Gray Night (26 page)

 “Why do you do it?” I asked before realizing I’d said it out loud.

 He cocked his head to one side. “Do what?”

 “Work for the museum the way you do?”

 Adrian shrugged. “I could tell you it’s good work, meaningful, interesting, that I was good at it. All of that is true, but the fact is I started working with the museum because it was the only thing I knew how to do, and Henry was one of the only people I’d met willing to give me a chance.”

 “I know he advocated for you. He never said anything other than he liked seeing people use their potential. I would get so angry when he hired you that I’d stay away for weeks at a time. Every time I heard your name it…” I rolled my shoulders not knowing how to finish. I was terrible at this.

 He gave me an understanding nod. “It reminded you of how much faith a man you respected had in someone you hated. Someone who was the embodiment of every project never completed due to lack of funds because of the cost of hiring them.”

 Adrian got bonus points in my book for being self-aware. Yet the admission wasn’t what I was looking for. “Yes, but it wasn’t fair. They would have hired someone else to do the same things. I shouldn’t have blamed you personally. It caused no end of problems for me outside of work.”

 “Harris?” he asked.

 “Yes.”

 “Normally I would say that had nothing to do with me and to keep me out of it, but since it’s Harris I think I’ll say you’re welcome,” he said with a wink.

 I fell back into the divan, laughing so hard it hurt. I sat there for a minute enjoying the moment. I had gotten to apologize without ever having to apologize. He’d let me off easy and I was grateful.

 He held his hand to help me up, but I crossed my hands behind my head and set my ankles in his lap. He stared at my feet for a long second before asking, “Why do you do it?”

 I wiggled myself into a more comfortable position while I thought about it. It didn’t take long. “Lots of reasons. I love it. It fascinates me. It keeps my life interesting. However, more specifically, I stayed on at the museum because of all the years I studied under Henry. With his support, I’ve been able to do things I only dreamed of when I started. Other people my age still have years, maybe decades, in service to some lead director yet to go, and here I am with my own team.”

 Adrian pulled one knee up onto the divan and turned to face me without moving my legs, and put his elbows back for support. Probably because he didn’t know what to do with his hands while my feet were in his lap. “What did you dream about?”

 “Other than being swept off my feet by Harrison Ford?” I said grinning.

 “Don’t we all,” he rolled his eyes. “Yes, other than that.”

 That question required no thought whatsoever to answer. It was very clear to me. “I always wanted to do something different. The hard things no one else was willing or able to do. It wasn’t until grad school I figured it out.

 “My great grandmother died. The day before, her nephew, my grandpa’s cousin I think, found something he thought belonged to her in with his father’s things. It was a small brass necklace that looked hammered together from different sizes of cheap fittings. I’d never seen anyone so happy when she held it and recognized what it was. Like a little girl on Christmas morning. I know that’s cliché, but you had to have seen her.

 “Grandpa said he grew up hearing about that necklace. That side of the family was originally from Germany, and during the Great War the armies confiscated everything. The family moved from village to village and farm to farm working where they could. Great grandma was maybe seven or eight in 1914 and they lived on the road until 1922 when she was sold as a bride to an American. That whole time the only thing she ever owned was a doll her mother made with a small brass necklace her daddy had pieced together for her. That doll had been her only steady companion from the refugee and labor camps all the way to Ellis Island.

 “My grandfather cried and later said he hadn’t really recognized her in decades except there at the very last. She was lucid, and happy, and recognized all of us her last day. When she died grandpa came and sat down next to me and my cousins and told us how glad he was we all got to see his momma like he remembered her.”

 I paused remembering the day. I’d cried at the time, but now it was one of my favorite memories. Not happy, but satisfying somehow. Fulfilling. Adrian had the grace not to comment.

 “Anyway, I knew what I wanted to do. Almost everyone in my field is scrambling for position to get in on the next big dig. Fieldwork is more scarce than you may realize, and there’s a never-ending line of people wanting a go at it. But, no one considers all the things out there that already have a home, a place they belong, that have been displaced through human conflict. That’s where my team and I come in. We’ve been gathering data for two years from every region and every time period to help us rediscover and restore art and artifacts lost to mankind.”

 “That,” he said, looking into my eyes, “is an incredible thing.”

 “I think so, but don’t make too much of it. We haven’t been very successful, but when we are, it makes all of it worthwhile, you know. I guess I figured if I could put something back in its rightful place that somewhere along the way I’d find my own place in the world. Somewhere to belong. I’m sorry, that sounds so silly.”

 “No,” he said. “No. Not at all. My father used to say that’s all anyone ever tried to do. He told me the answer was sometimes you can find your place better by helping someone else find theirs. Of course then mom would say just get married.”

 I giggled at that and we shared ridiculous stories of family late into the night.

* * * *

 I smiled when I saw the small table sitting in front of the foot of the stairs with a note on it like I had left for Claire the morning before. Except this one was written in a more beautiful, flowing script with a lighter touch. Claire had left early to get coffee. Curious, I went back into the kitchen and found everything out ready to make waffles. I thought about going ahead and starting them when someone hammered on the front door. Claire probably had her hands full and was kicking it.

 “Hold on already!” I hollered ahead of me. The door hammered again.

 “Easy with the door!” I hollered again, reaching for the handle.

 I opened the door and Detective John Harris lunged at my throat. My spidey senses must not have woken up yet because I just stood there. Which would have been bad, except Sheriff Clark grabbed him at the last second and hauled him back, flinging him off my porch. I’ve mentioned my respect for the good sheriff right?

 “Sheriff? What’s all this about?” I asked genuinely confused.

 “Adrian Knight,” he said, glancing back at Harris for a moment. “You’re under arrest for the kidnapping of Claire Spurling.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

 The clattering boom of the bars reverberated off the cinder block walls of the cell. It didn’t even have a window.

 “I’ve got you now you son of a bitch,” Harris said, glaring so hard I thought it might manifest into a physical object.

 I ignored him. I had no idea what he was talking about, but I learned on the ride there that questions would be met with his fist in my mouth. Which sucked enough all by itself, but really I just wanted to keep from moving so the wounds on my wrists didn’t reopen because of the—you guessed it—handcuffs. This was not my best week.

 Claire had been kidnapped. That was all I knew. She drove my car into town, parked outside the diner, and someone grabbed her. Damn it! Who in the hell would have done that? No, who in the hell would have done it that knew where she was? The only name on that list I could think of was mine. Shit.

 “Detective, you will kindly leave my prisoner alone,” Sheriff Clark said from behind his desk.

 Harris rounded on him. “Or what?”

 “Or, I’ll break your nose,” he said.

 “Excuse me? Did I just hear you right, Sheriff? How dare you threaten me! If you knew the things this man,” he indicated me, “had done, what he was accused of doing, you would have shot him the day he walked into town and saved everyone the trouble.”

 “Are you telling me how to do my job?” Clark asked.

 “Apparently somebody has to. You don’t know this man like I do. He’s a killer. A worthless piece of trash. He doesn’t belong here. He doesn’t belong anywhere. And I don’t give a good goddamn what you think, because you’re out of your league here. This is my jurisdiction.”

 “Not yet it isn’t. I said I’d bring him in and hold him until one of your judges came through with a warrant to search his place. And if—if, mind you—you find anything, then he’s part of your investigation and you can take him into the city. Not one second sooner.”

 “You dumb shit local throwing your weight around.”

 Sheriff Clark just nodded.

 Harris snorted before turning back to me. “When my boys get here you’re going to talk you piece of shit.”

 “You haven’t bothered asking me any questions yet. What the hell are you waiting around for? It’s Claire. While you’re in here dicking around, indulging your hatred of me, she’s getting farther and farther away,” I shot back.

 “No!” he hammered the bars with his fist. “No. It’s you. I don’t know how, but I know it’s you. The museum, the stolen artifacts, the Concordia and stolen arms shipment, the FBI, Claire, you’re connected to all of it. You, and how you’ve been running around on your own the last couple of days doing god knows what. It’s you.”

 “Damn it, Harris, what possible reason would I have for hurting Claire. Think, man! Every second we waste here is another second she loses. What do you think she was doing in town to begin with? If I was going to do something why wait for the morning, and in town no less, when she spent the last two nights at my place.” Which was way the wrong damn thing to say.

 The man was white lightning, bolting to Clark’s desk and grabbing the keys to my cell. He whipped around and I saw his red face go nearly purple. He ground his teeth hard enough to hear, then charged the door, slamming the key in, unlocking it, and shoving it aside so hard chips of concrete flew from where it struck the wall.

 Ah, crap.

 He charged in a berserking frenzy and I did the one thing everyone seems to forget…I stepped to the side.

 Harris swung blindly, with all his weight behind it, right where I had been a split second before. Now there was nothing but air, and the cinder block wall. Maybe it says something about the kind of weekend I had, but I fully expected his fist to punch right through it in a huge cloud of dust and shards. It didn’t.

 He howled in pain, but didn’t slow down. Harris slid toward me and fired a kick deep into my right hip that sent me spinning to the floor. I curled as best I could to protect myself from the kick I knew was coming for my ribs, or my head, and was reminded my hands were cuffed behind me. One well-placed boot and that would be it. No more Adrian Knight.

 Of course that meant Claire would be left to suffer and be discarded, Ruby as well, and everyone responsible getting away with it. Fuck that.

 I attempted to mentally block all the pain that would come from moving around on my handcuffed wrists pinned beneath me, failed, and spun around anyway, extending my leg out hard, catching Harris in the shin mid-kick, causing him to stumble.

 A loud crash filled the cell like a bell struck right next to me. Blood sprayed from Harris’s nose as he fell backward onto the floor. Sheriff Clark stood behind him with his elbow still held from where he’d slammed it into the back of Harris’s head and into the bars. It was almost the exact same thing I’d done two nights ago outside of Nick’s.

 “Well, you’ve got my vote,” I said, trying to roll over onto my knees. Clark hooked his arm under me and picked me up.

 “Cheaper than running a campaign,” he said, helping me out of the cell.

 He grabbed his keys and shut the cell behind him. He left Detective Harris inside.

 “Would you mind?” I asked, turning around to indicate my handcuffs.

 Clark ignored me and sat back down at his desk.

 “Sit down, Adrian.”

 I sat. “So, I’m not free to go then?”

 “Not hardly. So far the only proof of anything I’ve seen with good evidence, one way or the other, is that Detective Harris is an asshole.”

 I wisely kept my mouth shut.

 “What in the hell is going on here?” he glared at me.

 I liked Clark, I did, but there were still too many things it wouldn’t do anyone any good him knowing. I told him what I could involving the murders at the museum and looking for Ruby, though.

 “And we went to bed late last night. Separately,” I said when he arched an eyebrow. “I woke and came downstairs. There was a note from Claire saying she’d taken the car into town to grab coffee. I went into the kitchen and found everything ready to make breakfast. That’s when you knocked at the door. I thought it was her.”

 He nodded, taking time to process all of it.

 “Look, if you don’t believe me, you can run by the house and see for yourself. I need to be out there looking for her,” I said, leaning forward.

 “Unless you staged it.”

 “Why? I mean let’s forget about the fact I would never do anything like that anyway, and assume I’m the devil everyone thinks I am.”

 Clark nodded.

 “Claire spent all night there. No one knew she was there. If I were going to do something, it would have been in the night, not in the middle of town after dawn. Listen, I need to find her. Now. There isn’t time for anything else.”

 “Who else might have taken her if not you?” he asked.

 “I don’t know. They would have to know where she was. Had to have followed her, us, and wait for morning. I don’t know who. We haven’t exactly ran around making friends the last two days. It could be anyone.”

 “But not you?”

 “No.”

 “I know.”

 “What do you mean you know?”

 “Waitress at the diner this morning saw the whole thing. Claire bought the drinks and was grabbed going back out to your car by a man that wasn’t you. Wasn’t Djimon either. Waitress would have recognized either of you.”