17. Strangers in the Night

STRANGERS IN THE NIGHT

ANDREW

I love seeing her wrapped in my robe. The soft silk clings to her, suffused with the perfume of our mutual arousal. I hate seeing her go out the door, but that is our son calling.

Our son. I murmur the words under my breath. The wine of her is sweet upon my lips, but I let her go. On another night, another time, I might have called her back. But the child has been tumbled headlong into the world in which I grew up. Neither of them understand how it is likely to be.

So I let her go to comfort her child. In that moment, I am so infused with love for both of them, that I will deny them nothing. I will beg, swindle, lie, and place my body in harm's way to keep them safe.

I know what I will have to do. I must step into the role I fled ten years ago. I am my mother's oldest son, even if I am not my father's eldest.

The room is an empty, hollow place without her. I go to the wardrobe and pull out a different robe. No fancy thing of silk, this one. Old Emily, my aunt, made it. I remember her, a skinny woman, sitting among the village women, learning to weave. She did good work, not just on the loom.

Old Emily had an odd idea of South Africa. Her imagination had been fed by H. Rider Haggard's She , and Edgar Rice Burrough's vivid descriptions of lost civilizations. When she didn't find what she expected, she made her own legends, learning traditional skills, identifying plants, and sending samples back to the London botanical gardens.

She was the first to tell me the old Welsh tales, reading to me when my parents dumped me with her, sitting around the campfire at night, or on deathwatch in the medical tents. She also paraphrased Burroughs, Haggard, and Cameron, all early 20th century authors who wrote about their vision of what humans might find in other parts of our solar system.

The stories had fit well with the shifting shadows, and even with the sound of distant gunfire. For me, she was a font of wisdom and a source of companionship in a sea of unfamiliar faces, some friendly, some suspicious and angry.

The women of the village laughed at her to her face, but behind her back they made signs to ward off evil. Emily knew. But when I mentioned it to her, she just laughed and punched me in the shoulder. "If I paid attention to everyone who thought I was strange, I'd never get anything done," she said. "The things really worth doing are rarely easy or meet with approval."

She was here tonight, along with the other village elders, as well as Laird Tulok and Lady Barbara. I could call them or message them, but this was my decision. I ached with the ugliness of it, the things I might have to do before it was all said and done. I had so hoped for one night with Madeline before I had to disgust her in order to keep her safe.

I walked barefoot into the kitchen, opened the sliding glass door, and stepped out onto the back veranda. I could see the ocean from where I stood. The waves curled up onto the sand.

Austin steps out of the shadows. "Mr. Lane," he said softly, "Is something wrong?"

"Just restless," I say. "I want to run, to swim, to work off the tensions of today."

"Just tensions?" he says, a little too knowingly. "You sound like a man whose balls are as blue as indigo."

I bark a short bitter laugh. "The youngster has me up-staged. And why not? He's been here with her for nine years while I was out in the bush saving other people's lives. I never dreamed that she might be in danger."

"Why should you?" Austin asks, amusement clear in his voice. "You'd had one week with her. She knew you were leaving right after, so no blame, really."

"Other than the obvious part of keeping my hands to myself," I say.

"Was she unwilling?" Austin asked.

"Far from it," I replied. "Beyond saying that, however, gentlemen. . ."

"Do not kiss and tell," Austin finished for me.

We stand together there in the moonlight, saying nothing. The waves crash on the beach.

"Not a good night for a swim or a run," Austin says. "There's a riptide this time of night. Carry you right out to sea. As for a run, I've not seen or heard anything, but the dogs are restless."

"What are you telling me?" I ask.

"As your security man, I'm saying you should step back inside, and stay away from the windows. Dress in something comfortable, but be ready for action if needed. Will you listen to my words?"

"You sound like Leland," I say. "He was always telling me, ‘Andrew, you can't just go running around in the bush. The lions will eat you, or someone will think you are a jackal and shoot you.'"

"Did you listen?" Austin asked quietly, the moonlight on his fair skin turning it otherworldly.

I considered my answer. "When it suited me, I did."

He laughs softly, more like a quiet huff than a real sound. "That's what I thought."

"Will it make your job easier if I go back in?" I ask, watching the roll of the breaking waves on the beach.

"Much," he says. "As it is, that house is about as defensible as a cracker box. You might want to stay up a while. I was thinking about comfort for the three of you when I suggested it, not about security."

"Damn," I swore softly under my breath. "All right, I'll keep watch. Just so you know, I don't own a firearm, never have. My weapon of choice is a camera."

"Understood," Austin says, flashing me a grin. "Most of the time, so is mine. Take care of them. Kate seems awfully fond of Maddy, and my girls have taken a liking to your boy."

"And Rylie?" I ask. "What does our little sister have to say about me?"

"She says your aura has gotten darker since you were away, but that it is still bright. I don't put much faith in aura reading, but Lee is almost always right about people. Especially if she draws them."

I nod. I remember that about Rylie. She might seem ditzy, but she had a certain wisdom. Beyond that, her ability to draw is amazing, and she draws the inner self, not just the outer.

"Thank you," I say, "for taking care of her."

"You are welcome," Austin says. "But I did it for her, and she is worth it."

I slip back inside. Once there, I heed Austin's suggestion, and dress in a pair of jogging shorts and an old T-shirt. I hang Old Emily's beautiful art work back in my closet, then step out into the living room.

I push the couch and coffee table out of the way, roll up the grass mat, and begin the slow movements of the Yang short form.

As I move I listen. It is true I never carried a gun, but I had been in rough neighborhoods before I left New York, and I found plenty of them in Africa. The real jungles of the world are not beneath leaves and vine. They are found in the concrete canyons and hardscrabble dens of humankind. I'm not good enough to declare my hands as dangerous weapons, but I'm not defenseless either.

As I move, I hear the soft murmur of voices from Paul's room. His mother is still with him. Leaves rustle outside, and there are human footsteps.

I stifle a grunt as I go into Snake Creeps Down. It has been too long since I practiced properly. Tulok would take me to task for it.

I'm not jealous of Leland. He and Catriona are truly made for each other. But I would not mind calling Tulok "father''. I learned more from him in the three months I spent on Ildogis than I had ever picked up from my father or grandfather.

As I bring myself back to mountain pose, Angel pads out of the bedroom. Her hackles are raised and she eyes the front door balefully. I run my hand down her back in acknowledgement, and slip into the shadows of the hall. Angel goes with me, gliding into Paul's room.

Maddy is lying on the floor beside Paul's bed. She rises up on one elbow as I crouch low, and duck walk into the room. The wide glass window that had looked so inviting earlier, now looks dangerous.

"Into the hall," I murmur. "Paul, too."

In the faint light from the window, I can see her eyes widen. There is a shadow on the glass.

Without so much as a thought, I dive, scoop Paul off the bed, rolling with him to the floor. There is a faint pfffft sound, an odd scraping, and something strikes the bed where our son had lain just a moment before.

Paul begins to struggle in my arms, but Maddy touches him and he stills.

Angel paces toward the window, hackles raised. "Heel!" I hiss in a whisper. For a miracle, she comes back to us.

"Into the hall," I whisper again, torn between whether to protect them from the window, or whether to check the hall before they eased into it.

Maddy solves my dilemma. Flattening herself she wiggles her way to where she could look around the bottom of the doorframe. She goes around it, and I send Paul after her. Once they were both away from that window, I also slip through, the cat and dog coming with me, and close the door behind us.

Maddy says softly, "Hey Rube, the enemy is at the gate."

Outside, floodlights came on, and a siren starts to blare. Raucous music pours from speakers. A dog barks sharply, once. Then someone screams.

Angel growls low in her throat, and plasters herself over Paul. Somewhere a gun fires, a dog snarls, and a man screams.

Then Austin's voice calls out, "All clear! All clear, stand down."

"Stay put," I tell Maddy and Paul. "It could be a ruse."

I stand, glide toward the front door, and manually key the door camera. Austin is standing there with Jason Wintergreen wiggling in his grip.

Of course. Why had we not seen this coming? The man had immediately run to Grandfather to complain.

Austin ran his hand over his face. To the casual observer, it looked like he was rubbing away weariness. But his two fingers paused for just a second under his eyes, and his fist scrunched up over his mouth. Being watched, keep still and cautious , that hand said to anyone who cared to observe carefully.

I undo the safety latches and deadbolt, opening the door just enough for Austin to shove Jason into the room, and then follow. He is accompanied by a massive, shaggy German Shepherd dog, marked in the classic black and tan pattern.

As soon as the dog's tail clears the door frame, I slam the door back shut. "Looks like you caught a fish," I say.

"More like a slimy leech," Austin returns. "I found him skulking under Paul's window.

"More than skulking, I think," I comment grimly. "He found some way to fire a dart through the window, even though it was closed.

I hear movement from the hall. Maddy and Paul step into the light. "That's the man who said Grandfather wanted us," Paul says. "What is he doing here?"

What, indeed, I think to myself. "Jason Wintergreen," I agree. "What are you doing here, cousin?"

Jase sneers at me. "Oh, now you acknowledge me. I thought you said I was a jumped up rascal with barely enough kinship to be a kissing cousin. Isn't that what you said when we were in school?"

I glare at the little weasel. "It is, and it is still true. I cannot imagine what Grandfather was thinking of, asking you to marry Rylie."

"Keeping it all in the family," he sneers back. "Did you think you were the only arrow to Grandfather Aims' quiver? He has a whole quarrel of plans just waiting to be set in motion."

I grind my teeth. "It seems, little stool pigeon, that your song was a bit incomplete. I'd persuade you to sing some more, but my affianced wife and my son are present."

"I thought you to be the mild mannered healer," Jason sneers.

Maddy speaks from the hall. She sounds angry and frightened, but speaks out boldly. "Surely," she says, "You have heard that the hands that can heal also can maim or even kill. Don't hold back on my account, Andrew."

"Our son is here," I say gently. "Can you keep Jason on ice for a little while, Austin?"

"Oh, yeah," Austin says, using his best deranged beach bum intonation. "I can definitely do that." He slides back out the door, taking Jason with him.