Gawain (Knights of Excalibur Book 1)

by Hanley, Donald

  “Well, okay then. Goodbye, Marco. Be safe.” Trisha allowed Lionel to guide her through the open door, but not before she cast a final glance over her shoulder, hoping he’d try to follow her, but he stayed out of sight. Her heart sank into her stomach as Lionel closed the door and used her keys to lock it.

  She stayed numbly silent as they got into the Range Rover and drove off. Every window of the house blazed with light and she almost told Lionel to turn around so she could turn them off. No, Marco will be safer with them on, she thought, and she hugged her bag to her chest, wondering when – or if – she’d see him again.

  Lionel worked his way through the neighborhood and headed back across the Longfellow Bridge into Boston proper. Neither of them spoke and the ride was eerily quiet. Lionel seemed lost in pensive thought, so Trisha just stared out the window, watching the closely-packed row houses slide by as they followed Charles Street south.

  It finally dawned on her that she had no idea where Lionel was taking her. He said he was on the other side of Boston when she called him, but that vague description covered a lot of territory and that didn’t mean that was where they were headed now.

  Does the Boston PD have safe houses? she wondered. Are we just going to his precinct? Is he just putting me into protective custody? She didn’t want to sit in a jail cell while they tried to find Hawk.

  “Where –” That came out as a barely-audible whisper. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Where are we going?”

  “To my place, for the moment,” he told her. “We’ll figure out a better arrangement in the morning.”

  “Oh.” She wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about that. Helping her was one thing, but bringing her home was a whole different proposition. “Your wife won’t mind me being there?” she asked carefully.

  “I’m not married.” Carol would probably give her two thumbs up, if Trisha lived long enough to ever tell her about it, but she wasn’t so sure. She was grateful for Lionel’s help, but that didn’t mean she’d sleep with him.

  He’s been a perfect gentleman ever since I met him, she reminded herself. He hasn’t made a pass at me or dropped any hints he’s interested in me. He’s just doing his job.

  He must have sensed her unease. “You have nothing to worry about, Trisha,” he said firmly. “You’ll be safe with me. No one will hurt you.”

  “Thanks. I’m glad to hear that.” Her smile was a bit shaky but she felt better. He’ll catch Hawk and put him away and I can go back to my regular life. My stressful, exhausting, lonely life. She turned away to look out the window again before Lionel could see her smile disappear.

  They turned right on Beacon Street and the buildings on either side vanished, replaced by the white-covered expanse of the Boston Public Garden. The park was surprisingly deserted for a Friday evening, with just a few intrepid souls hurrying along the pathways, but she supposed it was far too cold to linger outside after sunset these days.

  Lionel turned his head and peered through the driver side window at something off to the left and Trisha leaned forward, trying to figure out what he was looking at. Other than the condos along Tremont Street, there was nothing to see in that direction.

  “Is everything okay?” she asked uneasily.

  “Everything’s fine,” he told her, straightening back in his seat. “I was just checking something.”

  She didn’t believe him but he obviously didn’t want to tell her what was going on. She held her silence as he turned right onto Boylston Street and left the park behind.

  The rest of the trip was uneventful as Lionel worked his way through the outer neighborhoods, zigzagging between the major roads but still heading generally west. Trisha wasn’t familiar with this part of the Boston area and she began to wonder just how far away Lionel lived.

  “Where are we going, exactly?” she asked. A roadside sign announced the exit to I-95 just a mile ahead. “Worcester?”

  “Not quite that far,” he smiled.

  “So where then?”

  “I live in Chestnut Hill. We’re almost there.”

  Trisha fell silent again as he turned south onto Hammond Street and suddenly the houses on either side of the road got really big and really expensive. She glimpsed sprawling mansions behind densely packed trees, their turrets and balconies highlighted with floodlights, and she wondered how a police detective could afford even a regular house with neighbors like these.

  Then Lionel turned off the street and drove through an open gate flanked by life-sized lion statues, following a bricked driveway in a long arc around an expansive manicured lawn. She gaped up at the two story covered entranceway guarding a front door large enough to drive the Range Rover through.

  “Oh my God!” she breathed. “You live here?”

  “For the moment.” Lionel parked directly in front of the wide steps sweeping up to the entrance and shut off the car. “It’s just temporary, unfortunately.”

  Trish couldn’t find the words to express her amazement. The place looked like it had been magically transported from some European estate, with a massive central structure of carved pale stone and wings stretching out on either side. Diamond-paned windows and slatted shutters hinted at dozens of rooms inside. Her entire house would probably fit inside the foyer with room to spare. “Oh my God!”

  “You said that already.” Lionel opened her door and held out his hand to help her out. She gawked up at the mansion like a tourist visiting Manhattan for the first time. She couldn’t even see the roof from where she was standing. “Come on, let’s get inside before we freeze to death.”

  She let herself be led up the stairs and through the front door, which swung open slowly like a castle gate. The entrance hall was even more breath-taking, parquet flooring and polished wood paneling stretching up two stories to a massive iron chandelier bigger than her car. Portraits of people in medieval outfits decorated both sides and she wondered if they were Lionel’s ancestors.

  He had to take hold of her hand and pull her forward to get her moving again. The hall joined a circular atrium that went all the way up, with hallways shooting off in all directions on all three floors. “Oh my God,” she said again. “This is your house?”

  “Well, no, not exactly. It belongs to a friend of mine. I’m just staying here.”

  “Does he mind you bringing me here?” she asked anxiously.

  “She,” he corrected her mildly, “and no, there’s no problem with you staying here. Let’s get you settled and then we’ll see about dinner.”

  He led her off to the left, up a curving staircase to the second floor, and down a hallway that seemed to stretch out forever. They finally stopped at a door about halfway down.

  “You can use this room,” he said. He opened the door and stepped aside to let her enter first. She took three steps in and stopped dead in her tracks.

  The room was huge, with a canopied bed set against one wall flanked by matching end tables, two dressers, a mirrored vanity, and a reading nook in the corner. An arched doorway gave her a glimpse of a bathroom that looked equally as large. Forget the entranceway, her house could nearly fit into this room. “Oh my God.”

  Lionel’s cough sounded suspiciously like laughter. “Drop your things here and we’ll head back downstairs.”

  Numbly, Trisha crossed over to the bed and set her bag on the padded bench at its foot. She unwound her scarf and shrugged out of her coat, laying both down on the bedspread. They looked cheap and ratty compared to the furnishings and she looked down at herself in sudden embarrassment. She didn’t belong in a place like this.

  “Are you sure this is okay?” she asked. “I could just go to a hotel or something.” Someplace where she wouldn’t be afraid of getting something dirty.

  “You’ll be much safer here, Trisha,” Lionel told her and she shivered as she remembered why they were here in the first place. “Let’s head back downstairs, if you’re ready.” She nodded and followed him out into the hallway.

  The kitchen wa
s large enough to feed a small army, with two ranges, two massive refrigerators, a double sink and an island longer than her bed. Lionel began gathering ingredients, chopping and peeling and dicing and sautéing like a master chef. The spaghetti he dropped into a pot of boiling water gave away the main dish, but he added garlic bread sticks and a salad and uncorked a private-label bottle of red wine, pouring each of them a glass to drink as he worked.

  Trisha offered to help but he had everything well in hand and she doubted her modest cooking skills would improve anything. Instead, he asked her to set two places at the counter, noting that the formal dining room was far too large for just two.

  “Everything’s far too large,” she argued, opening one of the cross-hatched cabinets to find salad plates. “How many people are staying here, other than you and your friend?”

  “She doesn’t live here. At the moment, it’s just you and me.” She looked at him incredulously. There had to be at least half a dozen bedrooms in the wing she was staying in and probably more on the other side. Entire families could live here and never see each other for weeks at a time.

  “How do you keep it so neat?” The place looked spotless. The fixtures gleamed, the glass and crystal sparkled, and there wasn’t a smudge of dust anywhere.

  “Well, I try not to make much of a mess and a service comes in twice a week. Here we go.” Lionel tipped the spaghetti from the colander into a bowl and set it on the counter. “Bon appetit.”

  Despite losing her pizza, Trisha wasn’t really hungry, but that changed when she took a first tentative bite. It was delicious. The noodles were firm, the sauce was rich and garlicky, and the bread was warm and buttery. “Oh my God!” she declared around another mouthful. “This is the best spaghetti I’ve ever had!”

  “I’m glad you like it.” Lionel’s eyes crinkled in amusement as he sipped his wine, watching her attack her meal like she hadn’t eaten in days.

  He asked her questions about herself, just casual conversation, steering well away from the day’s events, for which she was grateful. She answered truthfully for the most part, avoiding the moments of her life she’d just as soon not remember, but she managed to get a few questions in of her own, especially the most important one.

  “De Gaulle,” he said, looking surprised. “Didn’t I mention that?”

  “Lionel de Gaulle? You’re French?”

  “My ancestors were.”

  “I guess that explains why you’re such a good cook.”

  “That and many years of practice. More?” he asked, nudging the spaghetti bowl closer to her. There was only a small scoop left but she shook her head regretfully.

  “No, thank you. I’m stuffed. This was wonderful, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He reached for her plate but she insisted on cleaning up. That consisted largely of rinsing off the dishes and placing them in the dishwasher while Lionel wiped down the counter and cooking surfaces, but she felt the need to do something to help.

  After everything was squared away and the kitchen was restored to its pristine state, Lionel beckoned her into another large room, this one dominated by a stone fireplace surrounded by wingback chairs and a curving sectional, all of them made from dark wood, antique leather, and brass studs. Drapes covered one wall and Trisha wondered what she’d see if she peeked behind them.

  Lionel knelt on the hearth and lit a fire to add warmth and light to the room. It was gas, but the ceramic logs looked real and the flames glowed and danced like a real fire, without the smoke and sparks.

  He urged her to sit in one of the chairs near the fireplace and crossed over to a well-stocked bar in the corner of the room, splashing a couple of fingers of something amber-colored into a cut glass tumbler. He held it out in her direction. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “No, thank you.” Lionel suddenly seemed very somber and she wanted to have a clear head for whatever was about to happen. She watched him settle in the chair across from her, swirling his drink thoughtfully for a moment. She pressed her hands flat against her legs to keep her fists from clenching nervously.

  “Trisha,” he said finally, “what do you know about Pendragon Security?”

  She blinked at him. That wasn’t anywhere near what she thought he’d say. “Not much, I guess,” she hedged. “I see them in the news a lot. They’re the biggest security company in the States.”

  “The biggest in the world,” Lionel corrected her. “They’re the largest provider of secure networks and corporate asset protection in pretty much every developed country, including Russia and China. Their technology is licensed by hundreds of other companies as well. If it’s anything more sophisticated than that lock on your front door, it’s probably a Pendragon product.”

  “Okay,” she said carefully. She didn’t see what this had to do with anything, other than the fact that Hawk and Butler worked for them.

  “The reason you see them in the news so often is that a lot of people are concerned that we’re putting all of our security eggs in a single basket. The national security agencies are especially worried.”

  “Why? Is Pendragon’s security no good?”

  “Quite the opposite, it’s too good. The NSA can’t break into anything Pendragon secures. That means terrorist organizations and other threats can exchange information and plans with their allies and we can’t listen in.”

  “Couldn’t Pendragon do that for us?”

  “They could,” Lionel said carefully, “but they’ve resisted any attempt to force them to cooperate. There’s a more troublesome side to that coin, though.” Trisha shook her head doubtfully. “They can also listen in to everything we do. They have access to every secret that passes through their networks.”

  “Oh my God. They’re spying on us?”

  “And everyone else. The government tried to pressure them into complying with its security directives, but Pendragon holds all the aces. They’re a privately-held company based in London, so the US doesn’t have a lot of leverage. That doesn’t even count all of the subsidiaries, holding companies, and shell corporations they own. Even if Pendragon itself is somehow shut down, the problem doesn’t go away.”

  “There has to be something the government can do.”

  “There are a lot of people who don’t believe Pendragon is actually a threat. There’s never been a breach of sensitive information in any of the government agencies, at least none that we know about. Pendragon’s supporters claim that this proves that using them is the smart decision. I don’t agree.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because of the man in charge.”

  “The President?”

  “No. Arthur Pendragon, the owner and CEO of Pendragon Security.”

  “What about him?”

  Lionel studied her face for a long moment, as if he was trying to judge what her reaction was going to be. “Does the name Arthur Pendragon mean anything to you?”

  “He’s the head of Pendragon Security,” Trisha said warily. “You just told me that.”

  “I mean historically.” She shook her head. “In medieval folklore, Arthur Pendragon was the son of King Uthyr. When Uthyr died, Arthur became king in his place. After some difficulties,” he added wryly.

  “King Arthur.” Lionel nodded. “Of Camelot.”

  “The very same.”

  “Okay, so the current Arthur’s parents were history buffs. So what’s the problem?”

  “The problem,” he sighed heavily, “is that today’s Arthur Pendragon thinks he is the living reincarnation of the legendary Arthur Pendragon.” Lionel looked directly into Trisha’s shocked eyes. “He believes he is King Arthur.”

  16

  She balanced carefully on the narrow railing and leapt across the open space to the next, heedless of the twelve story drop to the sidewalk below her. The balconies on this building were merely decorations, not meant to hold the weight of a human being, even someone as light as she was. The wrought iron rail wobbled under the soles of her feet bu
t it seemed secure enough.

  She stepped down onto the balcony itself, barely more than a shelf jutting out from the wall. The thick crust of ice and snow crunched underfoot and she peered through the translucent undercurtains to make sure no one inside noticed the sound. The room, probably the master bedroom judging from its size, was empty.

  She huffed in frustration. She was certain Hawk was still in the apartment but it took precious minutes to make her way down the side of the building. Perhaps he slipped out while she was up on the rooftop, or perhaps he was in one of the rooms without an outside window. He hadn’t been in the living room or the kitchen.

  She reached out a hand to test the window. It was latched on the inside like the ones behind her and she didn’t have the right tools with her to open it silently. She could break the glass easily but that would alert her prey and it wasn’t the right moment for a direct confrontation, not yet. Lionel wouldn’t be pleased if she killed Hawk before he led them to Butler.

  The door in the far wall opened suddenly and she drew back out of sight, leaning forward just enough to see inside. Light and steam spilled through the doorway and Hawk stepped into the bedroom, toweling his hair. He was stark naked.

  Her lips parted as she studied him. He was not a tall man, but every inch of him was chiseled muscle, from his broad shoulders to his narrow hips to his sharply sculpted calves. The dark hair covering his body made him look like he was beginning to transform into an animal, a wolf perhaps, or a bear, and an appreciative growl sounded in the back of her throat. The last man she had been with had been a thin, pale creature, barely able to satisfy her. Hawk would be a forceful lover, much better suited for her appetites. It was too bad she was going to kill him.

  He tossed the towel onto the bed and pulled a leather travel case closer, but her eyes strayed down to his cock, currently quiescent. She could easily imagine it swelling into throbbing hardness as she caressed it with her teeth, his balls tightening in her palm as she curled her nails around them, a wordless growl escaping from his throat as she brought him close to climax and then stopped. The shiver that swept through her had nothing to do with the wintry breeze swirling around the building.