Guarding the Treasure (20 page)

“Kian, you mentioned a surprise, but could we hold off on that until tomorrow?” she asked, pulling her jacket closed. “I'm really tired.” Just then, Sophie's phone rang. Her eyes dropped to her pocket, and before she could retrieve it, Kian grabbed her hand, squeezing it hard enough to cut circulation to her entire arm.

“What are you doing with that? I thought I told you to leave it in the car!” he yelled, yanking the phone from her unzipped pocket.

“It's just a habit. I carry it with me all the time. Kian, stop, you're hurting my hand,” she cried, tears welling up in her eyes from the pain. She watched as he threw the phone to the floor and smashed it with the heel of his shoe.

“Come on,” he growled, pulling her by the arm out the open door of the castle. “That little trick cost you, Ms. Hanes!” he shouted. “I should have known you'd do something stupid,” he said, pushing her against the side of the car. “I was going to make the trip to Castle Regal seem like a history game. You know, like you'd play with students? But you had to go and ruin it. Something else history professors are good at.”

Sophie watched things unfold in slow motion, like a scene in a movie she was forced to be a part of. How could this be happening? How could someone like her get mixed up in a mess like this? She could see the professor's mouth moving but couldn't make out his words. Sophie touched her face, now damp with perspiration. She began to feel lightheaded, and she was about to vomit. There was a hard jerk on her arm, and she felt fingers dig into her scalp as she was pushed down, hitting the car door as her body fell into the front seat of the professor's car. Her fear was at an all-time high as she imagined what would happen next. A man sat behind the wheel, but he wasn't the professor. Everything was blurry now, and Sophie couldn't think. She tried to figure out who the man might be, but nothing came to her. Who was driving?

Kevin checked his watch for the third time. “Taylor said he'd pick me up at about eight, but it's after nine,” he said out loud. His pace quickened in the loading area. “Where is he?” Kevin felt his phone vibrate in his shirt pocket. A number he didn't recognize. “Gates here.”

“Gates, its Taylor. Don't ask any questions, just listen,” said the strong, firm voice on the other end of the line. “The reception is terrible where I'm sitting so just the facts. I've got Sophie in my sight. North of Dool Goregoo Castle. Did you get that?”

“Yeah, what's going on?” Kevin asked, spotting the rental car area.

“The professor brought Ms. Hanes to Goregoo Castle later than she told me he was going to. That's why I'm not at the airport. Something's gone wrong, Gates. This doesn't look right.”

Kevin stopped, dropping his gear around him. “What do you mean something's gone wrong, Taylor? Where's Sophie?” His heart beat fast and hard under his shirt. He could feel the blood pulsing furiously through every artery and vein in his body. If anything happened to her, he'd never forgive himself for letting her take this stinkin' trip on her own. Kevin pulled his baseball cap off and ran his hands through his hair as he listened.
From the start this didn't feel right
, he thought, trying to keep his emotions in check.

“I saw Gipson talking with Smith earlier. They were outside the castle. Sophie was inside alone, best I could tell. Things seemed to be okay until about fifteen minutes ago. The professor went back inside the castle, and minutes later, the tracking device in her phone went dead. Shortly after that, I saw Smith pull Ms. Hanes out of the castle and force her into his car, and then they drove off.

“No!” He hit his head with the palm of his hand. He had just tried to call Sophie. It only rang three times, then nothing. Smith must have found her phone.

“Gates, are you still there? Man, they're taking off in a hurry. I'm going to lose my reception.”

Kevin heard desperation in Taylor's voice. “You're breaking up. Which way are you headed?” The line went dead. “Come on, Taylor, talk to me,” he said, the volume of his voice rising as he felt his desperation getting the best of him. “A map, I need a map,” he said, quickly pulling his luggage to a row of chairs near the Hertz Car Rental port. He tossed his credit card on the counter and handed his badge to the gentleman behind the desk. MapQuest popped up on his readout. “Goregoo Castle, come on, faster, faster,” he said, eyes glued to the screen.

“I need you to sign here, please,” sounded the enthusiastic voice of the attendant. Kevin scribbled his name on the document and grabbed his card and badge. “Thank you, Detective. Just follow the arrows to the car terminal. I hope you enjoy your stay in our fair corner of the world and—”

He was well on his way before the man had a chance to finish his well-rehearsed speech.

Kevin wheeled from the parking lot and sped north to Dool, hoping to find someone at Folks Pub that could help him with a few precise directions. It had been more than three years since he had darkened the doors of one of the oldest establishments in the area. He walked in, surveying the room. It brought back mixed emotions, not only because of why he had been there before but also the fact that Sophie had been there a couple of times that week. Kevin recognized the man behind the bar and pulled up a stool. The man gave him a long stare and then a smile erupted from behind his ample handlebar mustache.

“Aye, Detective Gates. Am I right on the name?” he asked, holding his hand out in greeting.

“Hey, good memory, Derry,” Kevin answered. “And doesn't your name mean good lover?” he asked with a grin.

“No, you are to be corrected, sir. It means great lover,” Derry said, his eyebrows rising amicably.

“I stand corrected. Derry. Great lover,” Kevin said, smiling.

“What brings you back to our small town, Detective?” he asked.

“I'm searching for someone, and I need some directions. Do you think you can help me?”

“Probably,” he said, filling a glass with fizzy water.

“You remembered,” Kevin said, lifting his glass in a toast to his friend behind the bar.

“That's right. You don't drink so much,” Derry said, raising another glass to complete the gesture.

“Your friend, what's his name?” Derry scratched the top of his head where hair used to be. “Ah, Gipson, yeah, that's his name. Well he was here today, too. Are the two of you working together again?”

Kevin sipped his fizzy water. “Yeah, you could say that. We just haven't met up yet.” He looked away, not making eye contact with the barkeeper.

“He was with others today, Detective. He was with an Irish man and an American woman.”

“Yeah, did you hear anything, Derry?” Kevin asked, still nursing his drink.

“No, not much, just a trip to Goregoo, and—” he stopped and left his place to wait on another customer who had just sat down at the other end of the bar.

Kevin watched him. He'd had conversations with him in the past. He could be trusted.

“Let me think,” Derry said, returning a few minutes later to their conversation. “When the young woman was visiting my new singer, Taylor, I heard Gipson and the other gentleman talking about the woman.” He nervously started to rub the counter with a rag. “Mr. Gates?” he asked, looking over the top of his glasses. “Do you know her very well, the American woman they were talking about? I mean, are you all friends or something?”

Kevin lowered his glass to the counter, following it with his eyes. What should he tell the bartender? He didn't know if he had a connection with Smith or even Gipson. But Derry had always been up front with him in the past, on the right side of the law. “I know the woman, Derry, and of course Gipson, but the other man not so much,” he said, waiting for a response from Derry. “Look, I need all the information I can get, so if you know something…”

A wrinkle formed on the man's brow. He leaned onto his side of the bar. “They talked very low, Mr. Gates.” He gave a quick glance at his other customer. “I don't think it will go so good for the young woman if she hangs around those two for very long, if you know what I mean,” he said, his eyes shifting again to those sitting at the other end of the bar.

Kevin looked hard at the bartender, recognizing the look on his face, and knew too well what Derry meant. It ate at his soul like maggots on a dead carcass in the hot sun.

“Can you give me directions to Goregoo castle, Derry? The way you'd go if you had to travel there not really knowing where you were going?” Kevin asked quietly.

Derry complied, giving brief directions that would take Kevin directly to the back of the castle.

“Thanks, you've been a great help, Derry. Oh,” Kevin pulled a card from his jacket and slid it across the bar, “if you think of anything else, would you give me a call?”

“You betcha, Detective.”

“And one more thing, Derry, if you see Gipson, don't tell him I'm in town, all right?”

“You got it, sir. And sir? May the luck of the Irish be with ya tonight,” Derry said, watching the detective depart as he would any other paying customer.

Kevin followed the somewhat familiar road of three years ago. That was until the bartender's directions had him turn onto a narrow, paved county road, one he and Gipson had not driven on while working together to find the three missing women. He remembered Gipson had done all the navigating since he was somewhat familiar with the lay of the land, or so he'd said. Kevin had driven about two miles when he caught the first view of a large white stone and block structure to his right. There it was. The directions were perfect, he thought, smiling at getting his second break of the night. He shut the lights off and pulled the rental halfway into the grassy area of the ditch, parking several yards past the wall, not wanting to be too obvious about his intent just in case someone curious drove by. Opening the trunk, he grabbed his handgun, locking the clip in before slipping it into his belt. The sky was clear and the moon was bright. Maybe the luck of the Irish really was with him.

“All right, man in the moon, you're going to be my guiding light tonight,” he whispered, stepping off the road to start his walk down through the wet, waist-high grass. Halfway through, Kevin realized the grass served as a natural camouflage before he reached the line of tall trees behind the garden area that served as a second barrier. He slipped in among the tangled mess of vines, a thin barbed branch catching his cheek and ripping at his skin.

“There goes the flawless face,” he said as he wiped the blood from his face with the back of his hand. He lowered his body as he worked his way to the wall. Kevin stopped. “What stinks?” He looked down at his boots. They were covered in a grayish muck. A rotting animal stench rose around him, stinging his eyes and nose with each step he took. “Hope this crap doesn't make me sick,” he muttered. Then déjà vu hit. He remembered what Theresa had read to him from the diary. It was about the outer places. The gardens and beyond. He scanned the area. That's where he was right now. Anya had said that the stench came from decaying vegetation. She had used it as a vivid description of death. Kevin struggled to raise his boot. It gave way, making a deep sucking sound. His gag reflex kicked in. Funny, he'd never considered himself to be the squeamish type, but this mess was testing what his stomach was really made of.

His thoughts turned to Sophie as he stood behind a thicket of bushes. He could see his breath as he exhaled. His eyes didn't move for several minutes, fixed on what could be the front doors of the castle. She had been behind those doors just a short time ago. He needed to act. His detective mind had been engaged on the mission at hand for the past twenty-four hours. Now all he could think about was Sophie in the hands of Gipson, of all men. He had hoped the department's suspicion of his former partner was false, but things were looking pretty bleak for the detective. And then there was Smith—that psycho with the anger issues toward women. He rubbed his eyes, not wanting to jump to conclusions.

Kevin shook his head.
Concentrate, stay on top of your game
, he thought. He immediately dismissed the negative thoughts running through his head and stepped carefully through the barbed branches into a dimly lit courtyard. “Talk about naked,” he said out loud as he pulled his gun, keeping it close to his body. He ran quickly and slipped through the open front doors, not moving a muscle except for the rise and fall of his chest. “No greeting party?” He stood quietly a few seconds longer. ”Good, lucky break number three,” he whispered. Kevin immediately thought of Anya's bedroom. In the diary, she had described it as being at the top of the stairs and on the left. That would've been the first place Sophie would have gone. He gripped the rail. Something moved under his boot, making a cracking noise. Kevin slowly bent down, moving his foot slightly. It was Sophie's phone, obviously destroyed before his boot finished the job. It was broken into several pieces, the crystal shattered.
Someone intentionally broke it
, he thought as he tucked the pieces into his pocket.

Kevin looked up the long staircase again, more determined than he'd been seconds ago to find some answers. “I hope you had your intellect on high power tonight, Sophie. I need a clue or something.” He pulled in a long breath. “Where did Smith take you?”

He doubled the steps and opened the bedroom door. The room was dimly lit by three small lamps; two mounted about eight feet up on one wall and one sitting on a dresser near the mirror. His eyes traveled to a large set of windows where the breeze filled the long silky drapes, forcing them to billow into the room. Sophie had stood near the open window. He knew it without even thinking. She loved the seasonal breezes, and he loved the way it tossed her hair about and put her in a playful mood. Kevin moved to the opened window and scanned the garden. “She looked out here,” he breathed. “But what did she see?”
Hopefully nothing
, he thought as he started to turn from the window. Just then, his eyes caught something far to his right. He squinted. “What's that?” He leaned over the windowsill. Something glimmered in the moonlight. It appeared to be tread marks on the blacktop. He pulled a small pair of binoculars from his side pocket and focused in. He was right. The ground was damp, damp enough to leave tire tracks. He gave the room one last look then hurried down the stairs. Quickly surveying the outer grounds, he ran to examine the tracks. They were definitely left by a small car and at a high rate of speed. The car had headed north from the castle. There was a second set of tracks, too. “Those had better be yours, Taylor,” Kevin said, hoping the young FBI agent knew what he was doing. He tracked his way back through the grass to his car and headed north.