Perilous Trust

by Barbara Freethy

  She let out a sigh. "Has it really only been twenty-four hours? It feels like much longer than that."

  It did to him, too. "Tell me about your aunt, your relationship," he said, thinking that if she talked about her family, maybe she could wait on actually talking to them.

  "Valerie is my mother's younger sister by seven years. She came to live with us when I was eleven. That's when my mom was diagnosed with cancer. She was only thirty-five years old."

  "That's rough."

  "It was horrible. The other moms were jogging and taking yoga classes and helping their kids with homework and art projects, driving carpool and doing all the things that moms do, but mine was having chemo and trying not to throw up. Valerie came for a visit and realized that we needed help. My dad was there for my mother, of course, but he was working, too. So, Valerie moved in. She gave up her single, twenty-eight-year-old life to take care of us, and she stayed with us for five years. I don't know what I would have done without her. She made it okay to laugh when everything seemed really bad."

  "I'm glad you had someone like that in your life."

  "Me, too. Valerie fell in love with an Aussie a year before my mom died, and she did long-distance with him until after the funeral. Then it was finally her turn to have a life. She got married and had three little girls. I haven't seen them since they were babies, but I keep in touch through text and email." She gave him a pleading look. "I really want to talk to my aunt."

  "Tell me about your mom," he suggested, offering another distraction. "Your dad always spoke of his Maggie in almost reverent tones. She sounded like an amazing woman."

  "She was amazing, and after she died, she became a saint in my dad's eyes, probably mine, too. Not that she wasn't wonderful, but I think we did embellish just how wonderful she was after she was gone."

  "How did your parents meet?"

  "They met at Yale their junior year. Mom was a history major and Dad was pre-law. He was going to be a lawyer back then. They both said it was love at first sight. They got married a year after college. Neither set of grandparents was happy about that. My mother's parents were wealthy, and they didn't think my father, who came from very blue-collar roots, was good enough for their blue-blooded daughter. They had a huge fight and basically told my mom she could choose him or them, and she chose him."

  "They sound terrible."

  "They weren't nice. They were full of stubborn, arrogant pride, and worried incessantly about what the world thought of them. They did make amends with my mom after she got sick, but it was too little, too late. After my mom's funeral, I never saw them again. My grandfather died a few years ago, and my grandmother moved to Australia to be near Aunt Valerie. She's probably driving my aunt nuts, although Valerie married a man my grandmother approved of, so maybe it's not so bad."

  "I don't understand how anyone could disapprove of your father. He didn't have a lot of money, but he did graduate from Yale."

  "He was a scholarship kid at Yale. They acted like he was gifted his diploma, which was ridiculous."

  "What about your father's parents? Why didn't they approve of the marriage?"

  "I think they were put off by my mom's family and their snobbishness. They were around somewhat when I was little, but they died young. My grandfather had a heart attack when I was about five and my grandmother was killed in a car accident a few years later." She paused. "What if I just text or email my aunt?"

  "No."

  She sighed. "Fine, then let's talk about your family. Are your parents alive?"

  He really didn't want to talk about his family, but if it kept Sophie from doing something stupid, then he had to do it. "Yes," he said shortly.

  "And well?"

  "Last I heard. Why don't you throw the remote control over here? I'll see if I can find a better show."

  "Hang on, we're talking, Damon."

  "I don't like to talk about my family."

  She gave him a speculative look. "Why not? What's the deal with them?"

  "There's no deal. We're just not close."

  "Now or always?"

  It was clear that Sophie wasn't going to let the subject go without getting more information. She really did like to dig, even if she didn't have her hands in actual dirt. Unfortunately, his family history was not his favorite subject.

  "Always," he said. "Can we talk about something else?"

  "After we finish talking about this," she said stubbornly. "Come on, Damon. We have hours to kill. What are your parents' names?"

  "My father is Cameron Wolfe. He's an entertainment lawyer in Beverly Hills."

  "That sounds fancy."

  "It can be. He works with a lot of celebrities."

  "And your mother? What's her story?"

  "Her name is Suzanne Cummings. She never took my father's name as she was a soap opera actress in her twenties when they met."

  "No kidding?" she asked in surprise. "What soap opera was she on?"

  "I think it was called Now and Forever. It ran for about five years. At any rate, my parents' relationship was as fake as the daytime drama she starred in, filled with secrets, lies, and betrayals—all the things that make for a good show. Only it wasn't a show, it was my life." He cleared his throat, realizing how much his bitterness was showing. "They got divorced when I was nine. I'm quite certain my father made sure that the divorce happened before their ten-year anniversary, when my mother would have gotten a bonus settlement, as noted in their pre-nup."

  "That's sad and cynical."

  "It's also the truth. Their divorce played out in the tabloids. My mother was a drama queen and my father was a Hollywood deal-maker. He was also an SOB. There were rumors of other men with my mother, other women with my father, alcoholism, drugs, whatever would make for a better story. At different points, one of them would petition for full custody of me, claiming that the other was a bad parent. I'd get dragged into court or sent to my grandparents' while everyone had a cool-down. I thought for a long time they were fighting about me, that they loved me so much they couldn't bear to give me up."

  "Maybe that was the reason," Sophie said quietly.

  "No, I was just a pawn in their divorce game."

  "I'm sure they both loved you."

  "They loved themselves more."

  "Who did you end up living with?"

  "I went back and forth, and back and forth, and back and forth. Summer was the worst. I could never just be in one place, hanging with my friends. I was always in a car, on a plane, headed to somewhere else, some place usually hot and sweaty. Speaking of which, the air conditioning in this room sucks."

  "It's not great," she agreed. "We could have afforded a better place."

  "And drawn more attention."

  "Did your parents remarry?"

  "We're not done with them yet?" he asked with a groan.

  "Almost there."

  "Yes, my mother remarried when I was twelve. My stepfather was a studio vice president of something. He moved us into a Beverly Hills mansion with a great pool."

  "And good air conditioning, I'll bet."

  "It did have that. But the house was so big, sometimes I wasn't even sure they were in it with me. Then they had three girls, one right after the other, and it was baby-land around there."

  "And your dad? Did he also remarry?"

  "The first time when I was about thirteen. Second time I was twenty. He got divorced for the third time last year. In case you haven't guessed, he's not much of a prize as a husband…or a father. But he is charming. Everyone likes him." He stopped talking, surprised at himself for having said so much to her. "Now that you're sufficiently bored, can I have the remote?"

  "I'm not bored at all." She licked her lips. "We kind of skipped the getting to know each other part when we first met."

  "We did do that," he agreed, meeting her gaze. His body hardened as he saw the memories in her eyes, the same memories running through his head. "Now, the remote?"

  She ignored him—again.

&nb
sp; "How did you get into the Army? Did you enlist at eighteen, or what?" she asked.

  "No, I went to college. I didn't know what I wanted to do, but it was going to be far from Hollywood and the film industry. Then 9/11 happened, and it changed me. After that horrific event, I was drawn to the military. I joined the ROTC, which horrified both parents for the five minutes that they chose to care about it."

  "Maybe they were worried about your safety?"

  "I doubt that, but I didn't pay attention to them. I got my degree and went into the Army as an officer and finally found something real—sometimes too real at times," he muttered, thinking that going from Hollywood to boot camp had been like going from Earth to Mars. He hadn't been at all prepared for real hardship, for physical and mental tests, but he'd come out a much better and stronger person.

  "You met Jamie in the Army, right?"

  "Third year in. We were on the same team—as close as brothers. When our tours were up, it was Jamie who suggested we look at the FBI."

  "I never thought he'd follow his father into the FBI," Sophie said. "As a kid, he was adamant about not doing that."

  "He told me that, too. Jamie wanted to make his own way in the world, but when his dad retired, he felt like he could join the Bureau without having to worry about nepotism or people thinking he was getting favors he didn't deserve." He paused. "Did you ever want to follow your dad and work at the Bureau?"

  "Not even for one second."

  "Okay, that's a no."

  She gave him a sheepish look. "It's not that I didn't admire what my father did. He was a true patriot. He believed in country, duty, faithfulness, the good of all people. He devoted his life to that, and I was super proud of him. And sometimes I felt selfish for not wanting to do the same, but I've always been more interested in ancient history than current events. For me, piecing together someone's story from what little might be left behind from their home, their city or their grave is fascinating."

  He liked the way her brown eyes shimmered with gold when she felt passionate about something. He liked it even more when the passion was focused on him.

  "One time I found a small, engraved gold ring," she continued. "It took me almost two years to figure out that it belonged to a very young prince in a very old country. He'd died on his wedding day, shot by a rival for his wife's attentions. He was seventeen years old."

  "What happened to his killer?"

  "Of course, you would ask that," she said with a laugh. "That's your special agent training. I was more interested in what happened to his wife."

  "Well, did you find out?"

  "His wife was forced to marry her husband's killer. But interestingly enough, that man died by poison a few years later. No one ever knew who did it. I think it was her."

  "Sounds like one of my mother's soap operas. How did you learn all that from a ring anyway?"

  "I traced the ring through the engraving back to the prince's family and then I researched my way through old manuscripts and tales of that time period and put it all together. I'm making it sound easy, but it wasn't."

  "That's impressive. You must be great at puzzles."

  "I do like the challenge. When I find something like a ring or a bone, I develop a rather obsessive compulsion to know everything about it. Every person has a story and so many are never told, but every now and then, I get to tell one. It's how we inform history. It's how we learn from our pasts." She let out a breath. "And I'm getting super carried away."

  "You love what you do. That's great. Not everyone can say that."

  "I do love it. I wanted to be an archaeologist from about age six on. You don't know how many times I dug up our backyard."

  "Did you ever find anything?"

  "The bones of somebody's family pet. After that, my parents put a moratorium on digs in the backyard. But they did sign me up for summer adventures, so that helped."

  "Your dad told me that you teach, too, is that right?"

  "Yes. I teach in the fall and go on digs in the summer. I'm supposed to be in Egypt next month."

  A look of concern flashed through her eyes.

  "What's wrong?" he asked.

  "I just remembered that it's finals next week. I was going to spend this weekend writing the tests for my classes. I'm supposed to have office hours on Monday and the final is next Wednesday. But I'm sitting here in a seedy motel room without any way to communicate with anyone. What are my students going to do? Are they going to get incompletes? Some of them are graduating. And some of them have worked two jobs to afford to go on the dig with me in July. I'm letting down so many people, Damon. I feel terrible about it. Am I being selfish?"

  "No, you're being smart. You could have been killed this morning. Hell, you could have been killed last night if you'd gone into your apartment instead of running away. This isn't a game you're in. Your father is dead, and we're trying to keep you alive. Don’t forget that. I'm sure the university is aware that you're missing. Someone will step in for you. They'll take care of your students."

  "You're probably right," she said slowly. "I just don't want any of them to get hurt by this."

  He was touched by the generosity of her spirit, the softness of her heart. She cared about people, and that was somewhat rare in his world. He had his core group of friends, people he trusted with his life, and the danger they were perpetually in intensified their loyalty to each other. But Sophie felt loyal to her students, her employers, her friends, even an aunt she hadn't seen since she was sixteen.

  He wondered what it would feel like if she felt that way about him...

  But he didn't want that kind of caring relationship. He didn't want someone he had to check in with, someone to worry about and to have worry about him. That's why he'd left her all those years ago. He'd known if he stayed past dawn, she'd spin a web around him that he wouldn't be able to get out of—or want to. And he'd made a promise to himself a long time ago that he wouldn't let anyone else control what he did, who he saw, where he went.

  It had been a promise he'd kept.

  Sometimes it felt like a lonely promise.

  But he'd always told himself it was better to be the one who left and not the one left behind.

  "You're suddenly quiet," Sophie said. "What are you thinking about, Damon?"

  "Your students," he lied. "The only way to protect them is to stay away from them."

  "That's true. Look what happened to you when you got close to me—you almost got shot."

  "Wasn't even close. Which bothers me," he added, thinking about the firefight at the cabin.

  "It bothers you that you weren't hit?" she asked in amazement.

  "Just wondered why our attacker didn't wait for a better shot…or why there weren't two people to box us in."

  Her brows knit together. "You're unhappy with the skill of our attacker?"

  "You were standing in front of the window, but you weren't hit. Was that on purpose? Was it a warning shot?"

  "I never thought of that," she said slowly. "But why would he be warning me?"

  "No idea. I'm just speculating."

  "One of my favorite pastimes," she said. "I am good at putting puzzles together, Damon, but I don't think we have enough pieces."

  "We'll start getting them tomorrow."

  "I hate waiting."

  "So do I, especially for the details on where we're going in the morning," he added pointedly.

  "It will be tomorrow soon enough."

  It didn't feel that way to him. A long, hot night loomed ahead of them, and talking to Sophie had only made him like her more. He was also bothered by some of what she'd shared with him.

  "Sophie," he said abruptly, swinging his legs off the bed as he faced her.

  "What?" she asked warily, obviously picking up on his change of tone.

  "You said we weren't going anywhere that could be tied to your father or your past, but that's not true. We're going to New Haven, where your parents went to school, where Peter Hunt went to school. I'm guessing
your father might have had an apartment there at one time. Or a house. Or a life."

  She drew in a breath. "We're not going into New Haven. There's a storage place on the outskirts of town." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a key.

  "I knew you went to the cabin to get something besides a gun. Why didn't we go straight to the storage unit? They don't usually close that early."

  "This one closes at seven. I checked before I got rid of my phone. I was trying to figure out if I could get to the cabin and then get to New Haven all in one day. I could have done it if I'd found the key faster or if you hadn't arrived or if someone hadn't tried to kill us, making us take a tortuous route to get here."

  "You should have told me. We could have switched up our route, gotten to the site before it closed."

  "We had to stay off the main highways," she argued. "That was more important."

  She might be right, but he was still pissed off that she had kept the information from him. "What's in the storage unit?"

  "I have no idea. He just told me to get the key and go there."

  "In his voicemail, he specifically told you where to go? Because if he did, there's a chance the Bureau has been able to retrieve those voicemails from the phone carrier. Maybe that's how they tracked you to the cabin."

  "He didn't mention the cabin. He spoke in code, like the way you do on your baseball forum. He used references to places only I would understand."

  "Like what? Tell me exactly."

  "You know, I don't like you ordering me around," she said with irritation.

  "I don't like getting shot at. Let's see if we can work together."

  "He told me to go to my favorite place in the world—that was the cabin—and get a key. He asked me if I remembered the story about his beer bottle collection and that he'd left me something there—the storage unit."

  "Beer bottle collection?" he queried.

  "In college, he started a collection of beer bottles, and he kept it up in his twenties. But once he married my mom and they had me, apparently my mother decided the beer bottle collection had to go. My mom loved to do spring cleaning. Twice a year, she'd make me go through my closets. One day I was really mad because she wanted me to give away something I wanted to keep, and my dad told me he had a secret place where he would stash things he didn't want to get rid of. So, I put my stuff in a box like my mom wanted me to, and my dad and I were supposed to drop it off at a charity collection box. Only, we didn't go there, we went to New Haven and put it in his storage locker where he still had his beer bottle collection."