“Alas, I did not get a chance to perform the glorious yell. We escaped, but not completely unscathed!”
“Nothing that won’t heal,” Peter quipped. It hardly seemed possible, but the priest’s grin grew even larger.
“Please, you must introduce me to your young companions.”
“Cardinal Newman, please meet Michael Alexander.”
“Ah, Catherine’s fiancé.” Newman shook Michael’s hand with the same enthusiastic two handed grip he’d used earlier with Covington, but his face turned solemn. Michael felt his fierce eyes burn straight through to his soul. “It was a terrible tragedy, such a bright, vibrant light slipping out of this world so young.”
Michael glanced down, unable to meet the intensity of the priest’s gaze. He couldn’t help but wonder if the words described someone other than Katie.
“And this is his friend, Peter –” Covington never finished the sentence.
When the clergyman turned his penetrating gaze to Peter, his eyes went wide and his knees buckled. Shaking, he put a hand out on Jim’s arm for support. He couldn’t conceal the tremor that ran through him.
“Tim, are you OK?” concern permeated Covington’s question. He received only hyperventilation in response. “Michael, go get one of the staff and have them call for an ambulance.”
“No!” the voice finally came, quiet but strong. “No.”
The second time was louder, but less forced. The archbishop’s breath returned, and his strength seemed to come with it. He rose, refocusing his gaze on Peter, but avoiding his touch. The young man appeared shaken, clearly as surprised as everyone else.
The archbishop stepped closer. With his thumb, he made the sign of the cross before Peter’s forehead and bowed his head. Placing his hand over the area he’d just crossed, he began to pray.
“Almighty and eternal God, those who take refuge in you will be glad and forever will shout for joy. Protect this soldier as he discharges his duties. Protect him with the shield of your strength and keep him safe from all evil and harm. May the power of your love enable him to return home in safety, that with all who love him, he may ever praise you for your loving care. We ask this through Christ our Lord.”
“Amen,” Peter whispered quietly in response as he met the man’s gaze. He and the Cardinal both crossed themselves.
“You must forgive me, Jim, but I have serious matters that require my immediate attention. God go with you, Peter.” Newman clapped the young man on the shoulder. His vitality seemed completely restored. But the smile had fled.
“What the hell was that all about?” Jim asked.
But the young men had no more answers than he did.
One of the staff sidled up to Covington and whispered in his ear. Their host excused himself to tend to party business, promising to return shortly. Peter asked Michael where the restroom was. Somehow that turned into an impromptu tour of the house.
Half an hour later the tour ended at the indoor pool. The young men heard the thwang of the diving board and a loud splash as they approached. A moment later, Faith burst out from under the water.
“Come on in, Abby!” she called out.
“I’m fine out here, thanks.”
“You never swim anymore,” Faith sulked. “Besides, it’s way warmer in the water!”
“I like it here.”
Michael’s gaze followed the second voice. He found Abby sprawled out on a lounge chair. She caught his eye and gave him a seductive smile. He groaned inwardly. Her tiny red bikini left little to the imagination – especially given the evening chill.
“Peter!” the swimmer called out cheerfully, noticing the men for the first time. She swam to the edge. “Can you help me out?”
Peter strode to the pool, leaving Michael alone with Abby. Before he could make his excuses and leave, she rose from the chair to greet him. Their truce of civility trapped him. He mumbled a greeting at her.
“Hi, Michael.” she whispered. His discomfort increased as she invaded his personal space bubble. “I’m glad you could make it.”
A deep yelp and a splash turned their attention to the pool just in time to see Peter sputtering in the water. Faith giggled, then splashed at him and swam away. For a moment, Peter looked angry. Then he grinned like an idiot and set off after her.
Michael jumped when Abby slid her arm around him. He snapped back around and took a large step backward. She stepped up and put her hand on his chest instead.
“Abby,” he began. She kissed him before he could finish his thought. He pushed her away, hard. She seemed to take it as a challenge, trying to move in again.
Michael actually felt grateful when Khalid’s angry voice intervened.
“What is this?” he whined. “I forbid this!”
“That may work fine back home, Khalid, but this is America. You don’t get to do that.”
“I forbid it!” Khalid seemed to think that it would work this time if he shouted it louder.
“We’re through, Khalid,” Abby told him quietly.
“You little tramp!” he shouted as raised his hand to strike her.
The blow never landed. Michael’s iron grip intercepted his wrist. Khalid’s face paled as he stared up at the former soldier.
“It’s time for you to leave,” Michael told him, “before I speak with the young lady’s father.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Michael felt disappointed when the situation required no further violence or intimidation. He’d felt an irrational desire to punch the foreign pretty boy in the face since the moment he’d first laid eyes on him. An awkward silence settled in as Khalid slunk out of sight.
Abby beamed up at him and tried to snuggle close.
“We’re not getting back together.” He pushed her away gently but firmly and turned away from the pool. Abby followed him like a lost puppy.
“Do I have to threaten you, too? Or will you go away on your own?”
“It’s been five years,” she whined, “and we still haven’t talked about what happened that night.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” he answered. “It was a mistake, Abby.”
She cried again, just like she had on that terrible morning. He kept walking, trying to shut it out.
“We had something real, Michael!”
“Real, Abby? We had a one night stand, behind your sister’s back, the night before she died.”
She flinched at every word as if he were physically striking her.
“But as much as I hate it, Abby, you’re right – it was definitely real.”
“It could be more than that!”
Had she kept this bottled up for the last five years? No wonder she’d been so angry with him when he came home.
“It can’t.” He fought to keep the emotion out of his voice. “If Katie had passed some other way… but it’s there, no matter what we do. I’ll never forget it. I don’t see how you ever could either. It would poison anything we ever had.”
Surely she’d see the reason in that.
“Katie always had everything!” she pouted at him. “Everything! The teachers loved her better, my friends loved her better, Daddy loved her better, and you loved her better! Even the staff loved her better!”
“Seriously, Abby? We’re going to turn this into a question of which little rich girl had the better life? Katie’s dead, Abigail. She can’t take anything from you anymore, if she ever really did.”
“She still took you.”
“I was never yours for her to take.”
“But she had you, and I wanted you.”
There it was.
“It’s not going to happen, Abby. Get over it.”
Her eyes turned cold as anger flared up. She marched off without another word. He climbed the back stairwell toward the bar, in search of a drink. As he exited the stairwell, he walked straight into the last person he’d expected to see at the party.
“Major Doctor Jameson Daniels,” Michael managed to force out. “Who are we re
presenting today? Delta Force? The CIA? Or the CDC?”
“I’m sorry,” the man responded. “You appear to have me confused with somebody else. Jim Beam, research professor of folklore at Clemson University.”
“Ah, you’re representing the whiskey bar today.” Michael finally made the connection. “Do you use a liquor wheel to pick an alias? Or do you wake up in the morning and think, ‘Ah, it’s a Saturday. I’ll be a Kentucky bourbon today!’ or ‘It’s a Monday, time to be a Tennessee whiskey!’”
The federal agent shot him a dark look.
“I see you left your sense of humor in the interrogation room,” Michael continued.
“If they’d wanted me to have a sense of humor,” the man replied quietly, “they’d have issued me one.”
Definitely military, then. The bad Army joke confirmed it.
The man of many names waved him toward a quiet corner. “Sergeant, if you keep drawing this kind of attention to me, you’re going to wake up in the morning with a pack of US Marshals at your door. You don’t want to be involved in this.”
“I’m already neck deep in this, and you know it.”
“Fair enough.”
Michael had expected any response but that.
“Why are you here?” he finally asked the spook. The unidentifiable man agonized for a moment over the question.
“We’re looking for Dr. Stoegemoeller. We got word that he would be here tonight.”
“Why on Earth are you looking for a folklore professor?” Michael asked.
“The same reason as you, I expect. He’s a special consultant. He went off the grid a few months ago. We think some… one might be hunting him.” The hesitation rang in Michael’s ears like a gunshot.
“Someone or something? Perhaps with a yellow nose?”
The bureaucrat refused to answer.
“What does O’Bryan want with Dr. Stoegemoeller?”
“Who’s O’Bryan?”
“The yellow-nosed creature.”
“O’Bryan...” The man raised an eyebrow at him, as he withdrew a small notebook from his pocket. He found something in his notes. “I thought he died in the cave.”
“He did,” Michael answered. “I watched him die in my arms. And I identified the body.”
“This yellow-nosed creature isn’t the same one from the cave?”
“No, it’s Corporal William O’Bryan, my old squad mate.”
“You’re certain?” he asked.
“Absolutely positive. I know it sounds crazy, but –”
“Where’s the other one, the one in the cave?” The man’s sharp interruption spoke volumes.
“I don’t know. I passed out after I stabbed it. The rescue team claims they didn’t find any remains.”
“I’ll have my guys follow up with them.”
“Good call, but probably a waste of time,” Michael answered. “I followed up with them myself.”
“Good initiative,” the man approved.
“I didn’t really have a choice. Their report killed me in the discharge hearing. It made me look absolutely nuts. I thought they’d been coerced by someone like you. I just wanted them to tell the truth so I could stay in the service.”
He shook his head wistfully.
“But those guys were straight shooters. They reported it like they saw it. Apologized for it, even. They really wanted to help.”
“Noted.”
They eyed each other suspiciously. Finally, Michael decided to go for broke.
“You’re the one who railroaded me into that discharge, aren’t you?” he asked bluntly.
“No.”
Michael wasn’t sure if he was more surprised by the answer or the calm bluntness of its delivery. “I argued against that. Strongly. They overruled me.”
“Why?” Michael snapped, but there was less venom in it this time.
“We run a very tight ship, Sergeant. Very small, very compartmentalized. Nobody knows anything they don’t need to know – and nobody needs to know anything. You knew things. Some people didn’t like that.”
“Who?”
“The people who tell me what to do. Very powerful people.”
“Why not recruit me? Why kill my career?”
The man hesitated, but only for a moment.
“For one thing, we distrusted your story. It didn’t fit with what we’d expected, and the physical evidence didn’t check out.”
“You’ve never encountered one of these things before, have you?”
“No,” the man admitted quietly, “we haven’t.”
“That’s not really it, though, is it?”
The government man shook his head.
“We didn’t have any openings. And you talked too much. I told them this wasn’t a good idea.”
“That’s an understatement.”
“Tell me about it. I’ve been running damage control on you for months.”
“My taxpayer dollars at work, right?”
The agent responded with a noncommittal grunt.
“And now they’re just peachy with me?”
“Not exactly. I’m going out on a bit of limb here.”
The answer left Michael genuinely surprised. He did know the rules.
“Then why tell me all this?”
“You have information we could use. I want to know more about this thing.”
“Right,” Michael answered sarcastically. “I know exactly how much trouble you could get in for this, remember? No bureaucrat in the world ever went this far out on a limb just for some intel. What’s changed?”
“What’s changed?” The man handed Michael a plain, white business card. In large black letters it read, “TF13.” Below that appeared a phone number, somewhat smaller. The card bore no other markings. “Now, this thing – or something related to it – is killing our people. Now I need to know more about it, and fast.
“Now,” he closed his eyes and sighed, “we have openings. Call me.”
The major, doctor, professor, or whoever he was deftly excused himself and blended back into the crowd. Michael tried to follow him with his gaze but quickly lost him. He frowned, lost in thought. Covington quietly stepped up beside him.
“Is he the one who interrogated you last night?”
Michael confirmed it.
“I thought I recognized him.” He paused for a moment. “Stoegemoeller hasn’t arrived yet. I called his wife. She says he left hours ago, so I pulled strings with the State Police. They’ll be keeping an eye out for his car, but there’s a sudden storm setting in. It’ll make the search hard.”
A clap of loud thunder hit. A moment later, Michael heard the torrential rain begin. He frowned.
"That's strange. I don't remember any rain in the forecast."
An elderly gentleman interrupted with a polite cough.
“Excuse me, Mr. Covington,” the butler reported. Michael noticed a familiar face edging close enough to listen. “It seems they found Dr. Stoegemoeller’s car on I-20 just east of Conyers. But, sir...” the man hesitated.
“Yes, Martin?”
“The car’s been burned out.”
“What, like a car bomb or something?”
“No sir. More like it just melted. State police said they found a giant hulk of slag metal. They only identified it by the license plate.”
Michael watched the eavesdropping federal agent fish his phone out and head for the door. Nobody could hear what he was saying into his phone, but he certainly looked grim.
“Get Chief Lewis on the phone and fill him in,” Jim told the butler. “He’ll want a part of this, and he’ll actually keep us in the loop. I’ll take the call up in my office in a few minutes. And for God’s sake, don’t let the press get wind of this.”
“Sir.” The butler responded with a bow.
Jim strode straight to the secluded staircase that led to his private office.
“What’s going on?” Faith called as she approached with Peter. Peter wrapped a bedraggled arm around her reassu
ringly. She melted into him.
“I’d like to know, too,” Abby replied, coming up behind Michael. Thunder clapped again, accentuating her words. The lights went out. Then all hell broke loose.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The first screams came from the upper porch. An instant later, a matching set broke out from down below. Michael instinctively felt for the pistol on his belt. He felt for the thumb safety before remembering that his loaner Glock didn’t have one.
He tapped Peter on the shoulder to communicate his location. The moonlight streamed in through the huge floor-to-ceiling windows, providing just illumination to silhouette the people in the room. Michael watched approvingly as Peter calmly drew his own weapon. Half his squad mates in Afghanistan hadn’t reacted so well to their first taste of ambush.
The girls held up rather less well. Abby seemed genuinely confused. Michael figured she’d already dealt with too much for one night. Faith looked one step shy of completely losing it, but she pressed against Peter for comfort and held it together.
The sounds of panic surrounded them. Michael heard panicking guests racing for the stairs. More rushed in from the back porch. The emergency lights finally flickered to life a moment later. Sounds of commotion boomed throughout the house.
Michael listened. Experienced with the noises of combat, he made out three distinct altercations. Crashing noises meant a confrontation downstairs. Somebody still screamed on the porch out back. Banging noises came from Covington’s office upstairs, indicating a struggle.
“Peter,” he whispered, “help the girls to the panic room. Abby will show you the way.” Giving her something to do steadied her nerves. Peter whispered quiet encouragement to Faith to calm her as they followed Abby out of the hall.
Michael headed straight out the back door for the balcony. The nearest event won his attention.
He peered cautiously through the open doorway before he stepped out onto the covered overhang. The scene outside defied reason. To the left, a young woman screamed as a hideous, white... corpse clung to her back. Its legs wrapped around her waist and its arms clawed over her shoulders. The thing tried to sink its teeth into her neck.
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