The Syndicate (Timewaves Book 1) (31 page)

THE PHONE WAS
ringing when Gaige unlocked the door to the townhouse. We both went for it, but my hand closed around the receiver first. My partner watched with interest as I lifted the earpiece.

“Hello?” I said in English. Belatedly realizing my mistake, I quickly amended, “Je suis désolée. Bonjour?”

“Anastasia Prince?” the caller asked in English.

I recognized the Midwest-American accent immediately.

“Oh, hi!” I said with enthusiasm.

“This is Hadley Richardson,” the caller continued.

In the living room, Gaige had his arms wrapped around himself in a tight embrace and was flicking his tongue through the air. I rolled my eyes and briefly considered throwing the sugar dish at his head.

“Hi,
Hadley
. It’s Stassi,” I said, loudly emphasizing her name for my partner’s benefit.

Gaige’s arms dropped to his sides. He shrugged his shoulders, then disappeared up the stairs, no longer interested.

In my ear, Hadley laughed merrily. “So sorry about the formality, Stassi. I figured you might have a housekeeper or butler who answered the phone.”

Crap. Were we supposed to have hired help for that?

“No problem,” I told her, ignoring the remark. “How are you?”

“Oh, fine, fine. I hope it’s okay, but I phoned the milliner’s shop and got your number from Ines.”

“Of course,” I replied easily.

“I was calling to see if you might want to join me for lunch the day after next? Nothing fancy, maybe Closerie des Lilas? Ernest and I just love going there, it’s near the apartment he keeps for writing.”

I groaned inwardly. After the impression I’d left, I wasn’t eager to return to Lilas.

“Gaige and I have been there several times, they have wonderful food,” I hinted.

My partner was trooping back down the steps with his Qube in hand, and gave me a quizzical expression at the mention of his name. I shook my head in reply.

Hadley understood the not-so-subtle meaning.

“Oh, then we should try somewhere new for you. I’d hate for you to not experience all the best our city has to offer. I know, let’s try the Ritz Hotel. Have you eaten there yet? The bouillabaisse is to die for.”

“I actually haven’t been there,” I said, deciding it wasn’t a lie since Cyrus and I hadn’t been there for the food. “That sounds lovely.”

“How is one o’clock? Will that work for your schedule?”

“One o’clock on Tuesday?” I repeated, loudly enough to catch Gaige’s attention. He nodded without looking up, busy attaching the scanner to his Qube.

“One is perfect. I will meet you there,” I told Hadley.

We said our goodbyes, then I replaced the receiver in its cradle.

“Do you think she might know where to find another part of the manuscript?” Gaige asked.

“Maybe,” I said with a shrug. “It’s worth a shot. You should schedule another date with the menfolk, too.”

Gaige fingered his bruised eye. “Something other than boxing, I hope.”

“Or not,” I replied with an innocent grin. “What’re you doing over there?”

“Syncing the pages I scanned in the bathroom to my Qube before I take it down to customs. Wanna see?”

As I plopped down beside him, Rosenthal’s scrawling handwriting appeared as a hologram over the coffee table. Gaige moved the device so it was between us, and we both settled in to read the immortal words of his new friend.

The will had been very clear. Once Serena Rushforth of Warwickshire, England, now Serena Nolan of Blue’s Canyon, North Carolina, she was to inherit all lands, accounts, and businesses formerly held by her husband, Tate Nolan.

Serena smiled wanly, recalling Marta Nolan’s outrage upon hearing that her ancestral home was to become the property of an outsider. Even the lawyer had shaken his head whilst making the announcement. A woman, an Englishwoman at that, inheriting Bellerose Manor and the Blue’s Falls Hotel and Country Club went against a centuries-long tradition of bequeathing the family properties to the eldest living male of legitimate birth. But that was Tate’s way; he had always enjoyed causing a stir.

Standing atop Wind Rock, Serena peered down into the canyon below. A single tear slid from the corner of her eye, followed by another and another, until the scarf around her neck was wet with her painful loss. She wept openly for the first time since his death, as if someone had finally unscrewed the lid on the jar where she kept her emotions hidden from the world. On the Rock she felt safe. It was the site of their first kiss; the place her beloved had gone to his knees and asked for her hand in marriage; where, had fate not so cruelly intervened to cut short their time together, Serena would have told her husband that she was carrying their child.

With Tate by her side, the Canyon had felt like home. Without him, the Canyon felt foreign, just as when she’d first moved there. The majestic beauty she’d once embraced while standing in the same spot with her husband seemed cold and ugly now that she was alone.

“Outsider!” “Interloper!” “Imposter!” the winds seemed to cry in her ear.

Serena wept impossibly harder.

The baby in her womb kicked and she rubbed her belly affectionately. This child, part Tate and part Serena, would prove to be the best of each, of this she had no doubt. The ache in her heart lessened as love for her unborn child helped to mend the fissure left by his father’s death.

She breathed deeply. She had not come to the Rock to cry over that which could not be changed. She had come with a purpose.

Fingers stiff with cold, Serena unfastened the sapphire broach nestled in the hollow of her throat and removed the scarf. Once soft and smooth to the touch, the fine silk fabric was roughened by her dried tears. It had been Tate’s favorite, the fabric the same azure as his eyes. He had been wearing it the first time they met—that fateful day on the train that had changed Serena’s life forever.

Oh how Marta Nolan had made a fuss when Serena refused to allow the scarf to be buried with the man that both women loved wholly, unconditionally, and, in Serena’s case, with reckless abandon. The act had only caused more tumult in the already rocky relationship with her mother-in-law. That, Serena decided, was a problem she would fix. She owed it to Tate. And to their unborn son who would bear his father’s name, another Tate Nolan to watch over Blue’s Canyon.

Serena inched forward, until the toes of her shoes hung over the edge of Wind Rock. She secured the broach to one end of the scarf to give it weight. Drawing back her arm, just as Tate had taught her, she hurled both the scarf into the fog-filled ravine below.

Her reason for doing so was dismissed by the men in the village as a nonsensical wives’ tale. Nonetheless, the women below swore on their firstborn children that the legend was true. Serena was there to prove once and for all that women were wiser than men.

For a paralyzing moment, the winds ceased to blow. The air went impossibly still. Serena herself thought she had gone deaf. And then, competing gusts from every direction whipped loose strands of hair from the plait running down her back. Out of the fog, a ribbon of blue appeared. Tears filled Serena’s eyes for the second time that day. These, however were tears born of joy. She reached out to pluck it from the wind, the scarf catching around her arm, the broach settling delicately in her upturned palm.

His body may have gone to earth, but Tate’s soul was alive in Blue’s Canyon. Of this, she was certain.

THE END.

“Wow, that’s so sad,” I said, wiping a tear as I finished reading the last chapter of
Blue’s Canyon
.

Gaige snorted. “Damn women and your sobbing over nothing.”

“Heartless misogynist,” I shot back.

“Hey now, I love women,” Gaige said defensively. “In fact, I love working under a woman. Hell, I prefer having a woman above me.”

Just in case I had missed the pervy undertones, Gaige smiled wickedly to drive home his point.

I held up my hand. “Enough. For the future of our partnership, it is best you don’t continue that little speech of yours.”

“I’m just saying—”

“I know what you’re saying, sparky. Save it for someone who cares. Flip back to the beginning of the section, so we can see what all we have.”

In total, the portion Gaige found in the toilet tank contained pages 147-225 of Rosenthal’s unpublished manuscript. The excerpt from Shakespeare and Company included pages 1-77.

“So, we’re missing the middle third of the book,” I announced.

Gaige nodded his agreement. “If all else fails, we could always write those chapters ourselves. I bet our client won’t even know the difference.”

“You don’t think so? Do you think your boss would know?” a wry voice spoke up.

Gaige and I both turned towards the front door. We’d been so engrossed in our task, neither of us had heard Cyrus enter.

“Of course, he’d know. Our boss is a genius, you can’t get anything by him. Not that I would try, I have too much respect for him. In fact you might even—” Gaige abruptly halted his babbling mid-sentence, blood rushing to his tanned cheeks.

I was just about to make a wisecrack, when I realized what silenced Gaige—the firm set of Cyrus’s jaw. Though he didn’t look angry, our boss was clearly in no mood for jokes. His green eyes, normally so vibrant and full of life, were dull and weary. Cyrus gestured to the scanner and tablet in front of us.

“Did you find more of the manuscript?” he asked, with a hint of surprise.

“We did,” I replied, pleased that we could offer a bit of good news. “There was another third of it in the bathroom at that restaurant they all frequent.”

Cyrus raised one eyebrow at the latter bit of information, but didn’t comment on the hiding place.

“Good. That is very good. You are both far exceeding my expectations for this mission. I am really quite impressed.”

Gaige and I exchanged a look of disbelief. Given how stressed our boss was, the last thing I’d expected was praise.

Cyrus carried a leather train case into the sitting room, placing it on the coffee table before settling into one of the two plush velvet armchairs.

“Well don’t look so shocked,” he said with a chuckle. “Am I really that much of a hardass?”

“No, of course not,” I replied quickly. “We just know you have a lot on your plate right now, things more important than our mission.”

“Which is exactly why I’m so pleased that you guys are staying focused and getting the job done. I honestly thought we have to abandon the run, but you’re making remarkable strides towards completion.” Cyrus sat back in his chair and gave us a tired smile. “I’m proud of you both.”

It was the first time in my life that someone had ever said they were proud of me. I didn’t know what to make of it.

“Looks like you found something, too,” I said hastily, nodding to the train case to hide my embarrassment. Shifting his focus from Gaige to me, Cyrus’s gaze softened. He kept his attention on me for a beat longer than I would’ve expected—just long enough for Gaige to start fidgeting.

“Sorry, I did,” our boss finally answered, shaking his head to clear whatever thought he’d been lost in. “I paid another visit to Lachlan’s hotel room. He’s been back since we were last there. You remember the door that connected his room to the one next to it?”

I nodded, then quickly explained the room’s layout to Gaige.

“We closed the door again, right?” Cyrus continued.

“Definitely,” I assured him, recalling the final visual sweep I’d given the bedroom before departing.

“That’s what I thought,” my boss confirmed. “It was open when I arrived today, so I picked the lock to the adjoining suite.”

“Naturally,” Gaige said with a chuckle.

Cyrus unlatched the clasps on the train case and the top popped open, as if on a spring. He pulled on a pair of gloves, then plucked several clear plastic bags from inside.

“I didn’t find anything new in Lachlan’s room, but the one next to it was an absolute mess. I checked on the way out, and both rooms are registered under Shepard. I found these in the second one.” Cyrus held up one of the bags. Gaige and I leaned forward in tandem to peer at the contents—a whole mess of empty candy wrappers.