Ryan, Sophie, Hart and Reaper climbed on board and the chopper made its way down the mountain toward the town below.
Hawke and Lea decided to spend the afternoon walking back down the mountain, and it was then that she told him about what had happened to her men in Syria fighting the insurgents.
Hawke listened carefully as she spoke, but made no judgments just as he had promised her back in New York. There were stories — terrible stories — he could tell her from his own past, and maybe one day he would. He could only hope she would be as understanding.
“Terrible things happen in wars, Lea. You can’t live with guilt forever,” was all he said, and then he took her by the arms and kissed her.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
The next afternoon, Hawke and Lea managed to slip away from the international press which had gathered in the snow outside the Hotel Grand Kempinski in Geneva. They drove a hired car into the Swiss mountains, passing through Sion on the way — the small town was still oblivious to the threat that had so nearly destroyed it.
Hawke had booked a small ski lodge in Zermatt under a false name. The last few days had drained both of them and they both needed the kind of break from reality that only a place like this could offer.
Hawke was stoking the fire when he heard the door click open. He turned to see Lea standing in the door. She was smiling, her cheeks red with the cold. In her arms she carried a basket of logs which she placed beside the fire.
“How are you feeling now?” he asked. He knew the recent struggles with Baumann and Zaugg, as well as the crushing guilt over the death of her unit in Syria would take many years to heal.
“I’ll be fine,” she said. “Thanks to you.”
Hawke put more wood on the fire. “I was thinking about what you said back in Kefalonia.”
“What was that?”
“You said you had to tell me something about Eden.”
“You want to talk about Richard Eden now, really?” She removed her jacket and let it fall to the floor. A devious smile played on her lips as she drew closer to him.
“When you put it like that, I guess not…” he said, looking at her in the firelight. “You know when they find out we’re missing they’re going to send a search party out to get us?” he said.
Lea smiled again. “I’m not afraid of anything anymore. This is the week I found out who I really am. This is the week I found out the truth about the world.”
Hawke stood up and faced her. “Fun, wasn't it?”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“But how far would you go?” he said, smirking.
“At least it’s over now,” she said, ignoring him.
Hawke looked at her. “I wouldn’t say that, exactly.”
“Oh, crap! What does that mean?”
“I didn’t tell you yesterday because things were so crazy, but I found this in our hotel room back in Geneva.”
Hawke reached into his pocket and handed Lea a tiny paper insect.
“What the hell is this?”
“It’s an origami dragonfly — a clue, really.”
“And it’s a clue… why?”
“It just is. Call it a calling card. I found it on the end of the bed when I woke up this morning. Let’s not spoil today with it.”
“Someone broke into the hotel room?”
“Easy as pie for the person concerned. Forget about it. It’s not important. Besides, I’m more worried about Ryan.” Hawke pulled a bottle of chilled Champagne from a bucket of ice and popped the cork.
“How so?” Lea said, dropping the dragonfly into the soft white carpet.
“I don’t think it’s very fair to let someone like that out in a big city without his carers.”
“He’s not that bad, Joe,” Lea said, playfully slapping Hawke’s shoulder.
The fire crackled and outside the sun began to sink behind a mountain on the other side of the valley leaving a pink glow on the snow outside their cabin. Hawke poured the Champagne into two glass flutes.
“Maybe he doesn’t like Sophie at all,” said Hawke. “Maybe he still loves you.”
“He does not! And even if he did it would be too bad.”
Hawke looked into her eyes and stepped closer. “Why’s that?”
“Because I don’t love him. In fact, I think I might be falling in love with another man, anyway.”
“Really? I’m pleased for you but I’m not sure Reaper’s looking for a serious relationship right now.”
Lea shook her head and sighed. “Men.”
She kicked off her snow-covered boots and unwound the scarf from her neck.
“Hello!” Hawke said. “What’s all this then?”
“You could call it a thawing in Anglo-Irish relations,” Lea said, and began to unbutton his shirt.
Hawke moved his hands to her waist. “I’m so glad our two nations have decided to come together at last.”
They slid down onto the carpet in front of the fire. Outside, the first stars of the night had appeared in the sky above the snow-capped range to the east.
The woman known only as Nightingale turned off her phone and clicked it into the recharger. It was breakfast time in New York, but it had been a long night, and she was tired. She sighed and gently rubbed her temples for a few seconds. The chance of another one of her migraines was high.
She fired her remote at the blinds and watched as they closed around the room one by one, reducing the light in the spacious loft apartment. She wondered what Joe Hawke was doing right now in Switzerland. Was he really going to take it easy for a few days, or simply play around with yet another woman?
She thought the latter was more likely. She had never met him, and she was sad at the thought. She liked the sound of his voice, and even though it would be the easiest thing in the world to bring up a picture of him, she had resisted. She didn’t want to change the image of him that she held in her mind, shaped by the tone of his voice and his personality, the way a chisel rendered a face from a block of marble.
She pushed her wheelchair from her desk over to her bed, locked the brakes and pulled herself up into the cold sheets, an act that always took a great deal more effort than many would think likely. She sighed heavily. How could a man like Joe Hawke share his life with someone like her? She closed her eyes and imagined him in Switzerland. The rain and bustle of Manhattan was slowly replaced by the sunshine of the Swiss mountains, and the smooth clean snow of the ski slopes. Moments later she was asleep.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
The Vault of Poseidon is the first book in the Joe Hawke series. I intend each of the Joe Hawke novels to be a standalone work, but like all series there will be some overarching storylines, particularly in the first three. The second book in the series is scheduled for release later in 2015 and follows Hawke to many exciting new locations on an even faster-paced action-adventure mystery to save the world all over again from new and old menaces alike…
For more information and the latest news and updates please see my website — www.robjonesnovels.com and I’m always happy to reply to emails at robjonesnovels@gmail.com. Alternatively you can contact me on Twitter — @AuthorRobJones
Finally, many thanks for reading my novel. Writing a book is only half the story — the reader provides the other half, and no writer’s work is ever really finished until the reader turns the last page. Every author depends on good reviews to keep going forward, and if you enjoyed this story I would appreciate it if you might think about writing a brief review on Amazon.