He grinned as he took in her ivory skin, wavy brown hair, full lips, and fuller figure as she glided toward him…
… and slapped him across the face.
“I’ll be inside.” Alex hurried away, leaving Stone and Trinity staring at one another.
They stood only inches apart, but to Stone, it seemed like miles.
“You left without a word, and I don’t hear from you for years.” Trinity’s voice, husky with emotion, still held that breathless quality that Stone found so appealing. “And then you finally come back and I have to hear it from Alex?” She gritted her teeth and drew her hand back to slap him again, but Stone grabbed her wrist.
“None of that.” He felt her arm relax, and he released her wrist.
He hadn’t thought to grab her other arm. Her left-handed slap sent a burst of white light flashing across his eyes and made his ear ring.
“Are you finished now?” he growled.
“I don’t know. Does it hurt?”
“Of course it hurts.”
“Then I’m finished. For now.” She folded her arms and tapped one foot impatiently. “Explain yourself.”
Stone didn’t know if he could explain.
“You have to understand. It wasn’t just you I left behind. I had to get away from the world, from myself, for a while.” Stone’s cheeks stung, but he refused to give Trinity the satisfaction of seeing him acknowledge the pain. “I was going to call you as soon as I figured out what to say.”
“The truth would have been a good start. I don’t know what was worse: thinking you were dead, or thinking you’d forgotten me.” A single tear traced its way down her cheek. Stone reached out to brush it away, but she batted his hand aside. “No, that’s not true. Of course believing you dead was worse, but you hurt me. Deeply.”
“I’m sorry.” He didn’t know what else to say.
“That’s not even close to enough, Stone. You owe me an explanation.”
“I’m not sure I can explain, but I’ll do my best. Right now, though, I need to deal with this.” He pointed to the body lying on the ground.
Trinity seemed to notice the corpse for the first time, and flinched. “Who is he?”
“The bruno who tried to kill me. That’s all I know.”
“Kill you?” For a moment, Trinity’s features softened, but her resolve firmed almost instantly. “I didn’t hire him, if that’s what you’re thinking. I will admit to considering killing you myself, though.”
“I’m glad you changed your mind.”
“Don’t let your guard down just yet. I haven’t completely dismissed the idea.” She rummaged in her purse and pulled out a pencil and pad. Her posture changed. Suddenly, she stood ramrod straight, the tip of her pencil hovering just above the paper. “So, tell me what happened here.”
“What are you doing?” Stone asked.
“I’m a reporter for the Washington Scribe, and this is news. Do you want to tell me your side, or should I fill in the blanks myself?”
“Trinity, this is the last thing I need.”
“I don’t care. It’ll be in the papers anyway, unless you plan on covering this up.”
“Of course not. I didn’t do anything wrong.” Stone ran a hand through his hair. He had enough hassles without Trinity making things worse. Then again, she might be a useful ally. “I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll tell you about two attempted murders this evening. If,” he paused, “you do some investigating for me.”
Trinity considered this for a moment, her brown eyes boring into his. Finally, she nodded.
“Done. What am I investigating?”
5- The Book
The whisper of the wind in the pines bathed the house in a soft blanket of peace, but sleep eluded Stone. Uncomfortable taking up residence in his grandfather’s bedroom, he’d given it over to Alex and instead stretched out on a plush rug in the sitting room in front of the cold fireplace. Now he lay staring up at the ceiling, turning the doubloon over in his hand and rubbing his thumb across its smooth surface.
After the police had taken his and the others’ statements and the morgue hauled away the intruder’s body, he and Trinity had talked for more than an hour. Rather, she talked and he listened. She’d applied all her skills as a reporter to try and find out where he’d gone and what he’d done since he left the service, but he’d managed to gently rebuff her attempts without further raising her ire. She’d finally headed home, promising to pay a visit to the taxicab company the following morning and see if she could root out any information about the deceased man, and perhaps even locate the missing recording device. Relief had dueled with loneliness as he watched her drive away, but it was not thoughts of the beautiful young woman that kept him awake now.
Minutes turned to hours until finally, at three o’clock, Stone rose. He didn’t need a watch. He’d always had what others considered an uncanny sense of time, but to him, it was natural. He started pacing, unable to put a finger on what bothered him. It lingered in the back of his mind like an itch he could not scratch. Giving up any hope of sleep, he headed to his grandfather’s study and searched the shelves in vain for a book that might give him a clue about the doubloon: books on Spanish history, books about South and Central America and the Caribbean. Nothing.
When the first hint of dawn painted a stripe of dull gray across the eastern horizon, he headed outside, removed his shoes and socks, and walked out into the cool, damp grass. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply of the moist, clean air, and flowed into the forms that had become a part of him since he became the first Westerner to penetrate the secrets of the Shang Lau. His conscious mind focused on the movements of his arms and legs: smooth, powerful, and always perfectly balanced. Now, his subconscious mind was free to drift. It was a technique that had served him well many times, and it did not fail this time. Suddenly, he had it!
Satisfaction coursing through him, he completed the form before putting his socks and shoes back on and returning to the house. The aroma of coffee greeted him when he opened the door, and he found Alex in the kitchen, spooning sugar into a cup of light brown liquid.
“I don’t know how you can stand to drink it like that,” Stone said, pouring a cup for himself. “All that sugar and milk is bad for your gut.”
Alex, lean as a greyhound, looked down at his flat stomach and made a face. “I think I’m all right.”
“For now.” Stone took a swallow of the hot, dark liquid. Alex had made it just right— heavy on the coffee grounds, light on the water.
“You were up early,” Alex said.
“Correction. I’m up late.”
“And you’re concerned about the way I take care of myself?” Alex shook his head. “Everyone needs sleep. Even the great Brock Stone.” He gestured toward Stone with his coffee cup.
“I don’t need much sleep. Never have.”
“Something bothering you?” Alex’s face reddened. “All right, that was a foolish question. I mean, aside from the obvious.”
“Yes, but it took me a while to figure it out.” Stone took another swallow of coffee. “My grandfather left me all his belongings, including his books, but he made a point to have his attorney give me a copy of The Lost World. There has to be a reason.”
Alex nodded thoughtfully. “That book was published nearly twenty years ago, and I don’t remember much of the plot, but I think there’s an obvious connection you’re overlooking.”
“What’s that?”
“On the day you are given a book, from your grandfather, about the search for a lost world, a man tries to kill you. And what do we find in his pocket?”