Gawain (Knights of Excalibur Book 1)

by Hanley, Donald

  “I don’t want to be late for dinner,” he said with a hint of a smile creasing his face. “Or your wedding, as the case may be.”

  “Oh, fuck you,” she grumbled, slumping down in her seat with her arms crossed, but she couldn’t help but smile ruefully as Hawk chuckled.

  55

  “They’ll probably turn off at the George Washington Bridge and head south on Hudson Parkway. That’s the fastest way into Manhattan.” Lionel eased over to the right-hand lane, keeping half an eye on the Jaguar several car lengths ahead. “I’m going to take 181st Street to Amsterdam. I should be able to cut over and get in front of them before they reach Harlem.”

  “D’accord.”

  “Keep this call up. We’re only going to have one shot at this, so stay alert.” Lionel took Chantal’s irritated growl as an acknowledgement. He spared one last glance at Hawk’s car before taking the off-ramp, weaving through the traffic as fast as he dared.

  The light at Amsterdam turned red just before he got to it and he tapped his fingers impatiently, silently urging it to change. If he hit too many lights, there was no way he’d be able to get ahead of Hawk. Chantal and Savard would have to take care of things and that was less than ideal. A drive-by shooting in Harlem wouldn’t raise as many questions as an attack by wild animals in the middle of a major thoroughfare, but they didn’t have many options.

  The light blinked green finally and he turned south onto Amsterdam Avenue, the Range Rover slithering on the slick pavement before he got it under control. He hadn’t been in New York in some time – the risk of being spotted by Pendragon’s surveillance teams was too great – and he had to dredge through his memory for the best route over to the Parkway.

  155th? he wondered, wishing he could check the maps on his phone. There weren’t many on-ramps to the southbound side of the Parkway, which made it a popular route for commuters heading into Manhattan from Jersey and the Bronx. No, 158th. He glanced at the street signs as he sped through the next intersection, just beating the light. 175th. Seventeen blocks to go. Damn it.

  “Chantal, are they on the Parkway yet?” The George Washington Bridge was the only bridge across the Hudson River, not counting the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge well to the south. It was loaded down with traffic pretty much 24-7, which gave him a fighting chance to get into position.

  “The exit is just ahead. I am three cars behind them.”

  “Good. Stay with them. I need you to make sure they don’t try to run.”

  “They will not get far,” Chantal said smugly. “Wait.” There was a note of puzzlement in her voice.

  “What?”

  “They’re not turning. They’re continuing across the bridge.”

  “What?” His mind couldn’t process that. “Did they miss the turn?” They’d have to cross over to New Jersey and then loop back around. That would work in their favor.

  “No, they drove right by it. Hawk made no signal.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense. Where are they going?” Pendragon Tower was in downtown Manhattan, just off Wall Street. Going to New Jersey was a complete waste of time.

  “I do not know,” Chantal told him tersely. “Perhaps you could call him and ask.”

  “Never mind, just give me a minute.” Lionel pulled over to the curb, stopping in front of a barber shop. He stared blindly out through the windshield as he tried to fathom what Hawk was up to.

  Did he spot us? he thought worriedly. Is he trying to lose us? No, it would be easier to do that in Manhattan and he can call in reinforcements. What’s in New Jersey? There were probably several Pendragon facilities there, but he doubted any of them had anything he couldn’t get at headquarters.

  “Lionel?”

  “Just a minute!” he snapped. Why the hell would Hawk drive all the way down here in a snowstorm and then just keep going? They’ve stayed on I-95 pretty much the entire way. Where does that take them? Newark, and then where? He closed his eyes, envisioning the major cities down the coast. Pittsburgh? No, Philadelphia. And then what? “Chantal, I need to use my phone for a minute. Keep following them. Call me back right away if they turn off I-95.”

  “What’s happening, Lionel? Is there a problem?”

  “Yes, there’s a problem. Give me a minute to sort it out.” He hung up and pulled up the map, scrolling quickly south. Baltimore and then Washington. Are they heading to DC? He couldn’t imagine why. There’s a hundred different cities within easy driving distance from here, we’ll never be able to guess where they’re going. He sat back in his seat, drumming his fingers. If they’re not going to headquarters, they can’t be trying to expose Viviane’s agent, at least not now. They’re up to something, though.

  He thumbed through the map, hoping something would trigger some inspiration. I-95 wiggled its way down the Atlantic coastline all the way to Miami, but he doubted Hawk and Trisha were thinking of taking a beach vacation.

  He centered the map on Washington again, zooming out to see the surrounding towns. There were surprisingly few major cities in the area, just Baltimore to the north and Richmond to the south. He paused and blinked slowly. Richmond, Virginia. Son of a bitch. Is that it?

  He called Chantal back and started talking as soon as she answered. “Are they still in sight?” he demanded.

  “Oui. They are still following the highway.”

  “Okay, stay with them. I’ll catch up to you as quick as I can.” He pulled away from the curb without looking, earning himself an angry horn blast from the driver he cut off.

  “What are they doing, Lionel?”

  “I think Hawk is taking Trisha home.”

  56

  Hawk pulled into the gas station and stopped by one of the pumps. He reached for the ignition and then glanced over at Trisha. She was still sleep, curled up against the passenger door with her balled-up hoodie serving as a makeshift pillow. Several strands of hair escaped her ponytail, draping across her cheek, and he almost reached over to brush them aside. This was the first time in the few hours he’d known her that she didn’t look frightened or stressed and he didn’t want to take that away from her.

  He left the car running and eased out of the driver’s seat, closing the door as quietly as he could. He peeked through the window to make sure he hadn’t woken her and then went through the usual routine to fill the tank. He leaned against the side of the Jaguar with his arms crossed against the cold. There was no wind, thankfully, but the promised snow was already drifting down.

  He felt the car shifting behind him and the passenger door opened. Trisha got out, blinking around sleepily as she wrestled with her hoodie. “Where are we?” she mumbled before she got her head through the right opening.

  “Beautiful downtown Front Royal,” he said. “Did I wake you?”

  “Mm.” She surveyed the area with a sleepy frown, but there wasn’t much to see, just a couple of restaurants and a realtor’s office across the road. “How long was I out?”

  “Just an hour or so.”

  “I didn’t snore, did I?” She said it lightly but she looked anxious.

  “No, quiet as a mouse,” he assured her truthfully. She flashed him a grateful smile.

  “What time is it?” she asked, hugging herself tightly. Her breath fogged the air.

  “Six-thirty or so.” The sun had already set, although it was hard to tell with the lowering clouds and the bright lights overhead, and the temperature was dropping quickly.

  “And we’re in Front Royal already? How fast were you going?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Fast enough to get us here by six-thirty.” The gas pump clunked, signaling a full tank, and Hawk replaced the nozzle and collected his receipt. “How much further to your parents’ place?”

  “Oh, well, um.” Trisha looked around again, getting her bearings. “Is that John Marshall Highway?” she asked, nodding to the broad roadway right in front of them.

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, so we keep on going west until it turns into South Street and
then turn south on Royal.”

  “So west on South and south on Royal?” Hawk asked doubtfully.

  Trisha laughed. “Don’t blame me, I didn’t name them. Royal turns into the Stonewall Jackson Highway outside of town, but the bridge over the river is only a mile or so from here. After that, it’s a bit convoluted: Rivermont to McCoy’s Ford Road to Eagle Drive and then we try to find their driveway. It’s not well-marked,” she grimaced apologetically. “I usually miss it completely the first time around.”

  “Wonderful.” He twisted left and right, trying to work out the stiffness in his back and neck. “Let’s get going then.”

  “Are you okay?” she asked worriedly. “Do you want me to drive?”

  “I’ll be fine.” He smiled at her exasperated expression. “Really. Do you need anything before we go?” He hooked his thumb at the convenience store behind them.

  “No, I’m fine. Oh, great, now you’ve got me doing it,” she complained, although her smile spoiled it. “We’re almost there and Mom will be upset if we don’t eat everything on our plates at dinner. Although it might be something weird,” she warned him, “like haggis. Maybe we should get some snacks, just in case.”

  “I like haggis.”

  Trisha stared at him like he grew a second head. “You do not. Nobody likes haggis.”

  “Some of us do, obviously, otherwise no one would make it.”

  “That wouldn’t be a bad thing,” she grumbled. “All right, let’s get this over with.”

  “You don’t like your parents?”

  “I love my parents, but they drive me nuts. You’ll see. Just smile and nod and we’ll get out of there as soon as we have Mom’s cairngorm.”

  Trisha got back in, reaching for the heater controls even before her door was shut. Hawk opened his door and then he paused. He straightened and looked around carefully.

  “Hey, you’re letting in the cold air!” Trisha complained. She leaned across the console to look at him. “What’s wrong?”

  Hawk didn’t answer. There was no one else in sight, but a few cars sped past, their drivers eager to get home. Across the street at the realtor’s office, a small sedan sat in the parking lot. It looked perfectly ordinary. Except why is there someone there on a Sunday evening? he asked himself. He couldn’t tell if there was anyone inside, but the windshield was clear of snow. It hadn’t been sitting there long.

  “Hawk?” Trisha asked again, trying to figure out what he was looking at. “Is everything okay?”

  “Everything’s fine,” he said, slipping behind the steering wheel and shutting out the cold. “Let’s go have some haggis.”

  Trisha snorted and settled back into her seat. Hawk pulled the Jaguar around the pumps and turned onto Marshall Highway, heading west. As they passed the realtor’s, he glanced at the sedan again. There was no one inside, but it had Massachusetts plates.

  Interesting, he mused. What are the odds of that?

  57

  Lionel waited impatiently in front of the shopping center just south of the gas station. He wasn’t worried about Hawk spotting him – there were too many cars pulling in and out as the residents of Front Royal did their last-minute shopping – but he couldn’t see the Jaguar from here. He had to rely on Chantal to tell him when it was safe to continue.

  Should I get ahead of them? he wondered. No, we need to find out what they’re doing here first. Then we’ll decide what to do.

  He heard a rustling sound over his phone and he wondered what Chantal and Savard were doing. He was about to ask what Hawk was doing when Chantal came on.

  “Lionel.” She sounded angry.

  “Are they leaving?” He put the Range Rover in gear.

  “Yes. Hawk may have seen us.”

  “Crap. What’s he doing?”

  “They are just driving away.”

  “Then what makes you think he saw you?”

  “The way he stood. He looked right at the car.”

  “Is Trisha still with him?”

  “Yes, they are together.”

  “Okay.” Lionel drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he thought. “He probably didn’t see you but you’ve been following him in that car for a couple of days now. He might have recognized it.”

  “What can we do? There are no other cars available here.”

  “I’ll come pick you up. Hawk doesn’t know what my car looks like.” But Trisha does, he reminded himself. They would have to be careful.

  “There’s no time for that, Lionel,” Chantal argued. “We will lose them.”

  “No, we won’t,” Lionel told her firmly. “I know exactly where they’re going.”

  58

  The snow was falling heavily now, the thick flakes glowing in the headlights as Hawk tried to keep the Jaguar out of the deep frozen ruts scarring Eagle Drive. Trisha sat all the way forward with her face nearly plastered to the windshield as she searched for the entrance to her parents’ property. The world outside was nothing but featureless white swaths against an equally featureless black background and it was almost impossible to tell the difference between a gap in the trees and an actual driveway.

  “Dad put reflectors on the mail box last year,” she said, cupping her hands around her face to reduce the reflections from inside. “We should be able to see them a mile away.”

  “Not if they’re covered in snow,” Hawk pointed out sourly. The car suddenly pulled to the right and dropped six inches as the tires found another deep rut hidden under the fresh blanket of snow. Trisha’s forehead hit the windshield hard enough to bring tears to her eyes. “Sorry.” He grimaced as the undercarriage scraped against a layer of ice and pulled the steering wheel hard over to get back to the center of the road. The rear tires spun for a second before the Jaguar lurched forward. “The Jag’s not built for this sort of thing.”

  “I’ll live,” she said, rubbing her forehead gingerly. “I’m about ready to give up and call Dad to come pick us up.”

  “Is that an option?”

  “He drives a dually pickup that can haul a ton of freight straight up a mountainside. I just didn’t want to drag him out into this weather if he didn’t need to. He’s almost sixty and – wait! Stop! There it is!”

  She pointed frantically at a blob of snow seemingly hanging in midair above a line of glowing blue disks, presumably the reflectors mounted on the post of a snow-covered mail box. Hawk hit the brakes but the Jaguar kept on going, sliding in a direction that had no relation to what he did with the steering wheel. It shuddered to a halt at an angle, its hood just inches from the post. They both let out relieved breaths.

  Hawk put the car in reverse and tapped the gas. The tires spun but nothing happened. He shifted between drive and reverse a few times, trying to rock the car out of whatever trap it was in, but all he managed to do was inch them closer to the mail box. He put it in park and sat back with a frustrated sigh.

  “I’m going to have to push us out,” he said. “You come around here and put it in reverse when I tell you.”

  They both exited and took their new places, Trisha behind the wheel and Hawk in front of the car. He squinted against the glare of the headlights and set his hands on the grill, trying to find a solid purchase for his feet. “Okay, back up!” he called. “Nice and easy.”

  He pushed as the rear wheels turned and the Jaguar moved back a step. Then the tires lost traction on the ice, spinning uselessly, and the car slid forward again, forcing Hawk to jump back out of the way. He clapped his hands together to try to get some warmth in them, wishing he’d brought gloves. And a hat, he grumbled silently, and a proper coat. “Okay, let’s try it again.”

  The next attempt ended up the same way, but the third was slightly more successful. They moved the Jaguar back two whole feet before it bogged down, but at least it stayed put this time.

  “Son of a bitch,” he muttered.

  Trisha lowered the driver-side window. “Should I call Dad?” she called.

  “Yeah, we’re stuck goo
d.” He looked all around, but there wasn’t a single light anywhere other than their headlights. The car that had trailed behind them down McCoy’s Ford Road had vanished a while back. “Is their place far? If we sit here much longer, they’re going to have to wait until spring to find us.”

  “No,” Trisha laughed, “it’s just a five minute walk from here.”

  “You folks look like you could use a hand.” Hawk looked up in surprise, shielding his eyes from the headlights. A man stood in the road behind the Jaguar, barely illuminated by the tail lights. He was tall and wiry, wearing a thick plaid coat that looked too large for him and heavy denims over steel-toed boots. A baseball cap dappled with snow was pulled low over his eyes and a long-handled axe rested on his shoulder. “Be a shame if something happened out here. Nearest neighbors are a mile away. No one would hear a thing.”

  “Trisha, lock the doors,” Hawk told her quietly, keeping his eyes on the newcomer. That axe looked very sharp. Instead, she opened the door and got out. “Trisha!”

  “It’s all right,” she told him with a long-suffering roll of her eyes. “Dad, knock it off. Nobody believes your creepy caretaker routine.” She walked around to him and gave him a quick hug as he tipped his cap back and grinned at Hawk.

  “Can’t blame a guy for having a bit of fun,” he said amiably. “Gets boring out here in the middle of winter.” He pecked Trisha on the top of her head and pulled off the leather glove on his right hand. “James Macmillan,” he said, holding his hand out to Hawk. “I was cutting cordwood for the fireplace and saw your lights.”

  “Gavin Hawk.” They gripped hands, testing each other briefly. Macmillan’s hands were strong and calloused. “If it’s any consolation, I was convinced you were a crazed murderer,” Hawk told him with a wry smile. “I was going to take that axe from you.”

  Macmillan snorted. “Like to see you try.”

  “Dad, I’m freezing my butt off out here,” Trisha complained impatiently. “Can you get us unstuck or not?”