Gawain (Knights of Excalibur Book 1)

by Hanley, Donald

  “Keep going,” Nim told him. “Stop around the next corner. We don’t want you spooking her again.”

  “That wasn’t my fault,” he grumbled, but he obeyed, pulling into a narrow alleyway. Nim stepped out and leaned down to look at him.

  “Stay here,” she said. “I’ll call you when it’s safe to come back.” Hawk didn’t look happy but he nodded.

  Nim closed the door firmly and strode back to Trisha’s house. The smooth soles of her high-heeled shoes weren’t designed for hiking across ice and snow but she had no difficulties. She paused in front of the house, surveying it carefully, and then climbed the three steps to the front door. The doorbell chimed faintly inside when she pressed the button but there was no other sound. The entire neighborhood seemed abandoned.

  Nim frowned at the frost-dusted pizza box sitting on the top step as she pushed the button again. She checked the time on the small gold watch on her wrist: 7:54. Most people would be sleeping in on the weekend. Perhaps she’s working today, she thought. She rapped the hard surface of the door with her knuckles. We’ll have to try the hospital if she’s not here. She tsked under her breath at the waste of time.

  A scrape of a shoe on frozen snow turned her attention to the side of the house and she stepped down from the porch. “Miss Macmillan?” she called, but the figure who came around the corner was much larger and stronger than a typical ER nurse. “Gavin, I told you to wait in the car,” she told him irritably.

  “I was making sure she didn’t try to leave out the back.” He looked up at the upstairs windows, probably checking to see if anyone was looking out. “Everything’s locked up tight.” He climbed up the steps and tested the knob. “Can you get us in?”

  “Why? If she’s not here, there’s no point. If she is here, she going to be upset to see us standing in her living room.”

  “If she’s not here, it doesn’t make any difference. If she is here, she’s hiding from us and we need to know why. She’s our only lead to the Quest, remember.”

  Nim sighed, her breath misting in the frigid air. “Why do I let you talk me into these things?”

  “Probably my boyish charm and good looks.”

  “That seems unlikely. Step aside.” Hawk picked up the pizza box and shifted over as Nim grasped the door knob, feeling the metal leach the warmth from her hand as she closed her eyes. A standard lock, only five pins. They need to be arranged like ... so. She twisted the knob and pushed the door open. She was unimpeded by a deadbolt or a chain, further evidence that Patricia Macmillan was not home.

  She found herself in a small tile-floored foyer leading into a larger living room. The air warm comfortably warm, which likely meant Trisha wasn’t planning to be gone for an extended period of time. That was good news, at least.

  “Miss Macmillan?” she called. “Are you home?” This was the hazardous part of Hawk’s plan. Technically they were breaking and entering, which gave Trisha the right to defend herself. She continued into the living room, allowing Hawk to enter behind her and close the door. “Miss Macmillan?” There was no answer.

  “I guess she’s out,” Hawk growled. “Or dead.”

  “I’m beginning to worry about you, Gavin,” she said in exasperation. “Why would that be the first thing you –?” She stopped when he tapped her arm and pointed at a jumble of small objects on the floor by the couch. The rest of the room was neat and tidy.

  “Stay here.” Hawk told her softly. “I’ll look around.”

  She nodded and Hawk silently set the pizza box on the floor, scanning the living room carefully before moving towards the back of the house. He was surprisingly quiet for a man of his size. He disappeared for a few moments to check whatever rooms lay back there and then reappeared with a shake of his head. He glanced into the kitchen and then ascended the steps to the second floor.

  Nim crossed over to the couch and knelt by the scattered pile, sorting through the things with the tip of her finger. Gum, coins, receipts, tampons, a fistful of pens for some reason, hair ties, a lipstick. These were typical of the sorts of things that ended up in the bottom of a woman’s purse, but the purse itself was missing. Apparently Trisha had upended it on the floor. Probably looking for something in a hurry.

  The one object that seemed out of place was a small but heavy cylinder of metal with a keyhole on the hand. Nim rose to her feet, weighing it in her hand thoughtfully, as Hawk reappeared at the head of the stairs.

  “There’s no one here,” he said, descending with a grim scowl. “Her clothes are all over the place in the bedroom and there’s an open lockbox with ammo in it but no gun.”

  “That explains this, then. It’s a trigger lock, correct?” She handed the cylinder to him and he nodded.

  “Yeah, to a small revolver or pistol. Looks like she left in a hurry.” He dropped the lock onto the pile. “You’re going to blame me for this, aren’t you?”

  “Even you aren’t that alarming. Something or someone has frightened her very badly.”

  “Savard?”

  Nim hesitated. “Perhaps. We don’t know for sure that he was the one who attacked Lucas.” She held up her hand to forestall his protest. “I’ll check with the monitoring team. Perhaps one of the Chevaliers is to blame.”

  “Wouldn’t that mean they know about the Quest?”

  “Given what happened to Lucas, I think that’s a safe bet. They shouldn’t have known about Miss Macmillan, though.” Nim frowned down at Trisha’s junk pile. “Did Lucas know about her, do you think? He drew the Macmillan tartan on his tablet, after all. Could he have told them about it when he was attacked?”

  “Lucas wouldn’t have betrayed his Quest,” Hawk told her sharply. “He knows what’s at stake.”

  “We’re only human, Gavin,” she reminded him. “We make mistakes.” He shook his head stubbornly but didn’t argue the point. “Do you have any idea where Miss Macmillan might have gone?”

  “Not a clue. Maybe someone at the hospital knows.”

  “They’re not going to share that information with random strangers. You have her cell phone number, don’t you? Perhaps we can just call her and ask her to meet us.”

  “The last time I tried that, she hung up on me.”

  “All right,” she sighed. “Let’s head over to the Boston office, then. They should be able to –”

  “Mrow?” They both turned in surprise. In the opening to the kitchen, a small furry creature stared up at them with wide yellow eyes, its oversized ears twitching. It was mostly black with a white chest and paws, not unlike a miniature killer whale in coloration.

  “Well, hello there.” Nim crouched down and held out her hand. The cat stared at it for a long time and then cautiously crept forward, extending its neck to sniff at her fingertips. She slowly reached out and skritched the top of its head with her fingernails and it leaned in closer, closing its eyes in blissful satisfaction. It didn’t resist at all when she carefully picked it up and cradled it in her arm, scratching its neck and under its chin. Its purr sounded like the Stingray’s idling engine. “So your owner left you behind, hmm?” It wore a blue collar with a heart-shaped tag engraved with the name Marco.

  Hawk left his breath out impatiently. “We don’t have time to play with the pets, Nim.”

  “I know. Let’s just make sure he has enough food and water.”

  She carried Marco into the kitchen, searching for his bowls. There were three of them in the corner by the refrigerator, one for water and two filled to the brim with dry cat food, although quite a lot of it was scattered on the floor. Nim gazed down at the mess with a thoughtful frown. “That’s interesting,” she mused.

  “What is?” Hawk peered over her shoulder and Marco tensed, narrowing his eyes with a high-pitched growl. He settled down as Nim stroked his back soothingly.

  “That’s far too much food for a cat this size.”

  “Maybe there’s more than one.”

  “Did you see any others?”

  “No, but I didn’t see thi
s one either.”

  “Hmm. Even so. I think Miss Macmillan wasn’t in as much of a hurry to leave as we thought. She had time to make sure Marco had enough to eat and drink for a while.”

  “So she knew she’d be gone for a while but expected to come back.” Hawk looked back into the living room. “So what’s with the scrap heap, then?”

  “A last minute change in plans, perhaps?” Nim walked back to the couch and knelt by the pile of odds and ends. Marco wriggled out of her grasp and scurried under the couch and she leaned down to peer after him. “Don’t be frightened, Marco,” she coaxed reassuringly. “Come on out.”

  “We really don’t have time for this, Nim,” Hawk sighed.

  “I suppose you’re right.” There were a few loose items under the edge of the couch and she raked them out into the open, consolidating them with the rest of the pile. One of them was a business card and she picked it up curiously. Her breath caught in her throat at the familiar red-and-white shield.

  “What is it?” Hawk leaned over to see and then snatched the card from her fingers. “Son of a fucking bitch!” Lionel’s name printed across the top told him everything he needed to know about what happened to Trisha Macmillan.

  20

  She stood at the edge of a lake shrouded in mist. In the distance, a faint gray shape hinted at the far shore, or perhaps an island, but she couldn’t make out any details and she had no way to reach it anyway.

  The touch of a gentle breeze brought with it the sound of many voices, distant and muffled by the fog, punctuated by the ringing of metal on metal. She turned to see what was happening, but the mist was much too thick to see anything, all but smothering the watery sun rising in the east.

  She looked down at herself and saw that she was clad in a long white gown, trailing on the soft ground around her feet and merging seamlessly with the wisps of vapor all around her. The only color she saw were her hands and a green plaid with red and yellow stripes crossways across her chest. It was fastened at her hip by a large silver brooch with a shiny grayish-brown stone in the center. It seemed familiar but she couldn’t quite place it.

  A cuff ring, similar in appearance, adorned her right forefinger and she lifted her hand curiously to inspect it. The sun broke through the haze at that moment, filling the stone with an iridescent glow and casting shards of golden light all around. The brightest beam arrowed off to her left and she followed it with her eyes. A knight stood there perhaps fifty paces away, his battle-scarred helmet turned in her direction. The shield on his left arm was angled away from her and she couldn’t see the design to identify him.

  “Who are you?” she tried to say, but she had no voice. The fog thickened as it rose higher, hiding the knight and the world from view.

  Trisha woke slowly, unwilling to open her eyes just yet. The room was dark and the covers were warm and she just wanted to drift along, content to stay exactly where she was for a while. Her head was tilted at an awkward angle, though, and she blindly felt around for her pillow. Her questing fingers failed to find it and she slowly rolled onto her back, reaching out with her other arm. Her thighs felt sticky and gritty for some reason, as if she’d somehow spilled pancake syrup on them, but she couldn’t imagine how that could have happened.

  I didn’t have pancakes, her muddled brain recalled. I had spaghetti. With Lionel. It was good. She smiled to herself as she stretched languorously, but the sensation between her legs was unpleasant. Why am I sticky? The answer eluded her as she sank back into slumber. Lionel tastes good. A crease formed between her eyebrows. No, his food tastes good. I didn’t taste him. I didn’t – I –

  She sat bolt upright in bolt with a gasp of horror, flinging the covers aside. She was stark naked and a thin layer of something white and crusty coated her pubic hair and the inside of her thighs. “Oh my God!” she exclaimed in a strangled voice. It wasn’t a dream. I really did it with him. Oh my God!

  The light from the bathroom was enough to confirm she was alone in the room. Her t-shirt and panties lay at the foot of the bed, neatly folded, and her face burned with embarrassment. Oh my God! What am I going to do? He probably thinks I’m – that I’m – some kind of – Her mind failed to provide a suitable description. How am I going to face him? He has to know it was just a one-time thing. I was just scared and I needed him to hold me and it just happened. Oh my God.

  She slid over to the edge of the bed, grimacing at the cool tackiness of the sheets, and hurried to the bathroom, turning on the shower full blast before plopping herself onto the toilet, burying her face in her hands. Oh my God, I had unprotected sex with a man I just met. Am I safe? She counted the days and let out a shuddery breath. I think so. Did I bring my pills with me? She wasn’t sure. She just grabbed a bunch of things from the bathroom in her mad scramble to get out the door.

  She ran back into the bedroom and dug through her bag for the dispenser. It wasn’t there. Oh my God. She clasped her hands together to keep them from shaking. It’s okay, she told herself. We can just go by the house again and pick them up. Besides, I’m still in the safe zone. Barely.

  She returned to the bathroom and stepped into the steaming shower, gasping at the heat but refusing to turn it down. There was soap but no shampoo and she scrubbed herself thoroughly from head to toe twice, inside and out, just to be sure. When she finally stepped out, she felt raw and limp.

  By the time she dried off and brushed her hair and teeth, she felt a lot calmer. It’ll be okay, she assured the anxious-looking woman in the foggy mirror. We’re two consenting adults. It doesn’t have to be weird. It’s not like it’ll happen again. Will it? she frowned. Do I want it to? It was good, really good, but we barely know each other and he’ll be gone as soon as we deal with Hawk. She shook her head firmly. It was just a one night stand, that’s all. It’s done and over.

  She dressed in a short-sleeved blouse and dark slacks, her hair tied back in a damp ponytail, and took a steadying breath before opening the bedroom door and stepping out into the hallway. There was no one in sight, for which she was grateful, but the mansion seemed eerily quiet. When she reached the atrium, she leaned over the railing, looking for any sign of where Lionel might be. The sooner they got past last night’s ... incident, the easier it would be on both of them. She took another deep breath and descended the stairs.

  Lionel, as it turned out, was in the kitchen, seated at the counter and frowning at something on a laptop. He glanced up when Trisha hesitated in the archway.

  “Good morning, Trisha,” he said warmly. “Can I get you a cup of coffee?” He lifted his own mug questioningly.

  “Yes, sure, that would be great.” She slid onto one of the stools on the opposite side of the counter, watching him fetch another mug from the cabinet and fill both cups. He was dressed more casually this morning, in a light blue oxford shirt with the cuffs rolled up and tan chinos.

  “Milk and four sugars?” he asked over his shoulder.

  “Um, yes, please.” She was surprised he remembered how she liked it. He made the appropriate adjustments and came back to the counter, setting her mug in front of her and closed his laptop as he settled onto his seat.

  “Did you sleep well?” he asked, watching her over the rim of his cup.

  “Yes, very well, thanks.” She couldn’t meet his gaze.

  “I’m glad.” The silence stretched out between them for an agonizingly long time. “You’re concerned about what happened last night, aren’t you?”

  Trisha ears blazed in sudden heat. She had to clear her throat before she could say anything. “I’m don’t … I mean, that wasn’t … I’m not like that, usually.”

  “I’m not either, Trisha.” She shot him a quick look and was relieved to see a hint of embarrassment and chagrin on his face. “I think we were both caught up in the events of a very unusual day. We can set that behind us as a very pleasant memory, if that’s what you want.”

  She searched his face again, trying to figure out what he was really saying. “What do
you want?” she stalled.

  He was silent for a while, taking in her makeup-less face, her wet hair, and her wrinkled blouse with a strange mixture of amusement and regret in the corners of his gray eyes. Trisha stared down into the muddy brown of her coffee, not entirely sure what she wanted him to say.

  “I have a confession to make,” he said finally.

  She looked up in dismay. “Oh my God, you’re married, aren’t you?”

  He looked startled for a moment and then he laughed. “No, I’m not. My job doesn’t allow me to spend much time in any one place. It wouldn’t be fair to a wife or anyone else to be dragged along with me or left behind for weeks on end.”

  “Then what?” she asked, relieved and apprehensive at the same time.

  “Last night reminded me that while my job is important, it isn’t everything, it shouldn’t be everything. I’m trying to protect the world from a madman, but surely I deserve a little happiness as well.” He questioned her with a lifted eyebrow and she found herself nodding in agreement. “I’ll be leaving Boston as soon as this situation with Butler and Hawk is resolved. Until then –” he looked at her hopefully, “I’d like to spend more time with you, if that’s want you want.”

  Yes! Yes! someone shouted inside of her, but all she could manage was a nod and a hesitant smile. “I’d like that,” she said quietly.

  “Wonderful.” His smile warmed her all the way down to her toes. He slid from his stool and took a last gulp of coffee. “Unfortunately and somewhat ironically, I have to leave you now.”

  “What?” She wasn’t sure she heard him correctly.

  “Chantal called a while ago, saying Hawk picked someone up at the airport this morning. I have to see what they’re up to.”