BlackWind (33 page)

“No.” Sage cocked his head to one side, grinning. “Have you lost your pet again, Dad?”

A growl issued from between Neal's clenched teeth. “I know where he is.”

Sage's grin widened. “But do you know what he's up to?”

“I don't need to know,” his father grumbled, picking at a loose thread on the sofa arm. “He gets things done and that's all that matters.”

“It never fails to amaze me that you prefer to call what he does ‘getting things done.’ That's like saying Jeffrey Dahmer had a good appetite.”

His father's quelling look failed to have the desired effect on the younger Hesar.

The intercom buzzed on Sage's desk.

“Yes?” he replied to the voice-activated machine.

“Mrs. McGregor to see you, Doctor,” Sage's secretary informed him.

“Send her in.”

Neal sat up on the sofa, tightened the tie at his collar, and smoothed his lush brown hair into place.

Sage chuckled. “You've already won her, Dad. The woman has seen you with bed head. Looking a bit crumpled at the end of the day isn't going to send her into shock.”

“Watch your mouth!” Neal snapped, scowled, and stood as the door opened. His face softened as Deirdre McGregor walked in. “Hello, my dear.”

“I'm getting worried, Neal,” Deirdre said. “She should have been here by now.”

Neal took her hand. “She's in the parking lot, waiting out the storm.”

“The parking lot?” Deirdre moaned. “Oh, Neal! She's terrified of storms. She has been since she was a little girl.”

Sage saw his father glaring daggers at him and sighed. He pushed up wearily from his chair. “What if I fetch her, DeeDee?”

“Would you?” she asked, her eyes lighting up. She eased her hand from Neal and walked over to Sage, enfolding him in a motherly embrace. “You are a godsend, sweetie.”

Neal snickered. “More demon-sent than god-sent, DeeDee. Just ask his twin brother, Savory.”

Sage wrinkled his nose at his father on the way out the door. “What's her name again? As I recall, you and Dr. McGregor weren't part of the Flower Child Movement when you named your daughter.”

“Bronwyn,” DeeDee replied with a giggle. “Thank you, Sage. I know she'll appreciate it.”

“Not a problem.” Sage closed his office door behind him, giving his father and future stepmother privacy.

He took the elevator to the parking garage, nodding at the attendant in the glass booth. “I need to get someone from the parking lot.”

The attendant unhooked a key from the board. “I hear it's pretty bad out there, Doc.”

“Gotta rescue a fair damsel from the clutches of the Storm God,” Sage replied. “We Super Hero-types can't let a little inclement weather keep us from our appointed tasks.”

“Better take the Ravenmobile, then. That always impresses them.” The attendant laughed as he tossed the keys to Sage.

Sage caught the keys and headed for a low-slung black sports car crouched in the front row. He climbed in, turned the key, and drew in a deep, satisfying breath at the sound of sleek power roaring from the car's ultra-expensive engine. Maneuvering the stick into first gear, he drove into the blinding plummet of lashing rain.

Even with the windshield wipers on high, he could barely see the aisles between the rows of cars. If he hadn't known exactly where he was going, he might have bumped into something. As it was, he was able to judge his whereabouts by the flashes of lightning gleaming on the parked cars he rolled slowly past and found Bronwyn McGregor's navy blue sedan with little problem. He parked behind her and slightly to the left of her driver's door, leaving plenty of room so he could open his door to usher her inside his car.

Not averse to getting out in the slashing rain, he made sure the passenger side door was unlocked, then exited the sports car. By the time he reached her side of the sedan, he was soaked to the skin. Lifting his hand to tap on her window, he thought he saw the shadow of someone sitting in the car with her, but when he called out, the shadow melted away.

“Bronwyn?” he called again, this time louder.

Bronwyn flinched, looking at the watery figure standing at her door. She turned her key in the ignition so she could lower her window. Rain splashed through the opening as it lowered.

“Hi!” the soaking wet man said, leaning toward her. “I've come to bring you to your Mom.”

Bronwyn wiped away the water stinging her face. “I can't leave my dog. She's afraid of the storm,” she said, licking at the moisture on her lips.

“Bring her along. I wouldn't think of leaving her.”

Bronwyn gave the stranger a grateful smile. She twisted in the seat to retrieve her purse from the backseat. “Can you take this?” she asked, thrusting the large shoulder bag toward him.

“I don't know. It really doesn't go with my outfit.”

A sharp shriek of lightning rent the air. Bronwyn screamed, dropping her pocketbook through the window as she covered her head with her arms.

Sage felt the woman's absolute terror and made no effort to pick up her bag. He snatched open the car door, thrust his arms under her knees and behind her back, and lifted her from the vehicle. “Come on!” he commanded the fat bundle of fur crouched against her mistress’ leg.

The dog didn't appear to need to be ordered again. She bounded from the car, following as close to Sage's heels as space would permit. She whimpered as he stood Bronwyn on the pavement, yanked open his car door, and ushered his charge inside. Before he could shut the door, the dog leapt into Bronwyn's lap and trembled.

Sage ran back to Bronwyn's car, shut her door, and picked up her pocketbook. He cursed when he realized some of its contents had spilled on the wet pavement. Scooping up what items he saw, he jammed them into the bag and sprinted back to his car.

As the black sports car rolled carefully back into the underground parking garage, a hand snaked under Bronwyn's car to retrieve her wallet, lying behind the driver's side rear wheel. Wet fingers unsnapped the leather wallet and folded back the top section to reveal the recent driver's license.

While thunder shook the ground and brilliant flashes of light scrawled child-like across the firmament, Bronwyn McGregor's driver's license was slipped from its plastic casing before the wallet was placed once more beneath the car.

“Good Lord, you are soaked through!” Deirdre exclaimed as Bronwyn ambled into Sage's office.

She laughed. “You think?”

“She said she needed a bath anyway,” Sage observed.

“Don't you have somewhere you need to be?” his father snapped.

“Ah, if you'll notice, this is where I'm supposed to be,” Sage said dryly. “This is my office, I believe.”

Neal Hesar ignored him. “I am Neal Hesar, this lout's father. Do you remember me from Albany?”

“Yes, sir,” Bronwyn admitted. “Vaguely, though.”

“I hope we'll get to know one another quite well.” He held out his hand. “Welcome to Baybridge and Wynth Industries. We are so pleased you decided to take the job.”

Bronwyn wiped her wet hand down her equally wet suit jacket, then took his hand. “I'm happy to be here, although I swear I didn't bring this weather with me.” She grinned. “When I left Florida, it was sunny and bright.”

“If you don't like our weather, just wait a few minutes and it'll change,” Sage advised.

“Don't pay any attention to my poggleheaded son. His mother dropped him early on and he hasn't been right since.”

“Mom said
you
dropped me. Wish you two would get your stories straight.”

After casting his son an annoyed look, Neal looked at Deirdre. “I'm sure Bronwyn would like to get out of those wet things, DeeDee. Why don't Smart Mouth and I leave you two to chat?” He caught sight of Brownie and blinked. “Is this the lovely Schnoodle?”

Bronwyn laughed. “That's Brown Stuff. Ask me how she got her name.”

“Bronwyn Fiona!” her mother groaned, her face turning red.

“Glad to see I ain't the only one who makes ye olde parental units blush,” Sage whispered to Bronwyn.

“Brownie for short, though, eh?” Neal asked with a twitch of his lips. He squatted and gave the dog a gentle pat. “My, but you are a precious little thing.”

“The Terminator will love her,” Sage said.

Bronwyn frowned. “Terminator?”

Deirdre sighed. “That's what Neal named my Chihuahua.”

“Her jealous suitor,” Sage corrected. “The blasted little booger chewed up a pair of Dad's best loafers.” His black eyes twinkled. “He shouldn't have left them under Dee Dee's bed—”

“Out!” Neal said, shoving his son toward the door. He sent Sage staggering into the hallway, then firmly shut the door behind them.

Deirdre put her hand over her mouth and turned away, her face infused with color.

“Is there something I need to know, Mom?” Bronwyn inquired.

Her mother went to the sofa to get her purse. “He's a very nice man and quite handsome, don't you think?”

“He looked like a drowned rat to me.”

“A drowned...” Deirdre shook her head. “I was referring to Neal, not Sage.”

“Oh, him. He seems quite pleasant and, yes, he is very handsome.”

“As is his son.”

“I'll let you know when I see him without his hair plastered to his forehead, although...” She linked her arm through her mother's. “Those clothes he was wearing clung to all the right spots, you know?”

Deirdre snorted. “Stop trying to embarrass me.”

Bronwyn opened the door for her mother. “Then tell me about Dr. Hesar and the loafers.”

Deirdre ducked her head. “You know we have been friends for many, many years.” She glanced at her daughter. At Bronwyn's nod, she took a deep breath. “He's asked me to marry him.”

“Good. You're too young and vital to live alone the rest of your life.” She patted her leg. “Come on, Stuffie.”

Brownie trotted out the door in front of them.

“Is that your grandmother's old locket?” Deirdre asked, casting a look at her daughter.

Bronwyn touched the locket that had somehow worked its way from beneath her blouse. She tucked the gold chain back where it belonged. “Yes, Ma'am.”

“It needs cleaning.”

“I suppose it does, but I never take it off.” Bronwyn arched a brow at her mother. “And stop trying to change the subject. What about Dr. Hesar?”

“Your father wouldn't have approved,” Deirdre said quietly as she stepped into the hall.

“Yes, well, Daddy was jealous of Dr. Hesar, as I remember.” She closed Sage's door. “May I ask what happened to his wife? Rosemary, wasn't it?”

“They've been divorced for four years. Neal took your father's job after—” She cut herself off. “Rosie didn't like Iowa. She gave him an ultimatum—her or the job. Since they hadn't been getting along for quite some time and didn't even share a bedroom, he chose the job and she got his parent's house at Doubletree in Albany.”

“Wow,” Bronwyn said with a whistle. “That was some house. Is he gonna build you something like that? If so, I got dibs on an east-facing bedroom.”

Deirdre stopped walking and looked at her daughter. “Do you have any objections to the marriage, Bronnie? Any at all?”

“None whatsoever.” Bronwyn embraced her mother. “I'm thrilled for you. I wish you two all the happiness in the world.”

The two women commenced walking.

“East-facing, huh?” Deirdre asked.

“It was a joke, Mom. I'm too old and too set in my ways to live with my mother ever again.”

“Well, you'll have to bunk with me tonight at least. How much furniture are you having brought in?”

Bronwyn shrugged. “I have about fifteen boxes of junk, an old overstuffed chair, and a futon. That's the extent of my household goods. Everything came from Goodwill, and most of it, including my dishes, went back to Goodwill when I left Pensacola. I figured I'd start fresh out here.”

“Oh, good!” Deirdre exclaimed. “We're going to have a ball shopping!”

Bronwyn grinned. “I thought that would make you happy.”

“We'll get up early and zip over to Des Moines. There's an absolutely delightful furniture store out near Valley West mall.”

Brownie padded down the long corridor and turned a corner, disappearing from view.

“Wrong way, Goldfarb!” Bronwyn called. “Here's the elevator.” When Brownie didn't come trotting back, Bronwyn sighed and called her again.

“I'll hold the elevator,” Deirdre said, pushing the button.

Bronwyn jogged to the end of the corridor, whistling for her dog. “Brownie, come on!” As she rounded the corner, she saw Brownie far down the hall, sitting in the middle of the corridor, staring up at a tall man unlocking one of the doors.

“Brownie!” Bronwyn called. “Come here, sweetie!”

The dog turned to look at her mistress, then swung her head back toward the man. She let out one of her excited barks, the kind she used when she wanted to play.

Exasperated, Bronwyn clucked her tongue, patting her leg as she walked. “Brownie, come here!” she said, her voice tight.

The man never once looked in Bronwyn's direction. He opened the door and went inside, closing the portal behind him with a snap.

Brownie whined and trotted to the door behind which the man had disappeared. She lifted her paw and scratched at the metal.

“No!” Bronwyn hurried forward and picked up Brownie. She tapped the dog's nose with her index finger. “Bad dog!”

Brownie huffed and wiggled in Bronwyn's arms.

“No, you aren't getting down. Not until we're in the elevator.”

Deirdre was standing at the cage, her hand against the panels. “She doesn't mind very well, does she?”

“Normally, she does. I think she made a new friend and didn't want to say goodbye.”

Deirdre frowned. “Who?”

“Tall man, goatee, long black hair, dressed entirely in black.” Bronwyn saw a strange look pass over her mother's face. “Do you know who I mean?”

“Yes, I do.” Deirdre smiled, but the smile did not quite reach her eyes. “Let's get you into a hot bath while I call up for some room service. What would you like?”

He reached into the pocket of his black leather jacket and pulled out Bronwyn McGregor's driver's license. He stared at it for a long time before easing the thumb of his right hand over the lower portion of the photograph, stroking the plastic as he had stroked the little dog's muzzle a few minutes before. He brought the card to his face and inhaled the scent of its owner that still clung to the plastic, closing his eyes to the intoxicating scent.