Gawain (Knights of Excalibur Book 1)

by Hanley, Donald

  They came together, both of them roaring like animals in heat. Orgasms jolted through her one after another as he pumped into her, filling her womb with his fiery seed and leaving her unable to catch her breath. With a moan, he finally collapsed onto her and laid his head alongside hers, breathing heavily and drenched in sweat. Her arms lay by her sides, her fingernails digging into her palms, as the throbbing deep inside her slowly faded. His cock shrank inch by inch and slipped out of her in a gush of fluids.

  She stared at the ceiling overhead, not blinking, barely breathing, afraid to let any memory of the past few minutes escape from the dark place where she pushed them away. She felt numb, detached, aware only of their two hearts beating in a syncopated rhythm. That and a curious sensation of completion, as if a bottomless chasm inside her she didn’t know was there had suddenly been filled. Something clicked deep inside her mind and the frightening horror was locked away for good, leaving behind only a tangled warmth.

  Savard stirred and rolled to the side, although his arm still lay across her stomach. His face was creased in pain and she reached over to gently stroke his cheek. His eyes fluttered open but they seem unfocused.

  “Cherie,” he whispered. “I missed you so much. Don’t ever leave me again.”

  She ran her hand slowly across his shoulder and down his arm. His cock lay across her thigh and she caressed its limp weight, heedless of its sticky coating of their mingled cum.

  “I’ll never leave you,” she told him fiercely, nuzzling his cheek with hers. “René.”

  45

  Trisha kicked at another one of the stones surrounding the small backyard patch she called a garden. She’d hidden a spare key under one of them last summer after that embarrassing sunbathing episode, but finding the right one under the crusted layers of snow and ice was a hit-or-miss proposition. Her hands were already raw and red from turning over three of them and scrabbling through the frozen dirt underneath.

  The stone finally came free and rolled aside, revealing another palm-sized circle of soil. She scraped at it with her toe, unwilling to break another fingernail, and was rewarded with a glimpse of tarnished brass. She snatched it up eagerly and scraped off the dirt as she hurried to the back door. She thrust the key into the deadbolt and jiggled it, cursing under her breath until it finally did its job and unlocked the door. She yanked it open and stumbled into the laundry room, firmly shutting the winter outside behind her.

  The lights were still on everywhere and she shut them off as she passed, stripping off her scarf and coat as the feeling started to return to her fingers and toes. The living room was just as she left it and she sighed at the pile of junk on the floor by the couch. Just one more thing to take care of before her life finally returned to normal.

  “Marco?” she called, hanging her winter wear up on the hook by the front door. A pizza box with the familiar Carmine’s logo lay on the floor and she frowned at it doubtfully. She didn’t remember having it in her hand when she slammed the door in Hawk’s face. She picked it up and peeked inside. It was her usual order, the cheese a solid, unappetizing mess now. “Where are you, Marco? Mommy’s home.”

  There was no response and she went into the kitchen, dumping the pizza into the trash and dutifully folding up the box to be recycled. Marco’s food bowls were half full, each surrounded by a halo of loose morsels and garnished with a slug-like blob of partially-digested kibble. “Marco,” she sighed in exasperation. “How many times do I have to tell you not to eat it all at once.” She dumped the bowls out and swept up the mess, replacing it with a more normal portion.

  She turned off the kitchen lights and went upstairs, detouring briefly to start the tub before heading into her bedroom. Her lockbox was still on the floor where she left it but she looked under her bed before picking it up. “There you are!”

  Marco lay curled under the center of the bed like a black and white powder puff, just out of her reach. He stirred enough to blink at her and sniff at her outstretched fingers and then he yawned and draped his tail over his nose.

  “Fine, be that way.” Trisha set the lockbox on her dresser until she retrieved the Glock from her coat pocket and stripped naked, throwing everything on top of the laundry basket.

  The water in the tub was just starting to steam as she rooted through the cabinets for a spare toothbrush and the small tube of toothpaste she took on her infrequent trips, scrubbing her teeth and gums thoroughly. She also hastily swallowed the next two pills from her dispenser, mentally counting the days to make sure she was caught up again. She avoided looking at herself in the mirror, unwilling to remind herself of why she needed them.

  The tub was wonderfully hot, almost scalding, but she eased herself in, gasping as the heat penetrated all the way down to her bones. She lay back, almost completely submerged, and let the tension in her muscles ease away. It’s over, she told herself. It’s finally over.

  She stayed there until the water slowly turned lukewarm, drifting along and thinking of nothing. Finally, though, she roused herself and took care of business, ducking under the water to shampoo her hair and using her razor on her armpits and legs. After a moment of indecision, she sat on the edge of the tub and carefully trimmed her pubes as well, determined not to be caught unprepared the next time. Not that it will ever be a next time, she promised herself, but you never know ... She left herself a narrow, short-cropped oval that would be easier to maintain than simply going completely bare.

  She dried herself and rinsed out the tub, brushing out her hair and clipping it up on top of her head. She returned to the bedroom and rooted through her drawers for something to wear, finally settling on a pair of black stretch pants and another tee. It wasn’t the most elegant look, she noted wryly as she eyed herself in the dresser mirror, but it was clean and comfortable and that was all that mattered right now.

  She hauled the laundry basket downstairs and started the first load before returning to the living room. She didn’t really have any place to put all the stuff from her purse, so she just piled it on the kitchen table and sorted through it, discarding the receipts and ticket stubs she didn’t need and wrapping up her collection of pens in a rubber band.

  She paused when she came across Lionel’s business card, staring at the embossed shield for a long while before pinning it on the cork notice board on the fridge door. She could replace the clothes she’d left at the mansion, but getting a new license and credit cards would be a major headache, not to mention having to replace all the locks in the house. She had to get her stuff back somehow.

  She retrieved her phone and the Glock from her coat and pulled up his number, but she couldn’t bring herself to call him. She didn’t want to talk to him, she couldn’t imagine that conversation going well. After changing her mind several times, she wrote him a brief text.

  This is Trisha. I need my things back. Can we meet somewhere?

  The instant she sent it, she realized her mistake. Without her license and keys, she was stuck at the house. A quick check of the fridge confirmed that she barely had any food either. She couldn’t even get cash to pay for groceries until she sorted things out with Lionel, because he had her ATM card and the banks were closed on Sunday.

  She slumped in one of the kitchen chairs, suddenly depressed. Her elation at being home and away from Hawk and the others evaporated, leaving her feeling helpless. Who can I call? she wondered bleakly. How can I explain what happened? Nim was right, nobody’s going to believe me.

  She jumped when her phone rang and she stared at the display. It took her a couple of rings to finally recognize the number and then another one to decide to actually answer it.

  “Hello?”

  “Trisha, it’s Lionel.” He sounded anxious and guarded at the same time. “I just got your message. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. I just need the things I left at your place.” She fervently hoped he wouldn’t cause any problems over it.

  “Where are you?” His voice got quieter all of a sudde
n, almost whispering. “Are you alone? Just say yes or no in a normal voice.”

  He’s worried I’m still with Hawk. “I’m home, by myself.” Belatedly, she realized she probably shouldn’t have told him that, but it was too late. He was silent for a few heartbeats.

  “I can be there in half an hour,” he said finally. “I’ll bring everything with me.”

  “No, I don’t think that would be a good idea. Can we just meet somewhere? No, wait, that won’t work,” she corrected herself, chagrined. She chewed her lower lip as she considered the options. “Just bring everything to the hospital and leave it at the nurse’s station. I’ll pick it up tomorrow when I go into work.”

  “I don’t mind coming over there, Trisha.”

  “No, I’d rather you didn’t. Sorry.”

  “I see.” His words were carefully neutral but she felt a major twinge of guilt for putting him off like this. “Chantal told me what happened yesterday. How did you get away from Hawk?”

  Did she tell you she tried to kill us? she thought with a flare of anger. “I didn’t,” she told him tersely, “they just brought me home.”

  “And they’re not with you now?” He sounded skeptical.

  “No, they went back to New York. Can I get my things or not?”

  The silence stretched out for an uncomfortably long time, but Lionel finally answered. “Yes, of course. I’ll drop everything off at the hospital later today.”

  “Thank you,” she said fervently. She was almost light-headed with relief.

  “I’m sorry things turned out this way, Trisha,” he said. “I’d hoped – well, I’m glad you’re okay.”

  “Me, too. Goodbye, Lionel.”

  “Goodbye, Trisha. Take care.” He hung up and Trisha stared at her phone, feeling miserable.

  “At least it’s over now,” she told herself, hoping it was really true.

  46

  Lionel stared at his phone without really seeing it. His mind was a whirl of confusion.

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” he murmured. Why would Hawk and the others go through all the trouble of tracking Trisha down, only to let her go a few hours later? Isn’t she the subject of their Quest? Did they end up with the wrong woman? That didn’t seem possible.

  He got up and walked around the kitchen island, too full of unfocused energy to be sitting still. He sorted through the events of the last few days, trying to make some sense of them.

  Butler gets a Quest out of the blue that takes him to Boston. He wanders around aimlessly for a couple of days and then attacks Savard for no good reason, ending up in the hospital. Hawk shows up, finds him almost immediately, and then Butler disappears even though he’s supposed to be in a coma. Hawk scares Trisha to death, also for no good reason, and she calls me. I bring her to the mansion and we – He stopped his pacing, remembering that night with regret, not that it happened, but that it wouldn’t happen again. He drummed his fingers on the counter as he recovered his train of thought.

  Then Nim shows up, even though she almost never leaves Arthur’s side, and she and Hawk somehow figure out where we’re staying. Nim and Butler take out Savard and Hawk kidnaps Trisha. They all disappear and then she shows up at home the next day like nothing happened while the others all head back to New York.

  He shook his head in confusion. What the hell is going on? What was the point of going through all of this and then just leaving? Is there a Quest or isn’t there? He grew very still as he ran that thought through again. Is there a Quest?

  “Son of a bitch,” he whispered.

  It was all starting to come together now. They must have suspected we have someone on the inside. There’s no Quest but Butler and Nim pretended there was. He came to Boston and waited to see if we took the bait. If we went followed the decoy to Berlin, they’d think we were just doing our normal surveillance on the Knights, but Butler spotted Savard in Boston. They know there’s a leak in New York.

  He pulled on his lower lip anxiously as he thought. They know Savard wouldn’t have been in charge of the mission, so Butler tried to eliminate him to draw me out. He ended up in the hospital, but Trisha was right there and Hawk showed up a few hours later. She must have contacted him when she recognized Butler and told him I’m the mission lead. She’s obviously on Pendragon’s payroll.

  His fingers resumed their drumming. Hawk gets Butler out of the hospital and she calls me, pretending to be scared of him. I bring her back to the mansion and she seduces me so I’ll keep her here. Nim shows up the next morning and I leave Trisha all by herself. She has the run of the place for hours.

  “Fuck!” He slammed his hand on the counter, heedless of the pain. He rushed over to his laptop and booted it up, searching for any sign that it had been used or tampered with. He found nothing, but Pendragon had the best electronic security experts in the world. Cracking the laptop would have been child’s play for them. That had to be why they spent all that time in the Pendragon office yesterday.

  “Fuck.” He ran both hands through his hair, sick to his stomach. She had access to my emails, the Du Lac network, maybe even the secure file system. No wonder they knew which buildings to check. Nim went to the house to deal with Savard and keep me busy while Hawk went to the mansion to meet up with Trisha. The only thing that stopped them from getting more from the laptop was Chantal showing up just as he got there. No wonder Trisha shot her.

  He sat back on the stool, rubbing his face in sudden fatigue. Okay, so they had to back off and regroup last night. They decided to head back to New York this morning, probably to track down the person responsible for the leak. Or did they? Just because Trisha said they were leaving doesn’t mean they did. He drummed his fingers again as he explored that possibility.

  Trisha called me asking me for her things back. No, she insisted that I bring them to the hospital. Why? What’s the point of that? He got up and started pacing again. That gets me out of the way for a while. They can break into the mansion while I’m gone and try to finish what they started. They’re probably looking for our agent’s name. He didn’t know who it was and nothing on his laptop would give them any clues as to who it might be, but they didn’t know that.

  “Time to turn the tables on them,” he muttered. He grabbed his phone and dialed Chantal’s number. She took a very long time to answer.

  “Quoi?” She nearly snarled the word.

  “How’s your father doing?”

  “He’s recovering, no thanks to you.”

  Lionel let that slide. “I need you to go back to Patricia Macmillan’s house.”

  “Why?” she sneered. “Do you miss her already?”

  Lionel wondered at her sudden change in attitude. He knew she’d be upset about what happened to Savard, but this seemed to be something else. He didn’t have time to sort that out right now, though. “She’s been working with Hawk this whole time,” he told her flatly. “You need to check if she’s really home.”

  “And if she is?”

  “Kill her.”

  There was a startled silence for a long moment, and then she said “Bon” with great satisfaction. “And after?”

  “Come back to the mansion. Bring your father if he’s well enough to fight. We’re going to set up an ambush for Hawk and Nim.”

  47

  Trisha brought her Glock back up to the bedroom, vaguely unsettled by her brief conversation with Lionel. She wasn’t entirely convinced he’d actually drop off her things at the hospital, but that was a problem for tomorrow.

  She carefully unloaded the pistol and made sure the chamber was clear before placing the weapon back in the lockbox. The trigger lock was still downstairs, she remembered belatedly, but she didn’t have the key for it anyway. She closed the box, spun the combination lock, and tucked it back in her bottom drawer. She fervently hoped she’d never have to take it out again.

  “Mrow?”

  Marco finally poked his nose out from under the bed and allowed himself to be picked up and cuddled. He purred loud
er than a full-grown tiger as she plopped down on the edge of the bed and skritched him under his chin.

  “Well, it’s just you and me on another Sunday morning,” she sighed despondently, “with no car and no money and almost no food. Where did we go wrong?”

  Marco had no opinion on the subject. Instead, he wriggled out of her arms and jumped onto the bed, exploring the expanse like he was walking on the moon. Trisha let herself fall backwards across the mattress and nearly launched him into outer space. Only the grip of his claws on the bedspread kept him from flying across the room and he glared at her with his yellow eyes.

  “Sorry!” she told him apologetically. She reached out to him but he scampered out of her reach, choosing to clamber over her tumbled pillows instead. “Great, now you’re leaving me too.” She meant it jokingly but she couldn’t help but think she’d made a terrible mistake coming home.

  This is stupid, she berated herself, staring up at the ceiling. I was stalked and attacked and kidnapped and brainwashed. I should be glad I’m free of all that now. The problem was, she wasn’t. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d let everyone down.

  “It’s not my fault,” she told the light fixture overhead. “They made the mistake, not me.” At least they let me go when they realized it, she thought. This whole thing could have gone very, very wrong.

  A movement by the head of the bed caught her attention. Marco stood at the very edge of the bed, reaching out with one paw towards her night table. The gap was a bit too wide for him to step over, so he backed off and wiggled his butt, preparing to make the leap.

  “Don’t do it!” she warned him, sitting up quickly. “You’ll break something!”