“Yes, please. How long did it take to finish?”
“Let me ask. I got in a bit late today, and everyone was here before I made it.”
Steven heard her move the phone away from her mouth and call out. She was back on in a few seconds.
“Just before five this morning.”
“Wow. That was quicker than I expected,” Steven said.
“Sophie co-opted everyone’s computers, so it was a distributed effort,” Gwen explained.
“Ahh. Thanks, Gwen. And listen. If anyone else stops in looking for me, I’ve decided to extend my holiday indefinitely.”
Gwen paused. “Well now. You must be having a ball,” she remarked dryly, stressing the final syllable.
“It’s not like that. I can’t really explain because I don’t know much more, but it isn’t what you think,” Steven finished lamely.
“No. Well, I’m sorry to hear that. She looked like such a sweet young innocent thing. Really about the age of a daughter, if you’d gotten started young.”
Gwen was obviously not happy with the new arrival. She’d always been protective of Steven, but this was the first time he’d detected jealousy.
“I’ll continue to think of her as a daughter, Gwen. Thanks for that reminder,” Steven assured her.
“You can always have her call you ‘Daddy’ or ‘Papa’ to keep you centered,” Gwen offered. “Well, then, I’ll be e-mailing your findings to you now. Was there anything else you needed…Papa?” Gwen finished sweetly.
“That should do it. I’ll check in later.”
What the hell was that all about? Just when he thought he had enough trouble, something new surfaced. Now Gwen was getting territorial about Natalie? There was nothing going on there. And nothing between Gwen and Steven, either. It was all a big zero.
Could Gwen have somehow detected that Steven’s interest in Natalie wasn’t purely altruistic? It seemed like she knew things before Steven did. It would have been more efficient if Gwen had just sent him a list of what he was going to do every day. That would have been more useful than veiled innuendo.
Steven put his duffel onto the bed and moved to the bedroom door. He smelled the distinctive odor of strong coffee and…eggs. His mouth started watering on the way down the stairs, and he realized he was no better than a dog this morning. He was starving. Gwen’s mocking voice echoed in his head. Yes, old boy, you’re a dog, all right — ‘Papa’.
He smiled at his internal dialogue as he swung into the dining area. Natalie looked up from her position at the table, her hands cradling a cup of steaming brew.
“You’re certainly in a bright mood this morning. Nice to see — you had a good night, I take it,” she commented, noticing Steven’s grin. He stifled it and grabbed a cup of coffee.
“A little rest can do wonders.” He took a cautious sip. “The results are done. The office is sending them to me,” he informed her, suddenly all business.
“That’s awesome. Let’s get you online and cranking. You in the mood for some eggs? OJ?” Natalie offered.
“That would be great. I’m famished for some reason. Scrambled is good.” He moved to where the laptop was sitting and quickly logged into his account. “I’ve got the code. This will take a while to download. It’s a big file,” he explained. Natalie shifted to behind the breakfast bar and began preparing eggs. Steven looked up at her. As if reading his mind, Natalie paused.
“Don’t get used to his. I usually don’t do breakfast. And windows are definitely out of the picture.”
“What? I didn’t say anything. I was just admiring your…multi-faceted talents,” Steven teased.
Natalie ignored him. “Three eggs do the trick?”
Without waiting for an answer, she cracked three and whipped them into a froth before pouring them into the hot skillet. Steven chose to remain silent, tapping his fingers impatiently while the file downloaded over the slow wireless connection.
“So what’s your deal, Steven? Are you single? Seeing someone?” Natalie asked.
What was that all about? Had he been that obvious? It seemed that every woman he was in contact with could read his innermost thoughts. So much for his inscrutable poker face.
“I’m widowed. Two and a half years ago…”
“I know that. If I could find you on the street, I did that much background-checking. No, my question was, are you seeing anyone now?” Natalie pressed.
“Why? What’s it to you?” Steven volleyed.
“We may be gone for a while. A long while. I have no idea how anything is going to turn out, but I do know that Morbius Frank won’t stop until he has the Scroll and its secret. The Order is going to be the same way. So if you have someone you’re seeing and you try to stay in touch, sneaking in a call here and there, it will endanger us both, as long as we’re together,” Natalie explained matter-of-factly.
Steven digested this. His imagination had been running away with him. The idea that Natalie was interested in him was ludicrous, he supposed. She was at least fifteen years younger, maybe more, and doubtlessly had men fighting to get her clothes off every time she went out. The notion that she’d be drawn to him was some delusional male-menopausal fantasy. She was just trying to assess his liabilities.
“Nobody special,” he admitted.
Her eyebrow cocked again.
“And your receptionist? Gwen? Nothing going on there?” she asked disbelievingly.
“My office manager?” Steven corrected. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Why not? She clearly likes you, and she reacted to me like a cat dropped in boiling water. You could see her back arch from across the room,” Natalie observed.
“I think you got the wrong impression of Gwen. She’s a professional, and we’re not…we’re not an item. So don’t worry.”
“Seems like there’s some unfinished business there, whenever this is all over, Dr. Cross,” Natalie said.
“Thanks for the dating tip, but that’s not an option. It’s not something I’m interested in.”
“Women, or Gwen?” Natalie asked simply.
Steven was momentarily flummoxed. This wasn’t at all the discussion he was expecting first thing in the morning, with teams of assassins hiding behind every bush.
“You missed your calling as a high-pressure interrogator,” Steven advised.
The computer pinged, and he returned his attention to the screen.
“Ah. The file’s finished,” Steven announced, saved by the bell. He turned his attention back to the little laptop screen, and Natalie let the touchy subject drop.
Ben skulked to the bathroom, casting a furtive glance at Gwen and Sophie. He was having a rough day again, and the paranoia was setting in even after he’d done his maintenance dose of heroin that morning before making it to the office. He despised himself for his weakness and the constant dull ache of pain that was his legacy from the horrible accident that had left him scarred. If he’d been paying more attention that night he would have seen the car swinging out of the driveway, and instead of striking it with his motor scooter and flying thirty feet through the air to bounce against the cold cobblestones like a broken ragdoll, he would have braked in time, or swerved and dodged it.
He’d played the scene over in his head many times, nearly every night for the seven years since that fateful evening. As he was recovering in the hospital, his bones broken and his skin shredded, after three operations to repair the internal injuries, he replayed the incident, and each time he made a minor adjustment, or had been going slower, or had been paying more care to the road — and less to his fiancée, Sabrina, whose arms had been locked around his waist, distracting him with their warm embrace.
They’d met at university, where he’d been finishing up his doctoral thesis for a Ph.D. in computer science and she’d been majoring in political science. At first there had been little in common — she a native of Sienna, only in the big city of Florence for her studies, and he, an American expat who’d decided to live abroad and who shied away from social situations. They’d met at a mutual friend’s party and, other than an immediate and powerful physical attraction that had resulted in her joining him in his dingy little apartment that first night, they hadn’t really found much to talk about. And yet one night turned into a week, and then into six months, and ultimately a discussion of marriage.