by Candace Sams
Right now, she didn't want to have anything to do with him or anyone. A few hours alone would help her decide whether to wait or go to the police about the stones Gryphon had told her he couldn't go to the police about them, that the fewer people who knew about them, the better What's the deal with the damn stones? Why had someone risked his professional reputation by smuggling them into the United States, jeopardizing the museum's acquisition program in the process?
***
"The woman was killed the same way as the security guard at the museum." Gryph shook out the afternoon newspaper his father handed to him and reread the grim headlines. "In fact, the park where her body was found is only a short distance from the museum's main entrance."
James nodded. "Someone has used the stones again.
Whoever it is seems to have tried out their newly found powers on an unsuspecting victim. The guard may have been an accident, but this was definitely deliberate."
Gryph looked at his parents. "I have no choice. I have to go to the museum. This has to stop!"
"Gryph, if you're caught..." Gwyneth's voice faded away.
"What else can I do? The stones must still be there. Someone has deciphered their meaning and is abusing their power." Gryphon leaned against a desktop.
James voiced his concern. "What can we do to help?"
"If anything should go wrong, contact Shayla. She'll know what to do. Today, I'll try one more time to convince that stubborn woman to listen to reason. If she still won't help me, then I'll have to get inside the building tonight and search alone," Gryph told them and noted the look of concern on their faces.
"Gryphon, from what you've told us, this woman can't be trusted. She doesn't believe you. Please don't contact her again. She'll only call the police," Gwyneth pleaded and placed her hands on her son's arms.
"For some reason, Mother, she's had that opportunity and hasn't called the police yet. I'd be a suspect and there would be news of the authorities looking for someone matching my description. Every reporter in the city seems to be covering this. That makes it imperative that I try once more. Perhaps the stories of this latest murder will convince her I'm telling the truth."
***
Heather walked back into her apartment as her phone was ringing. "Hello?"
"Ms. Green, this is Detective Dayton. I tried to discreetly reach you at work several hours after I spoke with you, but was told that you weren't feeling well."
Heather didn't want to tell him about the stones just yet. Some instinct warned her to keep that information to herself. "That's right. I was feeling a little under the weather."
"Have you read the afternoon newspapers or listened to the television?"
"No, I haven't. Why?" The man's tone of voice had immediately alerted her.
"There's been another murder. This time it was a prostitute found in the park near the museum. Joggers found her body shortly after I spoke with you. The evidence leads us to believe the killing was committed in the same way as Ned Williamson's murder. I tried to keep it under wraps, but the press was all over the area before one of our investigators could get to the scene and contain it."
"God, no!" Heather gasped and felt her skin grow cold. "Detective, there were some horrible rumors at work about the...about Ned's death and how he was killed. Now you're saying someone else was murdered, and that Ned and this person were both attacked in the same way. What exactly does that mean?"
"Without being too graphic, Ms. Green, both of the victims were...well, you'll read about it in the newspapers anyway. Both of them were attacked by someone with enough physical strength to dismember a body. That's another reason why I ruled you out as a suspect, along with a few dozen other people."
Heather almost retched. The thought of someone hurting people in such a way—of hurting Ned. That— was too much. "Oh, Ned," she murmured before she began to cry.
"Ms. Green, I called to tell you not to stay late at work. The security guards tell me you have a habit of doing that almost every night. Now, they're doing the best they can to keep the area safe. But they're understaffed and underpaid. It's my advice that you don't hang around there too long after hours."
"I won't, Detective. I can promise you that." Heather tried to speak coherently through her tears.
Dayton said his good byes and hung up, but Heather leaned against the wall a long time before placing the telephone receiver down. Gryph O'Connor was a powerful-looking man. Was he or anyone capable of tearing a human being apart, of dismembering them as Detective Dayton had described. No. She couldn't believe that O'Connor had anything to do with the murders. Her mind kept grasping at the fact that he'd had more than one opportunity to hurt her and had never done so In fact, he'd warned her that all of this would happen if the stones he sought weren't returned. Heather felt she had no choice.
After finding out about this second murder, Gryphon O'Connor would come to the museum for what he thought was the cause. The rune stones. When he did, she'd be there. He was damned well going to explain what in hell was going on, even if she had to risk her own life getting to the truth. Ned deserved it.
***
Heather waited in her usual spot in the parking lot. The cool fall air did nothing to ease her tattered nerves. The sun had just set, everyone had gone home. It was about this same time of night that she'd seen him there before. Leaves fell, eerily, from the nearby trees, and she imagined she could hear strange noises. One of those she imagined was like the wings of a large bird flying in the distance. She leaned against the car hood and waited She didn't wait long.
"Are you insane, woman?" came a deep, resonant brogue from behind her. "What are you doing here by yourself?"
Heather turned to see him standing in the dim light. "I knew you'd show up tonight. You've heard about the woman who was killed in the park, haven't you?" she asked as Gryph moved out of the shadows toward her.
"Yes. More will die if I don't take back those damnable stones!"
"Were you planning on breaking into the museum?"
"If I had to, yes. But I'm glad you haven't left for the day. I wanted to ask you once more to take me to the artifacts and give me a chance to prove what I'm saying is true."
"I'm not leaving for the day. The truth is, I just got here and was waiting for you. Like I said, I knew you'd show up."
Gryph tilted his head quizzically. "You just got here?"
"Yes." Heather paused. "Today, a police detective who trusts me told me some things. He said he suspects Ned was killed by someone he may have known, possibly someone who works at the museum. I didn't want to believe it, but some of the things you'd said started to make some sense. You've believed all along that Ned's death was connected to the Celtic artifacts. You tried to tell me, but I guess I wasn't ready to listen. Now it seems the police believe we have a murderer employed at the museum, though they know nothing about a possible connection to McPherson's shipments from Ireland. You and the police are working from opposite ends toward the same conclusion. And I've found something I wasn't meant to."
"What have you found?" He could hear the excitement in his own voice. The prospect of good news rallied him.
"After I spoke with the detective, I came in to work early. I tore into every box, crate and container I could get my hands on and didn't find anything. I was ready to give up and then, by accident, I found that one of the crates had a false bottom installed. Your rune stones are there. Professor McPherson or someone on his team took special pains to hide them. I don't know who's lying, but Ned was killed near the room where the crates are now located. From everything you and the Detective have told me, and because I've found the stones so deviously hidden, I think Ned was killed because he knew too much or saw something he shouldn't have. I don't understand why the woman in the park was killed, but the police are connecting her death to Ned's."
"Heather, what I'm about to tell you is the absolute truth. You won't want to believe it any more than anything else I've told you, but you must listen. Those
stones are the source of an unspeakable magic. It's said that if they're correctly deciphered, they can give great power to whoever possesses them. While I believe McPherson took the stones, I'm not sure if he's the one abusing their gifts. Whoever killed the woman in the park and your friend did so with the help of the stones”
"You're speaking of the Rune Stones of the Tuatha De Danann."
Gryph stared at her in absolute shock. "You know of them?"
"I know about the legend. Celtic studies are my specialty. But those stones are a myth. They don't really exist I can't believe all of this is over a folktale!"
"Did you touch the stones?"
"Yes," she said, remembering their cool, grey-green surfaces.
"Then you believe that what you physically held in your hands was a myth."
"Mr. O'Connor, I quit believing in things that go bump in the night a long time ago. These were rune stones like hundreds of others that have been found in that part of the world, albeit a bit larger."
Gryph slowly shook his head. "Someone believes in them enough to have stolen them and to have killed innocent people by acquiring the stones' power."
"Well, I guess we'll find out about them soon enough." Heather sighed as she pulled out a set of keys from her coat pocket. "I'll take you to the room where the artifacts are kept. The guards are making their rounds. The outer doors are locked, but a keyed access won't alert them to anything. Should be easy enough for an employee to get past them right now. There aren't enough of them on duty anyway."
Whether the guards posed a problem or not, he had to get in. But her inaction in alerting the local authorities was puzzling. "Why didn't you call the police when you found the stones? Thievery is a motive for murder, after all," Gryph told her.
"I've thought about that all afternoon. That's why I didn't come to work today. I don't really know what to think, or what to do anymore. That's why I left the damned things there .The only thing I'm certain of is that you haven't lied to me yet."
Gryph followed her as she walked around a side entrance, avoiding the security guards and the museum's security cameras. He believed she was confused, hurt and afraid. But she had enough strength of character to want to get to the truth, even at considerable risk to her own safety.
"You should leave. You're getting yourself far too involved in all of this."
"No, I'm not leaving. Ned was my friend. I want to know why he was killed and who did it. And would you please tell me how the hell you know my name and where I live? That's really been bugging me."
Gryph smiled. "I overheard you and the blond man talking in the parking lot. He called you by name. When you left, I followed you to your apartment."
"Crafty," Heather murmured.
"Survival," Gryph responded.
"You see what you did as surviving!" she asked in surprise.
Gryph didn't answer. If she knew who and more importantly what he was, she would never question why he maintained a low profile. She would run in horror.
They went up the back stairwell to the upper floors where the archives and new collections were kept. Gryph made very sure they weren't discovered by any of the security guards. She unlocked the last door and turned the dead bolt behind them.
"Even the security people aren't allowed in here," she explained. "The artifacts are too valuable and fragile for anyone but the professor, Niall and some of our staff to be around."
"Niall?" Gryph asked, looking around the room at the large boxes scattered about.
"He was the blond man you saw me talking to in the parking lot. I'm surprised you didn't remember his name, too. You've remembered everything else," Heather said sarcastically.
"He's of no concern to me," Gryph remarked, shrugging his shoulders with disdain.
Heather led the way to a large shipping crate at the center of the room. She knelt down to the floor, pulled off the wooden slat that had come loose earlier and reached inside the space. She reached even farther inside until she touched wood. "They're not here!"
"That doesn't surprise me. Whoever has them will probably hide them separately from now on. Especially if that person thinks the law is too close. They may have been taken from the crate so they can be used again tonight. According to legend, their power can be addicting."
"What do you mean by used?" Heather spoke as she stood up and looked at Gryph.
"I thought you knew about the Rune Stones of the Tuatha De Danann." Gryphon's gaze moved up and down her jean-clad figure. Inappropriately, he imagined her wearing a soft gown of Fairy gauze, then tried to pull his mind back to the business at hand.
"I know they're a legend, and that's all."
Gryph looked at her for several more moments, wondering how much more he should say. Finally, he explained. "The stones have the power to give their possessor the ability to shape shift. Deciphering the symbols on all three stones and chanting their meaning out loud is all that's necessary for the magic to work. After the initial enchantment takes place, the stones are no longer required. That person may change at will."
"That's the myth, right?"
"If it makes you feel better to believe that, then think what you must." He turned to look at some of the artifacts that had been placed on a nearby table. He picked up the small figure of the man Heather had been studying earlier. "This was taken from somewhere near Galway," Gryph declared.
"Professor McPherson has it listed as coming from Cork," she responded and wondered how he knew so much. It occurred to her that Gryphon O'Connor might be an antiquities expert as well. He certainly spoke about the subject matter with authority. It further piqued her curiosity about the man.
"These aren't from Cork. McPherson's a liar. In fact, none of these items should have left Ireland. The man has no business with them." He paused, then turned to her. "How many places has this professor been sent to obtain pieces for the museum?"
Heather was still stunned over hearing what she had been suspecting was the truth Angus McPherson was stealing ancient artifacts. "He goes all over the world. He's been to Peru, Central America, Africa," she listed the countries, then stopped when his meaning became clear. "He may have done this in other countries. Is that what you're implying?"
"If he's done it once and has the cunning to alter his paperwork to fool the authorities, what do you think?"
Heather shook her head, not wanting to believe what she was hearing. "The man has been my mentor for five years. I had just graduated from college when I got this job, and considered myself unbelievably fortunate to have been chosen to work here." Now, his reasons in hiring her became crystal clear. "I guess a novice like me didn't pose much of a threat to what he was doing. I've never been allowed on a trip with him and always assumed the inventories and manifests he gave me to work with were accurate. God, I may have even helped him get away with it."
Gryph placed a hand on her shoulder. "It isn't your fault. You trusted him. This is his responsibility, not yours."
"I'm afraid that doesn't make me feel much better. Despite your earlier opinion of me, I'm not in this line of work for the monetary value of the artifacts. I happen to love Celtic history and what the objects represent. Especially the things from Ireland."
"I believe that now, lass. I apologize for what I said." He moved the hand he had placed on her shoulder to her face and gently cradled it. The expression in her silver eyes showed the truth of her words. A door opening in the hallway made them suddenly look up.
"No one but Niall, the Professor or me can come through that door at these hours. It's got a specially coded lock," Heather whispered, alarmed by the disturbance.
Gryph quickly dragged her to the far side of the room where the crates were stacked on top of one another. There was enough room between the boxes and the wall for him to step out of sight, pulling her with him. Instinctively, he shoved her into the space ahead of him to protect her. They heard someone maneuvering one of the wooden boxes. Silence followed. Gryph felt Heather's heart pounding. He held her close,
telling himself he was protecting her. She looked up into his face, and he could see the fear in her lovely eyes. To calm her, he caressed her back and shoulders. She responded and leaned into his chest. He could smell her crisp, clean scent. It was like the cool air outside, inviting and haunting. It seemed an unbelievably long time before whoever was in the room went back down the hall. Gryph didn't move. He waited, holding her a little longer only to be sure no one would come back. Eventually, he ventured far enough to see around the boxes.
"Whoever it was is gone, but they may come back. We should leave," he murmured.
Heather swallowed hard and followed him as he walked carefully back to where they had been standing. Gryph stopped by the crate with the false bottom, stooped and placed his hand inside the space. Then he smiled. When he stood, he had one of the stones in his hand.
"Whoever was here left this. But the Luck o' the Irish is with us, and they didn't know we were here." He shoved the stone inside the leather jacket he was wearing.
"Why would someone put one back in the same place?"
"It's as good a hiding place as any. And if I were the thief, I wouldn't hide them together. But this means the others are close by." He grinned.
Heather was still shaking, but not so much she didn't notice what she thought was the most beautiful smile she had ever seen on a man. As they'd hidden, she remembered responding to the warmth of his embrace, and his muscular legs and torso enveloping her. At that moment, she wanted nothing more than to be held again. To not feel so alone.
Gryph grabbed her hand. "Come on. We'd better not push our luck. Whoever that was might come back for this stone. Because of where we were, I couldn't get a look at the bastard." He pulled Heather with him. It was all she could do to keep up with his long legs, even though she was wearing comfortable jeans and hiking boots.