by Emma Castle
She kissed his chest. “Thorne, please don’t be angry, but I spoke to your uncle today. Cameron Haywood.”
His chest grew still beneath her hand.
“He wants to meet you. I told him how we met. He is so excited to find you alive. He’s your family, Thorne. You really should meet him.”
Thorne drew in a breath. “If I meet him, you will leave me?” he asked.
She hadn’t expected that reaction. “Leave you? I . . . No, no, I won’t leave you. I would be happy to go wherever you go if you want me to.”
He suddenly relaxed, the tension in his body releasing beneath her.
“If you are with me, I will meet this uncle,” he said the word with a childish suspicion that made her smile. She tapped his chest with a finger.
“Remember, you are an uncle to Akika’s son. Remember how much you love Akika and his child? That is how Cameron feels about you.”
He arched one dark brow. “How do you know this?”
“I know, because I could hear it in his voice. He spent a decade looking for you, ten years. I know you don’t know what that means, but it’s almost half the time you’ve been alive, Thorne. That’s how long he looked for you. He didn’t believe that I’d found you at first, but I sent him pictures of your father’s ring and your mother’s necklace.”
Thorne brushed the backs of his fingers over her throat. “You are not wearing it.”
“I didn’t want to break that delicate chain while I slept. It’s in a special pouch, along with your father’s ring.”
Thorne seemed satisfied with that answer. “He believes you now? About me?”
“Mostly. Many people have pretended to have found you and your parents over the years for money.”
He growled darkly. “You mean gold?”
“Something like that. People can be greedy, and they can be cruel to get what they want.” She cleared her throat. “But people can also show compassion and love without end to one another. Most people believe in the goodness of humankind, and they are the ones you should put your faith in. I believe your uncle is a good man, as well as his wife, your aunt. Will you trust them?”
He was silent a long moment. “I trust you. You have a pure heart. I will always trust you.”
His words shook her. How could he have such faith in her in so short a time? She hadn’t done anything to deserve such loyalty from him.
“Will you trust me then if I trust your uncle?”
Thorne spooled a lock of her hair around his finger. After a long moment, he nodded. His vivid blue eyes seemed to glow in the lamplight.
Eden hugged him tight and then reached for her new phone on the nightstand and sent Cameron a text that she had found Thorne and he’d agreed to a DNA test. She almost immediately received a response.
I will have a private flight to London arranged tomorrow. I want you to bring him to England. Bring him home.
Eden stared at the words Bring him home. Then she turned to Thorne.
“Your uncle wants you to come to England to meet him. To see where you were born.” She licked her lips nervously. “Will you come with me?” Then she tried saying it another way. “Will you let me bring you home?”
She saw flashes of uncertainty shadowing his eyes, but he nodded again.
“If you are with me, I will go.”
Thorne rolled her beneath him on the bed, his mouth capturing hers, and all thoughts of London were forgotten.
Archibald sat in his office in Fort Portal as night closed in. The French gemologist Jean Carillet was asleep in a hotel room across the street, paid well for his silence and for helping Archibald dispose of Cash’s body.
The flat-screen TV in his office was on, but muted. The BBC was covering the discovery of the murdered tourists in Bwindi Impenetrable Forest. A reporter stood in front of the dark park entrance, speaking to the camera. On the screen below her were pictures of the deceased, presumably now that the families had been notified.
Archibald stared at the TV, his hands idly playing with a large golf-ball-size rock that looked more like a dusty piece of quartz than the near-priceless uncut diamond it was. He’d tried more than once to have the diamond cut down. He was, after all, not a sentimental man who would have kept such a valuable find as a keepsake. But the three different men he’d hired to cut it down had all been unsuccessful, their diamond cutting tools shattered the moment they came into contact with the stone. It was a mystery that Archibald could not solve, but he knew one thing—the stone held power, great power. The question that he struggled with was, What kind of power and how can I use it?
He had found this diamond in his first year in the jungle when he’d turned twenty-one. Even now, after all these years, he could remember the rush he’d felt at seeing the cave for the first time, stepping inside and flashing his torch over the rocky walls.
The artificial light had made the diamonds on the ground and in the walls glitter. And there had been more than diamonds in the dark, humid cave. There had been gold. Hundreds of pounds of gold fashioned into goblets, plates, and jewelry. Gold had streaked across the walls like shiny paint. It was clear that some ancient culture had left the items there, perhaps the distant ancestors of the now displaced Batwa tribes. The cave had felt more like a temple than a hiding spot, the way the items had been so carefully arranged.
Archibald had stood there for what felt like mere minutes, but later it had proven to be two hours as he’d stared at the treasure, and he could not tear his gaze away.
In that moment of discovery, Archibald had earned his reprieve from the wretched life he’d lived on the streets of Camden in London. He had been born into nothing, and had lived as nothing, yet he’d craved so much more. He had fought hard to leave that world behind, and finally he’d escaped.
At eighteen he’d found work on a cargo ship bound for Africa, and he had never regretted leaving. By the time he was twenty-five, he had amassed enough wealth to buy a townhouse in London and a manor house in the English countryside. The elite of London society now played to his tune and were at his beck and call.
But it wasn’t enough. He doubted if anything would ever be enough, not when gold and diamonds still whispered to him from a mist-shrouded mountain cave in the jungle. No matter how much money he earned, he could sense that others considered themselves his betters, that he’d never shake his Camden roots. To be found wanting was a fate no man wanted to endure.
Archibald set the diamond down and reached for the TV remote, turning the sound on.
“Emergency crews are working through the night to recover the bodies of the park guides and the tourists. There is still uncertainty as to who killed them and why. The bodies of four armed men, not part of the group, were also found, and they are believed to be responsible for killing the tourists. It is unclear at this time who killed the armed men. Theories are already being investigated regarding poachers and rebel activity. Uganda has long been a place of political unrest and has only in the last decade been considered politically stable. It is hoped that this is not a sign of political turbulence that may return.”
Archibald muted the TV and leaned back in his leather chair. Killing tourists had been a stupid mistake, one that could have been avoided. If Cash had still been alive, Archibald would have killed the man himself. If the investigation pointed toward Archibald, he would need to make sure there were no loose ends and that he had an escape route.
A picture filled the screen that made him turn the sound back on.
“This isn’t the first time the Ugandan national park has had its tragic mysteries. Twenty-two years ago, the Earl of Somerset, Jacob Haywood; his wife, Amelia; their son, Thorne Haywood; and their pilot went missing when their plane crashed. After months of searching for the wreck site, their bodies were never found. The Haywoods were passionate conservationists who used their wealth . . .”
He tuned out the words and stared at the faces of the Haywoods, his anger only deepening. Twenty-two years ago, he’d killed that
family, believing no one would care enough to look too hard for them. Yet their disappearance had upset his excavation work for more than a year. Archibald saw the close-up of the Haywoods’ young child and flinched.
Compassion was a word that was alien to Archibald. He had none and gave none. However, he refused to accept the idea that he was no better than the hooligans he’d grown up with. Men of power and means, men of culture, better men lived by rules. Killing a child would have made him no better than the swill of his old neighborhood, yet on occasion he wondered if leaving the boy to the forest had been any better.
Upon reflection, he realized it didn’t matter. Only the rules mattered. That was how one judged one’s place in the world of men. Power and position meant nothing without it, and it was how he knew he was better than those who still looked down upon him.
Still, the thought left him unsettled. He had done his best to forget that day, to forget those bodies. The last thing he needed was the media stirring up old mysteries, in case it led to new leads.
His phone hummed, and he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket.
“This is Jim. You asked me to keep you informed about the Matthews girl.”
“Yes?” Archibald listened to his man on the inside of the US Embassy. Jim Bramble helped him from time to time when he needed information on people.
“She’s booked on a private flight to London.”
“When does she leave?”
“Tomorrow, midmorning.”
“What did you find out about her personally?”
Bramble snorted. “That’s going to cost you extra.”
“I’ll pay.” Archibald wasn’t in the mood for haggling.
“She’s a photojournalist for some nature magazine, National Park. She’s mainly focused on animals and doesn’t seem to have any political leanings in her articles, no skeletons in her closet. Her parents are in Little Rock, Arkansas. She’s clean. I found nothing on her you could use. She’s a real girl next door, a cute kid.”
A squeaky-clean American girl who worked in the media and couldn’t be blackmailed into silence? Unacceptable.
“Do you know how she managed to charter a private flight to London so quickly? Is the magazine covering that expense?”
“No, definitely not. She’s the guest of some hotshot in merry old England, Cameron Haywood. You know him?”
“I’m acquainted.” For the first time in a long time, Archibald felt panic. “I’ll contact you if I need anything else.”
Archibald ended the call and cursed. Cameron Haywood was the brother of the man he’d killed all those years ago. They had even met in passing over the years as Archibald had clawed his way up the social ladder.
How did the girl know him? And why did Cameron charter a plane for her? What had she found?
Perhaps she’d found the Haywoods’ plane wreckage. It had been so long ago, however. Nothing tied him to that site, but he couldn’t take the chance of having the Haywoods’ remains resurface. He needed to silence the girl before she could tell anyone what she knew. It didn’t sound as though she’d told anyone at the embassy about it—Bramble was good about finding such things out.
Archibald stared off into space, planning. Thinking. That, after all, was what separated the men from the animals. The stuffed silverback gorilla in the corner of his office suddenly drew his focus. He’d killed that beast when it had been ready to charge the Haywoods. It was a kill that still left him feeling a pulsing of excitement in his veins.
For the first time in days, he smiled.
13
Eden was impressed with how calm Thorne had been. They had caught a car first thing in the morning and had driven forty minutes to the city of Entebbe, which had the nearest airport. There they had boarded an expensive private jet that they had entirely to themselves. Thorne had eaten his lunch, puzzling over the forks, knives, and spoons, and carefully mimicking her when she used them while they waited for the flight crew to prepare. Now he was seated on the plane, watching the ground crew fueling the plane and preparing for takeoff.
She put a hand on his knee, and he looked away from the window and toward her, a furrow forming between his dark brows.
“You okay?” she asked.
“I have memories. Memories of falling from the sky,” he said quietly. Eden couldn’t even begin to put herself in his place. He had to be frightened of flying, even after all these years, but this was the quickest way to get to London.
“Hey, you survived that, remember? And this plane is much safer.” She smiled and placed her hand over his, but he still said nothing as he turned his focus back to the ground crew.
By the time they were cleared for takeoff, Thorne had a white-knuckled grip on the armrests. What he needed, Eden decided, was a distraction. While the plane rumbled down the runway, she retrieved her camera bag and dug Jacob’s ring out of the front pocket. With gentle hands, she pried Thorne’s death grip from the armrests and slipped it on his finger. He glanced down at it, then to her in surprise.
“Your father is here with you,” she said and held his hand as the plane rose into the sky. Thorne sat rigid beside her, and Eden hated that he was afraid. This man was so powerful and confident in the jungle, yet here he was at odds with everything around him. Eden vowed she would do everything she could to erase that fear since he was here because she’d asked him to be.
“Thorne, do you remember much about home?”
He pulled his focus from the window back to her. “Home?”
“In England, I mean. Do you remember?”
“I . . . Yes. A little.” He didn’t say anything more.
Eden cursed to herself. She had hoped to keep him talking. But now that the plane was high enough, she could pull out her laptop.
“I have some pictures of the jungle. Would you like to see them?”
His face brightened a little. “Yes.”
She set her computer on the table in front of their seats. Cameron’s plane was fully equipped with all the luxuries a private jet could afford, including polished wood folding tables between the rows of seats, which faced each other.
Eden pulled up the photos and leaned closer to Thorne. His attention turned to the screen, and she showed him how to go back and forth through the pictures. He studied each picture deeply, and would point at things like birds, flowers, or animals he noticed in the background. His favorite photos were those of his family, Tembo, and her. Pictures of himself seemed to hold no interest.
He paused on one of Keza, a close-up portrait of her as she held a mango to her mouth. Her reddish-brown eyes were soft, seeming to hold deep secrets within them.
“Mother,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “I miss her.”
She leaned her head on his shoulder. “I know. But you don’t have to stay in England forever. You can travel back to Africa to see her and Akika. You have that power now.”
His sorrowful expression hardened at the word power, and he sighed. “I do not want power.”
“And that is what makes you the best person to have it. Believe me, people who want power almost never deserve it.” She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder, and he put a comforting arm around her. The unexpected gesture made her smile.
“You learned something new,” she said with a giggle.
“I learned many things watching people at the airport.” He chuckled. “Men hold their mates like this.”
“Yes, they do. That was a very good thing to learn.”
He looked through another dozen photos and paused at the one he had taken of her.
“This is my favorite.” He pressed his lips to her forehead.
Eden’s heart tightened in her chest. Thorne knew just how to get underneath any armor she had put up around her heart. When he reached the photo of himself and Tembo, she stopped him from moving to the next photo.
“And this is mine.”
“Why?” His eyes were full of boyish innocence. How could he not understand how beautiful he was? H
ow the picture of him and Tembo captured that?
“I see your heart in this picture. I see you and the elephant. You are one, two hearts together. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
He kissed her again upon the lips, slow and sweet. She lost track of time as the kiss seemed to go on forever. His breath was warm on her cheeks and neck as he breathed deeply, contentedly. She, on the other hand, wanted more of that kiss, more of the languid way his lips moved over hers as though he’d mastered kisses years ago and not just a few days before. The gentle, intimate familiarity between them was growing, and Eden felt as though she had been in love with this man her entire life, as though she’d always known him deep down in her soul and loved him. Was that possible? She didn’t know, but she couldn’t help but believe it.
“Sleep, Eden. You are weary.”
“I’m really not that tired,” she argued, but she snuggled closer anyway and fell asleep a short time later, cocooned in Thorne’s warmth.
When she woke hours later, it was time for dinner. They still had another few hours left in the flight, but Thorne was adjusting to being stuck on a plane for so long. He smiled at the flight attendant who served them and ate his steak and potatoes au gratin, but when he tried the wine the woman offered, he coughed and shoved the glass back at the poor attendant.
“Would you like a beer instead, Mr. Haywood?” the woman offered.
“Beer?” Thorne glanced to Eden, who shook her head.
“No. Thank you.”
“Maybe he can try a soda?” Eden suggested. Alcohol was an acquired taste for most people. Thorne had not had anything but water in twenty-two years and should definitely not start out with beer.
When Thorne tried the soda he grinned. “I remember this taste.” He examined the red can with a delighted smile.
“What else do you remember?” Eden asked.