by I. T. Lucas
"But you did."
"A month later, she found me at the bar. And I figured, sweet, why not."
Bhathian closed his eyes at the memory, her image still as vivid as it had been thirty years ago. "I didn't get to bite her, but she was so fucking gorgeous—with that banging body of hers, and hair so black it was almost blue, and so long it was kissing the top curve of her perfect ass." He felt his face redden, and he looked away, embarrassed by what he'd said out loud. Too late to take it back, though.
"We went back to her room again, but instead of shucking her clothes, she pulled one of those miniature whisky bottles and handed it to me…"
"You'll need it,” she told him, a beautiful blush climbing up her cheeks.
He gulped it and lifted a brow.
"I'm pregnant."
Oh, hell. This was so not what he had been expecting.
"And you think it's mine?"
"I know it is, I've been with no one else for months." Trish didn't look upset, if anything, she seemed to glow with joy.
He hated himself for it, but he said it anyway. "I want you to abort it. I'll pay whatever expenses and loss of income you'll incur, but there is nothing more I can offer you. I'm sorry."
Trish looked as if he had slapped her, and in a way, he felt like he had. Though what did she expect? Even if he chose to believe her, and for some reason he did, this pregnancy was the result of a one night stand, for heaven's sakes.
"I'm not going to abort my child," she whispered.
"Trish, be reasonable. I am not what you need, I can't be. A beautiful woman like you should have no trouble finding a good man. One that will make you happy, be a proper father to your children."
Damn, he would've loved nothing more than a chance to be that man.
"You don't understand, this is a miracle. I'm forty-five, and I haven't been on contraceptives for years because I couldn't get pregnant. And here I am, with a child growing inside me…" Tears began sliding down her cheeks.
"Oh, hell, Trish…" He took her in his arms. "I didn't know…" and she was forty-five? She looked no older than thirty, and even that was a stretch.
"It's okay. I didn't come here expecting anything from you, just thought you'd be happy to know that you've created a child… and maybe… maybe put your name on the birth certificate when the time comes…"
Fuck, he couldn't do even that. All he could do was offer money, and although Trish would no doubt hate it, she would need it.
"I'm sorry, I can't do that…"
"Oh my God, you're married, aren't you?"
"No, I didn't lie about that… it's just that I have some legal issues…" It was kind of true… "But I can give you money, enough so you and your child will never lack anything."
Yes, this was good. He could help support her, and maybe get to watch over her and the kid from afar.
"Thank you, that's very generous of you."
CHAPTER 32: ANDREW
"Did she take the money?"
Bhathian closed his eyes and shook his head. "I haven't heard from her since. I kept hoping she'd call, kept going to that bar, but she never came back."
"Did you try to find her?"
"For a time. I got a hold of her employment record, so I had her address and social security number. I also discovered that she quit her job shortly after talking to me. But when I went looking for her at the address she provided, the place was already rented out to someone else. The manager said that she was never there, and he doubted she ever really lived there. The rent money, however, he said, was arriving in the mail like clockwork until about the same time she quit the airline. Other than that, I wasn't able to find anything else. It was like she never existed before applying for the job at TWA, and she vanished after quitting it."
Bhathian rubbed his neck. "Eventually, I gave up and tried not to think about the child I might have somewhere or how Patricia was managing, raising that child by herself. But from time to time I still wonder, you know?"
He cast Andrew a sad look. "When I heard about your connections, I thought maybe you could find out for me—working for the government as you do, and having access to information I wasn't able to get to."
Poor guy. The woman had probably used a fake name and social to get the job and had changed it again after quitting it. It wasn't that unusual. She might have been running from an abusive boyfriend or husband, or maybe even from the law. Or she might've been an illegal immigrant. In any case, it would be next to impossible to pick up a trail that was thirty years old. Especially when all he had to go on were a fake name and social, and an approximate age.
Andrew finished what was left of his beer. "You don't happen to have a picture of her, do you?"
"No."
"If I hook you up with a forensic artist, could you describe her well enough for him to draw one?"
"Yes, though what good it would do? If she is still alive, Patricia would be seventy-five now."
"I know, but that’s all we have. A name and social that were probably fake, Patricia's approximate age, and that of her child, and your memory of her."
"Fuck." Bhathian sagged on his barstool and popped the cap off his third beer. "Well, it was worth a shot."
"Do you still have that social?"
"Yeah, and the address as well."
"Good. Don't get your hopes up, but I'm going to look into it. And I'll hook you up with the forensic artist."
"Thank you." Bhathian offered his hand.
Andrew shook on it and clapped the guy's shoulder. "No problem."
Damn, the thing was like solid rock—muscles on top of muscles.
Bhathian shifted in his seat, then pushed to his feet. "I'm going to see what's keeping Kian." With his head hung low, he pivoted on his heel and strode away.
By the looks of him, the guy wasn't used to talking about himself, and confiding in another—especially a mortal—must've rankled.
Andrew shook his head as he tried to put himself in the guy's shoes.
To know that he had a son or a daughter that he'd never gotten to see, never gotten to support, to protect, must've festered inside Bhathian for the past thirty years.
But then, it would've been the same for any decent human being—or immortal.
Kian walked into the kitchen. "Thank you for coming, Andrew. Sorry that I kept you waiting." He offered his hand.
Apparently, Bhathian's escort duty was finished.
"No problem, Bhathian took good care of me." Andrew motioned to the empty lasagna pan and the lineup of beer bottles.
"Good. You ready to go?" Kian waited for Andrew to get up, and together they headed out.
"Any instructions before we talk to the Doomer?" Andrew asked.
"I trust your judgment. Mostly, I want you there to detect his lies. But feel free to ask the Doomer questions if you feel like I'm overlooking something."
"If I catch him lying, do you want me to tell you later or give you a sign right away? I'd rather not say anything about it, it's better if he doesn't know I can do this."
They stopped in front of the elevator, and Kian punched the down button. "I want to know right away. How about tapping your shoe? Or clearing your throat? I don't want to chance missing a visual cue."
"When he lies, I'll tap my shoe twice."
Kian gave a nod, and as the elevator door opened with a ping, they got inside, then exited a few seconds later—four levels below.
Down the corridor, Anandur was leaning against the wall next to one of the doors with his arms crossed over his chest.
Andrew slanted a look at Kian. "You think we need him there? Between the two of us, I'm sure we can handle one prisoner."
The guy grimaced. "Standard protocol. As Regent, I'm supposed to have a bodyguard at all times. I get away with not always following it, but in this case, Anandur insisted."
"Aren't you the one making the rules?"
"Nope. This one was Annani's doing. And as such it is set in stone."
"I see." Andrew ch
uckled.
As he had already figured, the Goddess had the ultimate say.
Tough little lady.
"Good evening, gentlemen, ready to proceed?" Anandur punched the security code into the lock-pad, and the door began its inward swing.
"After you." Kian motioned for Andrew to enter.
The Doomer was sitting on the couch with his palms down on his thighs, his non-threatening pose belied by the way he was eyeing them with thinly veiled hostility.
But the Doomer had nothing on Kian.
The guy's hands curled into tight fists, and his eyes began their eerie glow.
Andrew put a hand on Kian's tight shoulder. "Easy, my man…" he whispered, warily watching Kian's lips for those monstrous fangs to make an appearance.
With an apparent effort, Kian uncurled his fists and walked over to the bar. "Scotch, anyone?" When no one answered, he poured himself a glass and downed it on a oner, then poured another before sitting down in an armchair across from the Doomer.
Anandur walked over to the small dining table near the bar and planted his butt in a chair.
As Andrew set next to Kian in the other armchair, he took a quick look around. The room was a far cry from the prison cell he had imagined. In fact, it was a lot fancier than his own living room, and through the open door he glimpsed an adjoining bedroom as luxurious as any high-end hotel’s.
Complete with a large screen television and a game console, the Doomer's accommodations were fit for a king. He had no reason to look so pissed off.
"Where is Amanda? What have you done with her?" the Doomer bit out.
Aha, so that's why…
Andrew wasn't even aware Amanda was gone. Had Kian sent her away? Or what was more likely, she was still here but had smartened up enough to stay away from Dalhu.
"None of your damn business. But I don't mind telling you that she left of her own volition, not because I forced her to. She finally woke up and realized what a piece of shit you are and doesn't want to see you."
The Doomer could not have looked worse if Kian had shot him. He closed his eyes and slumped back into the couch cushions.
Andrew actually felt pity for the bastard. There was nothing worse than shattered hopes.
"I'm going to ask you some questions," Kian said.
"Why should I tell you anything." It was more of a statement than a question.
And it wasn't about defiance either.
The Doomer simply didn't seem to care about anything. Which wasn't going to do them any good. He had to give the guy something to hold on to.
Leaning forward, Andrew peered into Dalhu's dark eyes. "Because even if Amanda never wants to see you again, you still want to make sure she is safe."
Dalhu sighed and shifted up. "You're right, even if it's the last thing I do."
From the corner of his eye, Andrew caught Kian looking down at the shoe he hadn't tapped, and a smirk tugged at his mouth.
The Doomer hadn't lied, though, he'd meant what he'd said.
"Did you take out my men?"
"It was all taken care of," Kian said in a surprisingly conversational tone.
Was he mellowing out toward the Doomer?
"Good. She can return to her work now. She loves it…" Dalhu's voice petered out to a near whisper at the end.
It had the opposite effect on Kian. "Tell me about the incoming reinforcements and what is their plan of action," he barked.
In the silence that followed, the Doomer's internal conflict was barely perceptible on his hard face, but in the end, his eyes narrowed on Kian as he decided to speak his piece. "I don't give a fuck if you believe me or not, but just for the record… the set of rules I've been operating under before meeting Amanda no longer applies."
"Noted," Kian bit out.
Dalhu nodded. "I wasn't told how many are coming, but if I were to guess, at least fifty, but no more than a hundred. And with a contingent this big, someone higher up on the chain of command will be leading them."
Andrew pulled out his phone and began recording, even though he had no doubt he could later retrieve everything from security. But having his own would save him a trip, not to mention having to deal with whatever paperwork was required to obtain copies. "Can you make a list of probable candidates for the leader position? There shouldn't be too many at that level."
"Probably, but what good will it do?"
"The names alone, none. But compiling a file for each of the top players in the game, including a physical description, a set of attributes, a style of command, and any other information you can think of is a critical first step."
Kian cast Andrew an approving look. "You really know your shit, don't you?"
"This is elementary. Information is the most valuable asset there is, and you should always gather as much of it as you can about your adversaries, as well as your allies. True?"
"True," the Doomer agreed. "Give me a pen and some paper and I'll give it my best shot."
Kian again glanced at Andrew's motionless foot before returning his eyes to the Doomer. "I'll do better than that, I'll give you a laptop."
"A laptop will be great, but I still need a pen and paper if you want me to sketch their portraits for you."
Andrew snorted. "No offense to your doodling skill, my man, but I'd rather have you describe them to a forensic artist."
The Doomer seemed more amused than offended. "Anyone have a piece of paper and a pen?"
"I think I have something…" Anandur pushed to his feet and pulled out a folded green piece of paper from his back pocket, then straightened what turned out to be some sort of flyer and handed it to Dalhu. "You can use the back."
Andrew rolled his eyes but produced a pen from his jacket's inside pocket. "Here, knock yourself out."
Dalhu placed the flyer face down on the coffee table and ran his hand over it a couple of times to smooth out the creases, then went to work.
Anandur crouched next to him, while Kian and Andrew leaned forward, all three observing the image Dalhu's fast pen strokes were creating.
"I'll be damned…" Anandur was the first to say something as Amanda's face took shape on paper, and Andrew was tempted to echo the sentiment.
It was brilliant, and not only because the depiction was strikingly true. Amanda's spirit—her playful haughtiness, the stubborn tilt of her chin, the shadow of old pain in her eyes—it was all there, black pen-strokes on green paper as if the Doomer had glimpsed her soul.
"What? Did I get something wrong?" Dalhu voice was hesitant as he lifted his head to look at Anandur.
"No, nothing. This is fucking amazing." Anandur took the sketch and handed it to Kian. "Take a look at this."
Kian looked at it for a long moment, then handed it back to Dalhu. "Very good. You proved your point. You've got talent."
The guy had proved his point and then some, and Andrew wasn't referring to the Doomer's sketching skill.
Dalhu swallowed. "It's nothing, just a good visual memory and attention to detail, that's all. Useful…" His body began swelling with aggression as his eyes darted between them.
The guy acted as if he had been caught wearing lipstick or ladies' undergarments. Evidently, in Dalhu's camp, artistic ability was not considered as befitting a fighter.
"I sing." Anandur caught on fast. "And I'm damn good." He began a merry tune in what sounded like Old Norse, and by the sparkle in his eyes and expressive hand gestures was about the female form.
He had a good, deep, rumbling voice that only enhanced his masculinity. It wasn't helping.
Well, what the hell. Andrew joined the effort. "Unfortunately, I have no special talent, but I wish I had."
Kian regarded them as if they were idiots. "What these two are trying to say is that your talent is a gift, not something to hide and be embarrassed about. Not here, and not even for a warrior."
Dalhu shrugged. "If you say so, I’ve never looked at it as anything other than a useful tool."
Anandur clapped the Doomer's back. "I'm
no expert, but this is good."
"Enough about that." Kian waved at Anandur to go back to his seat. "I'll get you a laptop and some sketching supplies. Now tell me about the plan."
CHAPTER 33: DALHU
For a moment, Dalhu contemplated playing down his part.
But it seemed he had gained some ground with Kian; the waves of hatred the guy had been emitting had subsided, if only marginally. It would be lost once Dalhu admitted to being the mastermind behind this new threat to Kian's family. Except, Dalhu had already admitted everything to the Goddess, and even the slightest subterfuge would undermine his credibility.
And besides, he didn't really care what Kian or the rest of them thought of him. The only one whose opinion he valued had already decided he wasn't worthy.
And yet, even though he knew it to be the honest truth, so had Amanda when she had accepted him before. So why the change of heart? What had made her flee without even giving him the courtesy of a see-you-in-hell goodbye?
Maybe Kian had lied. Maybe he'd found out about her visit and had made sure it didn't happen again.
Yes, that was the only thing that made sense. And if this was indeed the case, all was not lost.
Amanda would find a way.
As he felt the dark cloud of despair lift, Dalhu fought hard to keep his expression impassive. No reason to tip his hand and let Kian suspect he was on to him.
"Start from the beginning. From what you and your team were sent to do and why, to the reason you asked for reinforcements, and what they are planning to do," Andrew clarified.
At first, Dalhu hadn't understood what use the clan could possibly have for a mortal. But he was starting to realize that the guy was a valuable asset. Andrew seemed to know what he was doing and was levelheaded, methodical and thorough—unlike the hot-headed Kian.
Dalhu nodded. "It was retaliation for that computer virus you helped your allies develop. I was to find the team of programmers that made it happen, and take out the best one. It was supposed to send you a message; you mess with ours, we will mess with yours. Nothing new there."
"How did you find them?" Andrew asked, and Dalhu noticed just then that the guy was recording everything on his phone.