“Easy enough, honey. Just a sec.” Macmillan waded through the snow at the edge of the road and lopped off a pair of snow-laden branches from one of the shrubs crowding the lane. He laid one behind each of the rear wheels like a makeshift carpet. “You get back behind the wheel and your young man and I will give you a push. Take it slow and turn to the right so you’re facing the drive.”
“He’s not my – all right, fine.” Trisha got back inside and slammed the door, glaring irritably at her father as he joined Hawk by the hood. They leaned against the grill and Macmillan gave her the signal. She shifted into reverse and the Jaguar slowly eased backwards, rising out of the ruts and bumping around until its headlights revealed a gently curving drive through the trees.
“All right, honey, take her straight down,” Macmillan told her. “We’ll follow behind and give you a shove if you need it.”
Trisha carefully maneuvered the Jaguar down the center of the lane with the men trudging a short distance behind. She only got stuck once on a particularly deep drift of snow, but Hawk and her father pushed her through it with little difficulty.
The driveway opened up suddenly into a large circle surrounded by tall poplars. The single-story house stood off to one side, all of its windows blazing bright and warm, and two open-sided carports kept the snow off a large white pickup with dual wheels in the rear and a black hard-top Wrangler.
“Come on in,” Macmillan told them cheerily, stepping up onto the narrow rear porch and stomping the snow off his boots. “Dinner’s almost ready.” He leaned his axe against the wall by the door.
“Good,” Trisha said fervently. She locked the Jaguar and handed the keys to Hawk. “I’m starving and freezing.”
“I have just the thing to warm you up,” he told her, holding the door open for them.
Light and warmth spilled out and Trisha shivered, rubbing her hands together as she hurried inside, belatedly kicking off her boots and leaving them just inside on a small hemp mat. Hawk followed her example and then looked around curiously.
The house was laid out like a summer cottage, with just a handful of rooms surrounding one large open area dominated by a tall stone fireplace. Comfortable chairs with afghans draped across them circled a low table in front of the hearth, and a wooden dining set straight out of the last century stood to one side, already laid out with four mismatched sets of china plates and utensils. Hawk half-expected to see a deer head mounted over the mantelpiece, but instead a large flat-screen TV covered the wall above the mantel.
Macmillan headed straight for a small table set beside the fireplace stacked with a collection of bottles and tumblers. He splashed the contents of one bottle into a glass and handed it to Trisha. “Here you go, honey. What’ll you have, Mr. Hawk?”
“Gavin, please. Scotch, if you have it.”
“We have plenty,” Macmillan grinned and he plucked another bottle from the table, pouring two glasses this time. “Call me James. Cheers.” They clinked glasses and sipped.
“Trisha, dear, is that you?” An older woman appeared in the open doorway near the dining table, wiping her hands on her apron. Her face lit up when she saw Trisha and they gave each other an extended hug. “I’m so glad you could come down early. So,” she said eagerly, “introduce me to your young man.”
Hawk hid his smile as he watched Trisha swallow her annoyance and put on a pleasant face. “Mom, this is Gavin Hawk. Hawk, this is my mother, Donna.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Macmillan,” Hawk said gravely, shaking her hand. “Thanks for having me.”
“Oh, it’s no worry at all, Mr. Hawk. Any friend of Trisha’s is welcome here, anytime.” She beamed up at him and Hawk could see the resemblance between mother and daughter. Donna was plumper and shorter by a couple of inches than Trisha, but they had the same eyes and the same hair, although Donna’s was streaked with silver.
“Call me Gavin, please, Mrs. Macmillan.”
“Only if you call me Donna, Gavin.” Trisha clearly wanted to roll her eyes at these pleasantries but she managed to restrain herself. “So are you hungry, Gavin? I know it’s been a long drive from Boston.”
“I’m famished,” he told her truthfully. “What are we having?”
59
Savard lumbered ahead of the Range Rover, a shaggy black shadow against the snow. His broad snout was down close to the ground as he sniffed the tracks in the road, barely visible under the falling snow, but he never hesitated, moving steadily in pursuit of their prey.
Lionel kept the headlights off, relying solely on the yellow parking lights to illuminate the road, but even that was risky. The area was pitch black and anyone standing near the road would spot them easily. Between the cold and the snow, though, no one in their right mind would do such a thing, so he was willing to take the risk.
Savard suddenly froze and Lionel hit the brakes, the four-wheel drive bringing the Range Rover to an easy stop on the icy road. Savard stared off to the right at a black gap between the trees and then looked back at them. For a moment, his yellow eyes flared like a pair of gold coins floating in mid-air and Lionel’s hand automatically moved towards the handgun resting on the center console.
Chantal sneered at him, as if Lionel should have known that a mere pistol couldn’t save him if they decided to hunt him instead. She knelt on the passenger seat, naked and ready for her own transformation, but Lionel felt no lust for her now, just cold resolve.
“Go,” he said. “Report back when you find out what they’re doing here. Don’t let them know you’re there and don’t attack until I say so. I’ll make sure they can’t leave if things go wrong.”
She snorted her contempt for his orders, but she turned away and opened the door, jumping out as short black hair spread in a wave down her back. By the time she reached Savard’s side, she was a smaller, sleeker copy of his menacing bulk. Lionel kept his hand on the pistol.
They rubbed cheeks in a curiously sensuous greeting and then loped away along a gently curving driveway. Lionel followed them a short distance and then pulled the Range Rover around to block the road. He shut off the lights and sat back, gazing through the side window. Savard and Chantal were already out of sight.
“And now we wait,” he told himself quietly. He wiped his clammy palms on his slacks, telling himself that the shiver he felt was just the cold.
60
It wasn’t haggis, to Trisha’s relief and Hawk’s possible disappointment. Instead, her mother had created a feast for the four of them: roast beef with thick savory gravy, Yorkshire pudding, sweet potato casserole, peas and onions, salad, fresh-baked rolls. There wasn’t room for everything on the table and her mother kept shuttling back and forth to the kitchen for refills.
Just as Trisha feared, her parents probed Hawk for every detail about his life and she cringed inside, anticipating their incredulous reactions when they found out who he really was. But Hawk deflected their questions with ready answers that sounded plausible even to her. By the time everyone had seconds, they were convinced he grew up in Ohio, went to college in Chicago, and joined Pendragon Security right after he graduated.
“Oh, so you’re one of those computer geeks, huh?” her father drawled, leaning back in his chair with that look in his eye. “Maybe you could help us out with that new-fangled contraption over there, seeing as we’ve fed you and all.” He indicated a very modern-looking computer and monitor on a small desk in the corner.
Trisha exchanged a look with her mother and both of them shook their heads. Hawk noticed and his eyebrow quirked up.
“Am I missing something?” he asked.
“Dad has a master’s degree in electrical engineering,” Trisha explained with an exasperated sigh. “He spent ten years in the Air Force working on radar systems. He knows more about that computer than ninety-nine point nine percent of the people in Virginia.”
“Well, I could still use some advice,” her father said. He looked miffed that she spoiled his game. “I’m looking for a better a
ntivirus program. Is the Pendragon system any good?”
“It’s the best in the world,” Hawk assured him. “But my employment contract requires me to say that, so take that with a grain of salt.”
Her father grinned at him but Trisha just stared in disbelief. Did Hawk just tell a joke? She wouldn’t have thought it possible.
“So do you deal with computers at work, Gavin?” her mother asked. She handed him the casserole dish without asking him if he wanted any more, but he dutifully took another spoonful.
“No, I’m in asset management,” he said. “Physical security, not electronic security.”
“Oh, you’re a security guard?” her mother asked doubtfully. She looked disappointed and Trisha suddenly felt bad for Hawk.
“He’s not a guard, Mother,” she insisted. “He reports directly to the CEO. He’s – he’s kind of an investigator for their global operations.” She grimaced at that distorted euphemism for his real role, wondering why she was trying to defend him, but her mother brightened up.
“Oh, that sounds very important, Gavin! It must keep you very busy.”
“It’s does,” Hawk agreed with a smile, but his eyes were on Trisha. She pushed her peas around her plate as her ears warmed, unable to meet his amused gaze.
The conversation continued unabated all the way through dessert, fresh-from-the-oven cherry pie topped with whipped cream. Trisha’s contributions faded away and she found herself just watching Hawk. He was the consummate dinner guest, charming, witty, and attentive to his hosts, and she slowly began to realize she’d been wrong about him before. He was a perfect gentleman.
“Trisha? Trisha, dear.” Her mother’s voice finally penetrated her thoughts and she looked up in surprise. Her mother was standing beside her with a load of dirty plates in her hands. “Help me clear the table and we can have coffee by the fire.”
“Oh, right. Okay.” Trisha pushed her chair back and grabbed the nearest bowls, not daring to look in Hawk’s direction. She hurried into the kitchen after her mother, carefully depositing her load in the cavernous sink
“Thanks, dear.” Her mother turned on the hot water and added a dab of dish soap. They didn’t have a dishwasher, so everything was going to have to be scrubbed by hand later. She glanced over her shoulder at the open doorway and then leaned close to Trisha. “Your young man is very nice and very handsome,” she teased, nudging Trisha with her elbow.
Trisha followed her gaze. Hawk and her father were standing as well, talking about something as they gathered up more of the plates. At ease for the first time since she’d met him, Hawk looked like a different man. “Yes,” she said quietly, “he is.”
They left the dishes to soak and brought out the coffee, settling everyone in front of the fireplace. By some unspoken agreement, her parents took the two single seats on either side, forcing her and Hawk into the loveseat in the middle. It was snug enough that their elbows bumped if they weren’t careful and Trisha was convinced that her mother was already counting grandbabies as she sipped her coffee.
“Do you hunt, James?” Hawk asked, nodding at a handsome glass-fronted gun cabinet on the other side of the fireplace. There were three rifles inside, all of them fitted with scopes.
“Some,” her father allowed. “Bagged a deer last month, just a two-pointer. The area’s so built up now they don’t come down from the hills much anymore.” Trisha snorted quietly. On this side of the Shenandoah River, built up meant there was only half a mile of dense forest between the houses. “Are you a hunter, Gavin?”
“I haven’t gone out in quite a while. Work keeps me pretty busy. What do you keep the shotgun for?” A battered double-barreled shotgun leaned against the side of the cabinet.
“Mostly to scare off the bears. They come around looking for food sometimes. Haven’t had one in a while, though,” he added thoughtfully.
“Do you like living all the way out here? It seems pretty ... peaceful.”
Her father grinned. “Isolated, you mean. We like it this way, after the hustle and bustle of the big city.”
“He means Richmond,” Trisha informed Hawk wryly.
“Donna and I bought this place as a summer home back when Trisha was in high school. The river’s just down thataway,” he gestured towards the back of the house, “and there’s a deep spot where you can jump right off the cliff. Trisha and her college friends used to come up and go skinny-dipping on summer break.”
“I did not!” Trisha protested in shocked surprise. “I’ve never gone skinny-dipping in my life!” she told Hawk. For some reason, it was important that he believed her, although something about his expression hinted that he wouldn’t mind at all if she went swimming buck naked. She found her ears burning again.
“James,” her mother scolded mildly, and her father waved her off.
“I’m just funning. Anyway, we just kept coming up more often and staying longer and we finally just sold the old house and moved in permanently. Haven’t regretted it for a moment,” he said with a satisfied nod, and her mother echoed it with a smile.
“So, Mom,” Trisha jumped in hurriedly, before her father could come up with another embarrassing story about her, truthful or otherwise. “What about that brooch? Did you find it?”
“Oh, I haven’t had a chance to look, dear, what with dinner and all.” Her father looked puzzled and she explained, “Trisha was asking about the cairngorm I wore at our wedding.”
“And it’s not for my wedding,” Trisha told them emphatically, just to head off any repeat of their previous misunderstanding. “It’s just important that we get it.”
“But why, dear? It’s just an old pin, it’s hardly worth anything.”
“Well, um –” Trisha stopped, not really sure what to say. It showed up in a dream I had about Avalon and one of King Arthur’s knights thinks it’s really important. Hawk was absolutely no help at all. He just cocked an eyebrow at her with half a smile, as if he was looking forward to hearing her explanation. “I ... saw it in your wedding photo and ... it looks exactly like something ... a friend of mine ... lost. I thought maybe ... it would be nice ... to ... give it to him?” she finished awkwardly. If her ears weren’t pink before, they certainly were now. “If you don’t want it,” she added hurriedly.
“Lucas Butler is a friend of ours,” Hawk stepped in finally. “He collects antique jewelry and he was quite upset when a brooch that looks just like yours came up missing,” he lied smoothly. “He’ll be glad to give you a fair price for it.”
“Oh, no, there’s no need,” her mother insisted. “It’s not like I need it for anything. It’s just an old family relic, your friend is quite welcome to it. If we can find it, that is,” she said with a doubtful frown. “Would it be up in the attic, do you think, James?”
“Only one way to find out,” he said, levering himself out of his chair. “I’ll fetch the ladder.”
The attic was only accessible through a hatch in the hallway leading past the bathroom and bedrooms, just a small square of plywood in the middle of the ceiling. Her father went outside and brought in a folding aluminum ladder still crusted with ice, setting it carefully in the middle of the floor and climbing up high enough to lift the hatch and set it aside. He got his head and shoulders through the hole and looked around.
“Kinda dark up here,” he reported.
“Where’s the light switch?” Trisha asked, jumping up. She’d never been up in the attic and she was curious as to what was up there.
“There isn’t one. Grab me a flashlight from the pantry.”
The pantry was actually a large storeroom at the back of the house where all the dry goods and miscellaneous small items were kept. Trisha found a lantern on one of the shelves and nearly blinded herself testing it before hurrying back and handing it up to her father.
He hauled himself up into the attic and Trisha followed him up, carefully poking her head through the hatch. The attic was right under the angled roof, forcing her father to stoop over to avoid concu
ssing himself on the roof beams. She couldn’t see a thing except her father’s silhouette against the lantern’s light.
“Here we go.” He set the lantern down and picked up the top box of a small stack situated right over the kitchen, if her bearings were right. It seemed heavy, judging from his posture, and he set it down with a thump beside the hatch, raising a cloud of dry dust that brought tears to Trisha’s eyes and started her sneezing. “It’s going to be too heavy for you, honey. See if Gavin can give us a hand.”
She retreated down the ladder gratefully and Hawk silently took her place, taking the box from her father in one arm and carefully descending step by step. He set it on the coffee table and her mother eyed it with a frown. The box was unmarked, covered in a layer of dust and showing signs that mice had been at it at some point.
Trisha got a knife from the kitchen and carefully cut the yellowed tape holding the box closed. She opened the top, holding her breath in anticipation and then let it out again in frustrated disappointment. It was filled with old cables and electronic components all jumbled up in a knotted mess.
“I swear, your father is worse than I am,” her mother grumbled. She closed up the box and asked Hawk to set it by the door. “Perhaps the charities in town can do some good with it.” Trisha doubted it. That junk was too old to serve any useful purpose now.
“That’s not it, Dad,” she called up. “Keep looking.”
“All righty.” They listened to his progress across the ceiling and back and Hawk went up the ladder again to bring the next box down.
This one was much lighter, but all it held was a stack of neatly-folded clothes and a couple of sweaters. Trisha held one up dubiously, a knitted nightmare in red and green stripes, and exchanged a silent look with her mother. That box joined the first one by the door.
The third one was much the same, mostly old blankets, but her mother gasped in surprise when they opened the fourth. She reached in and pulled out a pair of bronzed baby shoes.
Gawain (Knights of Excalibur Book 1) Page 30