly, or at least that’s what she’d told him. He smiled and shook his head. She reminded him of that fact almost every evening he wanted to stay later than she thought he should. The smile remained as he continued to think of her. It wasn’t sleep she needed. She just didn’t want to get caught in the moment of no return, he thought, rolling her around in his mind. He reached down and pushed the last two buttons through the buttonholes of his shirt. The girl gets me warmed up, he thought, not letting her out of his mind. She was good at kicking him out. He poured more milk in his glass. “What I wouldn’t do to be saying goodnight to her outside her door right now,” he said, drawing a face on the outside of his glass with his finger.
Kevin cradled the phone in his hand as regret cradled his mind. Why had he allowed Sophie to be put in such an unstable situation?
“That’s it, I’ve got to start thinking differently,” he said and touched green on his phone. She had Taylor watching out for her, plus her phone was being monitored and tracked in two different ways. What more could he want? Still, every fiber within him was twisted and wrapped tightly. Was it that same hunch again, or was it the mystery of the diary this time?
“Hey Gipson, Gates here. I’m getting back to you about my friend, Ms. Hanes.” He waited for Gipson’s response. “You said you’d have time to watch out for her while she’s in Dool. Is that still good for you?”
He wanted to shoot himself for even suggesting Gipson be within ten feet of Sophie. Kevin rolled his eyes, listening as his former partner made his regular rude, demeaning comments about beautiful women and what he enjoyed most about them. As he continued talking, Kevin noticed a disturbing difference in Gipson’s voice. His words fired faster than usual, and there was a sharp eagerness in his voice. Kevin closed his eyes, a muscle twitching in his cheek as his mind endured Gipson’s sickening words. Tightness formed in his chest, his anger building. He wanted to punch the guy in the mouth and watch his bloody teeth clatter to the floor. Gipson was going to enjoy this unofficial assignment and wanted to make it clear that there was nothing his ex-partner could do about it. Gipson, Kevin knew, was up to something, and he was making it clear as mud for Kevin’s benefit. Jerk, Kevin thought as the phone finally grew quiet.
“Great,” came as amicably as Kevin could make it. “Sophie’s going to be in the area for another week, so–” He grew quiet, wanting to choose his words carefully. “Gipson,” Kevin felt a jealous vein pop on his neck along with many more emotions on standby, “she’s mine, and I treasure her with my life, if you get my drift.”
A nasal laugh snorted in his ear. “Yeah, Gates, I get your drift,” Gipson said slowly.
“Good, I’m counting on her complete safety, and hey, Gipson, if you need anything, call me.”
Another laugh in Kevin’s ear, “Don’t worry, Gates, I won’t need you. I’ll take very good care of her. I do this for a living, or have you forgotten that?”
Click. Gipson’s sign-off felt too final. A sudden helplessness flooded Kevin’s body. Had he just set Sophie up? Was this A. J.’s plan all along, to use her for bait? He wished he knew the answer.
Sophie slipped her phone into her bag. “I’ll call Kevin after my day with Kian,” she said, closing the door behind her. She thought about how the reporter in Kevin would come out, and how questions would ooze from him no matter how hard he tried to contain them. Sophie knew Kevin would badger her for every last detail of her time with the professor, so calling him now wouldn’t satisfy the curious vein that ran through him. She looked at her watch. “Good, and still time for a sightseeing stop before my meeting.”
It was a short walk to the cliffs from the cottage. Sophie was fascinated with the landmark after reading how magical the water was at that particular point on the Atlantic. The article made reference to old folklore that said if the beauty were studied too long, one would become mesmerized, taken in by the view from the extreme height. As she walked, Sophie listened. The distinct sound of waves crashing met her ears. It was haunting. She reached the cliff’s edge, cautiously looking out across the vast expanse of sky and water. Then her eyes dropped downward, barely over the rim. Chaos, confusion, and danger whirled in her mind. A sudden chill ran down her back and, just as suddenly, a thought of Kevin.
“Turn your thoughts around, Sophie. Open your mind to everything you see.” His words lodged in her memory allowed her mind to loosen as if it were a ribbon falling from her hair. Now his words drifted from her mind as she watched strong, beautiful plates of water hit the jagged rocks. They shattered, sending a spray of a million sunlit droplets into the air before folding back into the blue depths. She remembered how Kevin tried to convince her that the water and the sky were lovers. She supposed it could be true as she pushed the hair from her face, smiling as she followed the sky and water to their meeting place. Kevin always tried to prove his point. He’d put his arms around her, and then slowly bring her in, his lips so close he could hardly whisper. Sophie would watch his eyes move with excitement as he instructed her not to blink, not wanting her to miss one speck of the ordinary. She wrapped her arms around herself, reliving his touch. “Both sky and water reflect each other’s thoughts,” he’d say softly. “Both teem with life, as they playfully attempt to seduce each other with their matchless display of bold power, extreme beauty, and blatant deception.”
His eyes would fill with intrigue, and his lips dampen from his emotional speech. “But the best part Sophie,” his arms squeezing her tighter, “is the winner. The winner positions himself to embrace the other with a melody of highest quality for the ear, and colors that the eye could only attempt to hold without a flood of emotion spilling from each tear duct.”Her gaze scanned across the sparkling ocean. This is what Kevin was talking about. Not missing the ordinary. Right here, this is ordinary. He didn’t want me to miss the connection the sky and water had to offer in their ordinary place. He’s seen this place. He’d seen this display of bold life in many places. He’s experienced this kind of ordinary.
“Sophie?”
She flinched, turning quickly on unsteady heels. Her eyes opened in surprise, taken back by Professor Smith’s invasion of her thoughts. “What are you doing here?”
“I thought I’d surprise you and pick you up, after all.”
She took a deep breath, glancing back toward the ocean. “I wanted to stop by the cliffs to enjoy the beauty before our meeting.” She shifted her feet nervously, feeling his eyes on her back as she spoke.
“You appeared to be in deep thought as I approached you, Ms. Hanes.” He began to pace slowly behind her. “You were unaware of my presence for several minutes. That could be dangerous in some situations, you know. Perhaps you were thinking about the dangers of the water, or maybe a long lost lover?” he asked, a quiet laugh rumbling in the back of his throat. “The cliffs tend to summon those types of thoughts.”
Sophie sensed a firm hand on her arm. She turned and looked no one except the professor. She moved a few steps toward the edge of the cliff, looking over the edge again. The water boiled with violent activity, the same kind of activity she had sensed in the professor last night. “I wasn’t thinking of anyone in particular, Professor,” she said, returning her eyes to the deep blue water, wishing Kevin was by her side, telling her one of his stories.
“Sophie, are you finished here? Kian asked coolly. “I’d like to head back into Dool now.” He paused. “I have a most eventful afternoon planned for you.”
She faced him. His expression was empty. Sophie hesitated before saying, “Yes, I guess so.”
“And do remember to call me Kian,” he said, looking down at her as they started for the car.
The pub was abuzz with the sound of traditional music and an ample supply of enthusiastic chatter. Professor Smith and Sophie were shown to a table near the stage. Sophie sat, surveying the people sitting at the tables around her. Each group seemed to be engrossed in conversation, eating, and from the looks of it, drinking a little too much. She looked past the bar, to her right. A man stepped onto the stage. She bit her lower lip. He could definitely give Kevin a run for his money in the looks department, she thought. A well-used guitar was strapped over his shoulder, and he carried a three-legged stool.
“Who’s the new guy?” she heard Professor Smith ask the waitress.
Sophie didn’t catch the name.
“He’s only been with us a couple of days, but already he’s a big hit with the locals. And if the locals like him, then—” the waitress lapsed into Irish Gaelic, laughing as she left to wait on people standing near the door.
Sophie looked across the table at the professor He wore his usual expression; eyes fixed ahead, lips pressed tightly together. Sophie realized he was staring at the singer who was now seated and flashing a perfect smile as he interacted with the crowd. The professor’s eyes began to dart back and forth, the fingers of his left hand drumming the table. What was he thinking, and why did he seem so unsettled?
“Do you recognize the man on the stage, Professor?”
The Professor turned to her. “I told you to call me Kian,” he said sharply but tempered his tone with a turn of the corners of his mouth. “And no, I don’t recognize him.”
Kian looked away as a man entered the pub. Sophie followed his glance.
He stood. “Excuse me.”
She watched him walk quickly over to greet the man, placing one hand on his shoulder and shaking his hand solidly with the other. They obviously knew each other, she realized, smiling as the two walked toward the table.
“Sophie, this is a friend of mine from Limerick. We haven’t seen each other in awhile, so I’ve asked him to join us. You don’t mind, do you?”
Two men, of all things, she thought. “No, of course not,” she said, feeling uneasiness in the pit of her stomach.
“Let me introduce the two of you,” Kian said, putting his hand on Sophie’s arm. “Sophie, this is Gipson, a friend and associate of mine. And Gipson, this is Sophie Hanes. She’s a history professor from the United States. Do you recall me mentioning a short time ago about interpreting a diary written in Gaelic? That diary belongs to Ms. Hanes.”
She was more beautiful than Gates had described. Long dark hair, dark brown eyes with flecks of green. No wonder he wanted her for himself, he thought. He held out his hand to her and stared deeply into her eyes as she put her hand in his.
“Nice to meet you, Sophie,” he said, rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb. “Have you enjoyed your stay in Ireland so far?” he asked, deepening his stare.
She pulled her hand from his, noticing a grin on his face as she did. “Yes, the past few days have been incredible, and Professor Smith has helped in introducing me to the area,” she said, wanting to change the topic of conversation.
“Kian, do you mean to tell me you’ve had Sophie for a week and haven’t told me?” Gipson smiled easily at his friend.
“He hasn’t had me,” she said quickly. Sophie shifted nervously, surprised at what she’d just blurted out. She looked toward the stage. The singer was looking her way, actually right at her, as he sang. She smiled and then reluctantly turned her attention back to the men at her table. What was she doing here? Her stomach was churning.
“Gipson, we were going to order lunch. Would you join us?” Kian asked, his eyes moving to Sophie for her response.
She hesitated, looking down at her sweaty palms. She didn’t want to be in the company of either of them, let alone endure lunch. She glanced up to a sickening smile and a demanding look on Kian’s face, reminding her of her host’s Jekyll and Hyde demeanor. He was thoroughly enjoying her discomfort. “Yes, I’m starving,” she said, trying to convince herself of that.
Sophie listened to the conversation between Kian and Gipson as she picked at her sandwich. The music stopped, causing her attention to shift to the other side of the room. The singer put his guitar down for intermission and headed to the bar. He looked in Sophie’s direction and motioned for her to join him. Should she? She was curious about the musician. Kian told her it was common for performers to move from pub to pub, singing traditional Irish music that this particular town was famous for. He also said the singers were usually college students trying to make a little money between courses. “I’m going to talk to the singer,” she said, not looking at either as she excused herself. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
Gipson and Professor Smith stared at her.
“There’s something about that guy,” Kian said, drumming his fingers erratically against the table.
“Come on Kian. He’s just a pretty boy who can sing. You’ve got to stop suspecting that everyone knows something about you. We have more important things to talk about than a new starving performer in town,” Gipson said, taking another drink.
“Yeah, maybe you’re right.” Kian drew a deep breath. “Is everything ready for tonight, Gipson?” he asked, taking another drink of draft.
“Yeah, the others have been moved to the outer living quarters temporarily. Does she know that you’re taking her to the Castle Regal yet?”
“No, I haven’t told her about it, but I’ll spring the idea on her at Goregoo and see how it goes.”
Gipson frowned, his eyebrows becoming one dark crease. “It will go as planned, Kian,” he said, low and direct. “It was a risk to even go through with this after I found out Hanes was Kevin Gates’ girlfriend.” Gipson stopped talking, deep in thought. “Gates always seemed to get the breaks when we worked together. The good stuff never failed to flow his way.” An unkind smile flashed across his face. “I’ve always wanted to take something that belonged to him. One of his promotions, one of his breaks when it came to a case we were working on.” He set the glass down hard, his smile faltering. “After his call, well, I just couldn’t resist.” He glanced over at Sophie. “And she’s more than I could have expected,” he said, lifting his glass for another large mouthful of liquor. “This one’s going to be different from the others, Kian. That diary poses a much more exciting backdrop for Ms. Hanes than those of the other women,” he said, continuing to watch Sophie as she conversed with the singer.
He put his drink down and leaned onto the table, his eyes focused. “You’ve got to remember, Kian, to search her purse before you leave Goregoo and take anything that looks like a cell phone or communication device. But Gates called me again and will probably be expecting to hear from Ms. Hanes, so be sure she has her phone until you leave Goregoo. Is that clear?”
Kian nodded, blotting the perspiration from his forehead with a napkin.
Gipson looked again at Sophie. “If he suspects there’s something wrong, he’ll pull strings, and things could get ugly in a hurry.” Gipson called for another drink. “I’ve finally fallen into the luck of the Irish, Kian. I can’t believe I get Gates’ girlfriend.” He laughed under his breath. “Gates is a good detective, compulsive to his disadvantage, but really good. I put nothing past him, even planting something on Ms. Hanes without her knowing it. You need to be cautious about everything, Kian. And I mean everything. This revenge may not come as easily as the other three.”
Gipson bent across the table, closer to Smith than before. He lowered his voice to a whisper as he glanced over to the bar, making sure Sophie’s back was still turned away from them. “Within twenty-four hours, we will have added another history buff to your collection, and an object of delight to mine.” His look deepened, becoming stern and direct. “Play the game nice and neat like you have in the past, Kian. It will be well worth your time. Remember how sweet revenge is?” he asked, grinning as he slowly leaned back in his chair. He turned to admire his future catch sitting at the bar. He lifted his drink to her. Gates, old boy, old friend, thanks for sharing.
“Is everyone here?” A. J. asked, checking his watch, wanting to get the briefing underway.
“Sir, we’re waiting on Detective Gates. He was on the phone with—”
“Here, sir,” Kevin said in a strained voice. He quickly put the large bag he carried over his shoulder on the floor. “I had to get some last minute equipment before heading out.” He looked from right to left at those around the table. Some shook their heads and looked down at the folders in front of them, and others hid grins behind their hands.
Gates had a way of being late for some things and too far ahead on others. Unpredictable was the word most used to describe him, but all enjoyed working with him and knew he was at the top of his division. No matter what his current undercover position, he could be trusted.
“Good, now we can begin. Gates, you’ll be heading to the airport when we’re finished this morning. I trust you have your surveillance equipment and your camera, and you made a stop at the lab for chemicals that may be of use?”
“Yes, sir.”
A. J. stood to address the team of men and women around the table. “About thirty minutes ago, we had a report come in from Taylor, our man in Dool, Ireland. He’s had the pleasure of talking with Ms. Hanes, so we know she’s safe.”
Kevin’s ears perked up. “Sir, I thought his job was surveillance, not contact.”
“It seems Ms. Hanes was the one who made the initial contact, Gates, with a little help from our Irish friend. She was at a pub called O’Neill’s with both of our suspects, probably got bored with their conversation, and decided to check out the good-looking guy who, among other things, can sing.” A. J. gave Gates a friendly smile.
Kevin was skeptical. That’s not Sophie’s personality. She’s not that forward. “Did Taylor say if she got sick or had to use the restroom?”
A. J. stopped his briefing, a wrinkle forming across his forehead. “Excuse me, Detective? Taylor said she was fidgety and quiet. What does getting sick have to do with anything?”
“Sir, Ms. Hanes wouldn’t just go up to meet a strange man at a bar. She’s a bundle of nerves and gets sick when she’s under pressure. That would definitely spell pressure for her. There’s got to be a reason she left to talk to him.”
A. J. turned to the man on his right. “Burns get on that. Contact Taylor and see if there’s anything he didn’t mention about his meeting with Hanes. Report back to me. Is there anything else we need to know before I continue, Gates?”
“No, sir,” Gates said, joining the rest at the table.
“All right then. Hanes left with Professor Smith about twenty minutes after Gipson left the pub. Each of you at this table will be in different communication divisions assisting the good folks in Ireland. As you know, we’ve reopened the missing persons’ case of three years ago. The search for those women took place in the same region of Ireland in which Ms. Hanes is currently staying. Please refer to your folders. There was an American woman whose body was never found, along with two foreign women. We suspect all three may still be alive, perhaps being held captive. That’s why we’ve been asked to be a part of this case. We have a vested interest, one of our own. The American woman’s family has been notified, now we need to keep the media away from them and out of the loop until this case is solved. Each of you must be ready at a moment’s notice to depart for Ireland if the need arises. Everyone understand?”
A. J. turned to Kevin, a concerned look in his eyes. “Gates, I know you have a personal interest in this case, not only because you worked on it three years ago but—” he looked at the others around the table then back toward his detective. “Ms. Hanes is someone special to you. She may have unknowingly gotten herself into an extremely dangerous situation. We hope to capitalize on her situation and go with a few new leads on the missing persons’ case to see that she, along with the other American, is returned to the United States safe and sound.” He didn’t take his eyes from his detective. “You are to follow Taylor’s instructions. We have an entire team of people on the ground in Dool. You’ll be briefed when you arrive. I can’t stress this enough—you must be careful. You could be recognized by some of the locals who might talk a little too much to the wrong people. I want to remind you that it’s to Ms. Hanes advantage that you remain as invisible as possible.” He moved in close to Kevin. “One last thing, Gates. Under no circumstances are you to act alone, do you understand me?”
Kevin looked hard into A. J.’s steely eyes. His commander’s words were gospel. There would be no talking him out of his decision. It would be difficult for him to allow agents he didn’t know to call the shots as it pertained to Sophie’s safety, but he had no choice and no say in the matter.
“Yes, sir,” he said, his hands fisted and his knuckles white at his side. He was glad A. J. couldn’t read his mind or he’d be off the case, headed back to Washington faster than he could spit.
“Theresa, you and Gates have gone over the diary, correct?”
Theresa nodded.
“Good, I want you to start going through it again. If you come up with anything new, notify me immediately and then Gates.” A. J. held up a copy of the interpreted document. “People, this diary in my hand is a key player in the impending case. We suspect that some of its contents and tactics may be used by the abductors against Ms. Hanes. That is, if she is taken against her will.” A. J. shot Gates a glance. “As a matter of fact, Theresa, see to it that each agent around this table has a copy of the document. I want each of you to read it thoroughly,” he said, eyeing each individual. “Open your minds and see if there are any clues hidden in the pages that may have been overlooked, anything that strikes you as significant to the case. We must have answers.”
The agents remained seated, some taking notes and others just waiting to be dismissed.
“All right folks, it’s only seven a.m. so get out of here, get some coffee, and have a productive day.”
Kevin hoisted his equipment onto his back, making his way to the door. Theresa stepped in front of him.
“Gates, I’ll go over that diary with a fine tooth comb starting this afternoon,” she said, putting her hand on his arm. “A. J.’s right, you know. There’s something in the diary that we’re missing. It’s strange, but I can feel it.” She turned to walk out the door. “Oh, and Gates? Sophie’s going to be okay,” she said, calm assurance in her voice. Although he heard her words, Kevin wasn’t convinced Theresa believed what she had just said.
The moon shone brightly through the side window of the car as they traveled along, Kian steering his way down the road. Sophie studied the moon’s shape, deciding it was in its waning gibbous phase, just past the third quarter. It was beautifully vivid and showy tonight, but then it usually was, she thought. But this time it seemed different. Most of the time, she admired the moon while sitting on her back patio, curled up in a chair. She’d sit for hours, with or without the company of—Trey. Why was he jumping back into her mind now? She closed her eyes. Trey had never seen the beauty of the night sky from the ground. He continually told her that he only loved the heavens from about thirty-two thousand feet. She tried to erase his words from of her mind as she focused her eyes back on the moon. Kevin loved the night sky just as she did.
“I think I’m falling in love with someone else, Trey,” Sophie whispered under her breath. She shifted slightly in her seat, hoping Kian hadn’t heard her confession. The radio was playing soft concert music, and he gave no indication he’d heard her.
Tonight she was on her way to Goregoo castle, the place where Anya had once lived, the backdrop of the diary that had beckoned her to Ireland. The pull to visit the castle had been strong before she left the states, but tonight? Tonight, it was unsettling. She glanced toward Kian then away. The tour they were about to embark on was his doing. Sophie sighed quietly, leaving a small opaque circle of breath on the window. It disappeared. Her host had not been exactly what she had expected. At times, she wondered if Kian’s inconsistent personality could possibly be dangerous. But she had to give him the benefit of the doubt. After all, he had secured their entrance to the castle, which was now a private residence, and— She stopped. Questions bubbled to the surface. Their tour was about to take place—in the evening. Uncertainty welled in her chest, making it a bit uncomfortable to breathe. Why had she not used better judgment, asked more questions before they left Dool? She turned, fixed her eyes on the moon once again. Wouldn’t most tours be held during the day while the family was not at home? Or perhaps they would there to answer questions. It was a reassuring thought, but still, Sophie had doubts.
Sophie looked again at her silent chauffeur. His forehead was shiny with tiny beads of sweat. It certainly wasn’t from the heat maybe from nerves? She knew all about that, recalling several uncomfortable situations she’d been in. But what did the professor have to be uncomfortable about?
“Kian?” she asked softly. “You said the castle was thirty minutes north of Dool. We should be getting close according to the time on my phone.” The trip to Goregoo a few days earlier had been timed perfectly, right down to the second.
Kian remained silent for several minutes, eyes fixed on the road. Had he heard her? Something was wrong. She felt it. He abruptly steered the car onto a narrow blacktop. Sophie had noticed many such roads, and she guessed they weren’t unusual for the area, but she had no recollection of driving on this particular blacktop on their last visit. Kian slowed the car and stopped.
“Sophie, I decided to take you around the estate before entering the main gate, and then I have a surprise for you a little later.” His eyes flashed mischievously.
She smiled politely. “A Surprise? Can you tell me what it is?”
He didn’t look directly at her, but she could see his facial expression change and his body tighten. Sophie watched his knuckles whiten from his tight grip on the steering wheel.
“You’ll know after the tour, and don’t ask again,” he reprimanded sharply as they continued along the road.
Sophie was seeing and hearing something, something—
“Darkness,” rang softly in her ears.
“Three, is that you?” she whispered, turning to the window again. Sophie had come to expect the unusual as of late, although she wasn’t comfortable with it one bit. First there was the diary. It offered nothing that could be considered normal. And then, there were the professor’s mood swings—
“What did you say?” Kian asked, bringing the car to a rolling stop.
Sophie said nothing, her eyes following a grayish-yellow light which shined from an ornately decorated light pole, introducing the entrance to Goregoo castle.
She turned to face Kian. The expression on his lips matched the darkness in his eyes.
“Nothing, Kian, just talking to myself,” she said, desperate to get away from him. “Is that where we enter?” She pointed in the direction of a faint set of weathered brown doors in the distance.
“Yes. You can get out but leave your purse in the car,” he demanded.
“Why would I do that?” she asked, opening the door, bag in hand.
Kian met her at the front of the car, pulling the bag forcefully from her arm. “I said leave it. You won’t need it in the castle. It’ll just be in your way.”
She allowed him to put it back on the front seat, feeling naked without it. “Oh, I have the diary in my bag. Would you mind if I take that in with me?” she asked, reaching back for it.
He let out a deep sigh and pulled the door open. She wrapped her hand around the diary and slipped her phone under the back cover.
Thanks,” she said, giving him a smile, hoping to pacify his erratic behavior.
He was unmoved. “Follow me, Sophie,” he motioned. “We have the castle to ourselves for a couple of hours.” He led her down a narrow rock path. She looked up, the moonlight now filtered through heavily leafed trees that seemed to stand as sentries to the entrance of the castle. The surroundings were eerie, and a cold chill gripped her. Suddenly the barren pathway gave way to instant beauty. A statue of a man holding a book stood before them. It was surrounded by hundreds of flowers, all nestled around the stairs leading to the front door.
Kian turned and stared into her eyes. “Did the beauty surprise you, Sophie?” he asked almost in a whisper.
She couldn’t get free of his stare. “As a matter of fact, yes, it did. I wasn’t expecting—”
He cut her off, moving close enough that she could see his pulse beating hard in his neck. “There are many things history professors don’t expect, Sophie,” he said, as his eyebrows narrowed and his voice grew louder. “Like how it feels to work your brain into a frozen frenzy for a degree, only to be denied by a self-centered, egotistical female professor. But you wouldn’t know anything about that would you, Ms. Hanes?” he asked, edging closer to her.
His sudden outburst startled her. “Kian, you’re right. I don’t know at all what you’re talking about.”
He threw his hands up into the air in front of her. “Of course you don’t, but you will,” he said, his voice shattering the quietude around them. He bent over, grabbing the sides of his face and digging his fingers into his temples, pushing hard in an attempt to reduce the sudden pain. He closed his eyes as he rubbed the sides of his face.
“Are you all right?” Sophie asked, trying to read him.
He straightened. His face was red and wet with sweat. Sophie was taken aback by the unnatural smile on his lips, but he seemed to have regained his composure. “You will experience some unexpected things tonight.” He put his arm around her waist, ushering her forward. “Go ahead, open the door,” he said in a calm voice.
Sophie froze. Her hand on the door. No, she didn’t want to go in. She wanted to run, but to where? She was in the middle of nowhere. The castle that she had so looked forward to spending time in now seemed almost horrifying. She wanted to call someone for help, but who? She was trapped, at least for the time being.
Sophie reluctantly squeezed the handle, and the heavy door eased open. There before her was the atrium, just as Anya had described it in the diary. She scanned the room. Fine paintings of children and country scenes hung on the walls. High-backed chairs upholstered in brown fabric and trimmed in green matched the wallpaper that hung on the far wall. The room was beautifully serene.
Something else was there—a presence. Sophie turned. Kian was watching her, a sickening smile pasted on his face. Could he sense the strong presence, too?
“I’d like to look around the castle alone if that’s okay,” she said, looking up the staircase.
“As I said, you have a couple of hours to explore. I’ll be out in the garden if you need me, Sophie,” he said, turning to leave, watching her as he passed.
Her intuition told her to run, to get to the road and wait for someone to stop and help her, but she couldn’t. The castle was compelling her to stay.
Sophie stood riveted at the bottom of the stairs, her focus upward. She felt an immediate pull to put her foot on the first step. She followed the steps up to the landing and stopped at the first door, her heart racing. This room had once been Anya’s. The diary fell from her hand and lay open on the hardwood. She looked railing to the main floor. Kian was gone. She quickly slipped her phone into her pocket and picked up the diary.
“Three, you said you have seen violence done to those who are helpless, and you have heard their cries for help, but you continue to allow the dreadfulness to occur. Am I not patient with you? Why do I feel as if I am in a tomb with life still in my chest?”
“You ask again of me Anya, but I do not grow tired of your questions. I have promised you safety. And my promises are pure like silver refined more than seven times. Remember that though the wicked strut and perform their evil deeds, it does not go unseen by me. The time will be soon, and you will be delivered. And when your deliverance comes, it will be sweet. But most of all, it will be justly executed.”
“I will remain resolved in your promises, Three, and not ask accusingly of you again. I will remain strong even when I do not understand.”
Sophie sensed pain in the words of the diary. She turned the knob and entered Anya’s room. Standing quietly, she could see Anya near the window, pleading with Three at that moment, in her room. Or was it all in her mind?
“Why did I need to hear that conversation?” she asked, looking again at the open book in her hand. Raising her eyes, she peered into the dim light that engulfed the room, her voice echoing back.
“You struggle as Anya did.”
Shocked, Sophie reached for something to steady herself. Somehow, her hand found the top of a chair, and she gripped it while listening to the sounds that swirled around her.
“Three, is it you?” she asked, speaking once again into the air.
“You struggle with anguish in your heart every day, allowing your enemies to gain the upper hand.”
Her legs wobbled as she touched a small sitting table. “I don’t understand. I have no enemies.”
“Your greatest enemy is within you. Your heart has glazed over as Anya’s did because of the hurt done to you at the hands of another—Trey.”
“What?” She turned, seeing her reflection in a mirror across the room. It reflected what was going on inside of her, yet she continued to speak. “He never hurt me,” she said, struggling with the fear building within her. Sophie’s mind began to race. She was having a conversation with a spirit. She covered her eyes with her hands for a moment. How did Three know about Trey? What had possessed her to allowed Professor Smith to bring her here? And who was speaking to her? “There’s no one in this room,” she shouted, her breathing arduous. She walked hurriedly to the open window, allowing the breeze to sweep her face. Sophie closed her eyes, trying to relax. Her heart slowed, and her mind was able to reason again.
“Oh, but he did.”
She turned quickly, straining to see who or what was speaking in the dimly lit room, convinced she was losing her mind. There was no one there. “Why are you saying these things to me? You’re only in Anya’s mind, only in the diary. You’re not real. You’re only a—”
“He left you for someone greater than himself. He longed for you to experience what he had found, but then, as now, you wanted only to do things your way. You, too, will learn as Anya did. You must trust me. Listen to the words that have gone before you. Allow others who have your best interest at heart to help you. They have been sent by Three.”
The room grew quiet. Sophie’s chest rose and fell rapidly. She turned again to the open window, looking out into the garden. It was draped with a thick, gray mist and smelled of musty, dying vegetation, just as Anya had described.
“Three, Trey, the diary? All these random thoughts marching through my mind like a parade. I’ve got to leave this place.” Sophie started to turn from the window when she caught a glimpse of a man. It was Kian. He was near a fountain, and he wasn’t alone. The water reflected another image. He was talking with someone, but she couldn’t make out if it was a man or a woman. Perhaps someone who lived at the castle? Right now, it didn’t matter. She just wanted to get back to the cottage and talk to Kevin. Her mind reeled. She needed him. She needed to go home. And the diary? The diary would stay in Dool. She wanted nothing more to do with it.
Sophie hurried quickly down the staircase, hearing every protest of the wood under her feet. The uneasy feeling she’d had in the bedroom continued to grow as she descended the stairs. Her senses were heightened by the castle, by just being inside of the old structure. Her eyes scanned shut doors, mirrors, and antique furniture as she hurried to the main floor. The entire castle seemed to be gasping for breath, or maybe it was just in her head.
Kian was waiting at the foot of the stairs. “You look spent, Sophie.”
Her eyes assessed him. His eyes were cold, reminding her of an icy sea. She tried to look away but couldn’t, and this was all too familiar. She recognized it from the diary, Anya’s descriptions of Sean. Kian’s finely chiseled jaw was set hard like a block of slate. He looked at her with a perverse smile. Was this the real Professor Smith?
“Kian, you mentioned a surprise, but could we hold off on that until tomorrow?” she asked, pulling her jacket closed. “I’m really tired.” Just then, Sophie’s phone rang. Her eyes dropped to her pocket, and before she could retrieve it, Kian grabbed her hand, squeezing it hard enough to cut circulation to her entire arm.
“What are you doing with that? I thought I told you to leave it in the car!” he yelled, yanking the phone from her unzipped pocket.
“It’s just a habit. I carry it with me all the time. Kian, stop, you’re hurting my hand,” she cried, tears welling up in her eyes from the pain. She watched as he threw the phone to the floor and smashed it with the heel of his shoe.
“Come on,” he growled, pulling her by the arm out the open door of the castle. “That little trick cost you, Ms. Hanes!” he shouted. “I should have known you’d do something stupid,” he said, pushing her against the side of the car. “I was going to make the trip to Castle Regal seem like a history game. You know, like you’d play with students? But you had to go and ruin it. Something else history professors are good at.”
Sophie watched things unfold in slow motion, like a scene in a movie she was forced to be a part of. How could this be happening? How could someone like her get mixed up in a mess like this? She could see the professor’s mouth moving but couldn’t make out his words. Sophie touched her face, now damp with perspiration. She began to feel lightheaded, and she was about to vomit. There was a hard jerk on her arm, and she felt fingers dig into her scalp as she was pushed down, hitting the car door as her body fell into the front seat of the professor’s car. Her fear was at an all-time high as she imagined what would happen next. A man sat behind the wheel, but he wasn’t the professor. Everything was blurry now, and Sophie couldn’t think. She tried to figure out who the man might be, but nothing came to her. Who was driving?
Kevin checked his watch for the third time. “Taylor said he’d pick me up at about eight, but it’s after nine,” he said out loud. His pace quickened in the loading area. “Where is he?” Kevin felt his phone vibrate in his shirt pocket. A number he didn’t recognize. “Gates here.”
“Gates, its Taylor. Don’t ask any questions, just listen,” said the strong, firm voice on the other end of the line. “The reception is terrible where I’m sitting so just the facts. I’ve got Sophie in my sight. North of Dool Goregoo Castle. Did you get that?”
“Yeah, what’s going on?” Kevin asked, spotting the rental car area.
“The professor brought Ms. Hanes to Goregoo Castle later than she told me he was going to. That’s why I’m not at the airport. Something’s gone wrong, Gates. This doesn’t look right.”
Kevin stopped, dropping his gear around him. “What do you mean something’s gone wrong, Taylor? Where’s Sophie?” His heart beat fast and hard under his shirt. He could feel the blood pulsing furiously through every artery and vein in his body. If anything happened to her, he’d never forgive himself for letting her take this stinkin’ trip on her own. Kevin pulled his baseball cap off and ran his hands through his hair as he listened. From the start this didn’t feel right, he thought, trying to keep his emotions in check.
“I saw Gipson talking with Smith earlier. They were outside the castle. Sophie was inside alone, best I could tell. Things seemed to be okay until about fifteen minutes ago. The professor went back inside the castle, and minutes later, the tracking device in her phone went dead. Shortly after that, I saw Smith pull Ms. Hanes out of the castle and force her into his car, and then they drove off.
“No!” He hit his head with the palm of his hand. He had just tried to call Sophie. It only rang three times, then nothing. Smith must have found her phone.
“Gates, are you still there? Man, they’re taking off in a hurry. I’m going to lose my reception.”
Kevin heard desperation in Taylor’s voice. “You’re breaking up. Which way are you headed?” The line went dead. “Come on, Taylor, talk to me,” he said, the volume of his voice rising as he felt his desperation getting the best of him. “A map, I need a map,” he said, quickly pulling his luggage to a row of chairs near the Hertz Car Rental port. He tossed his credit card on the counter and handed his badge to the gentleman behind the desk. MapQuest popped up on his readout. “Goregoo Castle, come on, faster, faster,” he said, eyes glued to the screen.
“I need you to sign here, please,” sounded the enthusiastic voice of the attendant. Kevin scribbled his name on the document and grabbed his card and badge. “Thank you, Detective. Just follow the arrows to the car terminal. I hope you enjoy your stay in our fair corner of the world and—”
He was well on his way before the man had a chance to finish his well-rehearsed speech.
Kevin wheeled from the parking lot and sped north to Dool, hoping to find someone at Folks Pub that could help him with a few precise directions. It had been more than three years since he had darkened the doors of one of the oldest establishments in the area. He walked in, surveying the room. It brought back mixed emotions, not only because of why he had been there before but also the fact that Sophie had been there a couple of times that week. Kevin recognized the man behind the bar and pulled up a stool. The man gave him a long stare and then a smile erupted from behind his ample handlebar mustache.
“Aye, Detective Gates. Am I right on the name?” he asked, holding his hand out in greeting.
“Hey, good memory, Derry,” Kevin answered. “And doesn’t your name mean good lover?” he asked with a grin.
“No, you are to be corrected, sir. It means great lover,” Derry said, his eyebrows rising amicably.
“I stand corrected. Derry. Great lover,” Kevin said, smiling.
“What brings you back to our small town, Detective?” he asked.
“I’m searching for someone, and I need some directions. Do you think you can help me?”
“Probably,” he said, filling a glass with fizzy water.
“You remembered,” Kevin said, lifting his glass in a toast to his friend behind the bar.
“That’s right. You don’t drink so much,” Derry said, raising another glass to complete the gesture.
“Your friend, what’s his name?” Derry scratched the top of his head where hair used to be. “Ah, Gipson, yeah, that’s his name. Well he was here today, too. Are the two of you working together again?”
Kevin sipped his fizzy water. “Yeah, you could say that. We just haven’t met up yet.” He looked away, not making eye contact with the barkeeper.
“He was with others today, Detective. He was with an Irish man and an American woman.”
“Yeah, did you hear anything, Derry?” Kevin asked, still nursing his drink.
“No, not much, just a trip to Goregoo, and—” he stopped and left his place to wait on another customer who had just sat down at the other end of the bar.
Kevin watched him. He’d had conversations with him in the past. He could be trusted.
“Let me think,” Derry said, returning a few minutes later to their conversation. “When the young woman was visiting my new singer, Taylor, I heard Gipson and the other gentleman talking about the woman.” He nervously started to rub the counter with a rag. “Mr. Gates?” he asked, looking over the top of his glasses. “Do you know her very well, the American woman they were talking about? I mean, are you all friends or something?”
Kevin lowered his glass to the counter, following it with his eyes. What should he tell the bartender? He didn’t know if he had a connection with Smith or even Gipson. But Derry had always been up front with him in the past, on the right side of the law. “I know the woman, Derry, and of course Gipson, but the other man not so much,” he said, waiting for a response from Derry. “Look, I need all the information I can get, so if you know something…”
A wrinkle formed on the man’s brow. He leaned onto his side of the bar. “They talked very low, Mr. Gates.” He gave a quick glance at his other customer. “I don’t think it will go so good for the young woman if she hangs around those two for very long, if you know what I mean,” he said, his eyes shifting again to those sitting at the other end of the bar.
Kevin looked hard at the bartender, recognizing the look on his face, and knew too well what Derry meant. It ate at his soul like maggots on a dead carcass in the hot sun.
“Can you give me directions to Goregoo castle, Derry? The way you’d go if you had to travel there not really knowing where you were going?” Kevin asked quietly.
Derry complied, giving brief directions that would take Kevin directly to the back of the castle.
“Thanks, you’ve been a great help, Derry. Oh,” Kevin pulled a card from his jacket and slid it across the bar, “if you think of anything else, would you give me a call?”
“You betcha, Detective.”
“And one more thing, Derry, if you see Gipson, don’t tell him I’m in town, all right?”
“You got it, sir. And sir? May the luck of the Irish be with ya tonight,” Derry said, watching the detective depart as he would any other paying customer.
Kevin followed the somewhat familiar road of three years ago. That was until the bartender’s directions had him turn onto a narrow, paved county road, one he and Gipson had not driven on while working together to find the three missing women. He remembered Gipson had done all the navigating since he was somewhat familiar with the lay of the land, or so he’d said. Kevin had driven about two miles when he caught the first view of a large white stone and block structure to his right. There it was. The directions were perfect, he thought, smiling at getting his second break of the night. He shut the lights off and pulled the rental halfway into the grassy area of the ditch, parking several yards past the wall, not wanting to be too obvious about his intent just in case someone curious drove by. Opening the trunk, he grabbed his handgun, locking the clip in before slipping it into his belt. The sky was clear and the moon was bright. Maybe the luck of the Irish really was with him.
“All right, man in the moon, you’re going to be my guiding light tonight,” he whispered, stepping off the road to start his walk down through the wet, waist-high grass. Halfway through, Kevin realized the grass served as a natural camouflage before he reached the line of tall trees behind the garden area that served as a second barrier. He slipped in among the tangled mess of vines, a thin barbed branch catching his cheek and ripping at his skin.
“There goes the flawless face,” he said as he wiped the blood from his face with the back of his hand. He lowered his body as he worked his way to the wall. Kevin stopped. “What stinks?” He looked down at his boots. They were covered in a grayish muck. A rotting animal stench rose around him, stinging his eyes and nose with each step he took. “Hope this crap doesn’t make me sick,” he muttered. Then déjà vu hit. He remembered what Theresa had read to him from the diary. It was about the outer places. The gardens and beyond. He scanned the area. That’s where he was right now. Anya had said that the stench came from decaying vegetation. She had used it as a vivid description of death. Kevin struggled to raise his boot. It gave way, making a deep sucking sound. His gag reflex kicked in. Funny, he’d never considered himself to be the squeamish type, but this mess was testing what his stomach was really made of.
His thoughts turned to Sophie as he stood behind a thicket of bushes. He could see his breath as he exhaled. His eyes didn’t move for several minutes, fixed on what could be the front doors of the castle. She had been behind those doors just a short time ago. He needed to act. His detective mind had been engaged on the mission at hand for the past twenty-four hours. Now all he could think about was Sophie in the hands of Gipson, of all men. He had hoped the department’s suspicion of his former partner was false, but things were looking pretty bleak for the detective. And then there was Smith—that psycho with the anger issues toward women. He rubbed his eyes, not wanting to jump to conclusions.
Kevin shook his head. Concentrate, stay on top of your game, he thought. He immediately dismissed the negative thoughts running through his head and stepped carefully through the barbed branches into a dimly lit courtyard. “Talk about naked,” he said out loud as he pulled his gun, keeping it close to his body. He ran quickly and slipped through the open front doors, not moving a muscle except for the rise and fall of his chest. “No greeting party?” He stood quietly a few seconds longer. ”Good, lucky break number three,” he whispered. Kevin immediately thought of Anya’s bedroom. In the diary, she had described it as being at the top of the stairs and on the left. That would’ve been the first place Sophie would have gone. He gripped the rail. Something moved under his boot, making a cracking noise. Kevin slowly bent down, moving his foot slightly. It was Sophie’s phone, obviously destroyed before his boot finished the job. It was broken into several pieces, the crystal shattered. Someone intentionally broke it, he thought as he tucked the pieces into his pocket.
Kevin looked up the long staircase again, more determined than he’d been seconds ago to find some answers. “I hope you had your intellect on high power tonight, Sophie. I need a clue or something.” He pulled in a long breath. “Where did Smith take you?”
He doubled the steps and opened the bedroom door. The room was dimly lit by three small lamps; two mounted about eight feet up on one wall and one sitting on a dresser near the mirror. His eyes traveled to a large set of windows where the breeze filled the long silky drapes, forcing them to billow into the room. Sophie had stood near the open window. He knew it without even thinking. She loved the seasonal breezes, and he loved the way it tossed her hair about and put her in a playful mood. Kevin moved to the opened window and scanned the garden. “She looked out here,” he breathed. “But what did she see?” Hopefully nothing, he thought as he started to turn from the window. Just then, his eyes caught something far to his right. He squinted. “What’s that?” He leaned over the windowsill. Something glimmered in the moonlight. It appeared to be tread marks on the blacktop. He pulled a small pair of binoculars from his side pocket and focused in. He was right. The ground was damp, damp enough to leave tire tracks. He gave the room one last look then hurried down the stairs. Quickly surveying the outer grounds, he ran to examine the tracks. They were definitely left by a small car and at a high rate of speed. The car had headed north from the castle. There was a second set of tracks, too. “Those had better be yours, Taylor,” Kevin said, hoping the young FBI agent knew what he was doing. He tracked his way back through the grass to his car and headed north.
Sophie woke to throbbing pain between her eyes and up her forehead. Instinctively, she reached to touch her head, hoping for relief. She felt only a matted mass of hair. She lowered her hand and squinted in an attempt to focus, to see what was on her fingers. She couldn’t. Her eyes were too swollen to see. But she didn’t need to see to know that it was blood on her fingertips.
Sophie shut her eyes, leaning forward to steady herself. The last thing she remembered was Professor Smith pushing her into the car and a needle prick to her arm. She cupped her hands to her ears. “This is insane. It hurts so badly,” she groaned. The pain was so intense that every part of her body hurt, and on top of that, the room was spinning and her stomach was making its way up into her throat. Where am I? she thought, moving her legs so they fell to the side of the bed. Sophie slowly stood. She turned her head, trying to make out objects in the room. It seemed somehow familiar, but how? She stretched her arm out, reaching for the door handle. Locked? Why was she locked in a bedroom? What was going on? She leaned against the door, trying to navigate through the thick fog in her head.
Subdued voices came to her from the hall.
“She’s probably still asleep. I gave her a full vial of Ketamine. It hit her harder than I’ve ever seen in anyone else. She fell against the window, mumbled something, and was out.”
“Good, she won’t remember how she got here then.”
Got here? Where was she, and who were those people? She steadied herself, pressing her ear tightly to the door and trying to process the voices. No luck, her head was too thick with pain. She staggered back to the bed. “Kevin, you told me to be careful,” she said, lying back, knees tucked tightly to her chest. She buried her face deep into a pillow. “I guess I didn’t listen, did I?” Her words were muffled as tears escaped her eyes.
***
Gates’ phone vibrated in his pocket. Finally, a call. “Taylor, do you have Sophie?” he demanded, pulling the car to a hard stop on the side of the road.
“No, I lost ’em. Smith outgunned me.”
Kevin gave the steering wheel a solid blow with his hand, his pulse racing at top speed. The line got quiet as he tried to think.
“Gates, are you still there?”
He took in a breath and exhaled. “Taylor, where are you right now?”
“I’m along a county road about fifteen minutes north of Goregoo Castle. Do you have any idea at all where they may have taken her?”
Kevin turned his head and looked out the window, his neck settling back on the headrest. “Not a clue, Taylor,” he said, eyes pinned on the moon. “I was just at the Castle Goregoo. All I found was Sophie’s smashed phone and an open window. I think she may have seen something she wasn’t supposed to see.”
“Gates, we need to head back into town and conference this with the guys in charge. We’ll have a chance to look at a map, maybe get an idea where they might be hiding her.”
Kevin closed his eyes, experiencing emotions foreign to his seasoned FBI mind. What had happened to his better judgment? The girl had done more than get under his skin. She had taken root in his brain. “I’ll meet you at Folks Pub.”
Just a few miles away from Kevin, Taylor put his car back in gear.
“Got that, Gates,” Taylor said, pulling into a driveway. His headlights swept across a small sign. The Regal Castle—New Hope for the Mentally Impaired. “Huh, must be something new,” he breathed, backing the car up to turn around. He looked again. “Maybe not,” he thought out loud. This was unfamiliar territory, so what did he know about what was old or new?
Taylor and Gates met for the first time, deciding on a booth near the fireplace for privacy. They scoured maps, read landmarks, road numbers, anything that may signal a break in the case.
“Taylor, that extra help you referred to, when can we expect it?”
“Any time now. I texted a message to New York as soon as we hit the road back into town. Our cyber link should be online. It’s activated by a call from the communications office, so we’ll wait until they show.”
Kevin leaned back in his chair, “Great, more waiting. There’s nothing on this table that we haven’t seen before, Taylor. None of this is making sense to me.”
The light on Taylor’s phone blinked, signaling an incoming call. He touched the speakerphone. “Taylor here.”
“Taylor, we’re ready to connect the visual communication link. Push the go button on your phone.” Within seconds, the detectives in Dool could see and hear A. J. and his team in New York City.
“Gentlemen,” A. J. said. “I want you to concentrate specifically on the northern part of the province. Give my team any information that is unfamiliar to you, and they’ll check the data and relay updates and suggestions back. Now do we know what Smith was driving?
“Yes, sir,” Taylor said, looking over at his partner. Gates had a disengaged look on his face. He was a million miles away.
“What about Gipson? What type of vehicle was he in?”
“Not sure on that, sir. When I saw him, he was on foot. I didn’t see him get in a car.”
“Could he be holed up at Goregoo Castle?” A. J. asked.
“Highly unlikely, sir. The castle is privately owned, and Smith rented it only for the evening,” Taylor said, waving his hand near Gate’s face, trying to get him to look at a note he had scribbled on a napkin. “Gates, pay attention,” Taylor whispered, poking him with his pen.
Gates nodded with closed eyes, continuing to make plans in his mind for Sophie’s rescue. The last thing Kevin wanted to do was sit in on a conference call when he should be out doing something, anything.
“Hey,” Taylor said in a quiet voice.
Kevin opened his eyes to a napkin in his face. “We’re going to Sophie’s cottage when we’re done with this, so pay attention!”
Kevin met Taylor’s determined look. His heart picked up a couple extra beats. The kid had an idea. He could see it. The guy wasn’t only the best looking thing on the force, but he was smarter than average, too. Good thing they were on the same team. They were going to need every brain cell they had to help with this case. Especially now that one of their sharpest agents was officially a suspect.
***
“So what’s your plan, Taylor?” Kevin asked, trying the front door handle.
“First thing, we need to get into Sophie’s cottage without making it look like we broke in,” Taylor said as he examined the doorjamb.
“It’s too tight to get in without destroying it, Taylor.”
“I thought you big city boys knew how to do this. Guess not,” he said, flashing a smile that would have most women at his feet. Taylor turned the corner, pulling a screwdriver out of his pocket. He went to a window, removed three screws, and lowered the top window pane to the ground. He pushed the bottom one up, climbed in, and opened the front door. “Ah, nothing broken, and no bills to send to the agency,” he said, stepping aside for his partner to enter.
“Nice work, Taylor,” Kevin said, flipping on the light. They were standing in the kitchen. Kevin looked around as Taylor started going through the rest of the cottage, room by room. Normal economy-size kitchen, Kevin thought, as he assessed the brightly colored walls of green and yellow and some very outdated flowered wallpaper in the dining area. He stopped as his eyes caught hold of something in the next room. It was a pale yellow robe, draped over an easy chair near a picture window. He touched it, lifting it to his face, closing his eyes. It smelled of Sophie’s perfume. He buried his face, desperately wishing she were in that robe right now. His eyes circled the room. Everything about this place cried out her name. It was perfect for her. She belonged here. Stop thinking about her, he told himself firmly. You don’t have time to wrap your mind around her.
Kevin returned the robe to its resting place and started back to the kitchen. Standing near the table, he began to shuffle through the small piles of paper that Sophie had arranged neatly in three stacks. “What’s this?” he asked, exposing a thin book that had been lying under the third pile.
Taylor entered the kitchen from the back porch. “So what’d you say we were looking for?” Kevin asked, knowing the answer could be in his hand. He opened the book. It was Sophie’s personal journal.
“We’re looking for stuff.”
Kevin’s brows lifted, “Stuff? What do you mean by stuff?”
“I’ve read Ms. Hanes’ profile,” he said, looking out the small window above the sink. “She’s a smart woman.” He hesitated. “But then again, she’s been dating you, so I do question her common sense.” He waited for a retort from Gates.
Kevin gave a quick laugh. “Nice try, but keep your hands off her,” he said, thumbing through the journal.
Taylor continued. “Kevin, the talk I had with her earlier suggests that—”
Kevin looked up from the journal. Taylor had a comfortable but serious look on his face.
“Gates, she really is something,” Taylor stopped. “Too nice to still be single,” he said. “I expected more of a sassy, sophisticated American image, but she’s not that at all. In fact, she didn’t talk about herself or what she does for a living the entire time we were together,” he said, sounding a little wistful. “You know, Gates, I don’t even think she knows how beautiful she is. There doesn’t seem to be a vain bone in her body.”
“Hey, Taylor, stick to the facts,” Kevin said. “She’s spoken for, remember?”
Taylor flashed a glance Kevin’s way. “She talked a lot about the diary she found with the language from my country. Gaelic. I also noticed that the diary was listed in her profile as the main reason for her visit to Dool.” He sat on the edge of the kitchen table, his voice as serious as the look on his face. “Earlier, when Sophie talked about the book, I got a strong impression that there was something more, someone she’d made a connection with in that diary. Do you know who it would have been?”
“Yeah, there are a lot of characters, but Anya was the one she was drawn to.”
“We need to find that diary, Gates. That’s the kind of stuff we’re here for. I need to look at that book.”
They searched through Sophie’s belongings one more time, trying not to disturb the way she’d left them.
“It’s not here. She must have it with her,” Kevin said, thumbing through the last of the papers in her carry-on bag. “I don’t have the original, but I have a translated copy if you think that’ll help,” he offered, glancing at Taylor as he gave Sophie’s bedroom one last look.
“I’d really like to have the original, you know, just to make sure Smith didn’t add anything or misinterpret the language.” Taylor checked his watch. “There’s nothing here. Let’s get going. We can start with your translated copy. That is, if you’re ready to pull an all-nighter. Do American guys in their thirties need more sleep than Irish guys in their twenties?” Taylor asked, a wide grin emerging on his face.
Gates laughed. “You’re on, boy,” he said, looking around one last time.
“I’ll put the pane back in the window, and you make sure everything is shut off in here,” Taylor said, stepping outside and disappearing around the corner of the cottage.
Kevin still had Sophie’s journal in his hand as he shut and locked the front door. He ran his hand over the cover, opening it to the last entry.
“I know now that you are real, Three, but I’m not wanting to admit it. You have asked me to believe without doubt. Even though I cannot see you with my eyes, I hear your words in my ears. I have taken great pains in denying that you could guide or direct me, a mere spirit. You could have been real for Anya, even if only in her mind, but not for me, not in my mind. But today I give in to you, Three, for what length of time I’m not sure. So you must align me to yourself as I experience things that are foreign to me, just as Anya experienced things she knew little of. Help me in my fear. And when I doubt you, know that I don’t really doubt. Or do I?”
Kevin turned the page.
“You said you would send good people on my good path. Good people? I thought Trey was good. He was on my path, Three. I didn’t expect to be deserted by him. And now Kevin is in my life. Could he be the good one for me? I think I’ve grown to love him, but I’m unable to tell him. Is it more doubt that separates my mind from my words? He will not be on my path here. So if I am to trust you, then you will send someone else. I will trust you in this as well. You sent Olivia to Anya. There must be someone for me.”
His face bunched in fear as his mind filled with emotions that were hard to contain. “What’s going on, Sophie?” came quietly from his lips. He closed his eyes, fighting the thought of losing her. “I’ve got to find you,” he whispered, tucking the diary into his jacket.
***
Taylor stretched long and hard and rubbed his eyes, trying to fight sleep. He tossed the interpreted diary onto the table. “This book reads like a vicious tragedy, Gates. It’s hard to imagine this Sean guy would use his own sister as a prostitute to become wealthy, not to mention for revenge against his own father.”
“Yeah, it’s sick, I know, but it was a reality in her life,” Kevin said, rereading the notes he and Theresa had spent hours on.
Taylor got up and splashed water on his face. The sun was just cresting the small mountains that lay to the east, which meant a call from New York with new information and hopefully search orders.
There was a faint ringing sound coming from the lamp stand, one of their phones. Taylor checked. “It says Theresa.” He raised his head, in search of his partner. “Gates, how many women do you have? You’re really not that good looking,” he said with a sleepless smile.
Kevin tried to laugh, but his weariness stifled the noise. “Toss it over here,” he said. “Gates here. Hey Theresa, isn’t it kind of late for you to be up? Or should I say early?” She was quiet. Something was wrong. The minute her words hit his ears, Kevin could hear fear in her voice. His mind raced. He and Theresa had worked together for several years. She was as strong as she was attractive. Something had made a huge impact on her to have this kind of effect.
“I haven’t slept all night. I’ve been working on the diary alone at the office, and suddenly it— well, it’s like it spoke right into my head. You’ve got to know what I heard,” she said, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.
The line grew quiet for several seconds.
“Theresa, I’m going to put you on speaker. Taylor’s here, and we have the diary right in front of us.” Taylor grabbed a pen and paper as they spoke.
“Gates, the diary will only speak to open hearts.”
Kevin’s eyes shot to his partner. Taylor rubbed his eyes, shaking his head as he listened.
“What? Open hearts? Come on, Theresa—”
“Gates, don’t say anything. I mean it,” Theresa said in a firm tone. “I need you to listen with an open mind. Now, the diary somehow knows who will believe and who won’t. That sounds really weird, I know, but just stick with me on this. Faithful women—yes, they have to be faithful—seem to be the ones who will listen to Three. Those are the women he talks to. Unfortunately, they only seem to need him when they’re in trouble. All the same, their need is what brings him, and he’s willing to help.”
“Okay, Theresa,” Kevin said, looking at Taylor, who was still shaking his head in disbelief. “Are you in trouble? Is that why you can hear this spirit?”
“No, I’m not in trouble. I’m one of the good people on the good path to help you find her.”
Her words struck him. He opened Sophie’s personal journal and quickly started to flip pages. He turned to the last entry and reread it, then pushed it in front of Taylor.
“Gates, what is it? You’re too quiet.”
“Theresa, I took Sophie’s journal last night from the cottage where she’s staying. What you just said is in the last entry of that journal.”
Taylor glanced at his notes. “Theresa, this is Taylor, Kevin’s partner. Let me get this straight. You believe this Three is a real person, or something real that’s able to help these women, right?” he asked, beginning to connect the dots.
“Yes, he’s real. But there’s more. Gates, Taylor, we’ve been looking at the diary all wrong. We’ve been reading it as an historical account of Anya O’Connell’s life. It is that—but it’s more. I believe the diary is a foreshadowing of the present and the future. Gentlemen, do you understand?”
Kevin heard the conviction in her voice.
She hesitated. “It’s like a map to Sophie.”
The two men looked hard at each other. They knew exactly what Sophie would be put through if Theresa’s intuition was correct. “So you’re telling me that the things Anya went through—”
“Yes, Gates,” she said, cutting him off from verbalizing the inevitable. Her voice broke slightly. “Gates, Taylor, look beyond what you’re reading. Listen to the words of Three among the pages. They’ll help you, but you must listen and follow what the diary is telling you.”
“Theresa, we can read the book and try to listen, but it does us no good if we don’t know where to start looking for her. We have some people working on it, but—”
“The wall, Gates. Sophie will be near a wall, or maybe behind one. I’m not quite sure. On page ninety-nine of the diary, it tells all about it. You’re going to find a play on words and some double meanings laced throughout the old document, but—” her voice faded out to silence. “Look, I could walk you through the pages, but I’m exhausted. I’ve got to get out of here, I need some sleep. Call me in about six hours if you need help.”
They listened, and the phone went dead.
Sleep was on the detectives’ minds, too, but they didn’t give in. Their conversation with Theresa had hit them like a shot of adrenalin, sending them right back to the diary to search for clues.
“Sophie’s at the castle, Taylor, that’s where Anya lived and where her brother held most of his parties. I’m not waiting for a conference call,” Kevin said, picking his backpack up from near the table.
Taylor put his gun in the holster under his jacket.
“We need to check the walled area around the garden first.”
“Got that, Gates.” Their minds seemed to be in a synchronized race.
“Let’s go,” Kevin said, grabbing his jacket and Sophie’s journal.
“Get the diary. We’re going to need it, too,” Taylor called back from the door.
Kevin called A. J. to inform him what was going on and their plan of action. A. J. filled him in on another search area if Goregoo Castle left them empty-handed. He assured him that backup would be available if necessary and that thanks to Ms. Hanes, they would also be looking for the three missing women from the case three years prior.
A. J. made it clear there was new evidence mounting against Smith. He had become the prime suspect in the women’s disappearance and should be treated as armed, dangerous, and highly unstable.
Kevin continued to scan the diary as Taylor drove the thirty minutes to the castle. He read Anya’s description of each encounter she experienced with her brother’s business associates. Why was she so descriptive, he wondered? As he continued, it sickened him to read her accounts of faces, body features, even the place and time of each man she had been with. Was it therapy for her to write her memories down on paper? “You know, Taylor, it seems to me that none of her sexual encounters happened at Goregoo. They were all at different locations. But then again, everything seems to lead back to the castle.”
“Did you read that, or is that between the lines like Theresa suggested?”
“Both,” he said, starting to read out loud.
“Olivia will be an example to you, dear Anya. I have sent her to show you the way. Trust her word—she does as I say.”
“Thank you for the strength she possesses, Three. I have no strength of my own. I exist only with you as my guide and those you send to me. Sean wants only what he can get from me, even Olivia if it were possible. I will learn from her as you direct.”
Kevin heard Anya’s voice speaking directly to him from each page he turned. Olivia was the one who couldn’t be touched. She was too strong for Sean to destroy or to take for his own pleasure. But what was it that made her so strong that she couldn’t be touched by someone so unclean, as Anya put it in her writing? “I will always learn from her as she directs,” Kevin reread out loud. “What does that mean?” he asked, running his hands through his hair.
“What I’d like to know is who does this Olivia represent now? And how does she play a part in Sophie’s life?” Taylor asked.
Kevin gave Taylor a long look then turned to look out the side window. Looking up at the sun that had already been up for what seemed like forever, he asked, “Help us understand this, would you?”
The room was bright and sunny. Far too bright, Sophie thought, opening her eyes. Her head had stopped aching, and her mind filled with questions as she slowly lifted her body to a sitting position and then stood to her feet, this time not feeling like a teetering stack of wooden blocks. She held one arm outstretched as she walked slowly to the row of windows draped with sheer pink linens. She reached, fingering the frame around the glass. A thick, white, chalky substance sealing the inside frame around the entire window. It was clear it hadn’t been opened in a long time and was not opening anytime soon. She looked out and saw metal bars secured to the outside of the window. She rested her head on the glass as she gazed through the black bars. A lush, green garden flourished to her left and right, stretching as far as her eyes could see. She was able to make out a high stone wall which stood just beyond a row of thick-needled evergreen trees. “Where am I?” she whispered, her breath fogging the sealed window. This was not Goregoo. Anya had not lived here, and there was nothing familiar except— She turned and scanned the room. What was it?
Sophie looked toward the door, then she remembered it had been locked the last time she’d tried to open it, whenever that was. She walked to the door anyway, gripped the knob. Surprisingly, it turned completely to the right. She pulled it open. Quietly, she stepped through onto a large balcony that overlooked the first floor. Instantly her eyes were filled with a scene from Anya’s diary. Her fingers wrapped around the dark wooden rail as she steadied herself. This room is the past brought into the present. It wasn’t uncommon for historical homes to be restored to their original state, she thought, putting together all the details from the diary. But this was a room from Goregoo castle created somewhere else. This room, that’s what was familiar. She leaned over the rail. A man looked up at her.
“Top of the morning to you, Ms. Hanes,” he said, holding a glass up to her.
“Professor,” she mouthed, feeling her stomach jump. Sophie looked his way once again, expressionless. His smile sickened her, reminding her of Anya’s description of her brother Sean’s look at times, dark and full of unnatural thoughts. Just the sound of his voice made her skin crawl. She said nothing, moving away from the rail so she couldn’t be seen. Just then, a young, attractive woman who might have been in her twenties ascended the stairs toward her. She carried towels and other toiletries in her arms.
“These are for you, miss,” she said in a quiet monotone voice. “Follow me. I’ll show you where you can bathe and change into clean clothes.”
Sophie took another look toward the rail then followed the woman three doors down from the bedroom she had awakened in.
“Leave your clothes on the floor, and I’ll take care of them.”
Sophie touched the arm of the woman, and she stopped. “Where am I?” she asked quietly.
The woman made brief eye contact but said nothing. Her head lowered a bit. The woman took Sophie’s hands, turned them over and then back. “I will get someone to care for your nails, miss,” she said, then dropped her hands and walked from the room, closing the door behind her.
Sophie stood alone in an austere white bathroom. It was as large as the room she’d woken up in just minutes earlier and more beautiful than anything she had seen since the ocean. It smelled of fresh rosemary. She would know the herb anywhere—it was her mother’s favorite and its scent filled the house every season of the year. She was confused, and there was a distinct cat and mouse game going on in her mind. She felt tense and afraid, yet put at ease by the comforting aroma. But take a bath? Although a bath would feel good, how would she take her clothes off in this strange place? She gave in. She wanted to wash the blood from her hair and get into fresh clothes she hadn’t slept in. Sophie looked at her jeans. “Disgusting,” she said as she dropped them near her sweater. She quickly slipped out of her underclothes and added them to the pile.
The bath was the perfect temperature. She liked it hot with lots of bubbles, and it was both. Sinking down under the water, she closed her eyes as she wet her hair, then massaged the floral shampoo into her scalp and pulled the suds to the ends. She felt the tangles release as the blood dissolved between her fingers. She went under for a second time to rinse the shampoo. She sighed as her face broke the surface of the water, and she opened her eyes. She struggled to catch her breath. A man stood beside the tub, an unblinking stare fixed on her. She grasped desperately at the surrounding bubbles to cover her body
He smiled and held out a large bath towel. “Are you finished, Ms. Hanes?” he asked, not shifting his gaze.
Sophie quickly drew her knees to her chest, hoping to stay covered by the blanket of soft, white bubbles that had wrapped around her neck. She checked to be sure her body wasn’t exposed then looked back at the man with the towel. He looked perfect, like a model. Just like Jeffrey, she thought. His body was sculpted and he had light blonde hair, green eyes, and was cleanly shaven. Too perfect.
“Yes, I think I’m finished,” she said, hugging herself tightly.
He opened the towel for her.
“You want me to get up?”
“Yes, I’ll wrap you and then help you dress.”
“I can dress myself, thank you.” Sophie felt a cramp in her stomach, the first sign of her nerves kicking in before getting sick. She pulled her legs in tighter. There was no way she was going to let that man touch her.
He didn’t move.
“Just put the towel on the floor and you can leave,” she said, feeling her chest constrict.
He stood motionless, his voice steady. “No, get up and let me wrap you.”
How long would this standoff last? She watched as her layer of bubbles slowly popped and vanished into the milky water. Sophie could feel beads of sweat forming on her forehead and her gag reflex taking control. “Just leave. Please?”
“Miss, I’m here to make your life as easy as possible.”
What did he just say? She thought back. Anya had an encounter with one of Sean’s business associates who had said those very words to her. This entire scene had been recorded by Anya in her diary—
“I don’t think you want to upset the keepers with your disobedience, do you?”
She jerked her head up to look into the man’s face. His eyes remained fixed on hers, and his smile lessened.
“Who are the keepers? And what have I done to be disobedient?” she asked defensively. He said nothing. She was being held against her will in a make-believe castle, forced to relive someone else’s previous existence, and she was the disobedient one? This made no sense. She looked down and could now see the bottom of the ceramic tub she was sitting in. Her heart pounded in her chest as she slowly stood, her dignity pouring from her like the bath water down her legs. Anya had written that her dignity, too, had vanished. The only thing covering Sophie now was a few sparsely placed bubbles. She stepped to the floor, and could feel the man’s eyes burning a hole in her as he wrapped the towel around her and secured it in front.
“Come with me,” he said, squeezing her hand firmly. She followed obediently. They entered an adjacent room. Its walls were lined with clothes, shoes, and accessories. She stood still, taking it all in, not saying a word. Being draped only in a towel was uncomfortable enough, but it was made worse by this man, a stranger, sizing up her body and deciding what she was going to wear. He smiled at her, his eyes following her shape from her shoulders down to her toes. He laid a red dress on a couch. “This is what you will wear for the evening, Ms. Hanes,” he said, pointing to the dress. “For the remainder of today, put these on.” He handed her a simple white T-shirt, modest white shorts, and slip-on shoes. “Your breakfast will be on the main floor with Professor Smith,” he said, moving behind her, breathing on her neck. He then promptly left the room. Sophie dressed hurriedly, wanting to put more than a towel between her skin and another pair of eyes. Finished, she opened the door.
“Ah, Sophie, our little college professor has finally emerged.” Smith checked his watch. “A long two-day sleep,” he said, laughing under his breath.
Why did that amuse him? Sophie wondered as she made her way down the stairs to the table and took a seat. He sat across from her and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I’m sure you have many questions, lass. Some I will answer, and some I will not.” He leaned back. “Where are you in the diary, Sophie,” he asked, sipping his drink.
She felt contempt for him as he looked at her. “Why should that matter, Professor?” she asked, a distinct edge in her voice. “You’ve shown me Goregoo, you’ve already interpreted the entire diary for me, and I leave in a few days, so I—”
He rose quickly, his legs knocking the chair and sending it to the floor. He walked over to her chair and planted his hands down hard on either side of her, leaning over her body. “There’s one thing you’d better get through your thick head, Ms. Hanes. I call the shots around here,” he said, his breath hot on the side of her face. He straightened and sat on the tabletop next to her.
She could see the sweat forming on his brow as before, his demeanor shifting from calm to disgustingly animated. That was it, that something familiar she felt. His constant change in behavior, his shifting thoughts, it was the same darkness Anya felt around her brother. Professor Smith had something to do with all this, just as Sean had in the diary.
“Answer me, Sophie,” he said, pushing the words out from between his clenched teeth. “Where are you in the diary?”
She squeezed her folded hands, her body tightened. “Anya has been sent to spend time with Mr. Dubois in France,” she said, trying to ease away from him.
His eyes pierced hers as he leaned toward her once again. “Do you know what she experienced with Mr. Dubois the first time, Sophie?” he asked, his voice laced with bitterness.
Sophie was now more frightened than she had ever been in her life. His eyes were evil and full of malice.
“Mr. Dubois isn’t such a nice guy the second time around, and knowing that you are such a history buff, I thought it fitting that you experience what your beloved Anya experienced, you know, make history come to life. Tonight there’s going to be a party, and you will be a part of it. Your Mr. Dubois will be present, and—” He smiled, dabbing his brow with a white handkerchief from his suit pocket. “Well, if you want to know what happens next, then you need to do your homework and prepare for what lies ahead.”
He smirked wickedly as he caressed her cheek.
Professor Smith motioned for the man who had watched her bathe. “Stay with her today. Take her around the estate, see if you can get her to laugh a little and loosen up before you help her to dress for the evening,” he said, making eye contact only with the young man.
The man took her hand, helping her to her feet.
“Oh, and Ms. Hanes, I think you would do well to do as I say. Read up on the events that may await you.” His smile morphed into a hideous laugh.
“There’s nothing else to talk to these people about, Gates. We’ve searched the house and grounds for evidence. We need to go,” Taylor said, turning to thank the owners of Goregoo castle for their cooperation.
“The wall, Taylor,” Gates said, slamming the car door. “There was nothing on that rock wall.” Kevin thought again about what Theresa had said, they’d find her near a wall.
Taylor pulled the car onto the blacktop and headed back to Dool.
“What are you doing? We need to keep going north, start searching other areas for her.”
“Where Gates? We’ve hit a dead end.” He glanced over at his partner. “The most important thing we need is some sleep. Neither of us is thinking clearly right now. Let’s get a couple of hours, and then we can map out the area north before we start searching again.”
Kevin grew quiet as he watched the road pass by. He felt powerless, impotent. He rubbed his eyes. “You think you’re so smart,” she’d say when he figured out crossword puzzles before her. And then the night they’d sat and looked at the moon through his telescope. He’d told her about its different phases and how the moon created moods in people that caused them to do uncontrollable things. His heart ached as thoughts of her rolled around in his mind. He remembered how she’d looked at him as he kissed her fingers and told her stories about what the lines in her hand meant. She listened to him and believed every word he said. Kevin continued to indulge his mind in the memory of that evening. How he’d kissed her with complete freedom, no reservations. He’d enjoyed liberties with her that she had put the brakes on for the past three months or longer. Sophie, I lied to you, he thought. Not about the moon and the moods, but about the lines in your hand. I don’t know a thing about that. Nothing at all, babe. He rehearsed it in his head as they drove. He needed to tell her that when they found her.
“Gates,” Taylor said, slowing the vehicle. Gates was a million miles away. Taylor knew he’d be of little use if he couldn’t focus on what was at hand. “I know this is hard for you, man, but you’ve got to stay with me. From now on, I’m taking the lead. My head’s a little clearer.”
Kevin sat, staring out the window. “We’ve got to find her, Taylor. She’s in trouble.”
Taylor’s eyebrows furrowed as he gave his partner a concerned look. “Let’s catch a couple hours sleep, and then we’ll discuss our next move.”
Six o’clock seemed to be the magic hour for both men. They couldn’t sleep, and they went to Folks Pub to pore over maps of the northern sections of Dool again.
“I remember some of these areas from three years ago, Taylor. As I recall, all the prime areas were dead ends.” He shook his head. “I don’t see anything new here.”
“Are you sure you’re not missing something, Gates? Things can change, you know.”
Kevin’s eyes moved to the map once more. “The landmarks and roads are the same as when Gipson and I searched. I think I’ve covered all the bases,” he said, rubbing his hands over his face. “I’ve talked with a few people who know the northern region like the back of their hands, and they say things are pretty much the same. We just don’t have any leads,” he said, frustrated as he leaned back in his chair.
Taylor’s fingers tapped a continual beat on the table. “Hey, your friend Theresa said the diary was like a map, right?”
Kevin looked up at him. “Yes, but—”
“Did you bring your copy with you?” Kevin reached into his bag for the diary. “She also said it was full of plays on words, remember?” Taylor took the folder. “Where’d you stop reading?”
“Theresa said page ninety-nine talked about the wall. That’s as far as I got,” he said, watching Taylor flip through the pages.
“From what I can tell, it looks like we’ve gone over this section. Let me look ahead,” he said. “Anya is talking about her trip to France and how she is to stay with the Frenchman, Mr. Dubois. Listen to this:
“Diary, my brother has been pressured by his associate to send me to France. I cannot live through any more of this. I have no one at my side to counsel me or to give me direction. My friend, Olivia— my friend on the good road as Three had called her—is far from me. If this is the last of my life, then I shall be happy for it, for I have been deserted by all that I have cared about—my father, Olivia, even Three has been silent since I left the castle. I fear this man more than I have feared my own brother and almost wish death upon myself.”
Taylor looked at Gates. “She’s been moved.”
“Anya’s been moved. So? The last clue from the diary was wrong. It’s not a reliable source.”
Taylor ignored him. “Don’t you see? If this is a roadmap, then we need to assume that everything that happened to Anya is going to happen to Sophie.”
Kevin sat, staring at the folder. “France? Do you really think she’s been taken to France?”
Taylor continued to read. “No, not France, but just to be on the safe side, I think we need to do some checking on that. Why don’t you get on the phone with A. J. and get that process started? I’ll keep reading.”
Kevin informed A. J. of their suspicions. “They’re going to check all the points of departure from the country,” Kevin said, sitting down at the table. “If they come up with anything, they’ll give us a call.
“Good,” Taylor said, looking at the next entry. “She’s arrived at Mr. Dubois’ Castle.”
“Another castle, does she describe it?”
“No, not in this entry. It sounds like she’s been hurt, but she doesn’t describe how or why. And now the Spirit she’s been talking with has returned to her.” He read from the diary.
“Anya, did you think that I had not journeyed with you? Did you not know that we are sojourners? Must I continually remind you that I will never leave you?”
“Three, I did think you left me, allowing me to suffer at the hands of a horrible man, but now I see even in my pain that you had not left me alone.”
“You questioned your friend on the good path. She is far from you, but will guide others to you. I have put strong men in place to rescue you in your greatest time of need.”
“Three, I have been living in need, why have you not sent them before?”
“There is a time for everything under the sun, dear Anya. I know of the time, and you do not. You must be patient with me and allow things to progress in the interest of all.”
“Do my ears hear that I am to suffer for others still in the interest of all?”
“Your life is not your own. It is a story of renewed hope for others who may suffer at the hands of those as you have.”
“How can I understand all your ways, Three? I cannot, so I will lay my head down to sleep for now as I wait for this pain to leave my body. Three, I must believe that you will continue to watch over me, or I may die.”
“That’s the end of the entry. This is one trusting woman,” Taylor said, stretching his arms behind his head.
Kevin leaned on the table. “Let me get this straight. From what you just read, we need to assume that Sophie’s been incapacitated and is in a place where she’s safe and can rest?”
“We don’t know that for sure, how about we assume the worst. Then we won’t be surprised if something out of the ordinary happens. You know as well as I do that in our business, things are usually worse than we think.”
Kevin pulled his phone from his jacket. “I’m calling Theresa.” He slid his finger across the screen. “You know what I think, Taylor? If we’re going to believe that the diary is a map, then I think Theresa’s our Olivia,” he said, putting the phone to his ear. “Maybe now that she’s had some sleep, she’ll have some answers for us.”
“Gates?” Theresa answered.
“Yeah, Theresa, and before you say anything—yes, I know what time it is. I’ve been through that drill with Sophie. Taylor and I have been reading the diary, trying to stumble on some answers. Are you awake enough to help us out?”
“I think so,” she said groggily. “Give me a minute to get to my computer,” she said, holding the line. “Okay, so tell me what you found at the wall.”
“Nothing, she’s not at Goregoo, Theresa. The wall was a dead end.”
“Is Taylor with you?”
“Yeah, he’s right here.”
“Put me on speaker. Gates, I want both of you to hear me. I’m only going to say this once, so listen up. As I told you earlier, there’s a lot to this diary. I’m assuming you read that Anya was sent to France, correct?”
“Yeah, that’s where we are right now. How did you know?” Kevin asked.
“I don’t know how, I just do. I also know that you suspect Sophie’s been taken out of the country. You’re incorrect. Ms. Hanes is still in Ireland.”
Taylor nodded his head in agreement as he met Kevin’s fixed eyes.
“Do you have your diary open?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. I want you to read the next entry.”
“Anya is describing the castle of Mr. Dubois,” Taylor said. “It sounds similar to Goregoo, but we’ve already—”
She cut him off. “You’re not reading between the lines, gentlemen. Could there be another castle in the area?”
Gates and Taylor glanced at one another. “There are some,” Taylor said, “but the few that remain are either privately owned or have been turned into tourist sites.”
“Besides Theresa, we searched several castles three years ago on that cold case and they all proved to be dead ends,” Gates said.
“She’s in a castle, guys. You’ve got to look again, but this time look for something with a French flair to it. It may sound French, or just have that look about it. Maybe it’s not visible from the outside, maybe it’s in the décor or something. I’m not sure. Another thing I found interesting in this section of the diary was how Anya talked about the servants. They were sensual, seductive, and perfectly intimate in the way they attended to her.”
“Yeah, she says she’s treated like a princess, waited on hand and foot, but she also says there was something amiss,” Taylor said, reading from the diary as he spoke.
“Yes, I believe Anya’s words are twofold. The way she’s cared for was definitely fit for a princess. And where do you find a princess? In a castle. Then look at the next line. She talked about the staff, perhaps a little too friendly? My guess is she’s paralleling them with the Frenchman Mr. Dubois whose affections weren’t desirable either. I also believe the feeling she refers to is a lack of trust. That undoubtedly is in the man and situation she finds herself in. I think this is a direct clue to Sophie.”
Kevin pushed away from the table and stood. “All right, I can see that, but we’re still in the dark about where she is, Theresa, and until we can get to her there’s no way to ensure her safety.”
The connection was quiet for a moment. “Gates, the only advice I can give you is to search the castles in the area again. I believe you’ll find Sophie there and, from what I’ve read in the diary, the other women as well.”
“Is that what Three meant when he said ‘for the good of others’?” Taylor asked, marking the words with his finger.
“That’s right. If you find Sophie, you’ll find the other women, too. I’m almost sure of it.”
Kevin picked the map up from the table, “Any other advice, Theresa?”
“Read the diary. If what has happened to Anya is a foreshadowing of what Ms. Hanes will face, then you’d better be ready for anything.”
The two looked at the phone, waiting.
Theresa continued, “Things will not be pretty gentlemen, but they seldom are when you’re dealing with a psychopath and a highly trained agent who has defected.”
Gates and Taylor knew she was right. A highly intelligent and skilled mind working with one that desired power and revenge spelled the worst case scenario.
“Are you ready to start tearing the countryside apart?” Kevin asked his partner, rubbing his bloodshot eyes.
“Yeah,” Taylor said, not looking up but continuing to read the diary. “This is what Theresa was talking about.”
Kevin sat across the table, spreading the map out in front of him once more. “Shoot, I’m all ears.”
Kevin read:
“My day was pleasant, not at all as I had expected. I was shown around the grounds of Mr. Dubois. I see many trees that blend in with the deep, dark, forbidden forest. I also find myself attended by beautiful people. That seems odd to me. I am taken back by the behavior of some who are evil to the point of cruelty, and then those who are kind but silent. What is before me? I still feel ill at ease, like this too is a trap.”
“Your mind is becoming wise, Anya. You are not allowing your eyes to trick you into believing all is well, for it is not. There will always be wolves in sheep’s clothing. Those who know of them will not be deceived by their loveliness. Be assured I have prepared friends on the path for the work they must do.”
“But how could you have prepared them, Three? They do not know me or where I am.”
“They have had guides, such as Olivia has been to you. She is a true follower and has received power to do my work. Your rescue will be at hand, but continue to watch, for evil seeks to destroy you and all that you stand for. You are your father’s child.”
“My father. I have not heard you speak of him. How do you know of him?”
“Oh Anya, I know all things. Have you forgotten who I am?”
“No, I have not forgotten. You are Three. I will be aware.”
“Ms. Hanes, this would be a nice place to sit and start reading your diary,” the young man said, indicating a lounge chair under a great oak. It was positioned out of sight from the castle yet still nestled on the estate.
Sophie took a minute to look closely at the man’s features. He was beautiful by any worldly standard. The more she thought about it, everyone working on the estate had the same look. They were all above average in appearance and social graces.
“Why is everyone I see young and beautiful?” Sophie asked.
The man smiled but said nothing for some time. “We are paid to please,” he said, smiling, as he leaned on his knee and looked deep into her eyes.
Sophie felt something as he gazed upon her, or maybe it was just her own nervousness. “Please? What do you do to please?”
“Maybe I will be chosen to show you tonight,” he said, touching her foot with his fingertips.
She quickly pulled it away, moving her eyes to a page she had opened to in the diary. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone for a while,” she said, not looking up.
He walked a short distance from her and sat, still facing her.
Sophie continued to read, the uneasiness she felt draped her like a heavy shawl.
“I find my greatest comfort in talking to you, diary. I saw Mr. Dubois but briefly today. He was like my brother, cold and uncaring of my feelings. He assured me that tonight would be most pleasurable. I fear that one of these times, the pleasure they enjoy will kill me. It is dreadful what they ask of me, and they care not of the pain. They do not care that it is not pleasure I seek. I seek to go far from this place, to go home to my own country. But not to the home I once loved. No, I long to be free from my brother’s control, to be free of the dreadfulness that my life has become since the death of Mother and the departure of Father.”
Sophie looked down as the professor paced around her like a cat stalking its prey.
“You are more beautiful than any other woman I’ve seen at the Regal, Ms. Hanes,” he said.
Sophie stood, hardly breathing in the tight, red-sequined, mini dress. She looked down at the plunging neckline. “I look more like an overpriced prostitute,” she said under her breath. She remembered Anya’s words. She had been used as a prostitute by her brother and Mr. Dubois. She had read just enough to prepare herself for what the evening would hold. “Help me, Three,” she whispered as she was taken to a dimly lit dining area. She saw a man she knew from somewhere. When he came into the light, she realized who it was. Mr. Gipson.
“Wow, Ms. Hanes,” he said, standing to take her hand.” When I saw you briefly the other day, I knew you were something special. Now I know why Gates wanted to keep you for himself.”
Sophie’s eyes flashed, and her mouth gaped. She couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. “What did you just say?”
“Sit,” Gipson said, dismissing the professor with a sly smile and ignoring Sophie’s direct question.
Sophie slowly sat, closely watching her unwelcome companion.
“By the look on your face, Ms. Hanes, something tells me that Kevin didn’t mention to you that we were old working buddies,” he said, enjoying the disquiet he was reading in her face.
Sophie turned away, not wanting to think that Kevin had been associated with someone like Gipson. “Mr. Gates never mentioned you, sir,” she said quietly, eyes now focused on the tile floor.
He reached across the table, firmly cupping her chin in his hand and raising her head so their eyes would meet. “That’s funny,” he said with a smile. “Kevin called me shortly before you arrived in Ireland and asked me to entertain you and show you a good time during your stay.”
“I don’t believe you,” she said, pushing his hand from her face.
Gipson laughed as he leaned back in his chair. “You can believe what you want, but Kevin knows exactly where you are and who you’re with. You see, Sophie, in the business Gates and I are in, we share more than just information. We share everything,” he said, moving closer to her.
Sophie shifted, looking at Gipson with disgust. “I will not be shared with anyone, Mr. Gipson.”
“Oh, I think you will,” he said, resting his hand on hers.
Sophie tried to pull her hand from him. “Why am I here and why am I with you?”
“You are mine for the evening, and my time starts now,” he said, tightening his grip as he pulled her to her feet.
Sophie recalled what she had read earlier. Anya had made an attempted to resist the man she’d been given to. Was this a reenactment of that evening at Mr. Dubois’ castle? “Oh Three, no,” she whispered.
“As you have read, dear Sophie, of the pain Anya endured, so you too must endure. But take heart. You have hope in the darkest of times.”
She turned her head, Three’s words sounding in her ears. Gipson held tightly to her hand. “But Three, I read of no protection. There was no sign that you were with Anya. I only read of her fear and pain. You call that hope?”
“So you don’t believe that I will protect you, Sophie? You have read the diary.”
“I wasn’t allowed to finish it,” she answered in her mind.
“Even more reason to trust me for your protection. Your future depends on me.”
“Ms. Hanes, you seem distant, someplace else,” Gipson said, reaching for her other hand and pulling her toward him. “I think it’s time we change that.”
Taylor slowed the car to take a left turn. His eyes caught something as the headlights swept across the countryside.
“What’s that?” he asked, stopping in front of a sign partially covered with green vines.
Kevin leaned toward the dash. “It says the Regal. Can you make out what it says under those vines?”
“Not sure, I can’t make it out.” Taylor froze, his eyes glued to the sign, thinking. “Hey, I remember this place,” he said, striking the steering wheel with the palm of his hand. “The angle is different, though. The rest of the sign reads ‘for the mentally impaired.’ I turned around here the other night after I lost Smith’s car.”
Kevin moved even closer to the windshield, scanning the wall. “Have you ever been in there?”
“No, I’m not from this part of Ireland, but if my memory serves me correctly from looking at some maps, there’s an old castle on the estate. I do remember it was under renovation about three years ago after a fire. It made pretty big news at the time.”
“Why don’t I remember that?” Kevin said, thinking out loud. “I was working in Ireland three years ago. This site was never considered.” There was a silence, and then Kevin said, “Taylor, get on your phone. Find out how long the Regal has been in business, who owns it, and who it services.” Kevin grabbed his camera from the back seat. “I’m going to take a look around.”
Kevin slowly opened the car door, waiting for motion detectors to light up. He stepped out and stood perfectly still, scanning the wall for any type of security. “Not a camera in sight,” he said as he started to make his way through the thick thorny vines that surrounded the entire wall about nine feet out. Who needs security when you have a natural deterrent, he thought, feeling the barbs snag his jacket and scratch his face. He made it to the wall and noticed a narrow pathway around the circumference for as far as he could see in the clouded moonlight.
“Let’s see where this takes me,” he said, walking parallel to the road. He turned to check the distance. He could see Taylor and the car about fifty yards behind him. The wall up ahead was going to take him to the left, away from the road. He took out his phone. “Hey, Taylor, do you have anything yet?” Kevin continued to walk, his partner’s voice breaking in and out on his phone.
“Gates, the reception is really poor in this area. I’ll meet up with you.”
Kevin took pictures of the area as he waited for Taylor to join him. He’d need a good pictorial map of the area if it became something of urgent interest. “Come on, Taylor,” Kevin whispered impatiently. Just then, he heard something run up behind him. “Taylor?”
“Yeah,” Taylor whispered. “Who were you expecting, an Irish banshee?”
Kevin pulled in a breath of relief. No surprises, he thought, at least not yet.
Wow, it’s hard to get close to the wall without being ripped apart by these vines,” Taylor commented, examining his torn jacket.
Kevin agreed. “I’m going to try to walk the perimeter and see if there’s any other way in except through the front gates. Did you get any information about this place?”
“Yeah, the Regal is licensed as a care facility for the mentally unstable. It’s owned by a legitimate corporation here in the country, and it’s been here for over twenty years.”
Kevin’s eyebrows rose. “Twenty years? That doesn’t make sense. We knew nothing about it just three years ago.”
“Who’s the ‘we’ you’re talking about?”
“The team I was working with at the time. It was Gipson, and— it was Gipson. That’s why I knew nothing about it. He didn’t want me or anyone else to know about this place. He’s connected, but how?” Kevin asked.
“We know that Gipson knows the professor,” Taylor said, following Gates as he continued to walk the perimeter. “So we can assume what we’ve thought all along—they’re into something not good, together.”
“Yeah, but we still don’t know if this is the place they’re keeping Sophie and the other women,” Kevin said.
“You’re right,” Taylor said, running his hands along the wall as they walked.
“Gates, a lot of the old estates had a secret entrance on one of the walls, but since this has been remodeled, I’m not sure where it would be, or if it would even still exist.”
The men stayed close to the wall, looking for anything out of the ordinary.
“What’s this?” Taylor asked, stepping back to get a better look. He clicked his cell phone on to light the spot in question. “This area has a different color brick than the rest,” he said.
“You’re right. The little bit of moonlit tonight reflects off it differently than the rest.”
Taylor ran his hands over the surface of the wall. “I don’t feel any buttons or see any handles that might get us in.”
“This isn’t right,” Kevin said, his chest beginning to rise and fall more rapidly.
“What are you thinking?”
“Something’s wrong. It’s too quiet,” Kevin whispered.
They both stopped, not speaking a word. There was nothing but the constant chirp of crickets and the deep throaty growl of bullfrogs.
Taylor turned, leaning his head against the wall. “Anya wrote the same thing in her diary, Gates. Right after she was—”
Kevin cut him short. “I remember,” he said, feeling a pain shoot through his gut.
“Think past the rape. Think to what she said about the people in the grand hall. She witnessed them suddenly become quiet, get up, and exit the room, like they were in some kind of trance. Remember she said the silence was so loud it was deafening?”
“It’s drugs, Taylor, something time-released. That’s what made the people suddenly change, become quiet.”
“Do you think that’s what is happening here?”
“I’m not sure, but we need eyes in there,” Kevin said, looking toward the top of the wall. “What do we have here?” he asked, stepping closer to the wall for a better look at a grated opening near the top of the wall.
Taylor put a light on the grate. “Maybe an air vent for a chamber built into the wall?”
“Do you have a mobile surveillance camera with you?”
Taylor pulled the pack off his back. “Yeah, but I don’t have a viewer.”
“Send the signal to my phone,” Kevin said.
Taylor worked on getting his camera in position as Gates programmed his phone. “Ready,” he said.
“Copy that. Initiating camera now,” he said, watching the thin, metal, telescopic arm raise the tiny camera into position on the ledge of the opening. “You should be getting a picture right about now,” Taylor said, looking at his partner.
Kevin looked intently at the screen. “Static. The picture has static. Wait a second. Images are coming in. No one inside,” he whispered, continuing to monitor the information. “I see a bed and a small floor lamp. The room looks about nine by thirteen with one door. I’ve got a call coming in from the chief. Bring the camera back down.” Kevin stepped a few feet from his partner.
Taylor zipped his pack as Gates rejoined him. “So what’s up?”
“There’s a team waiting for us in Dool. We’re supposed to meet them ASAP,” Kevin said, beginning to walk hastily back to the car.
Taylor could sense his partner’s annoyance. “The chief knows what he’s doing, Gates. We need to trust his judgment.”
Without thinking, Kevin turned quickly on his heels, grabbing Taylor’s jacket and pulling him close. “Don’t you get it, man? She’s in there, and we need to be doing something to get her out. Not later, and not tomorrow. Now.” Just then, Anya’s words lodged in his mind, words that made him sick and increasingly angry.
“Three, my case for hating men has been sealed. My body is bleeding, and my head? Three, I can hardly think.”
Kevin loosened his grip on Taylor as he nursed the words once more in his head. “So help me, if Sophie has to go through anything from that old diary, I’ll make sure someone pays,” he said, following after Taylor as they hurried toward the car. Kevin’s mind raced. “Three, huh?” he whispered. “He didn’t take care of Anya, what makes me think he’ll be there to protect Sophie?”
“So will you speak my name with belief?”
Kevin stopped at the sound of the voice and turned. A man stood directly in front of him. His shoulder-length hair was brown, matching his eyes, and he wore a long monk-like blue robe. Kevin was speechless.
“What’s the matter, Mr. Gates? You now have nothing to say?”
Kevin studied the man. “Who are you?” Kevin asked. “Tell me, I’m waiting for an answer.”
The man was still.
Beads of sweat covered Kevin’s upper lip as a strange edginess came over him. He slowly stepped closer, feeling drawn. “Are you the one? The one they call Three?”
There still was no sound from the man.
“There was never a mention in the diary that Anya had seen you with her eyes. She always said she just knew you were there.”
“She did know, Kevin. She knew me and trusted even in times of all-consuming pain and total despair. But you, on the other hand, know little of me and frankly don’t believe that I exist even though Sophie has begun to put her trust in me.”
A lump formed in Kevin’s throat as he tried to regain his slipping composure. “How do you expect me to trust someone who allows such degrading pain to those who are completely innocent?”
“All things will be to Sophie’s good benefit as it was in Anya’s life.”
“Good?” he said, moving closer to the man. “What type of good are you talking about? Taking young women and allowing them to be used by selfish men? What kind of keeper are you anyway?” he yelled.
“Kevin, this is as much about you as it is Sophie.”
Kevin pressed his lips tightly together to stop their quivering. He stepped back before he hit the guy but didn’t take his eyes off Three. “I don’t understand this, why Sophie, and why now?”
“She was destined to find the diary, Kevin. It was her time, her way to me.”
Kevin closed his eyes as he linked his fingers together behind his neck. “That diary has been nothing but trouble.”
“Also because you love her.”
Kevin felt a chill as he drew his eyes to the man. His voice broke. “More than you know.”
“No, Kevin, I know how much. That is why you have been chosen.”
“Chosen? Chosen for what?”
Kevin took one step closer, and then the stranger was gone, vanished. He now saw nothing but partial moonlight reflecting on the brick wall.
“Gates, are you coming?” Taylor asked in a loud whisper. He was waiting near the car. “Let’s get back and seal the rescue plan before it’s too late.”
Kevin looked over his shoulder and then back to the wall. “Was I dreaming?” he asked out loud, trying to shake the anxious feeling in his stomach. He turned and picked up the pace to join Taylor in the car.
“I got a message from the chief. We’ll have a conference call as soon as we get to the apartment. We’ll be joined by another team of specialists and—” He looked over at his partner. “Did you hear me, Gates?”
Kevin stared at the wall.
“Did you hear me? C’mon, if this is too close for you then we’d—”
“No, I’m fine,” he said, adjusting his ball cap.
“You don’t look fine. You look like you just saw a ghost or something.”
Kevin looked out the window. “I think I just did. Drive, Taylor. Get us to town.”
“Who’s there?” Sophie asked, feeling the presence of someone standing near her. She sat up quickly. “Ouch!” She grabbed her head, feeling a rush of blood to her temples.
“Dear Sophie…”
“Three,” she said, tears developing in the outer corners of her eyes. “Gipson—”
“I know, Sophie, I was with you. I saw everything, and I felt everything.”
“But Three, I can’t remember what happened to me,” she said, tears streaming down her cheeks. “What’s happening to me? I’m talking to someone I can’t see.”
“Sophie, listen to me. The drugs they gave you made you very sick. It saved you from the terrible advances of Mr. Gipson.”
She turned, trying to see Three. Her tears turned into deep sobs. “Why am I here?”
“I brought you Anya’s diary, Sophie. You must read the ending. Her fate is yours.”
“Maybe I don’t want to know, Three. It might be too hard to see what’s going to happen to me.”
“You need to know, Sophie. You need to know that there is a man who needs to—”
She cut him off sharply. “I don’t need a man to do anything for me. They just need to leave me alone.”
“Just as Anya thought, but you will see, dear one.”
“You’re not leaving me alone in this cell, are you?”
“I have never left you. I will always be close. Now lie down and rest. Your comforter is with you.”
Sophie looked around once more, still seeing no one, but she knew he was there. “Thank you, Three,” she whispered.
She heard a jingling of keys at the door. She turned to look. Someone was opening the door.
“Ah, I see you’re finally awake, Sophie.”
The voice was disgustingly familiar, but the man was still concealed in the shadows.
“What do you want from me?”
Professor Smith stepped into the light near the bed. “Come now, Ms. Hanes, is that any way to talk to your host?” he asked. “After all I’ve given you? I’ve provided you with a place to sleep, given you clothes and food.”
“I didn’t ask to be here, and I don’t need any of your charity!” she yelled. “I need to get out of here!”
He moved in closer. Sophie felt the sting of the back of the professor’s hand on her cheek. He grabbed her arm and pulled her roughly from where she was sitting. As his hands grasped her arm, she noticed a copper band with a red light embedded in it secured to her wrist. When was that put on? And what is it for? she wondered.
“You’re not going anywhere. It’s people like you, Ms. Hanes, who have prevented me from getting the education I rightfully deserve. It’s my duty to keep you and others like you from doing that to anyone else,” he snarled.
Sophie looked into his eyes. They were bloodshot, sunken in. His entire body was shaking. She knew he was barely in control, and if he lost it… She sat back quietly on the bed, not wanting to agitate him any further.
“I’ll be back,” he said.
She watched him turn and move back into the darkness before opening the door. He looked back at her, and she could feel his cold eyes. Sophie lay on the bed, holding her hand to her bruised cheek. She now knew Smith’s motive for abducting her. But why the wristband? And he’d said ‘people like her.’ Were there others? “Oh, Three, I need to get out of here,” she said, her thoughts going back to her conversation with the unseen one before Smith came to visit. Her mind went to Kevin. “I need you, please help me.”
“How are things going, Gates?” A. J. asked.
Kevin heard apprehension in his superior’s voice and saw the look he always gave him when he questioned his ability to remain calm. Skyping was a great tool for communication except when you didn’t want the whole truth to be known. Kevin thought back to the last time he’d gotten too close to a situation, and it wasn’t good. But he didn’t want to be pulled from this case, not now. “Sir, I’m good with this.”
“Excellent, keep it that way,” he said, his eyes conveying a strong warning.
A. J. turned his attention to the team sitting in the hotel room turned command post. “Gentlemen, get to know who you’re working with. You’re going to have to work together like one unit, as if you’ve trained together for years. You’ll be given a set of command words. You need to memorize them. Let me remind you to use only those words to trigger actions. We’ve talked with the owner of the Regal, and he has agreed to cooperate with us fully. This means he is out of the way so we can do our job. He has also provided us with the blueprints of the facility and a plot chart of the entire grounds. The owner has been advised not to talk to anyone associated with the Regal until this operation is completed.”
Taylor looked over at Gates and then at the other four agents, each one highly trained and a specialist in his field of expertise. As the youngest and least experienced, this was the first time he had been in this type of operation. He wondered if it would go like clockwork as indicated. It had to, he thought. People’s lives were at stake.
“I’m putting Sergeant Young in charge of the ground operation,” A. J. said, and a man near the front of the room raised his hand. “He will run the operation from an armored vehicle on location. This vehicle is equipped to monitor each of you and guide you in any unstable situation you may encounter,” there was silence. “Gentlemen, let me remind you of one last thing, there are no heroes in this operation—you are a team. We need you to get in there, do your job, and get out. Does everyone understand?”
Each nodded his head.
“Good luck, gentlemen, and now I’m turning this over to Sergeant Young. Please address him only as ‘commander’ while communicating over the radio.”
Commander Young stood. He was black, medium height, about forty, and fit beyond belief. “Here are the prints and the plot charts,” he said, spreading them out on a table in the front of the room. “The Regal was remodeled three years ago. We have an informant who has told us that what we see here on the prints isn’t totally accurate. Note the six circles. They indicate exit only doors found on the north, south, and east walls.” Commander Young then pointed to the west wall of the diagram. “There’s a row of air vents high on this wall. We’re told there have been twelve rooms, similar to cells but without the bars, built within the outer wall. These cells aren’t visible from within the facility. They’re located behind a dummy wall and accessible only from the north and south ends of the wall.
“So getting in shouldn’t be that difficult,” said an agent in the front row.
Young held up his hand. “Hold on just a second. Entrance is by finger scans and a scan of the right side of the right hand, so getting in will be a little trickier than anticipated.”
He looked at one of the agents from their South American affiliate. The man said, “We can use powdered explosives, sir. They’re quiet and go virtually undetected.”
“Good, make sure you have enough vials for each team and make sure each one knows exactly how to use it. Now, as Gates and Taylor already know, there are no cameras on the outer perimeter of the south and west walls. There are none on the east, either, but the north outer perimeter has cameras every ten feet, and the inside of the entire facility has cameras every ten feet. So remember, you can be detected until we get those cameras disabled. Now as far as our mission,” Young held his right hand up for several seconds, wanting each to listen closely. “There are ninety-six registered residents with mild to severe mental disabilities. We suspect that there are an additional three women from an unsolved case and our newest, Sophie Hanes. She is an American from Washington State.” He looked hard at Gates. “All patients are drugged with a time-release form of Actsford. It creates a zombie-like disposition. Residents are easily controlled and non-combative when the drug hits their system.”
“We need to assume that the women we’re looking for have been given the drug, too?”
“Yes. The drug is a way of maintaining complete control, gentlemen. And speaking of control, all of the employees are armed with various chemicals and a sidearm.”
“I thought this was a care facility. What’s the deal with the weapons?” asked Taylor.
“Think about it. If anything should go wrong with a resident, they need to be able to keep things calm, hence the drugs. And the weapons are for people on the outside who may not agree with what’s happening on the inside. There are employees who know that not everyone who lives at the Regal should be there, and let’s face it, the Regal is quite an unexpected place for a detainee.”
Commander Young held up four photos. “Here are the pictures of the women we are looking for, and here are the photos of the two men suspected of kidnapping them. One is Professor Kian Smith and the other is one of our own, Detective Gipson. Gipson is highly intelligent and is ninety-nine percent accurate with any type of firearm. If you’re in his sights, you’re a dead man. Have I made myself clear?” He scanned the room. “Good, let’s move out.”
Taylor stood, throwing his gear over his left shoulder. He looked down at Gates, who was still sitting. “Hey man, are you coming?” he asked a grin on his face.
“Yeah, I’m just trying to get into Gipson’s mind. Smith won’t be a problem, but Gipson?” He shook his head. “That man is another story.”
“You’re not in this alone, Gates. There’s a team of trained men working on this now. Remember what the Sergeant said. No heroes.”
Kevin grinned. “Copy that, Taylor.”
“Gates, I need a word with you,” sounded a voice from the door.
“I’ll meet you in the van,” Taylor said, moving past the commander.
“Sir?”
“Gates, it’s highly probable that Ms. Hanes is among those being held against their will. I know you have a personal connection with her. Are you going to be able to handle the pressure of what may go down in there if things get messy?”
Kevin curled his fingers into a tight fist then slowly relaxed them. “I can follow orders, sir,” he said, his voice firm.
“Good, I’m counting on that. Now head out, your partner’s waiting.”
Kevin heaved his pack into the open side door of the van and then slammed it shut. He felt eyes on him. “I’m good, man,” he said, knowing what was on the tip of Taylor’s tongue. He cracked a smile at his partner as he adjusted his cap. “Let’s get this done.”
“Copy that, Gates.”
Sophie pulled the diary from under her pillow. Her lips separated in disbelief at what she was reading. She could hear a different tone in Anya’s words ringing through the pages. “What’s going on?” she asked as she turned the page.
“It has been several days since I have written. My days and evenings have been mixed up, but my mind seems to be clearing. This has happened only with the help of Three, who is constantly at my side. I am able to manage my emotions better, too.
“I have spent little time with Mr. Dubois since my first two encounters with him when I first arrived at the castle two weeks ago. I find it strange. He is the man who requested my brother send me to France. Perhaps he grows tired of me. If that is the case, then I am glad. All I see are beautiful people dressed in the finest clothing. Even I am pampered and allowed to roam around the castle freely for a time, but then when I least expect it, I am treated cruelly. I have decided it was to trick me, to wear me down. It has worked. I have given in and realize I will be at the mercy of Mr. Dubois for the duration of his agreement with my brother.”
“Why are you giving in?” Sophie asked, looking squarely into the diary. “Don’t do it. You need to fight for yourself.”
“No, she had no more strength, Sophie. I have taken over. This is now my fight, and you would be wise to follow her example. Allow me to fight for you.”
“Three, I accept you and want you to be with me, but to give up? I will not allow Gipson or any other man to use me the way Anya was forced to do,” she said, standing near the edge of her bed.
“Sophie.” The soft sound came as if riding on a light breeze. “A gentle spirit turns away wrath. Do not become as the evil you are trying to stand against.”
She rested her head in her hands. “So you want me to do nothing?”
“Allow your submission to puzzle your captors. They thrive on your defiance. Sophie, you must trust and obey me in this matter.”
She slowly raised her head, pressing her fingertips into her forehead. “It isn’t normal to just give in,” she whispered. Once again, her head went into her hands as her mind fought her emotions. Her voice broke. “How can I do what you ask, Three?”
Sophie picked the diary up once more, remembering Three urged her to read it completely. Her eyes caught the next sentence.
“No, I will never stop loving you nor fail to keep my promises to you. I will not break my covenant with you. I will not take back a single word I have spoken. I have sworn an oath and in my perfectness I cannot lie.”
Sophie knew those words were not only for Anya but for her, too. “I will believe you, Three,” she said, wanting desperately to believe his words. “Anya, if you stood strong through all that you went through, then I can also with the help of Three.”
A gentle breeze entered the room at that second. Sophie’s mind brightened as she drank deeply of its freshness and continued to read in Anya’s diary. She felt a welcome calmness that things would be all right, and hopefully soon.
Plot maps were stretched out on a small table in the armored truck which served as the Tactical Command Post for Operation Regal Rescue. The truck was positioned on a raised side road which allowed for a point-to-point view of the outer perimeter of the east and southern regions of the wall. The position also ensured constant contact with all agents for the duration of the mission.
“Men,” Commander Young said, looking first at the map and then addressing them as a unit, “you will each find in your gearboxes a special communication device. It’s designed to fit inside your ear and has a microphone secured to the earpiece. All messages and communications will be scrambled. We don’t want any ear wigging going on by those we are trying to stay away from. I trust that each of you has been pre-briefed on protocol and is fully familiar with the procedure at hand. It’s very important that each of you knows who you are teamed with and your individual responsibilities. This, however, doesn’t mean there won’t be changes as we get in behind those walls and assess the situation.”
Gates took a long look at the men he would be putting his life on the line for—and they for him. He then looked over at his partner. “Taylor, let me lead. You’re a better shot than I am, and you can cover me a lot more accurately than I can you,” he said, tightening his helmet.
Taylor fixed his eyes on Gates for a long moment then gave a smile. “Copy that. I got your back, buddy.” He turned and opened his gearbox. “Let’s go over the equipment, make sure we have everything,” he said, doing the standard tests on each piece. “When the commander gives the mark, we want to be ready to move in and get this job done.”
“Got that, Taylor.”
Planting listening devices and cameras in strategic areas was the first order of business. The teams were instructed to secure them to vents, doors, and other areas where the residents and staff would gather.
Kevin was low, almost kneeling at the base of the wall behind Taylor, his mind drawn to Sophie as they waited. The thought of her in there, in that place with—. But professionalism was the name of the game now, not sentimentalism. He wiped the sweat from his forehead. He was in love with Sophie, and the more he thought about what could happen to her, the deeper the anger lodged in his gut. It was getting harder to maintain. If Gipson had anything to do with this, he knew she was in real danger.
“Gates, we’re approaching the north side of the wall.”
“Copy that, Taylor,” he whispered.
Taylor held his hand up to signal all to stay low. “It looks like all the surveillance cameras are positioned at the same height and on an even rotation,” he said, holding his hand in the wait position. “The cameras rotate every forty-five seconds, which gives us plenty of time to place eyes and ears. On my mark, go.” He gave the signal, and each team moved to their designated position. One man set and secured while the other man covered him.
“One set left, Taylor.”
“Get them secured and let’s get back to the west wall. Commander, do you read? All eyes and ears are set.”
“Copy that. Taylor. Great job, teams one and two. We’re now sending all audio and visual to each member’s portable bracelet. Within thirty seconds, each team should have eyes on all points of setting. And keep in mind, your bracelets are capable of picking up body heat and movement behind closed doors and walls with a thickness of no more than twelve inches.
“Copy that, Commander,” Taylor said.
“Your next move, men, will be to wait for activity. Remember, we have four women we are looking for. There must be a positive identification before any attempt to rescue. The dinner hour will be over soon, and with the schedule we’ve obtained, we know that some of the residents are allowed in the garden area until seven p.m.”
“I hate waiting. It isn’t my style,” Gates said, checking the data on his bracelet.
“Hold it together, buddy. We need to be quiet, listen, and watch for movement,” Taylor breathed.
“We have something, sir,” came the voice of a team member on the east wall. “It appears to be a small group of women being escorted to the dining room.”
“I thought dinner was finished,” Gates questioned.
“Yes, we see that. This is one of those unexpected changes you need to be ready for gentlemen. Maintain visual, I want to see if any of the women fit the descriptions of those we’re looking for.”
“If so, sir, do you want us to begin penetrating the facility?” Taylor asked.
“No, too many unknowns just yet. Be patient. Let’s see where this is headed.”
Taylor’s ears perked, and his eyes fixed. “Did everyone hear that?” he whispered.
All nodded their heads as they heard men’s voices.
“Let me see if I can identify any of them,” Gates said, slowly standing to look around the wall. He held binoculars to his eyes. “I see two men. One is Smith, and the other must be staff. He’s wearing scrubs and packing a sidearm.”
“Copy that, Gates. What are they doing?”
“I can’t read lips, but the conversation seems to be guy talk. I don’t like it,” Kevin said, shouldering the west wall again. “They’re up to something, and we need to know what.”
Taylor gave each a stern look. “Remember what the commander said. We need to be patient. Our time is coming to get inside.”
Kevin struggled with the impulse to move without orders. He leaned his head against the wall, breathing in the evening’s damp, musty air and listening for anything that may be a trigger to penetrate. “There must be something else,” he said to himself.
“Gates, what’s up? You’re too quiet,” Taylor said.
“I was just thinking. Do you remember what Theresa said about reading between the lines of the diary?”
He nodded his head. “Yeah, what are you getting at?”
Kevin stopped listening to the conversation in his earpiece. “Last night when we were going over the diary, do you remember what Anya said about the beautiful people and how they sparkled? How she didn’t know why all the different people looked the same for some reason. And when they looked at her, she seemed different from them?”
“Yeah, something about those with blue gems. Gates, I’m still not following you.”
“Let’s suppose she was talking about jewelry, and those who lived at the castle wore a certain color, and those who were visitors wore another color.”
There was a long silence broken by Taylor. “Yeah, like a type of ID. I think you’re on to something, Gates. Let me radio the commander and get someone working on that hunch.”
An upbeat voice sounded in each earpiece after the theory was forwarded. “Good work, gentlemen. I’ll get Jake working on that angle—along with Theresa—in our New York City office. We’ll get back to you as soon as we know something.”
“If anything happens to her, Taylor,” Kevin stopped, rubbed his eyes, and blinked to focus again, “heads are going to roll in a big way,” he said, checking the safety on his rifle.
“Gates, take it easy. I’m sure she’s okay. We’re going to get her out safe and sound.”
“Listen up—this is information for all teams. We have a new twist to identifying our missing woman. Apparently, all residents wear a copper bracelet with colored jewels—red for some and blue for others. We don’t know if the different colors are significant, but we’re going to assume they are. From what we can tell, most of the residents have blue jewels in their bracelets. We’ve detected only one with red. We’re going with the hunch that the women we’re looking for will have red, and that would include Ms. Hanes. One more thing about those bracelets, gentlemen, they’re the tool used to administer meds. The time and amount of medication are controlled by the staff. I’m afraid if they suspect anything has gone wrong, they may overdose those we’re looking for to keep them from talking.” There was a short, sharp silence after his words. “So men, we have no option. We must not be detected, understood?”
“Copy that,” echoed back to the commander.
“Gipson, have you heard from your FBI friend lately?” Smith asked, looking out over the dining hall from the balcony.
Gipson took a long pull from the brown bottle in his hand. “No, not since he asked me to look out for his girlfriend. Why do you ask?”
Smith turned, directing his full attention to his FBI friend. “I don’t trust him, and there’s something about his girlfriend. I don’t know what it is, but when I’m around her, there’s— I just don’t trust her.”
A deep laugh rolled out from Gipson’s throat. “Come on, Smith, don’t worry. She’s harmless. We’ll just have to keep enough drugs in her that she’ll have no choice but to cooperate.”
Gipson leaned over the balcony once more, watching Sophie at a table on the far end of the room, “And as for my friend in the states? He’s a hothead. A good agent, but he has a hard time keeping everything in check.” Gipson took another drink and pointed toward the far table. “Smith, I want her later,” he said, drawing once more from his bottle.
The professor looked down at his watch. “She’ll get her Actsford at nine.”
“Good, I’ll give her a little visit about that time.”
“Where do you want her?”
“I’ll get her from her room. I think we’ll take a little walk,” he said, grinning as he tapped the side of his bottle. “Can you make sure our boys know that I’ll be out and about later?”
“Not a problem,” Smith said marked pleasure in his voice.
Sophie was escorted to a nicely set table. The entire dining room was nice—no, it was beautiful. Soft beige and blue on the walls with long, dark blue drapes on the windows. One of the nicest places she’d been in the castle. She turned to the two women at the table. They didn’t notice her. Their heads were down, focused on their plates. Sophie noticed both women wore copper bracelets like hers, except one had a blue gem about the size of a nickel and the other a red one of the same size. She looked at her wrist—the stone in her bracelet was red.
She quickly glanced around the dining room again. Her instructions had been not to talk during dinner. None of the women were allowed to talk to each other. There were things she wanted to know, things she had to find out—she had to risk it. She surveyed the staff. They were performing their duties, paying little attention to the tables. Sophie turned and looked into the face of an attractive forty-something woman across the table from her. She was stunned by the woman’s eyes, the deepest emerald green Sophie could imagine. But something was missing. Her eyes had no life, only an empty stare. She seemed totally unaware of her surroundings.
Sophie cleared her throat. “Hi,” she said quietly, looking to her left then back again.
The woman’s eyes shifted, stared, and then moved back to her plate. “Hi,” she said from between pressed lips.
Sophie leaned over the table. “How long have you lived here?” she whispered.
The woman sat, not saying a word, the now familiar blank stare pasted again on her. She shifted in her chair and then glanced to her right. Sophie followed her eyes and saw a guard entering the room. The woman lowered her head, taking a bite of pasta. Sophie did the same, chewing slowly until the guard made his rounds and left the room again.
“Can you tell me how long you’ve been at the Regal?” she whispered again.
The woman hesitated. “I’m not sure,” came softly from her lips.
Sophie sensed she was telling the truth, and judging by her body language, it had not been an enjoyable stay.
“Why are you here?” she asked, still probing for answers.
The woman looked around once again, keeping her head low. “I’m not sure of that, either. All I know is I responded to an offer posted on a website for history fans, and the next thing I knew, my trip to Ireland landed me here.”
Sophie sat back in her chair. “Professor Smith.”
The woman raised her head, her eyes widening. “What did you just say?” she asked, now leaning on the table.
“Professor Smith. Do you know him?”
“He’s the one who was looking at my historical documents. He’s—” She stopped. A man in scrubs was walking toward their table.
“Good evening, ladies,” he said, touching Sophie’s neck. “I see the two of you have become acquainted. I would like to know what you’ve been whispering about.” His fingers tightened to a firm pinch.
The woman slowly raised her head, gazing at Sophie.
Sophie turned her head quickly to break his hold. “We were commenting on the pasta,” she said softly with a smile, hoping to sound convincing.
The tall, well-built man leaned in close. His smile was perfect, along with his tanned and bulging arms. A perfect specimen of a jerk if she’d ever seen one, she thought, feeling his hot breath on her face.
“Don’t be offended, but I don’t believe you,” he said, a smirk crossing his lips.
Sophie squeezed her hands together, trying to stop herself from slapping the smirk right off his face. Then the words “Be submissive,” sounded in her mind. “Three,” she breathed. Sophie looked past the attendant, not making a sound.
“It doesn’t matter. You’re going to be spending the evening with Mr. Gipson.” He pulled her chair from the table. “Get up,” he said, firmly gripping her arm. The smirk had faded. “I need to get you ready.”
Sophie felt her stomach drop. “No, not with him again,” she whispered.
“What good am I to you if you don’t let me help you? Sophie, don’t forget I am with you through whatever happens. Allow me to work.”
“Three, you know what he’s going to do to me,” she whispered to the sound in her head.
“I know what his intent is, dear one.”
“Keep him from me. Please, Three.”
“I’ll come for you in twenty minutes, Ms. Hanes,” the man said, standing by the door. Be out of the bathtub and ready to get dressed when I return.”
Sophie stood, trying to read the man’s eyes. They wanted her to resist, to say refuse to do as he said. She bit her lip, turned, and began to undress. He stood and watched as she got into the tub. She closed her eyes, wanting to be sick but resisting the urge to give in.
Sophie was wrapped in a towel when the man in scrubs returned with her clothes.
“I’ve picked this out for you.” He handed her a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. “Put them on.”
She waited for him to leave, but he didn’t move. “Can you turn around?” she asked.
He flashed his second jerk grin of the evening. “No, I think I’ll watch. You lied to me earlier, so you can’t be trusted. Get dressed.”
She dropped her towel to the floor, feeling his eyes skimming her naked body. She pulled the jeans on and slipped the shirt over her head.
He opened the door. What next? she thought, walking through a series of rooms and narrow halls.
“You need to wait here,” the man said, opening the door to a small room. Sophie recognized it. It was the room she had been in earlier. She sat on the bed and felt a sudden sting on her wrist. “What in the world was that?” She looked at the skin just under the red jewel. Her skin had boiled up around a red prick mark.
She put her fingers to her temples. Her head started to feel light, like the night she and Kevin drank that bottle of wine. She smiled. “Kevin,” she said, her tongue starting to feel thick. “I wish you knew where I was. I wish you could help me,” she whispered.
“He will Sophie,” came a gentle wind in her ears.
“Three, you’re here?”
“I have been with you all evening. I will be with you the rest of the evening as well.”
“I think we’ve got something here, Gates,” said Taylor, looking at his wrist camera. “Do you see what I see, Commander?”
“Copy that, Taylor. Do the rest of you see the images in the rooms on the west wall?”
“Copy that,” was heard unanimously from all teams.
“Good, we need ears turned on.”
“Ears are on and working sir,” the voice of his technical advisor echoed.
“All right, now I want each team listening for clues as to who these people are, and remember, check their wrists for copper bracelets. If they’re wearing a bracelet, we need to know the color of the jewels.”
“Copy that.”
Gates touched his partner’s arm. “Taylor, did you hear that?”
“Yeah, Gates, it was a woman’s voice, coming from the first room. She’s talking to someone.”
“That can’t be—there’s only one image in the room.”
“I see that, but there are two voices.” Taylor moved to see the picture more clearly. “Kevin, there’s only one. Maybe she’s hallucinating—she’s probably drugged.”
The door to the room they were monitoring suddenly opened.
A hand gripped her wrist, pulling her to her feet. Sophie could hear a man’s voice but couldn’t focus on his face. They walked through an outer door. The air was crisp but felt good as it struck her face. She looked up—the moon was bright, but not bright enough for her to make out who was dragging her behind him. They stopped.
Hot words hit her ear. “Are you seeing double, Ms. Hanes?” He laughed.
She struggled once more, squinting hard to make out the man’s face. Her eyes wouldn’t focus, but the voice, she knew the voice. Think Sophie. Then it hit her—it was Gipson. He was the man she had been with before. Sick. She had gotten sick. She tried to shake her head. It didn’t move. Why was her mind registering at a snail’s pace? What was happening to her sense of reasoning, and where was he taking her?
He leaned once more to her ear. “Let’s take a little walk, Sophie,” he said, giving her arm a hard jerk.
She felt her legs stiffen and then move with his persistent pull to her arm. Her mind moved, too, with each step into a deep, dense, frightening fog.
“Commander, we have a visual on two people—a man and a woman just leaving the building from a northeast door.”
“Put a team on them but keep your distance. We don’t want anyone to know we’re here just yet.”
“Copy that, sir. They’re proceeding northwest around the building. Losing visual, sir.”
“We’ve got them, Commander,” Gates said, night vision goggles to his eyes. “No,” he whispered.
“What do you have, Gates? Gates, do you still have a visual?”
“Ah yeah, Commander, I have a visual.”
“Good, we need to find out if the woman is one of the four we’re looking for. I know it’s difficult, maybe impossible, but can you see the jewels in the bracelet?”
“Let me check,” he said as he lowered the glasses. There it was on her left wrist. He could also see the grip the man had on Sophie. A fire started to burn in his gut as he tried to make a positive ID on the man. It was Gipson. Kevin knew what he was up to and also knew he had to stop him before Sophie became another one of his victims.
“Gates, do you have anything?”
“Yes, Commander, I can see that she has a bracelet, but I can’t be sure of the jewels.”
The communication went quiet for a few seconds. “We are going to assume she is one of our women, gentlemen. Do not attempt to rescue. Your job is to maintain visual contact. We need to locate the others before we intercept. Is that clear to all teams?”
“Copy that, Commander,” came from each duo.
“Team two; I want you to follow the man and woman. Stay in touch with the command post. You are now in alert mode. Got that, Taylor?”
Kevin grabbed the coat of his team leader, pulling him right into his line of vision. “No, Taylor, I think we need to follow the two in the yard.”
“What are you doing, Gates?” Taylor said, pushing him back. “Get your hands off me.”
Kevin stepped aside, and Taylor stepped in, nose to nose. His pupils were dilated, and his fists ready for action.
“Are you crazy, Gates?”
Kevin looked away and then back at his partner, “Taylor, that woman is Sophie, and it’s Gipson who’s got her.”
Taylor changed the channel on his radio so no one could hear. “Are you serious, Gates?”
“Dead serious. It’s Sophie, all right, and Gipson had a hard grip on her left arm. Listen, I know Gipson better than anyone, and he has a sick obsession with beautiful women.” Kevin rubbed his face. “He likes to hurt them before he—” Kevin stopped and focused hard on Taylor’s eyes. “Before he rapes them.”
Taylor looked toward the yard. “If she’s been drugged, she doesn’t stand a chance against what he’s going to do.”
Kevin looked into the eyes of his team leader. “I need to be there for her.”
Taylor took a deep breath and exhaled. “You American guys are hard to understand sometimes,” he said with a laugh. “Follow my lead, Gates.”
He readjusted his radio. “Men, there’s been a change of plans. I want you two to stay and get a positive ID on the jewels on those bracelets of the women inside. Gates and I are going to follow the two in the yard. Men, we need to work fast. There’s a strong possibility that the woman we saw with the man in the yard may be one of our victims. Remember, the commander said we rescue concurrently, so that means we all need to see red.”
“Copy that, Taylor, we’ll monitor with ears and become more aggressive in detecting the color of those jewels.”
“We’ll stay in touch by radio.” Taylor looked at Gates, “You ready?”
“Let’s do this,” he said, following Taylor north to a line of trees.
“I need to stop,” Sophie said, struggling to put one foot in front of the other.
The grip on her arm moved to her throat. “You’ll stop when I say.” The man’s breath felt on her like the fire of a dragon.
She looked through blurred eyes into Gipson’s contorted face. His eyes were a glassy red, and he reeked with the smell of liquor. Her mind raced back to the diary and the description of those who had abused Anya. “No, please don’t,” she said, almost collapsing. Calmness came gently to her body. It was Three—she could sense him. “No, don’t do this,” she said, still looking into Gipson’s bloodshot eyes.
“What’s wrong with you?” he yelled, his hand slipping from around her throat.
She fell to the ground, able to see around her with the light of the moon.
Gipson stood looking down at her, his body tense, his breathing labored. He wasn’t moving, just staring at her.
Sophie pushed herself up against a tree.
“What is it about you, Hanes?” Gipson yelled, falling carelessly in front of her. He reached with both hands to grab her shoulders but couldn’t. It was as if something was blocking his attempt.
She could see the anger carving deep lines on his face. His teeth were clenched, his hands in fists. “I’m going to have you!” He grabbed her shirt.
Sophie heard a rip, and then felt the cold, damp air on her now exposed skin. Just as she reached to cover herself, a sudden heaviness hit her body. It was Gipson; he had thrown himself on her, causing her to lose her breath.
“Commander, we’ve made a positive ID. The jewels in the bracelets of the three women in the wall chambers are red.”
“Good work, but there're four chambers. We’re missing one. Taylor, what have you found?”
“Sir, we lost visual on the man and woman but are continuing to track slowly to the north.”
“Find them, Taylor. We need to know if she’s the last woman being held against her will. We need to make a move soon.”
“Copy that, Commander.”
“Gates, we need to split up but within visual range of each other.”
“Copy that, Taylor,” he said, looking toward the wooded area. “See that line of barbed bushes just before the stretch of evergreens begins?”
“Copy that.”
“I’ll go just inside the heaviest grove of bushes to the north.”
“Copy that, Gates. Hey, make sure you stay on the north and west sides of the trees for cover—and so I can see you.”
“Got that, Taylor.”
“Good, let’s go,” Taylor said.
Gates stepped into the wooded area, lowering himself in front of the thicket. He stopped. It had suddenly gotten darker. He looked up. The tops of the trees formed a thick leafy canopy, blocking most of the moonlight. He continued in, stepping carefully, trying not to break branches or snap twigs that may alarm Gipson into doing something fatal to Sophie. He went low, crawling through the barbs on his belly; head high enough to allow his goggles to function properly. The clearing was just ahead. Gipson was somewhere in here—but where? Where would he have taken Sophie? Then the words of the diary rang in his ears. “Like the apple tree among the trees of the forest, so is my child among the sons.”
“An apple tree in the forest?” he repeated out loud. Kevin stopped once more. “Hey, Taylor,” he whispered into his headset. “Do you remember that section in the diary you read about an apple tree growing in a forest?”
“Yeah, it was in the evergreens. I thought it was a strange place for a fruit tree—they’re usually in an open area, growing with other fruit trees in an orchard. So what are you thinking?”
“I’m going to look for an apple tree. If Theresa’s right about the diary being a map, then that may be a clue.”
“Good work. Just don’t get out of eyesight, you copy?”
Gates walked steadily, rifle in hand, his every step lit by his night vision goggles. “Where are you, Sophie?” slipped from his lips but not loud enough to break the constant cadence of the crickets and other night insects.
“There it is.” There was an apple orchard twenty yards to the north according to the calculations on his glasses. The moon was shining through the trees to the forest floor, exposing an area that had obviously been cleared for the fruit trees.
“Taylor,” he whispered. “I’ve got a visual on two people.” Kevin’s eyes locked on what he had most dreaded seeing. “This isn’t good, this isn’t good at all,” he said, leaning down against a tree. “Taylor, it's Gipson, and he’s got Sophie on the ground.” He turned away. “Get a grip on your emotions, Kevin,” he told himself. He felt the blood careening through his veins to every part of his body, rage building inside. He rubbed the beads of sweat from his face.
“Copy that, Gates. Hold on, I’m on my way in.”
“Taylor, he’s beating her. I can see his fists. I can’t sit here and watch this happen. I’m going in.”
“Negative on that, Gates, hold your position,” Taylor’s voice shot across the airwaves, stern and commanding. “Gates! Gates, do you copy?” There was a long silence. “Come on, wait for me,” Taylor said, speeding up to an all-out run to get to his partner’s side.
Kevin had moved in close. He wanted his shot to be fatal. “Copy that, Taylor. I’ve got a clean shot at Gipson,” he said, securing the crosshairs on Gipson’s head.
“No! Gates don’t! I see you. Hold your fire. We need to stay within the chain of command,” he said, knowing his partner teetered on the edge. “Come on buddy, hold on.”
Kevin had his sights set to put the bullet through Gipson’s head. He had to get him off Sophie.
“I have seen the wicked in great power spread himself like a great bay tree. He will not succeed to death.”
Kevin lowered his rifle, “What?” He looked around.
“Gates, who are you talking to?”
Kevin ignored his question and pointed his rifle in the direction of Gipson a second time.
“Commander, we’ve found Ms. Hanes. We need to move fast or Gipson’s going to kill her.”
“Copy that, Taylor. Team two; are you in position and ready with the explosives?”
“Copy that, Commander. The charge has been set in the vacant cell. We’ll enter through the wall and proceed to free the three women who occupy the other cells.”
“Remember to cut the bracelets first and foremost. Once they know we’re here, they’re going to do everything they can to keep those women quiet. This all has to go off concurrently, men. Team three, make your way to the west wall, and when in place let me know. We’ll start the count then. Taylor, I need an update on your situation.”
“Commander, it’s not looking good for Ms. Hanes, maybe rape. Gipson has a long history of violence against women, sir. He knows how and where to hit them, and he’s hitting her hard. She’s not moving. We don’t have much time.”
“Copy that, Taylor. Stand by for the code word. Team three, what’s your twenty?”
“In position in about two minutes, sir.”
“Team two, did you copy that?”
“Copy that, sir. Commander, this is hard to watch without doing something,” Gates said, desperation in his voice.
“I realize that, Taylor. Hold your position.”
Kevin watched as Gipson abused and battered Sophie. I’ll kill him when I get the chance, he thought, finger still ready near the trigger. He focused in on Sophie. Why didn’t she fight back? He knew why—she was unconscious, or nearly dead. He grabbed Taylor’s arm. “How much time until we make our move?”
“We have—”
“Gentlemen, the code word for initiation is RR. On my mark, is everyone in place?”
“Copy that, Commander. Two and Three are in position and ready for RR.”
“Taylor? Gates?”
“Copy, Commander, we’re ready for RR.” Taylor looked over at Gates, “Are you ready to do what you have to do?”
Kevin’s eyes were piercing. He knew they always shot to kill unless otherwise commanded. “Ready.”
“Countdown, gentlemen. Five, four, three, two, one—R.R.”
About five seconds later, Taylor and Gates heard a loud blast.
Gates eyed the situation with Sophie. Gipson’s head snapped back, and he drew his sidearm.
“Hands in the air! FBI!” Taylor yelled as he and Gates ran toward Gipson, guns aimed at vital organs.
Gipson fired a shot, grazing Taylor on the arm, knocking him to the ground momentarily.
“Follow him, Gates. He’s heading deeper into the woods. I’ll look after Sophie.”
Kevin hesitated, his eyes on Sophie’s lifeless body. He knelt, touched her neck—she had a pulse, faint but still alive.
“Go, I’ll take care of her,” Taylor said touching Kevin’s shoulder.
Kevin took one last look. “I’m going to kill him,” he said, feeling the anger flowing through every fiber of his being. He ran toward where they’d lost sight of Gipson. Kevin searched, no movement, no sounds. He immediately dropping behind a tree, listening. He can’t be far, he thought. Kevin knew Gipson was smart, and knew how to play war games. Kevin held tight to his gun, waiting for a sound, for movement. The minutes passed like hours. Patience is the name of this game, he reminded himself as his eyes darted continually, waiting. “He’s going to make a mistake and when he does…there was something on his right. Kevin immediately turned. It was Gipson. He watched him dash from behind a tree. “Stop!” yelled Gates, jumping to his feet. “You’re mine, you stinkin’ pig!” he yelled pulling up, Gipson in his sights. He pulled the trigger, and Gipson fell to the ground, not moving.
Gates watched and waited for several minutes. He didn’t trust Gipson even if he was dead, and he was sure he wasn’t. Kevin had made it a point not to hit him in a vital organ. He wanted him to suffer a while. He searched the ground for Gipson’s weapon, staying a safe distance away because the gun could be anywhere. He was about eight feet away when he dropped his eyes down on Gipson, still no visual on his gun. He stepped out just as Gipson pulled the hammer on his pistol.
“Drop it, Gipson,” he yelled. “I’d like nothing more than to blow you into a million little pieces,” Kevin said, the crosshairs on Gipson’s chest.
Gipson lowered the gun to the ground.
“Now the knife in your boot—pull it out, now.”
“What if I don’t, city boy?” he said, falling back onto the grass, laughing between deep gasps of pain.
“Then I’ll drug you and beat you the way I watched you beat Sophie, you piece of low life. .”
Gipson’s laugh grew deeper. “Aw, your little girlfriend, she’s a nice one, Gates. Thanks for sharing,” he said, coughing red liquid into his hands.
“Why, you—” he stepped closer, raising his gun to Gipson’s head.
“Gates, no! Stop!” Kevin turned. Taylor stood right behind him. “Buddy, step away from him. I’ll take over from here.” Taylor reached for Kevin’s arm. “Sophie’s asking for you.”
A muscle twitched in Kevin’s cheek, his sights still locked on Gipson. He lowered his rifle. “Where is she?” he asked Taylor.
“She’s in an ambulance on the east side of the building. Gates, they got to her in time.”
“Copy that, Taylor,” he said, kicking dirt into Gipson’s face.
Kevin rushed to the east side of the building and was met by Commander Young.
“Good work holding it together, Gates,” he said, putting his hand on his shoulder. “I believe there’s a young woman asking for you.”
Kevin turned and stepped up into the back of the ambulance. He couldn’t believe what he saw. She was covered in blood. It ran from her nose and ears into her long brown hair, which was crusted with blood and dirt and sweat. Long strands of hair stuck to the sides of her face. Her arms were badly bruised, and her fingernails were caked with dirt from the forest floor. A green sheet covered her half-naked body.
Kevin cleared his throat. “Hey there,” he said, trying to get her attention. He waited for a response. Her eyes were black and swollen, her feathery lips cut and bloody.
Sophie opened her left eye slightly. “Kevin?” she asked, trying to sit up. “How did you get here?”
“Shhh,” he said, leaning close to her face and kissing her forehead. “Sophie,” his voice broke, “I’m so sorry this happened to you.” He could feel hot tears forming in the corners of his eyes. It was more than he could take, seeing her beautiful body so bruised and used like this.
“Kevin,” she whispered. “Anya.”
His brows furrowed. “Anya?” Babe, what are you talking about?”
She swallowed hard, pain on her face. “Three told me that I would be rescued by one who was far away, by one who loved me, just as Anya had been rescued by the one who truly loved her—her father.” She raised up a little, her lips closer to his ear. “Don’t you see, Kevin? Your life isn’t your own, either. Your life followed the diary just as mine did. Three was right all along. He’s the one who brought us together. He’s the one who knew I’d need you to rescue me.” She choked and swallowed hard again.
Kevin lowered her weak body back to the stretcher.
“Ms. Hanes, they’re ready to take you to the hospital,” said the attendant.
Kevin looked at the commander for approval to ride along.
“I’ll see you at the hospital later, Gates.”
“Copy that, sir,” he said, pulling the ambulance door shut.
“So, did you find the Milky Way?” Kevin asked, sitting on the blanket next to Sophie’s reclining body.
“Yeah, it’s right there,” she said, proudly pointing straight above her head.
Kevin followed her hand to see a faint band of stars arching across the night sky. He leaned down on one arm, getting closer. “Do you realize, Ms. Hanes, you have just pointed to a part of the galaxy we live in? And that galaxy has over three hundred billion stars accompanied by the sun, moon, and the other planets?”
She continued to gaze into the night sky. “As a matter of fact, Kevin, I did know that.”
He looked up once again. “Well, did you also know that it’s the only galaxy that when you’re in the middle, you can look back to Earth and see what looks like a giant smiley face?” he asked, making a large smile with his fingers.
She thought for a moment. Doubt crossed her mind, but Kevin knew a great deal about many things, and the stars were one of them. She smiled. “Really?” she finally said, her nose scrunched to accompany the curious look on her face.
He leaned in, touching her ear with his lips. “No babe, that’s not true.” Kevin’s eyes melted into hers, and his arms tightened around her waist. “I made that part up.”
Sophie laughed as her lips met his. The kiss was deep and seemed to go on as long as the Milky Way itself. She opened her eyes, searching the heart of the man who had so much to offer her. “Kevin, thank you.
He kissed the tip of her nose. “For what?
“For your ability to make me laugh, for saving me from whatever was going to happen to me at the Regal, for listening to Three.”
Kevin pulled gently on a long strand of her hair as he caressed her face with his eyes. “Sophie, the first time I saw you, I was behind the camera. It was my job to focus in, get the best shots of you I could. You didn’t know it, but I knew even before you started talking—and, believe it or not, even after you got sick—that you were something special.” He let loose of the brown thread in his fingers and looked to the sky, trying to harness his feelings from among the stars. “Sophie, this is hard to explain. You were like a treasure I’d found, a treasure that needed to be protected. And then when I ran into you at the library, I knew I had to do more than just look.” He brought her hands to his lips and gently kissed them. “I knew I had to pursue, I had to get the treasure for myself and hide it away somewhere,” he said. “I’d give my body and soul for you.”
She looked away, batting the tears from her eyes. “Kevin—”
He leaned across her. “Sophie, I meant every word. I want you. I’m tired of living alone. I want you with me, and I want to marry you.”
Sophie sat up, leaning hard on her knees. Her mind reeled at his sudden proposal. She loved Kevin, but something was missing, something vital to her very being, something vital to her relationship with him.
“Remember the very end of Anya’s diary?”
Kevin rubbed his eyes, knowing why she’d changed the conversation.
“Remember the close, right after her father had confronted Sean and demanded to know where she had been taken and why? Then Mr. O’Connell forced his way into Mr. Dubois’ castle and took Anya back to their home estate?”
“The diary again? Come on, Sophie, I don’t see what it has to do with anything we’re talking about,” he said, hastily standing to his feet.
“Kevin, Anya said things would never be the same. She said she’d been through too much and had grown to depend on something much greater than human life.” Sophie joined him, gently slipping her arms around his waist. “Kevin, look at me.”
Kevin frantically searched her face for clues as to what her next words would be. He felt rejection coming, and he wasn’t in the right mindset to deal with it in a good way.
“Anya didn’t want to live under the power of men who elected to stay the same. She wanted more from life than what she had experienced in the past. She needed to rise above the status quo of her day. Can’t you see that, Kevin?”
This was one side of Sophie he hadn’t seen before. She was passionate and sounded convinced of her own words. He ran his hands through her brown locks then firmly planted them on her small shoulders. “Sophie, don’t you know that I love you? Haven’t I proven it?”
“Yes, you have, but I want—” She looked up, searching the stars. “No, I need someone who shares my desires, Kevin. I’ve changed, just like Anya did. I won’t settle for the status quo, either.”
“Sophie.” His hands left her shoulders and locked behind his head. He turned, putting distance between them. “I want what you want. If you’re talking about Three, you can believe whatever you want. I don’t care.”
“That’s just it,” she said. “Kevin, I want you to care. I want you to believe with me.”
“Now you sound like your ex-boyfriend.”
She took a firm step back from him. “Trey? He has nothing to do with this.”
“Oh, I think he does. You still have feelings for him, and now you have something else crowding me out, this spirit called Three. Sophie, you told me that Trey left you for his God. Now you’re taking his lead and dumping me for your God?”
She shook her head. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I’m not dumping you. Kevin, all I want is someone who’ll share my passion for something bigger than the both of us.”
He sighed. “Listen to me, Sophie. I want to be that man for you, but this Three seems to be right in the middle of us. It’s like I can’t get to you without going through him, or it, or whatever it is. Don’t you see that? Three isn’t real. This Spirit was part of the whole diary experience. It was nothing more than a passing phenomenon.” Kevin moved in close. “Let’s face it, even I was taken in for a while, listening to Theresa, even imagining I had a face-to-face with Three. But this Spirit was just conjured up. It was what kept Anya from losing her mind. It fit into her tragic life story like a hand in a glove. But there’s something I find more heartbreaking than Anya’s story. It’s your story, Sophie.”
Her eyes widened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s the fact that the diary and someone else’s story is what pulled you into a life-threatening scheme. If this Three was real—a protector as he had claimed—that whole scenario wouldn’t have been played out in your life.”
“Kevin, you’re wrong. It’s not like that at all.”
He pulled in a deep breath and put his fingers to her lips. “Sophie, this conversation is going nowhere. Can we drop it for the evening?” He pulled her back to where they had been sitting on the ground. “I have something to tell you. But before I do—” He pulled a small white hanky from his pocket.
Sophie recognized the hanky as one that had been in the diary.
“This faded piece of cloth was in your cottage. I found it near the diary Smith had made for you when we went to get your things. We now know it was an original, one of Anya’s.”
He put it in her hand.
“There’s something in it,” she said, allowing it to open in her hand. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes. “It’s a ring.”
“Yes, it is. In case you missed it a few minutes ago, I asked you to marry me.”
Her eyes swept to him and softened. “I didn’t miss the ‘marry me’ part, but I was thrown off by your unpolished delivery. You’re usually so smooth, and I wondered—”
“It wasn’t supposed to come out that way,” he said, slipping the ring onto her finger.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything tonight. I want you to think about it.”
They sat wordless, Kevin circling the ring around her finger as emotions tugged at his senses.
“I’m going to be out of the country for a while.”
Sophie’s eyes traveled from the ring to Kevin. A troubled look masked his face. The witty, in-control man she’d come to appreciate was miles away. “Where out of the country, Kevin?”
“You know I can’t tell you that. It’s for your protection. This is highly sensitive Sophie. As far as this case goes, you don’t exist, and you’ve never been a part of my life.”
“Can you tell me how long you’ll be gone?”
He leaned in and brushed her lips with his. “All I can tell you is that when I get back, I would like an answer from you. Marry me or not. Either way, I love you more than you’ll ever know.”
“Kevin, I love you, too.” She brushed his face with the back of her hand. “I’ll be here when you get back.”
His arms wrapped around her, but the chill surrounding his embrace flooded her mind, bringing more questions about their relationship than she had answers for.
She laced her fingers around his neck as he held her. “I’ll have an answer for you.”
Sophie checked the calendar. More than three weeks had passed since she’d seen or heard from Kevin. I hope he’s back before classes start, she thought. It was August, and most of her fall preparations were finished for the semester. Now it was a waiting game, waiting on two fronts.
Week five without any word from Kevin had come and gone when Sophie heard a knock on the front door.
“Kevin,” she smiled, wrapping her freshly washed hair in a towel. It had to be him. He was the only one who ever knocked. Everyone else used the doorbell. She ran, holding the towel on her head and not bothering to look before she flung the door open. “Kevin, I’m so glad to see—” she stopped. Her eyes widened as she stood looking at the man standing on her front porch.
“Hey Sophie,” he said, his lips flat.
His voice was soft and gentle, caressing her ears as he spoke. But then he’s always had a beautiful voice. It matched his impeccable personality, among other attributes.
“It’s been a long time.”
She felt a lump make its way down her throat. “Trey, what are you doing here?”
He looked around. “Sophie, may I come in?”
She stood there, a silent conversation going on in her mind between believing and not believing who was at her door. Finally, she stepped to the side.
“You look great,” he said, wringing his hands as he glanced around her front room.
She heard restlessness in his voice. It had been three years since she’d seen him. Maybe it was nerves. But not Trey—he was a professional, steady all the time.
“May I sit?” he asked, motioning to the couch.
“Yes, of course, sit.” Sophie remained standing, leaning on the back of a chair.
His eyes moved around the space quickly. She felt the wounds that had scabbed over start to reopen.
“Trey, why are you here? I thought you were flying around the world, saving people from their sins.”
He ignored the tone behind her words and carefully laid the small paper bag he held in his hands on the couch beside him. “I’ve been overseas a lot the past year—well, back and forth. I still fly for the airlines in the states as well as smaller flights for missions.”
Silence enveloped the air between them.
“Okay, but that doesn’t tell me why you’re sitting in my living room.”
“I don’t see a ring on your finger, Sophie,” he said, changing the subject, a tactic he used when he wanted to stall for time. He’d learned that skill from his father, and he used it quite well. “That surprises me. I think you’ve gotten more beautiful since the last time I saw you. And something else has changed about you, too.”
A soft but reserved smile crossed her lips. Trey always knew what to say and just when to say it.
“Trey, I have an engagement ring.” She looked at his folded hands. “I don’t see a ring on your finger, either, although if my memory serves me correctly, you’ve never been the jewelry type of guy.”
He looked down at his left hand. “I’m not married. Too busy, I guess,” he laughed.
She knew there was more to his visit than checking ring fingers. “Trey, you’re stalling. What’s up?”
“Sophie, would you sit with me? There is a specific reason I’m here. It’s about Three.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “How do you know about him? Have you read Anya’s diary?”
He held his hand up. “Hold on, let me explain.” He took her hand and moved to the edge of his seat. “I had just gotten back from Haiti. I sat down to fill out paperwork when I heard a voice. I thought it was outside, but when I checked it out and found no one, I went back to work. Then I heard it a second time and realized it was right in my ears. It was disturbing at first until I could understand the words that were being spoken.”
“What did he say to you?”
Trey sat for a moment. “He told me about a treasure, and he said that where my treasure could be found was where I would find my heart.” He picked up the brown bag, holding it tightly. He drew in a deep breath. “Shortly after that, the FBI contacted me.”
“Why did they want you? You’re about as squeaky clean as they get, Trey.” Sophie giggled. “What in the world did you do to get a call from the government?”
Trey laid the bag aside and reached for Sophie’s hands.
“You’ve got to let me finish,” he said, squeezing her fingers. The FBI called me because they found information about me in Kevin Gates’ apartment along with dozens of pictures of the two of you together.”
“So why did the FBI contact you? And why were they in Kevin’s apartment?” She stood and moved away from him.
“Sophie, Kevin was killed five days ago. His body has been flown back to New York for burial. They chose me to tell you because of this.” Trey handed her the brown paper bag.
Shock and indescribable anguish washed over Sophie. “You’re lying!” she screamed. “You’ve been spying on me—that’s how you know about Kevin.” She held the small bag in her shaking hands, tears streaming down her cheeks. “What is this?” she demanded her voice sharp and full of contempt.
“Come, sit with me,” he said, taking her by the arm.
She slowly slid the contents from the bag. “It’s a journal.”
“Open it to the last entry, Sophie.”
She turned the book to the back, the binding giving a faint crack as it opened. She brushed the tears from her eyes and saw Kevin’s handwriting. She closed her eyes, forming an image of him in her mind.
“Well, I did it. I asked Sophie to marry me. No answer yet and frankly not sure it’s meant to be. I’ve come to realize that a relationship has two parts, mine and hers. I want this marriage in the worst way, but I’m not convinced about Sophie, the other part. Sophie is the best thing that ever happened to me. She’s all I think about, such a beautiful treasure I found and want to guard for the rest of my life. But I think she’s found a deeper love. I can tell by the way she talks about him, about the way she urges me to consider how he has helped her and Anya through their dark moments.
“Three has stolen her heart. And the hard truth is she needs a man who can share this Spirit, this thing with her. I’m not sure that I can. How could I fall for something that promises hope and protection, but does little to demonstrate that protection or give hope at all? I’m used to seeing things done within a reasonable amount of time. I guess I hate to wait.
“The concept of a Spirit helping a person through life sounds good, but I want proof. I want to know for sure who I’m dealing with. This Three isn’t visible to the naked eye, so how can I know anything about him for sure?
“There is a man who could fill those shoes. Trey. She still has feelings for him. How deep those feelings run, that’s anyone’s guess. She has that private thing going on, just another one of the reasons I love her. I’m not giving up. I’m going to fight for her. Besides, I’m the one who’s asked her to be my wife, and I’m a much better man than that airline pilot, ha ha.
“Before I left for Russia, Sophie and I spent the evening together. That girl has a way of wrapping me around her finger and just when the moment’s right, she unwinds me like a top. She made me promise I would look and listen with an open heart for Three’s voice. She’s convinced I’m going to need his help. She may be right on that. The FBI has been monitoring constant chatter on a terrorist attack planned for two weeks from this Friday; the day most major universities are back in session for the fall. Our team is ready to take out the perpetrators, but the stakes are higher than anything we’ve ever encountered. The risks are high, but we have the element of surprise on our side, plus the best minds and bodies in the organization to do the job.
“So tonight I’m going to search my soul. That’s one thing I’ve never done before. Sophie has found something very valuable. I want to see if I, too, can find it—if it’s there to be found, that is. I’m not making any promises.
“I wish I could talk to her one more time before we embark on this despicable mission tomorrow.
“Sophie, if by chance I don’t make it out of Russia on my own two feet, you will eventually receive this journal. The FBI will go through everything I own and connect you to me. I have made plans for you if something unforeseen happens. I’m confident I will be home soon so you won’t have to read this entry. I hate that we have to go through this before each mission. So for now, the ends are tied up.
“God knows that I love you, my sweet treasure.”
She closed the journal and laid it between her and Trey.
“Sophie, Kevin’s family said they would fly you to the funeral if you want to go.”
“I never met them,” she said, wrestling with the knots in her stomach.
“They knew all about you. Kevin made sure of that.”
Trey sat close, tucked beside her in the quietness of first-class. He read a little but mostly watched Sophie from the corner of his eye. The week had proved exhausting for the young professor. The purple circles under her swollen eyes were proof that sleep deprivation and the sudden loss of a cherished love changes one’s appearance rather quickly. Trey knew all too well about that. He’d experienced it two years earlier after he said goodbye to Sophie. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his thoughts slow and clear. He’d walked out on her. He glanced her way. She was in the process of rereading every word Kevin had written in his personal journal and examining the stack of pictures he had saved of the two of them. Trey watched her smile randomly one moment, and the next moment cry tears into her picture-cluttered lap. It was her way of dealing. He looked back to his book, thinking. For the last seven nights, he’d stayed with Sophie, sleeping on her couch, staying close, making sure she was okay. Or was that just an excuse to be with her?
Trey recalled the intimate times they had shared. He had to be honest. He missed her touch, her kisses, and even watching her grade papers. He closed his eyes, leaning back in his seat. It was crazy how the past couple of years had flown by. He’d see or hear something and immediately think of her. Driving by her house on a regular basis didn’t help him forget much either, he told himself. But he had his resolve. It was his passion for God that kept him from turning back to her. Was it that same resolve within him that was now determined to get her back? He rubbed his eyes.
“God, you know I love her,” he whispered. “I need her in my life, and she needs me.” He looked down at the words on the page of the book, not reading anything.
“Trey, school starts in two weeks.”
He cleared his throat. Her words had cleared his mind. “Really? Do you think you’ll be ready to go back?”
Her head rested on the seat, and she closed her eyes. “Yes,” she said with a sigh. She’d be ready, but was she really ready?
“Sophie, Anya had another diary. It was written for you in your time of need.”
“Three?” she said out loud, pulling her seat to the upright position. “A second diary?”
Trey quickly brought his seat to the upright position. “Are you all right?”
She sat frozen. Sophie had not heard from Three since Dool, since Gipson, since the whole ordeal.
“Dear Sophie, search the attic. It will be beside a black book. Your find will be rich and more meaningful than you could ever imagine.”
She ignored Trey’s question. All she could think about was Three. “Trey, can you take me to my grandmother’s house when we get back?”
He checked his watch. “It’s going to be almost dark, but I guess so. Why?”
“There’s another diary. I need to find it.”
“What?”
“Three just spoke to me. Three said the diary was written for me.”
He reached to take her hand, wanting to tell her to just leave well enough alone, but he couldn’t. This, too, was part of the plan for Sophie. Three had planned it all this way. Trey breathed deeply and prayed it wouldn’t hurt her too much this time.
Trey unlocked the front door. The house was as dirty and dusty as when she’d been in it with her mother, months earlier.
“Where did Three say you’d find the diary?”
“He said to search the attic, and it would be next to a black book.”
The door to the stairs was cracked open. Trey pulled it open further. He put his foot on the first step, and it shifted. He stepped on the next one. It was loose and spongy, giving the impression it would drop at any moment. He looked up and just as he thought, a leaky roof. He made a mental note to get that fixed, feeling a sense of responsibility come over him to take care of what belonged to Sophie. He took Sophie’s hand as they started up the stairs. They stepped up into a large open space. Dim light came through the small window on the west wall, casting an amber glow on the entire room. Spooky, he thought.
Sophie stood in the middle of the open space, saying nothing, just staring. This is where it had begun. “Why did I ever pick up that diary and crack its binding?” she whispered. “Things would’ve been so different.” Fresh thoughts of Professor Smith and the Regal quickly ran through her mind. And then there was Gipson. “Kevin, if only I had listened to you, but no…I had to have my way. I had to—”
“Over there,” Trey said, ignoring her whispers and walking toward a large bookshelf. It was covered with gray, dusty strands of cobweb. He pulled a handful of the silky strings from the shelf. Sophie followed behind him, squinting to make out the titles as her fingers ran over the row of spines. Trey stopped, resting his hands on the top of the shelf. He shook his head. “That’s it, Sophie. It’s not here.” He moved his hands, and his fingers hit something. He looked up. “Wait a minute. What’s this?” He stretched upward, reaching high over his head. Trey grabbed hold of a book and blew the dust off the cover. “The black book,” he said. “It’s an early edition of the original King James.”
“A Bible?” she questioned, rubbing the dust from the cover with her hand. “Trey, Three said the diary would be next to a black book. Did he mean a Bible?”
Trey stretched up again, his hand plowing through layers of more dust and cobwebs. He nicked something with his fingers. “Wait, I’ve got something.” He pulled down a small book, about a third of the size of the Bible.
“Could this be what you’re looking for?” he asked, placing the diary in her hands.
Sophie stood, her hands shaking as she held the unopened book. She knew what had happened the last time she’d opened someone else’s diary—pain and betrayal. She wasn’t sure she could handle any more of it in her life. She looked at Trey and then back to the diary. Although her heart beat hard in her chest, she opened the cover anyway, the binding cracking the same way the first one had.
Sophie began to read, silently, for several minutes. There were no words for what she read. “How?” She dropped the book.
“What is it?” Trey asked, reaching to pick up the book. He scanned the page.
“Three, I now have a renewed lease on life. I have gone through the pain of losing those most dear to me. First my mother, the one who loved me with all of her heart. I have also lost my brother at the hands of his own folly, and my dear father to an illness. Yet you send to me one more deserving of my love than any other I have ever met. He has waited for me, and looks at me as a treasure to guard as long as he has breath.”
“For your words, dear child, I am grateful. You have gone through much pain and suffering yet have come out victorious in the end. Remember my words to you long ago, that your life was not your own? There have been those who have followed you. Those who have suffered the loss of dear ones as you have.
“Sophie. Your loss will not be in vain. Those who seek will find me. They will find me in their greatest time of need. Kevin understood that I use good people on the good path to see my work accomplished. That is why he died. Dear child, he was doing my good work. He gave his life to save thousands of others, which was his lot in life.”
Trey lowered the diary. He knew full well why Sophie was upset. He, too, felt unstable, but not in his understanding. He knew Three. He knew the ways of the Spirit were always fair. He reached for Sophie’s hands and brought them to his chest. “You asked how? How Three knew? Sophie, he knows everything. You have a willing heart, he can trust you. He wanted you to know—and so did Kevin.”
Her glassy eyes reflected the warmth of Trey’s face. “What do you mean?”
A sigh rippled from his chest. Trying to explain the way of Three wasn’t going to be easy to an already hurting heart.
“Listen. I have an envelope from the FBI that may help.” He waited, touched her cheek. “Sophie, I was ordered not to give it to you until the classified status was removed from the final investigation and Kevin’s body had been laid to rest. Kevin requested that I be the one to show you the documents and that I wait until you had found the second diary.”
Her face scrunched in question. “He knew about the second diary? But how?”
Trey shook his head. “I honestly don’t know, Sophie. My guess is that Three had something to do with him knowing about the book.” He closed the diary, gripping it with both hands. “What do you want to do with this?”
She pressed her eyes onto the book. It was trying to pull her in. Her name was among the pages with Anya’s. She shook her head, pushed it away. “Put it back on the shelf. That part of Anya’s life will have to be for someone else to live.”
Trey put his hands on her warm cheeks, moving his lips to brush her forehead. “Good. You need to concentrate on your life here, and that includes facing what’s in that envelope.”
He brought her face close to his. “Are you ready to look at it? It’s the last part of Kevin’s life.”
She touched his hands, bit her bottom lip. “Yes.”
They sat, chairs touching at the kitchen table. Trey pulled the document from the manila envelope and pushed it in front of her.
“No, would you read it first?”
He nodded and silently read, line by line, to himself. When finished, he looked at Sophie with a warm smile. “Are you ready to hear this?”
With bated breath, she nodded her head in agreement.
Trey began. “Official US Government Document of Mr. Kevin Gates, agent, FBI New York, NY. Mr. Gates gave his life in service to his country, along with seven of his comrades. They followed the mission set before them. Mr. Gates and his team foiled a chemical attack that was to be initiated on hundreds of college campuses in the United States at the beginning of each of the school’s fall semester. Chemicals were to be injected into the heating and cooling systems on each campus. When engaged, thousands of students and staff would have died instantly.
The eight men were responsible for saving thousands of lives. They are also credited with the deaths of the terrorist leadership, destroying the compound, targeting the chemicals, and securing their disposal.
Mr. Gates sustained life-threatening injuries when his Humvee was hit by a land missile at the close of the mission.
He, along with two other men, was pulled from the armored vehicle. His last words were to Ms. Sophie Hanes.”
Trey felt Sophie’s hand brush his arm and her body lean in close to his. He smiled and turned back to the document.
“Words recorded by medics: ‘Sophie, I love you. I won’t be there to hear you say you’ll marry me or to guard you like I promised. There’s a man I’m leaving instructions for after I’m gone. I’m asking Captain Trey Steele to take care of you. He loves you. He never stopped, and neither will I.’ ”
A sudden, eerie hush fell between the two. Sophie’s eyes moved from Trey to the document. She watched his lips move as he reread it.
Trey laid the letter on the table and met her sober stare. “Kevin was right, Sophie. I never stopped loving you.” He swallowed hard, pushing his emotions back to a manageable level. He wanted so much to take her, to pick up where they had left off. “I love you more now than I did two long years ago.” He reached for her. “I want to help you through this, Sophie—no, we are going to help you through this. Three will guide us, one day at a time.”
Her lips separated to speak.
Trey pressed his fingers to her lips. “Don’t say anything, just listen. Kevin died doing what he had to do. Protecting our country, protecting you. Sophie, Pullman Universities was on the list. Kevin knew. Now it’s my turn. I’m going to do what I need to do.”
Sophie listened as Trey spoke of his intentions. He was making plans just as Kevin would do. She smiled on the inside; feeling like eventually everything would be all right. She would come through this.
Over the next several weeks, turning turned into months, and then into a full year, Sophie came full circle with the loss of Kevin and her relationship with Trey.
She realized that one never really loses in life unless they drop their gloves and give up the fight completely. She’d given up on Trey two years ago, too soon. Her unwillingness to listen and allowing her stubborn, self-centeredness to win had caused her to become the ultimate loser. She had failed to see Trey for who he really was—a man with an open heart and a man who lived for more than just himself. He was a man who was willing to give his life for those he would never meet, just like Kevin.
Three had been patiently showing her what he wanted for her. A life filled with giving of herself. Loving others the way she had been loved. Sophie gave a somber smile, her thoughts focused on Three. He’d put a diary of pain and suffering in her hands, one that she would experience both mentally and physically. She now realized it was the only way. When she stepped foot in that dusty attic, she had no idea that the hardest part of her life had already been set in motion.
But now Three had wonderfully given her two men to demonstrate what true sacrifice looked like. Three had shown her a different path, a good path, allowing her to now share her life with a man to whom she could show sacrificial love.
A man who has been sent to Guard the Treasure.