Guarding the Treasure (13 page)

He smiled to himself, “Folks Pub, yeah nice place. It's known for great music, and some of the friendliest people in the entire country,” he said, taking notes as they talked. “What time are you supposed to be there?”

“About two o'clock.”

Kevin checked the international setting on his watch. About a five-hour difference—it was about eight a.m. in Dool. That gave him six hours to connect with an agent in Ireland and try and get him to Folks Pub. “So what are your plans after you meet?” he asked, trying not to sound like he was pumping her for information.

“I'm not totally sure. It's still early morning, I haven't thought a lot about it yet. Why do you ask? Is there something you'd recommend?”

“Ah, yeah,” he said, lowering his voice, still trying to choose his words carefully. “But it depends if you'll be alone or with someone.”

“So that's it. Why didn't you just ask if I was going to spend the day with the professor, and hey, maybe the evening, too. I would have told you the truth, you know that. Don't you, Kevin?”

Kevin felt the sting of her words. He had stepped over the line with his questions. He had questioned her integrity and, more importantly, he'd raised the touchy trust issue. “Come on, Sophie, I trust you. It's just Professor Smith.” He sighed. “Let's face it, we don't know much about him, and well, to be completely honest, it's him I don't trust. You have nothing to do with it.”

“Kevin, you don't own me. I've been making my own decisions for a long time, and who I spend time with is my business.”

He cleared his throat again. “You're right,” he said quietly, thinking back to about a month ago when he questioned her about a male colleague he had seen her with. He had watched him kiss her. He tried to tell himself that it was only on the cheek and as innocent as a father's kiss, but the act evoked an over-protectiveness that had grown stronger each day they spent together—and now even stronger that they were so far apart.
Get a grip
, he reasoned with himself.
Don't let your thoughts control your words
.
The situation's too vulnerable for you to screw things up
. “You're right, Sophie, when you love someone, you never plan on owning them.”

Sophie stared at the roiling blue ocean, jolted. What did she just hear? She clasped her hand over her mouth and turned her back to the pummeling wind. Kevin's statement shocked her. She said nothing for an instant.

Kevin pulled his phone away from his ear and looked at the keypad. Had he lost the connection? No. “Sophie, are you still there?”

Tears formed in the corners of her eyes as guilt began to fill her mind. “Kevin, I'm sorry for questioning your motives,” she said, steadying herself against the wind.

“Babe, I never planned to tell you I loved you over the phone, and certainly not while you were thousands of miles away.”
Okay, it's been on the tip of my tongue. I guess it's now or never,
he thought. Kevin inhaled deeply then exhaled slowly. “I need you in my life, Sophie. I want every part of you for myself. I don't want to share your body or mind with any other man. I want you to understand that this love I have for you isn't about owning, it's about owing. I want to be indebted to you. I'm thankful for every moment I have with you, and right now, to play the honesty card, I feel threatened.”

What was happening to his guard? It had suddenly dissolved. He couldn't think of a time when that had ever happened to him, but for some reason, he couldn't help himself. It was as if she needed to know what he was feeling at that moment.

Her voice broke. “Kevin, I'm not sure what to say.”

“You don't have to say a thing, Sophie. I just want you back here with me, so be brave, be aware of your surroundings and who is watching you, and promise me something, would you?”

The unrealized passion in his voice had taken over the conversation, and she couldn't help but promise him anything he wanted. “What do you want me to promise?”

“Please keep your phone on and be careful, okay?”

She closed her eyes and nodded her head. The request seemed strange, but he had his way of ending a conversation bluntly and directly. “I promise, Kevin,” she said. At that moment, she wished his arms were around her, his lips on hers. She wanted to feel the warmth of his body. “I promise. I better go. Call me?”

“I'll call you later tonight, babe. I love you.”

 

Her choice to walk the mile to Dool proved to be a good one. It was easy to admire the rolling countryside, littered with yellow and white flowers that grew wild everywhere, as she strolled. Then there were the rock walls that lined the blackened path. Had she read that the walls had been erected during the great potato famine? Sophie couldn't remember. It was a funny thought. She was a history teacher—you'd think she'd know all this stuff. The walls added a distinct charm that couldn't be found in any other part of the country. Sophie stepped up the pace after checking her watch. She wanted to make it to Folks Pub before Professor Smith arrived.

Heads turned as she entered the pub, but only briefly before the patrons returned to their pints and cottage pies. Sophie had made it a point not to look too much like a tourist but guessed that people who lived in a tourist town knew to expect new faces on a regular basis. She looked around for a table near the fireplace. Professor Smith had suggested that so he could spot her with ease in case she arrived before him. She settled in and began to survey her surroundings. Old railroad lanterns with red glass hung above every table. Each barstool was a forest green shade and sat on large brown and burnt orange blocks of carpet. It all fit nicely, she thought, as she continued to admire the wood behind the bar with its rich carving of a lake and forest that gave the pub an autumnal feel. Sophie heard someone clear his throat behind her. Turning, she looked up at a man most likely in his early forties. He was clean-shaven, unlike many of the men in the states, she noted. But what set him apart were his eyes. They were the greenest she had ever seen, and they seemed to be looking right through her.

“Ms. Hanes?” he asked softly, holding his hand out to her.

Sophie broke her stare, looked quickly to the chair next to her and then back at him. “Yes, I'm Sophie Hanes,” she said sheepishly, putting her hand in his.

“I'm Professor Smith. We've been communicating via email about the diary in your possession.”

“Yes, Professor,” she started to stand, but he motioned her back to her seat. “So good to meet you finally and thank you for all the work you're doing to translate the diary for me.”

“The pleasure has been all mine,” he said, his smile beginning to fade. “Do you mind if I join you?”

She felt her cheeks warm with embarrassment at her lack of manners. “Of course,” she said, sliding her chair to allow him in beside her. Sophie watched him remove his coat, put a fold in it, then drape it on the back of his chair before he sat. He rubbed his hands briskly together then motioned for a waiter.

“So, Ms. Hanes, I trust you've found the writings in the diary stimulating,” he said, looking at her briefly and then around the room.

Her eyes widened. “I'm not sure stimulating is the word I would use, Professor,” she said, curious at his choice of words. “If anything, I've found the writing rather sad or maybe disturbing would be a better description.”

His eyebrows rose. “Really, how so?” he asked, a slight smile emerging, obviously from her statement.

She looked briefly into his eyes then away. Did she notice sick excitement in them as well as a hint of pleasure in his voice? Suddenly, Sophie felt something. Something she had sensed on the plane while reading the diary, and bringing that back to her mind was not something she relished, not now, not with a stranger sitting right beside her. Was the diary itself trying to tell her something? Was it Three?
Think Sophie
, she told herself, as she now held the professor's direct gaze. She shifted in her seat. “Professor, can we talk about this another time?” she asked.

“Of course, forgive me for being so direct. It's just that I'm so gripped by all that is unfolding in the diary that it's hard not to talk about it. I think you'll understand as you read more, as you experience in your mind what is going on in—” He stopped. “Well, I don't want to let the cat out of the bag,” he said, as his smile changed. “Waiter, the house beer, Ms. Hanes, what can I get for you?”

“Oh, I don't drink, but a clear soft drink would be good.” She watched as the professor continued to talk to the waiter. He said something she didn't understand. “What was that you just said to the waiter, Professor?” He laughed. “That, lass, was Gaelic for something clear with bubbles,” he said. Sophie almost felt as if he was enjoying her puzzlement.

“Hey Gipson, it's me, Gates.”

“Gates who?” The line was silent for a moment. “Oh, yeah, Kevin Gates! I haven't talked to you in a couple of years. How ya been, man?”

“I've been great. Hey, I checked the logs, and I see that you're still working for the agency. I was wondering where you are in Ireland these days.”

“Right now, I'm in Limerick, why? Are you planning another visit?”

“No, but I do have a friend who's staying in Dool for a while and was wondering if you'd have a little time to check on her?” Kevin heard a distinct change in Gipson's voice as he echoed his words to check on Sophie. Had he made a mistake in getting in contact with Agent Gipson? He needed help, and well, Gipson was the only one on the force he trusted, or did he?

“Is she pretty?”

“Come on, Gipson,” he said, agitation showing in his voice at the guy's obvious lack of self-control. “Some things never change, do they?” He rubbed his temples, “No, Gipson, she's not pretty, she's beautiful, and she's—”

“Well, in that case, I'll do it,” Gipson said, cutting Kevin off. “You said Dool? I'm only ninety-five kilometers from there. So what's up with her? Why is she in Ireland?”

“Her name is Sophie Hanes, she teaches at a university in Washington. She's meeting a guy named Smith. Professor Smith. Ever heard of him?” There was silence on the other end, but Kevin remembered Gipson as one to just stop and think. He had a sharp mind and never rushed in with his words. His only flaw was a strong fetish for beautiful women, which had gotten him into trouble on occasion. “Gipson, did you hear me?”

“Yeah, man, I heard you. Professor Kian Smith? No, the name doesn't ring any bells, but Smith is a pretty popular surname so—”

“Gipson, I'll let you know where she's going to be, but you're on for this, right?”

“Yeah, sounds like a fun diversion. Too bad you can't be here, though. It'd be like old times three years ago, working on that missing person's case.” Gipson laughed. “Burr, that case is still as cold as ice,” he said, his laughter growing colder with each sound from the other end of the line. “Call me and hook me up with your lady friend. I'm available.”

“Got that, Gipson, talk to you soon.” Kevin could feel his heart beating in his throat. “There's something very wrong here,” he said aloud, grabbing a pair of pants as he punched in A. J.'s name on his phone.

“A. J. here, and Gates, what the heck are you calling me this early for?”

“A. J., I just got off the phone with Gipson.”

“Who?”

“Wake up man, this is serious.”

“Gates, everything is serious to you.”

Kevin knew he was getting nowhere with his superior. “Sorry sir about waking you up. I guess I wasn't thinking, kind of lost my head.” He checked his watch. “I'll talk to you in a couple of hours. Like at eight a.m. sharp?”

“Sharp it better be, and Gates, buy me coffee and put a double shot in it. And I want it hot when I get there.”

The phone went dead. “Ouch, that didn't go well,” Kevin said, throwing the phone on the bed. “Hope his mood is a bit more pleasant in the morning.”

 

There were twenty-five squares on the floor on either side of A. J.'s office door. Kevin paced back and forth for exactly sixty-two minutes, counting them with each rotation.

“Hey, good morning, A. J. Good to—”

“Don't talk to me,” A. J. growled. “Where's my coffee?”

Gates slipped the hot mix into his hand. “Here, this'll help with that mean morning streak of yours.”

A. J. stared at Kevin soberly over the brim of his cup. “This better be good, Gates,” he said, sitting down hard in the chair behind his desk. “Let's have it.”

Kevin knew better than to hesitate or try to lighten the mood. “I was on the phone this morning with Gipson, sir.”

Kevin waited, knowing A. J. was taking time to process the name. “Why on earth would you want to talk to him? As I recall, the two of you didn't get along so well when you worked together. I believe you called it a conflict of interests?”

Kevin perched on the edge of A. J.s desk. “You're right. I do think the guy's a jerk, but he's a strong agent, and I need someone to look after a treasure I've found.”

A. J. removed the cover from his coffee, blew on it, and took another sip. A grin slowly changed the line of his lips as he allowed the thought to sink in. “Women, how do they do it?” he asked. “Making men to call their superiors at ridiculous times in the morning, almost getting them fired.”

“I read that loud and clear, sir,” Kevin said, standing, knowing that his good friend meant business. He was still his superior, and business always took priority.

“Now tell me about Gipson.”

Kevin squared himself with A. J., pulled in a deep breath and exhaled before answering. “I assumed Gipson was still in Ireland, so I called him to see if he would check on Sophie for me. He agreed to, and then I asked him if he knew Professor Smith.”