by Joanne Pence
Michael was happy that his cell phone finally worked again. He phoned Jianjun, and let him know he had the pearl, and the demonic threat was over … at least for the moment. He told Jianjun he’d explain everything when they got together, and that he and Ceinwen would be on their way to Salmon the next day. He was glad to learn Jianjun was doing well and was ecstatic to still be in Salmon with Kira Holt.
When Jianjun asked about Rachel, Michael only said she’d met a man, fallen in love, and the two had gone off to parts unknown. Jianjun sounded surprised, then said he wished her happiness. Michael and Ceinwen thought their white lie might work after all. And it had to be better than a truth that no one would believe.
The next morning, Michael and Ceinwen left the hotel to head for the airport. They were on their way to their car when a black van pulled in front of them and stopped. The side door opened and two men jumped out, guns drawn.
Michael had grabbed Ceinwen’s hand, ready to run, but the guns stopped him.
“Get in!” one ordered. “Both of you.”
Ceinwen glanced at Michael. Reluctantly, he nodded. As she stepped near the van, a third man grabbed her arm and pulled her inside, while a fourth remained at the wheel. Michael recognized one of the gunmen as the stocky murderer from the Idaho mountains. He had no choice but to follow the order, and also entered the van.
He noticed the big man moved slowly and winced with pain as he did. Michael had wounded him in the shootout in Idaho. He now wished he had killed him.
They were driven to a barren area near a beach, then stopped. Michael’s breathing came sharply as he tried to determine how to break free and get Ceinwen away from these bastards. But one man held a gun to her head. When Michael was told to get out of the van, he glanced first at Ceinwen. Raw fury struck as he saw how scared she was.
As soon as he climbed from the van, two of the armed men faced him. The big fellow was, as always, the talker of the group. “You can give us the pearl now, and we’ll let you two go. Or, we can kill you both and then search your belongings until we find it. No one wants either of you dead. We only want the pearl. It’s your choice.”
Michael knew how ruthless these men had been in Idaho and didn’t doubt their threat. He couldn’t take the chance of them hurting Ceinwen.
“All right,” he said. “It’s in my carry-on. I’ll get it.”
A gunman grabbed the carry-on and tossed it to Michael. “Open it, then dump everything onto the ground. Don’t get cute or she dies.”
Michael did as told. With no weapon in the bag, he could do nothing but point to the lead container. “It’s in there. I suggest you keep it in that lead box. The pearl can be very dangerous if mishandled.”
The gunman scoffed. “Dangerous? It’s a pearl!”
“Open it, if you don’t believe me,” Michael said. “Unless you’re afraid to.”
“What? Afraid of this?” One gunman lifted the lid of the box.
“No!” The big fellow shouted. “Shut that! Don’t chance it. This whole job is way too goddamn crazy. The name ‘pearl’ might be a code name for something. If it’s stored in lead, it could even be radioactive. Take it and let’s get the hell out of here.”
Heeding the warning, the others agreed. One man tossed their suitcases from the van and told Ceinwen to get out as well. She rushed to Michael as the other thieves jumped inside the van and sped away.
Michael held Ceinwen close as they watched the three men disappear.
“What do we do?” she asked.
“I’ve got a good idea who’s behind this,” he said. “There’s only one person who knows so much about me and our movements, and at the same time, doesn't want us killed.”
“Who?”
“Have you ever been to Cape Cod?”
Chapter 52
Ceinwen and Michael reached Boston at midnight. The next morning, since Ceinwen had never seen the city, Michael drove her to some historical sites. They ate brunch near Paul Revere’s House and walked a bit of the Freedom Trail before making the long drive to Cape Cod.
As pleasant as it was, Ceinwen was sure Michael had played tour guide more to delay facing his father than anything else. He had said little to her about his family home or his life there, but what he didn’t say spoke volumes. Now, as he drove toward that home, the taciturn but tough loner who kept everything bottled up inside was back.
She, too, fell silent.
Her thoughts turned once again to his mother’s diary. It had been beyond cheeky for her to read it, but she had been in a strange country and in the house of a man she didn’t know. Or maybe that was just an excuse for journalistic nosiness.
She had never told Michael she’d read the diary, and hoped she would never need to confess it. At the same time, she was glad she’d read it and could now understand why Michael was so apprehensive about this visit.
She had to admit she felt much the same. There was an aura of evil attached to everything about his father.
After reaching what Michael called “Outer Cape Cod,” they left the highway and took a narrow lane toward the ocean. Michael stopped at tall iron gates with a large, scrolled “R” medallion in gold on each gate. He tapped a code onto a keypad, and the gates slid open.
The length of the driveway surprised Ceinwen, but it was nothing compared to her reaction to the house itself with its elaborate cornices, fan-shaped molding above the windows and doors, castle-like turret, and grotesque winged monkeys parading above the entrance.
“Welcome to Wintersgate,” Michael said wryly.
“So I see,” she said. “Someone had a fondness for Gothic manor houses.”
He tried to grin, but it came out more as a grimace as he rubbed his forehead. “My sentiments exactly,” he said softly.
“Headache?”
“They seem to hit whenever I come home.” He blinked a few times, as if the sunlight itself was bothering him.
They were removing their suitcases from the trunk when an older skeleton of a man approached. Michael introduced the valet, Stedman, to Ceinwen. He took her suitcase, and as they proceeded toward the house, he asked Michael, “Will the Green Room do for your guest?”
“That’s fine. I suspect we’ll only be here a couple of nights. Is the old man home?”
“He’s in his laboratory at the moment. I’m sure he’ll be happy to learn you’re back,” Stedman replied as they entered the foyer. “Dinner will be served at seven tonight. Would you like some tea or coffee after your drive?”
“Iced tea for me. Ceinwen?”
She was so busy taking in the home’s interior, it took a moment for the question to register. “Same, please. Thank you.”
The massive entry hall reminded her of a once beautiful woman who had grown old and didn’t realize that her makeup was now garish, and her clothes frayed, faded, and misshapen. It was as if no one cared anymore about the house, and, in revenge, it had turned ugly and uninviting.
They followed Stedman up the stairs. He passed two doors along the hallway and then opened the third. “This is for you, Miss Ceinwen.”
“Thank you.” She looked at Michael before going into it.
“My room is next door,” he said, indicating the room at the end of the hall. “Head downstairs when you’re ready for your tea. Take your time. It may be a while. I’ll be down after I say hello to my father.”
Stedman entered the room ahead of her and placed her suitcase on a bench at the foot of the bed, and then quietly left, shutting the door behind him.
She knew Michael’s family had money, but she never expected anything the size of this home and property. The guest room had a queen-size four-poster bed with a lush bedspread in green and gold. Green floral wallpaper covered the walls. The furniture appeared to be museum quality antiques. The room was clean and had been dusted but the air was stale. She flung open the windows and a brisk breeze entered. She hadn’t realized how close the house was to the water.
She was exhausted, but knew if she la
y down, she’d probably fall asleep. Instead she took a shower and washed her hair, glad to find a hair dryer in the room. Not everything was antique in the house.
Michael took a few Motrin with water, and lay down awhile, eyes shut, but that didn’t help his headache at all. He suspected there was only one cure, and he went in search of his father, starting at his laboratory.
William Claude put down the vial he was holding and looked up, his face contorted in a frown. “So there you are. I was wondering if or when you would venture up here.”
“Stedman told you I’d arrived?”
“Yes, but I didn’t need him to,” William Claude said with a frown. “You surprised me. I expected it would be another sixteen years before you bothered to come back here.”
“Things have changed.”
“Yes, they have.” William Claude focused on measuring a portion of a blue liquid.
“You should be pleased,” Michael said, even as his head throbbed worse with each passing minute.
“About what?” He mixed the liquid with a clear substance in a beaker.
Michael knew William Claude wasn’t about to confess to having anything to do with the robbery of the pearl. He rubbed the ache between his eyebrows. “I’ve brought a friend with me, Ceinwen Davies. I want her to see the house and to meet you, to get an idea of who I am, and what I’m all about. No woman would believe me if I tried to explain my childhood. This was the best thing I could think of.”
William Claude’s eyes narrowed. “She’s that important to you, is she?”
“Time will tell.”
“I see.”
Michael waited for more comments. They weren’t forthcoming.
“What are you working on?” Michael asked, blinking against the pain.
“It’s quite interesting. Not many years ago, some scientists at Los Alamos discovered that cell-like organisms—primitive vesicles made up of polyaromatic hydrocarbons and fatty acids, to be precise—were able to capture metal ions and harvest protons. In other words, they could draw energy from the environment and thus create life.”
“Create life? Impossible.”
“But that’s the point—it isn’t. They discovered the chemical origins of life on earth.”
“No,” Michael insisted. “They discovered the chemical elements for life on earth. That’s different from creating it.”
William Claude looked disgusted. “Don’t you see? Simply by adding silicon protocells, we’ll have cells that function like a carbon-based life form.”
As ever, William Claude’s knowledge of chemistry was far beyond Michael’s. “So what?”
William Claude held up his forefinger—always a preliminary step to his making a grand pronouncement. “Combining all that with the creation of perfection by means of alchemy will give us an immortal man who can also regenerate living body parts.”
Michael found the concept horrifying, something befitting a modern-day Dr. Frankenstein. William Claude didn’t seem to notice the disgust on his face. Or, didn’t care.
“What good is being immortal if, for example, your legs cease to function due to some accident or even a bacterium or virus?” William Claude asked rhetorically. “My creation, once I finish my work, will take care of that problem.”
“Except for one major problem.” Michael stared hard at his father, his eyes squinting against the bright laboratory lights. He didn’t know if he could handle much more of this. “You haven’t yet completed the first step: how to make a man immortal.”
William Claude’s eyes flashed with a savage fury. But almost as quickly as it came, it vanished and his lips curved into the small, secretive smile that Michael had seen him use on many occasions. “In time, my boy, in time. Now, let me show you what I’m doing here.”
Ceinwen went downstairs to the breakfast room. Stedman appeared so silently, he startled her. He had a definite Boris Karloff air about him—yes, she knew a few classic American movies.
He gave a curt nod, walked to the table in the center of the room, and pulled out a chair for her. “I’ll bring your tea.”
“Thank you.” She sat, and then looked out on the cliffs and ocean beyond. “This is beautiful. Has Michael been down yet?”
“He’s with his father.”
“I see. How is his father?”
Stedman appeared surprised at her question. He stiffened and said, “He was a bit under the weather, a migraine seemed to come on him suddenly. But I’m sure, with Master Michael back, he’ll be better.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” she said, pondering this sudden outburst of severe headaches.
She wondered what was happening between Michael and his father.
Before long, Stedman brought her a tall glass of iced tea with lime, and a plate with one eclair and one Napoleon, saying they were to tide her over before dinner.
She hadn’t thought she was hungry after lunch, but the pastries were so delicious, she ate them both. She was licking her fingers when she heard, “Well, I’ll have to inform cook her desserts are a big hit.”
She looked up to see Michael approach. She smiled with relief to see him looking much less stressed, and she suspected the meeting with his father went well.
He bent to kiss her. “You look nice sitting there. Would you like something stronger than tea?” he asked as he went to the bar in the room. She declined as he made himself a whiskey and soda—heavy on the whiskey. Maybe it hadn’t been such a great meeting.
“We should go outside,” he said. “The weather’s good today.”
Just past the patio was a stone bench on a lookout with a wide view of the ocean. They went there and sat.
“How did it go with your father?” she asked.
“He was mainly curious as to why I’ve returned. I said it was because I brought ‘a young lady’ with me.”
“Oh? Does that happen often?”
“Never.”
That surprised her, but she tried not to show it.
“He told me about some chemical experiments he’s working on,” Michael added, his voice low.
“Anything interesting?”
“Just the origins of life.”
She studied him to see if he was joking. He wasn’t.
“When you meet him,” Michael continued, “I’m sure you’ll find him to be a pleasant older man. Nothing more, nothing less. But don’t let that fool you. A devious nature and a black heart hide beneath all his so-called charm.”
“I think you need to tell me more about him,” she said.
He nodded faintly as if he had expected her to say that. “What would you like to know?”
“Oh … things like why you and he seem to have been at odds most of your life. I have the impression you’ve scarcely seen him.”
“That’s true.” He drank some whiskey.
“Why? What happened?”
He stared out at the water. “Has anyone ever told you that you ask far too many questions?”
“All the time. It doesn’t make me want to know any less, however.”
“It’s a boring story.”
Her eyes slowly traveled over his handsome face. “I don’t believe anything about you would ever be boring.”
He met her gaze, then spoke in a low voice. “Sometimes I have to wonder how it happened that I just met you in Japan, and now you’re here with me in my family home.”
She paled. “What do you mean?”
He looked puzzled. “Nothing. Just that it’s odd …”
“Why?”
“Well … you’re a journalist, and I’m—”
“My God, Michael.” She felt as if she’d been hit in the face with ice water. “You still don’t trust me, do you? After all this, you think because I was a journalist—”
“No. That’s not it.” He exhaled sharply, then folded his hands and gazed out at the ocean.
Heart pounding with both fury and dismay, she forced herself not to run, but to wait for an explanation … if such a thing were possible.<
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“If you must know,” he began cautiously, “I’ve carefully taught myself not to trust anyone. Ever. Everyone I ever have, except Jianjun, has proved I was wrong to do so.”
His words stabbed at her. “I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing for you to be sorry about. The problem is mine.”
Is it? She couldn’t help but think about the way she had lied to Rachel, and about the way she had searched his room, even read his mother's diary. Maybe he’d been right not to trust her. The realization caused her anger to vanish and filled her with shame.
She intertwined her fingers and stared at her hands. She chose her words carefully. “I come from a loving family of honest, straightforward people. Once I became a journalist, I entered a world where people pretend to be friends to get a story. Men I dated and thought cared about me were more interested in my sources, or what I’d found in my investigations.”
“I didn't mean—”
She wouldn't let him continue. "I'll admit I had to practice deceit at times. But once things became personal, I stopped. If you think I’m with you because I’m after your story, you’re wrong. I would never betray your trust. It’s hard to prove what I’m not doing, so if you’d like me to leave…”
When he didn’t respond, she stood.
“Wait.” He caught her arm. “Sit back down, please.”
She did, but pulled her arm free. She was angry, hurt, guilt-ridden, but also sad that she didn’t know how to get through his walls. They were stronger than the Tower of London. “You don’t have to tell me a thing. But I want you to know I do care about you. Believe me, I wish I didn’t because you’re close-mouthed, suspicious, secretive, and enigmatic.”
He actually did a double-take. “What?”
“You apparently have some freaky powers, and you live a life filled with the kind of occult beliefs that I’ve spent the last few years debunking as hoaxes.”
He gaped at her, stunned and speechless.
Her lips pursed. “Unfortunately,” she took a deep breath, “I also find you fascinating, intelligent, loving, and sexy. So, I’m a conflicted mess, and half my brain tells me to run, not walk, away from you because this thing between us can only end badly for me. For me, Michael.”