Hidden Pearl

by Trueax, Rain

  "Well, we can try Riverside, but I agree it’s unlikely we’ll find much. If he’s always done the religious thing, then he might’ve had a group going then too, one that ran afoul of fraud laws."

  "When I go back to my computer, I'll check."

  "Soul has a computer. What kind of stuff do you think might be on it?"

  Frown lines instantly appeared between her brows, and he knew he hadn't pleased her with his question. "What difference would it make?" she asked. "It’s there and we are not going back in there again without... Storm, tell me you’re not thinking of going back. Please tell me that you aren’t. That kind of thing they gave you, it could have made you a permanent zombie. That what you want? "

  “Of course not, but I do want to know what’s going on. You know it’s possible if it was Soul that he wasn’t using it to hurt me but to influence me. There are some bits of memories of like a tape of his. It seems to be there in the background of my memory. "

  "If he was trying to brainwash you, that’s even more reason to forget going back."

  "I understand what you are saying logically, but Christine, if he’d do that to me, maybe he really killed both Lane and Shonna. Maybe a lot more. Can we just walk away from that—even if we could?”

  “You think we can’t?"

  “Lane couldn’t. That’s my bet.”

  She gritted her teeth. “You deliberately set out to irritate him didn’t you?”

  His smile was crooked but not enough abashed to suit her. "Anger stirs the mind. I thought maybe it would help to get through to the others, maybe get one to thinking. Nothing else had. They are like they have been brainwashed and maybe we now know how at least for some of them."

  She would have argued further if she hadn't seen the tired look in his eyes. She realized that for a powerful man like S.T. what he’d gone through was humiliating. He had faith in his body, in his own ability to take care of anything; and he lost this time. It had to be hard on him. She would give him time, but she wouldn’t give up convincing him that they needed to find evidence that would send the police to investigate, not try to do it themselves.

  She turned on the television, found an old movie and hoped it’d be a needed distraction, helping them both to sleep but she could see Storm’s mind was not on the flickering images. When she turned off the television, he said, "I think I'll call Soul."

  "Are you out of your mind?" She might have anticipated any action except that.

  His smile was wry. "Well, obviously I have been, but I don't think I am now. Think about it. If I call him, act like I think I had a flashback from when I was in Panama, I think he'll want to believe it."

  "Why would Panama cause that kind of reaction?"

  He nodded. "I was on a building project. We were attacked by guerrillas; at least that's what the government said later. My men and I were held as hostages for three months. Not much fun... It would make sense I might suffer from that later. So I tell him I must have flash-backed because of the unfamiliar room. I was out of it and you panicked, trying to help me when you found me and instead of going to him which was logical, you just took me out of there. The more I think about it, the more I think it’s the next step to keep this whole thing possible for me to return.”

  “Damn, Storm!”

  “Well, you got a better idea?”

  "You really think he’d believe that?”

  "He might. He might not, but I think he’ll pretend he does. Look we need to know first whether he’s hunting for us. Then I want to be able to go back eventually because I have a feeling about that computer.”

  "You are crazy."

  "I think we've established that," he said, reaching out to pull her against him. "It's not getting any better either." His lips were gentle, lightly tasting, then claiming as the kiss deepened. She wrapped her arms around his neck. He was alive, vibrant, and she savored his kisses as they grew more and more passionate as his tongue delved into her mouth. With his hand on her breast, teasing her nipples, she forced herself to move away.

  “Why not?” he asked. His smile didn’t extend to his eyes.

  “I want you not feeling half drugged when it happens.”

  “I will always be drugged when I am next to you.” He lay back on the bed, his hands behind his head.

  "When are you going to call Soul?" she asked to divert them both.

  "When we’re ready to leave. I don’t want him tracing the number to here and showing up at our door.” They got their things together, little as they had, and then he sat on the bed with the phone in his hand. What the hell was the number? He should have known it but his mind was blank.

  “Do you remember it?” he asked.

  She pulled her wallet out and handed him Soul's card.

  When he dialed it, Soul picked up almost immediately.

  "This is Taggert."

  There was a moment of silence. "You left rather abruptly." There was defensiveness in his tone. He knew then about the drugging one way or another and most likely because he’d ordered it.

  "Yeah well, something strange happened." S.T. related the story he'd planned, then waited. Christine leaned against him, putting her ear beside his to hear Soul's response.

  "What a strange thing." The voice was carefully neutral.

  "It’s happened before."

  “Post traumatic stress, I suppose.” His tone didn’t sound like he bought it. S.T. guessed he’d be looking to see if he could verify the event. Since he knew he would be able to, he wasn’t worried about that end of it. The real question was whether he’d believe it even then.

  "Where are you now?"

  "I just came out of it. Some motel, I guess."

  "Where's Christine?" This time the interest was more obvious.

  He had expected that question. “She felt she had to stick with me until I was myself. What choice did she have? She left her rental car there. Think you guys can return it to the local agency?”

  “She doesn’t want to come back for it?”

  “I think she had some kind of appointment in Portland and it wasn’t going to be possible. Her camera was in it too but I guess she can come back for that sometime.”

  “Or we could mail it to her if we had an address.”

  S.T. didn’t like that idea. “I can’t ask her now. She went out for some food, but I will ask when she gets back.”

  "And now you plan to do what?"

  "I’m still not feeling great; so I’ll likely get back up to Portland. PST takes a lot out of me. Sorry we had to cut our planning session short.”

  “Perhaps there will be another time.”

  “I will try to work out something. Hey, why don’t you try and find those soil surveys that were already done?”

  “What makes you so sure any were?”

  “Just look for them.”

  “When were you thinking of coming back?" Soul asked suspicion in his voice.

  "I'll call you when I know."

  "How can I get the camera to Ms. Johnson. She must be very worried about it."

  "I’ll ask her when she gets back but maybe you can just hold it for her until she tells you. If she wants to have you mail it somewhere, she can let you know. I have no idea. Geez, she probably has lots of cameras."

  "Not favorites," she mouthed.

  "I’d like to return it to her but I don’t happen to have her phone number. Do you?”

  S.T. had no intention of making it easy for Soul to find her. “I’ll see if I have it written down somewhere; and if I do, I’ll get back to you. My head is still fuzzy, guess you understood.” He was finding it difficult to keep his breathing even with Christine cuddled against him and now playing with his hair.

  "What have you decided about building the church?"

  "Look, I'm still not up to speed. I feel like I was on a bender and I don’t even drink. I’ll have to get back to you later. Right now I am having a hard time remembering my name, let alone what I'd decided about the building. I'll let you know when as I c
an."

  "I hope so."

  "I'm leaning toward it though," S.T. lied. "I don't know why but your ideas are making more sense to me. Maybe I'd like to be part of helping a group like yours. My bit for mankind."

  "That's good to hear," Soul said, his voice warming. "I'll talk to you soon."

  When he had hung up, Christine asked, "Do you think he believed you?"

  "Not a chance. He pretended he did for now; so it suits his purpose to have things seem normal also. He’ll check out my story at least.”

  “What will he find? I didn’t hear about it.”

  “It was in the papers down there. He’ll find out I told him the truth at least about part of it. I think the doubts will keep him from doing anything more."

  "You don't think you could just walk back in there and get at that computer, do you?" she asked. She found herself seriously thinking about kissing him again—bad idea or not. It wasn’t the time for it. She knew that but was less sure why.

  "Before we go back for that, we need a computer expert. Know anybody like that?"

  "Hank’s partner is good with them," she said.

  “Who’s Hank?”

  “It’s his house and studio that I have been using to do my developing. His place is where I Ieft the rest of my cameras and the negatives.”

  “And his partner is a photographer too?”

  Christine wondered how open S.T. was. Well she might as well find out. “Hank is in a committed relationship. His husband, Jerry, is or was at least in the police force. I am not totally sure what he does now but he’d be the one to ask.”

  “You think Hank and Jerry will be open to helping us.”

  “Well at least Hank will. He’ll like meeting you just because he really liked the photos I took. Said he was envious.”

  S.T. grimaced. “Okay but this all has to be kept from the police for now. Will Jerry be able to do that?”

  “I don’t see why not. It’s not like you want to report a crime, do you?”

  “I might be planning one,” he said with a smile. “Breaking and entering.”

  “Perhaps you can find a better way of phrasing that.”

  He grinned. He sat back watching her move around the room as she gathered up their things, straightened the room a bit. He liked watching her. Even tired as she had to be, she was still so full of energy.

  When he realized what he was thinking, he wanted to kick himself from here to Sunday. First for going into Soul’s enclave without understanding what he was up against and then for walking into this with her when he did understand. She didn’t want a relationship right now. Neither did he. What the heck was he doing? It was as though he was heading down a trail--one he hadn't planned, one he should turn away from where he knew what the ending had to be. Double fool.

  #

  "What did you want?" George asked closing the door behind him.

  Soul sat at his desk, his hands steepled in front of him. "What did you talk to Taggert about when you were alone with him?"

  "The soil, the building site. I told you how he said he didn't think where you have chosen will provide an adequate base."

  "Nothing more?"

  "He wanted to dig."

  "In the dirt or into what you knew?" Soul asked wryly.

  George's broad face grimaced. "Both."

  Soul studied him for a moment. "What did you tell him?"

  "Nothing."

  "Don't lie to me, George."

  George met his gaze, a small smile on his lips. "Would I do that, master?" With that, he was gone.

  Soul pushed his chair back, put his legs on the desk as he went over what Taggert had said on the phone. Could he believe the man really didn't know what had happened that night? Did that half-breed actually believe he'd had some kind of flashback? His gaze wandered around the room as he tried to find some assurance one way or the other.

  Taggert hadn't struck him as a fool; yet, burundanga did have a tendency to make men forget the whole experience. An undependable drug, sometimes dangerously delusional, it was worth using when a subject required stricter control. He still couldn't understand what had gone wrong. Taggert shouldn't have been able to get out of that room without someone ordering him to do so. Christine couldn't have gotten in, even if she'd found him, which was unlikely since he’d made certain her sleeping quarters were far from Taggert’s; and to assure his success, he’d posted a guard to monitor the length of the sleeping hallway. The door had been locked. The only key his.

  He considered the beautiful Christine then. Could she be trusted? Was there more between her and the handsome half-breed than either admitted? Soul found himself drawn to her, not just for her beauty, but her spirit, the fire in those blue eyes. He was uncertain what he wanted from her. It had been many years since he'd seriously thought of taking a permanent mate for himself. Christine Johnson's proud beauty might be enough to change his mind.

  "All right," he muttered to himself, rubbing his neck thoughtfully, "the real problem is Taggert. I cannot allow myself to be diverted at this time by personal issues. So what do I do?"

  When Taggert returned, and Soul knew he would be back, he would have him watched every moment. No more allowing him to go off with George, digging out who knew what kind of information, nor would he leave him alone in a room, drugged, seemingly helpless. He shuddered with an unusual feeling of uneasiness as he tried to understand what had enabled Taggert to escape the trap he thought he'd laid so carefully.

  No, looking back gained nothing. There had been failures but this would not be another. He would not fail again. He needed the designs only Taggert with his unique heritage and talent could give him. Those designs would yield him more power, but it was more than that now. Taggert challenged something in him. Only complete control over the proud man would satisfy him. He would have it. He would enjoy attaining it, relish bringing the big man to his knees. He smiled broadly as he thought of all the ways it could be done.

  He was suddenly grateful to Taggert. The challenge was bringing a renewed excitement into his life, a zest that had been missing. He appreciated him for that, but it wouldn't save him.

  Chapter Seven

  S.T. let Christine drive the Silverado to Portland because he was unable to hide from himself or her the fact that his ankle was painful and swollen enough that it had been all he could do to pull on his boot that morning. Looking up as Christine edged the truck into a parking space, S.T. saw Hank Brannigan's studio was in a renovated Victorian in one of Portland's eastside mixed business and residential neighborhoods.

  Christine pulled the keys from the ignition but made no attempt to get out. "Before we meet Hank, I was wondering how I should introduce you."

  "What do you mean?" Was she afraid to admit they had a relationship, wanted to pretend they were mere acquaintances? It wouldn't be the first time someone had hidden their personal connection to him. He wanted to think it didn't hurt, but he couldn't hide the expression.

  "What's wrong?" She frowned and took hold of his arm before he could open his own door.

  "How did you want to introduce me?” he asked.

  Well, is it as Storm Walker or S.T.? " She pushed a heavy lock of his long, black hair behind his right ear.

  His mouth dropped. "That’s all? Why does it matter?"

  "Storm is how I’ve come to think of you. Hank would like that name… but if you prefer it can be S.T.”

  "I don’t really give a damn either way. You see me as a half-breed?”

  “I see you as you.” She shook her head. "I don't know what I'm going to do with you." She reached over and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. "Be nice," she ordered, then opened her door.

  On the sidewalk leading to Brannigan's doorstep, S.T. wanted to walk tall, but instead, he limped badly, unable to force his leg to cooperate with his need to protect his pride, what little was left of it.

  "Hey Chris," the tall, balding man said as he pulled open the door. "I wondered when you'd be back." When he looked behi
nd her and saw S.T. his homely face broke into a broad grin. "Who's your friend? Hey, I already know you. Glad to meet you in the flesh so to speak." Brannigan struck out his hand.

  “We met before?” S.T. asked taking Hank’s hand for a firm shake.

  “In the photos Chris took. Beautiful shots." He tilted his head, studying S.T.'s face, then scanning down his body. "I wouldn’t mind shooting some studies of you myself. Gratis, of course."

  Before S.T. could get past his surprise, Christine said, "You do remember I told you he doesn't take kindly to cameras? Where’s Jerry?"

  "He’s out but should be back.” He glanced at his wrist watch. “In an hour or so. Why don’t you like having your picture taken? With a face like that, you owe it to the world." Hank barely seemed to blink as he studied S.T.’s face. "All those sharp bones and angles. I don't suppose you'd let me photograph you in buckskin maybe with a feather."

  "You've got to be joking," S.T. shot back.

  Hank laughed. “I do? Chris told me about you and the camera. Just like to joke around a little… Of course, if you’re open to no clothes on a river bank, I’m your guy. Anybody ever catch you buck naked?”

  “Not with a camera." S.T began to recognize Hank's offbeat sense of humor and found at least a modicum of appreciation for it. He gave Christine a telling look. "At least I don't think so." She smiled innocently and said nothing.

  "So what'd you do to your ankle?" Hank asked.

  "Wrenched it," S.T. said.

  "Or broke it," Christine put in. "He won't go to a doctor."

  "Want me to look at it?"

  "You a doctor as well as photographer?" S.T. asked. "Or do you just like looking at-- swollen flesh?"

  Hank laughed loudly. "I was a medic in 'nam. Did a lot of quick patch-ups. Come on back to my kitchen. I'll take a look." Hank led the way down a narrow corridor to his private quarters, then glanced back. "You think about that modeling thing though. You could make good money at it."

  The kitchen, a large yellow room with long, black-topped counters, glass fronted cupboards, a round oak table at one end, was filled with the fragrant smell of freshly brewed coffee. S.T. wondered how strong his will power was going to be. He'd always said he wanted to get off the brew. He'd gone since Friday morning without a cup, but did he now want to stay off it?