by Chris Lange
“You can be irritating at times, but that’s as far as it goes. How in God’s name could you think otherwise?”
“Because of the way you avoid me, or treat me like a wacky teenager, or show your dislike whenever you get the chance.”
The honest words rushed out, and she wouldn’t take them back even if she could. He deserved them. He seemed disconcerted now, looking at her as if she’d just touched down from another planet.
“I have never—”
“Or the way you use me.”
He knew what she referred to, and a hint of color tinged his cheeks. Watching his uneasiness, she found it hard to believe that she startled and embarrassed him so, the no-emotion man who wouldn’t be taken down from his pedestal. He wrinkled his brow while he nervously ran his fingers through his hair.
“I did not use you, I merely—”
“You merely what?” She couldn’t help but urge him on, not having devised this let’s-spill-our-guts moment, but glad it was happening. His next intake of breath showed his awkwardness.
“You are William’s daughter. I respect you. I fear my integrity has been impaired and my behavior was disgraceful, but—”
“Twice.”
She cut him short, not ready to let him forget that he should blame himself twice as much.
He nodded and said, “Yes, twice. However, it has naught to do with respect as you are undoubtedly worthy to be honored, and I hold you in high esteem.”
Unexpected warmth welled up in her, infusing its essence in her blood, leaving her aching for more, more of this gratifying music to her ears. “So what is it?”
He took another deep breath, holding his mug, looking out of sorts, on the borderline between sheepishness and mortification. “I wronged you because I was unable to vanquish my desire for you. Upon my word, I never sought to bring shame on you, but I bowed to enticement. You are an exceedingly beguiling lady and I faltered in my allegiance to you. Do you comprehend?”
She did her best not to grin, not to sound too amused as she used his flourished manner of speech. “Oh, yeah, I comprehend very well. In other words, I push your buttons.” She couldn’t tell if he was all that familiar with her expressive style, but she figured he got the drift of it.
“I am a man of principles. I have endeavored to abide by them but my efforts were to no avail. Forgive my misdeed, I pray you.”
She only needed him to acknowledge the reality of their lovemaking. But as she listened to his lengthy apology, his genuine consideration for her and subsequent feelings of guilt touched a chord.
“Don’t sweat it, you’re off the hook. I get the picture now. You can’t get enough of me but no strings attached, isn’t that right?”
He shook his head, the vehement negative gesture igniting a low apprehension deep down her belly.
“I fear you insist on misinterpreting my position,” he said. “As things stand, I experienced an epiphany. Our profound intimacy takes me away from myself. When I’m holding you within my arms, I feel . . .” He wavered. He furrowed his brow as though in need of a very specific word to define his frame of mind. “With you, I’m free.”
“Come on, Garrett, isn’t that the whole point of intimacy?”
“You’re so innocent.”
“I’m not.”
He gazed at her with a slightly puzzled air before he smiled, the slow curving of his mouth tinged with what could only be called melancholy. “It may well be in your social circles, but it isn’t so in mine.”
Did that mean he had already envisioned a future for them? A time yet to come that didn’t bode well.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “but I don’t get it.”
“I’m aware of that fact. Your understanding of the world is dissimilar from my own and can’t be altered. Suffice to say, I pledged myself to my family as well as, to a certain extent, to your father. Hence, my duties and moral obligations shall always take precedence over my aspirations.”
Honor and self-sacrifice not being right on top of her list, she found the concept hard to grasp, even more so since last night. In such a short time, she’d come to care about this stuffy, hoity-toity man far more than she ever had about her ex-boyfriend.
Then again, Timothy never made love to her the way Garrett did. She stared at him, tall, handsome, his face a mask of I shan’t degrade my divine judgment with earthly desires. No, she didn’t understand the way he behaved. She never would but, at last, she perceived the heavy, invisible ropes binding him.
“Gosh,” she exclaimed. “Are you telling me you’re willing to sacrifice your life for—hold on, let me get this straight—no reason?”
“I do not deem it a sacrifice, but loyalty.”
A long silence ensued, erecting a barrier of dissension. Both of them walled in their ways and beliefs, both of them betrayed by life. Neither willing to surrender to the other. Unable to deal with what he’d revealed to her, she postponed the hateful moment. Later would be a much better time. Now, she needed to find the painting.
“You know what? Let’s get out of here.” She grabbed a cloth to wipe the kitchen table while he retrieved the weapon belt and fastened it around his hips. She dumped the dishes in the sink but as she put a mug down, her pulse bounded up. Abruptly realizing what they’d missed, she wheeled around.
“Dad would never leave the painting here, it’s way too obvious. Gee, how can I have been such a dumbass?”
Her excited tone caught Garrett’s interest. Eyes gleaming, he parted his lips as it dawned on him right then, and they spoke in unison. “There’s a sub-level.”
They went straight back to the spot under the trapdoor. Now that the lights glowed, she knew exactly where to look and didn’t miss the square on the floor, another trapdoor with words engraved on the surface.
Once upon a time.
They stepped onto it, and she kneeled to blow on the markings. With a gentle whoosh, the trapdoor lowered, halting about ten feet below. No darkness there either, but a brightly lit hallway flanked with doors.
“This is it, Garrett.” She walked to the first door on the right while he checked the one on the left. Finding herself in a large science lab, she looked at shelves crammed with bottles and jars, glass containers filled with fluids and weird substances, and machines she couldn’t name apart from a microscope sitting on a worktable.
She went through the room but didn’t spot any place to hide a work of art. Where the heck was it?
Garrett’s voice floated across the hall. “Dear Lord!”
“I’m coming.”
Did he locate the painting? Her pulse speeding up, she joined him as he identified instruments with wonderment and possibly reverence.
“It’s no wonder William could achieve so much,” he said in awe. “Microscopes, chemistry sets to test samples, a mass spectrometer, and even a gas chromatograph. Had it not been for his extensive teachings, I wouldn’t recognize . . .” His voice trailed off while she grimaced with disappointment, not the least interested in chemistry or mass spectrometers.
“Yeah, Dad’s a hoot. Did you find something apart from these instruments?”
“Not much, I’m afraid. Only a lavatory.”
“Then let’s move on.”
“As you wish.”
The next fair-sized lab looked pretty much the same to her, although Garrett seemed to be of a different opinion. Eyes glowing with anticipation, he looked as excited as a child unwrapping his birthday gifts. “Look over there. These are thermal cyclers for a Polymerase Chain Reaction. They’re used for DNA sequencing.”
“No kidding,” she mumbled in a bored voice, wanting out. This place was just an upgrade from middle school science and the whole thing was starting to freak her out. Where was the damn painting? Lost forever?
“I’d wage
r William used the DNA in your blown breath to unlock the trapdoors and whatever security system he devised. Hence, you’d have sole access to his complex. That’s very clever indeed.”
“Yep. Good one, Dad.”
Garrett ignored her comment as he stared at the thermal cyclers for a while longer. After a last good-bye look at the containers, he left the room, crossed the hallway, and opened another door on the left side. “God in Heaven.”
Chapter 15
Unbelievably good news or false alarm again? Heart pounding, Tracy caught up with him, just to be sure, and stepped into yet another large room holding boilers or cisterns or whatever these radiant green tanks were.
“What’s this?” she asked Garrett.
“The heart of the complex. This is the power source, self-sufficient and in control of the whole system. Only last week, William hinted at this power source. I wish he were here today to enlighten me.”
“Sure he would.”
If her dad was here, they’d get him the hell out but surely not waste time to enlighten whatever needed enlightening. Men could be so obtuse sometimes, small wonder they complained about not understanding women.
Far from her train of thought, Garrett spoke with slowness and admiration as one of his hands hovered above the biggest tank. “The more I ponder, the more I believe we’re standing below a magnetic field connected to the hellhounds.”
“You don’t say.” Her retort came out just a little too loud but the fate of the robot-creatures passed way over her head. She dismissed her unladylike breach of etiquette with a shrug and walked to the back of the lab to check behind the boilers. Luck hadn’t been on their side up to now but against reason or logic, she hoped.
She assessed the painting’s away-ness at first glance and uttered a loud sigh.
Garrett went to the door, holding it open for her. “I’m sorry, Miss Rich . . . Tracy.”
Before she had enough presence of mind to mention his blunder, he pulled himself together with grace. “I should have realized all this is of no particular interest to you. Come, we may find the painting in the next room.”
He called her Tracy although his oh-yes-make-me-come wasn’t out of his pants. Wow! She moved past him, out of the room, along the corridor, and to the next door. No handle here, but some kind of security system that looked like a bottle cap, or a gray circle inserted in the center of the door.
Wild hope struck her when she saw the security system. The painting must be in this room because a locked door always meant the last obstacle to the treasure. Always. She had seen enough blockbusters to be well aware of that. Unless of course hit movies were exclusively fantasy works, illusory spawns of brain-distorted film directors.
She glanced at Garrett.
When he nodded, she took a deep breath and blew in the circle.
The door unlocked with a soft click.
Bingo. She pushed the panel open and faced a kind of a storeroom with small, empty cages and cardboard boxes lining the walls on both sides. She moved between rows, Garrett on her heels.
Hollywood movies must be unreliable as well as inaccurate because the painting was nowhere in sight. So much for her hunch. So much for countless hours in front of her screen watching flicks.
She was about to double-back when she spotted a bundle on the floor, against the back wall. A brown mass that suddenly stirred.
“Oh my God.” She leaped across the room. Heart in her mouth, she kneeled next to the bundle and tugged at the dirty brown blanket. “Dad? Daddy, can you hear me?”
Garrett crouched beside her, his gaze hopeful, and raised the unconscious man’s wrist to feel for a beat. “He’s alive. However, I fear his pulse is a tad faint. We must transport him to the train without delay.”
Eyes closed, face ashen, a thin cut on his neck, beads of sweat dotting his forehead and cheeks, her father looked weak. She barely heard what Garrett said, feeling both numb and distraught with concern.
“Get up, Tracy,” Garrett ordered.
Moving required too much energy. Garrett spoke again, but this time, his harsh voice penetrated her brain and pulled her from immobile shock.
“Do not fail me now.” He lifted the unconscious man in his arms to carry him out.
She followed them, no other option coming to mind.
In the hallway, her father opened his eyes when she put her hand on his forehead. “Daddy . . . it’s me, Daddy.”
His eyes didn’t focus, but he managed to wave feeble fingers toward the last door featuring another bottle cap to blow in.
This panel slid sideways with her breath and they gathered inside an elevator.
On the right side, two disk-shaped dials glittered under the glare of electrical light. He indicated the black one first, then the red. She obeyed his silent instructions and turned them. The elevator door closed, only to slide open again a few seconds later as fresh air wafted into their noses.
Garrett stepped out first and, probably relying on his sense of direction, motioned with his head. “We’re in the mines. Look, the entrance is right over there.”
She glanced at her father, way too quiet for her taste.
Despite his weakness, he murmured when he caught her concerned expression, “Put me down. I can walk.”
He couldn’t really, clinging to their shoulders for support, but they were able to drag him along, his head lolling all the way to The Drifter still sitting on the track. Jake had waited for them.
Early morning greeted them, the sun rising in its own good time. Yet she sensed something amiss. As she reflected on the odd sensation, she figured out the use for the black switch in the elevator. The hellhounds had vanished, gone back down to where they belonged. The ground was just ground, dust and soil.
They boarded the train as relieved shouts greeted their appearance. Jake appeared sullen.
Still in obvious pain from his wound, Weedon fetched fresh water while Jessica helped them to carry her dad to the bedroom. He managed to drink a little before passing out again.
Feeling incompetent, Tracy refreshed his brow with a damp cloth while Garrett ushered their friends out.
Once alone, he turned to her. “You cannot do more, Tracy. We shall call for a physician as soon as we arrive in San Francisco. William is a strong man. He will come through this.”
“I know. It’s just that he looks so weak, so tired. I wish there was something I could do, anything better than wetting his forehead.”
Actually, she could sit him in the telepod and drive him to a twenty-first century hospital. Yeah, but that meant leaving Garrett behind.
Was she ready for that? Besides, her dad wasn’t the type to fuss over a scratch. She dropped the cloth in the bowl of water, tucked the blue bedspread over her father’s chest, and stood.
“Promise me Dad will be all right?” She heard childish lilts in her voice, wishing Garrett would embrace her. She expelled a sigh when he did and stroked her hair in a soothing gesture, his solemn words warming her heart.
“Upon my word.”
She’d have liked this tender moment to last all the way to San Francisco.
Garrett slid a finger under her chin to raise her head. “You need to recuperate your strength as well. Would you care to share breakfast with me and our companions?”
Although being in his arms felt way better than bliss, she had to concede she was thirsty and hungry. Ravenous, actually. “Yes, I’d love to.”
“I seem to recall you mentioning you were fully satisfied this morning.” His teasing tone flirted with huskiness.
She freed herself from his embrace to stare at him, disbelieving this turn of events and his playful smile. “Garrett? Are you kidding?”
“It may be so.”
“Gee, you should do that more often.”
&nb
sp; He ran light fingertips along her jawline while she observed his relaxed features and glinting gaze. Watching her lips, he seized her again, lust and frustration whirling in his dark eyes.
They stood still, gazing at each other, confounded by the fierceness of their hunger, the sort of hunger that had nothing to do with food.
Garrett got a grip on himself before her, and broke the spell. “Err . . . we should not . . . we’d better join the others.”
Oh well, his bold impulse didn’t last long. Still, it was an improvement. She grinned at him, playing on his temporary weakness. “Afraid to take up the challenge, are we? Maybe it’s because I—”
His lips crushed hers, taking her breath away. He plunged his tongue into her mouth, awakening all her senses in a heartbeat. He wasn’t kissing her, he was consuming her, devouring her.
Everything except his ravaging contact faded away. Gone were the worries, the recurring doubts and the pounding fears. All of them just gone.
Garrett kissed her deep and hard, eliciting with his tongue only happiness, satisfaction, and sweet pleasure. When he finally raised his head, they were both breathless. A throbbing desire dampened her panties as a solid lump brushed her belly.
Without doubt, a crucial moment in their hectic relationship was upon them and she knew he’d give in if she touched him. Just the slightest hint and he’d sweep her into his arms without a backward glance, take her to the stable car, and make devilish love to her right there in the straw.
Oh yeah, she was crying out for heavenly kisses and long, hard thrusts piercing her body right through, but not at all costs. She had the certainty he’d yield to lust and tumble her in the straw, but she wanted commitment.
Hell, she deserved commitment.