All Acts Of Pleasure: A Rowan Gant Investigation (29 page)

“I cut myself shaving,” I replied.

“Rowan…”

“It’s nothing.”

“Don’t tell me you and Ben got into it
again?”

“No,” I answered, shaking my head out of
reflex but stopping quickly when all it did was further enhance my
pains. “I think I would have ended up with more than just a split
lip if I had.”

“What happened then?”

“I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

“Row…”

“Really, I will,” I told her, overt sincerity
in my voice. “I promise…Right now, let’s just pretend for a
while.”

She paused for a long moment, and then with a
thread of disquiet accenting her voice, she whispered, “Pretend
what?”

“Pretend that this is all over.”

Another weighty interval of quiet filled the
room. I closed my eyes and tried to relax but didn’t meet with much
luck.

“It really isn’t, is it?” she asked, her
voice a faint whisper.

We were going to have more than enough to
deal with where Shamus was concerned, but that wasn’t what worried
me right now. I reached up to rub my temple even though I knew it
was a lost cause. I had hoped that Felicity’s freedom would make
the agonizing throb inside my skull subside, but it hadn’t. In
fact, the pounding had only grown worse since we’d arrived home,
and I couldn’t keep denying what it truly meant.

“No,” I finally said. “Not yet.”

“Well, on a positive note this gives us an
opportunity to reorganize the shelves,” I said as I began sorting
through the piles of books on the floor.

We had gone to bed almost as soon as Felicity
was finished with her soak in the tub even though it was still
relatively early in the evening for a Saturday. Of course, we were
both exhausted, physically and mentally; and, on top of that my
quick nap earlier had served only to whet my appetite for more
shuteye. With my wife safely home, the autonomic portion of my
brain took it upon itself to have a clandestine meeting with the
rest of my body. The immediate consensus was that the crisis was
over for the time being, and ethereally driven headache or not, it
was time for me to rest.

And, so it was decreed. Without warning, the
flow of adrenalin that had kept me going for the past two days came
to an immediate halt, and I was left with no other choice than to
give myself over to the dire need for sleep. Even with that,
Felicity had been a half step ahead of me and was already drifting
in a quiet slumber by the time I slipped beneath the blanket.

“I suppose that’s one way to look at it,” my
wife replied as she surveyed the mess. Her voice, however, was
devoid of anything resembling good humor. “I mean, was all this
really necessary?”

“Depends on your point of view, I guess,” I
told her. “Apparently they felt it was.”

She let out a heavy sigh and knelt to the
floor, starting in on the pile nearest her.

While the evening had been an early one for
us, so had the morning. Even with my gut feeling that more strife
was barreling toward us with no intention of slowing down, I wanted
to at least make an attempt at returning our lives to something
near normal, so I started in on the cleanup project with minimal
delay. Actually, we both did.

I had rolled out of the bed well before the
dawn, my body immediately complaining that it wasn’t quite finished
with its hiatus from the land of the conscious. But, I pressed on;
there was way too much work to do. I barely had the coffee started
when Felicity joined me in the kitchen, wordlessly slipping her
arms around me from behind and resting her cheek against my back as
she squeezed for all she was worth. The carafe had been full, with
the java maker sputtering its way through one last steamy gurgle
before she finally let go.

“I’m putting fiction here and non-fiction
over here, for the moment,” I offered, nodding toward the two
separate stacks as I quickly shuffled a pair of books between them.
“So…I’m almost afraid to ask, but I guess I should—how much laundry
do we have to do?”

“I’m not sure I even want to think about it,”
Felicity replied then shook her head and continued anyway. “I’d say
four loads at least, probably more. I think the cats made
themselves a nest in there. One of my formal gowns is snagged so
badly it’s completely ruined. Several of them are covered with
hair, and one of your suits as well. I’ll need to run a lint brush
over those then take them to the dry cleaners.”

“Sorry about that. I guess I should have
moved everything, or at least thrown something over the pile.”

“Like you didn’t have enough to worry about?”
she quipped. “I’m not upset with you. I blame them.”

“The cats?”

“No, the police. I should send the bastards a
bill. That was a four-hundred-dollar dress.”

“Well, at least tell me it wasn’t the shiny
black one with…” I waved my hands about in a failed attempt at
gesturing my way through the description.

“Aye, if you mean the black satin off the
shoulder, with the full skirt and basque waist. Yes.”

“Yeah…okay…whatever all that means…” I
replied. “But what I really want to know is if it’s the one that
really shows off your back and legs and has that design on the
front with all the sparkly things?”

“Yes.”

“Damn,” I mumbled. “You looked really hot in
that one.”

“I know,” she replied not even attempting to
feign humility. “That’s exactly why I bought it. And, it’s still in
style, too, dammit.”

I chuckled lightly. Even though my head still
hurt for reasons beyond the natural, there was something very
restorative about this conversation. In fact, it was comforting
enough to allow me to forget about the pain for a while.

“It’s not funny, Rowan. The dress is
ruined.”

“I wasn’t laughing at that, honey. It’s
just…never mind. It’s not important. I’m just happy you’re
home.”

“Me too.”

“So, ruined, huh?”

“Yes, ruined. Remember, they got hold of one
of your suits as well. Fortunately, it just looks like it’s only
covered with hair. No damage that I could see.”

“Well, save some money on that one. You can
just hit it with a lint brush and give it to charity,” I said,
half-joking. “It’s not like I wear suits that often.”

“Aye, I think not,” she replied as she looked
toward me. The corners of her mouth turned up in what might have
been a slight smile. “It’s the charcoal grey suit you just bought,
and I think it makes you look very handsome. You’ll be keeping
it.”

“Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

“Sure I can,” she returned in a light tone
that was suddenly replaced by anger as she sputtered, “Dammit!
Dammit!”

“What’s wrong?”

“Look at this!” she exclaimed, holding
up a tome that bore a severely bent corner and a large rip
traversing three-fourths of the cover. “This is my autographed
first edition of
Lucinda’s
Web
.
Damnnú iad
!
Where does it end?!”

“Calm down, honey,” I soothed. “I’ll get you
another dress, and I’ll get you another book.”

“That’s not the point,” she grumbled
then hung her head, carefully caressing the damaged novel.
Eventually, she sniffled and then whispered, “After everything
we’ve done for them…after everything
you’ve
done for them, and what you’ve been
through…why? Why did they do this to us, Rowan?”

After everything…

That preface was running through both
our minds but from somewhat different points of view, as my
thoughts were wallowing in the land of after everything
they’ve done to us,
why do I still
feel compelled to help them. It was a quandary I wasn’t sure I’d
ever work out.

Still, I couldn’t blame my wife for her
reaction to the situation. The damaged book was yet another act of
disrespect heaped upon a towering mound of contempt, with us at the
bottom. My own feelings had been a mirror image of hers just a day
before. I’d just had more time to come to terms with it than
her.

I replied softly, avoiding the obvious slur
against Albright that was lacerating the tip of my tongue and told
her instead, “I don’t know, honey. I wish I did, but I just don’t
know.”

“Why can’t we just be normal?” she
lamented.

I took in a deep breath then sighed. “Believe
me, sweetheart. That’s one I’ve been asking myself for a long time
now, and I don’t have an answer for it either.”

The ding of the doorbell joined together with
the sound of shuffling footsteps on the front porch and was
instantly followed by a quick round of yaps from the dogs,
effectively bringing our moment to an end. I started up from the
floor, but Felicity was already on her feet, quickly brushing her
dampened cheeks with the back of her hand.

“I’ll get it,” she mumbled. “I’m closer.”

I stood up anyway and immediately began
stepping around the semi-sorted piles to close the gap between us.
My protective attitude regarding her was still set to high, and I
wasn’t overly excited about her being the one to answer the door.
At this stage of the game, it wasn’t out of the question for
whoever was standing on the other side of it to be determined to
snatch her away from me once again.

Reaching the door, she stood on tiptoe and
put her eye to the peephole. Almost instantly, however, she pulled
back and began quickly fumbling with the lock.

“Who is it?” I asked.

“Austin!” she almost shrieked.

“Felicity, no!” I yelped, but I was too late.
She had already pulled the door open wide and was rushing forward
into an embrace with her brother.

“Austin!” she yelped his name again. “Gods! I
thought you weren’t coming until the end of the week?”

I covered the remaining distance in a pair of
steps, coming immediately behind my wife, my face wearing what had
to be a mix of anger and fear.

“Máthair
called
me, so I changed my flight and got here yesterday,” he said to her
as an explanation. “Are you okay, then?”

“I’m fine,” she replied. “I’m fine. Even
better now.”

I hated to break up the reunion, but as far
as I was concerned, my brother-in-law’s motives were still suspect.
I started to reach for Felicity, but as I did Austin met my eyes
with his own and spoke.

“Aye, Rowan,” he said almost apologetically.
“It’s all right, then. You needn’t worry, I’m sober. And, I’m only
here to talk this time.”

“What?” Felicity asked, pulling back and
casting her puzzled glance back and forth between us. “What do you
mean this time? What are you talking about?”

“Austin and I visited with one another last
night before you called,” I answered, my voice flat.

She looked back at me with a puzzled frown.
“What? You knew he was already here, and you didn’t tell me?”

“Given how it went, it wasn’t exactly high on
my priority list.”

“Don’t blame him, Felicity, it’s
understandable,” Austin interjected. “Like Rowan said, it wasn’t
what you would call a pleasant meeting.” He gave her a meek shrug
then nodded toward me. “I’m afraid I’m the one responsible for
marking up his face.”

My wife instantly turned a heated glare back
at her brother and snapped, “You hit him?”

“Aye, I hate to…”

The rest of his sentence was cut short by the
sound of Felicity’s open palm connecting firmly with his cheek.

* * * * *

“I can’t believe you would let our father get
to you that way, Austin,” my wife admonished her brother as she
placed a cup of coffee in front of him then scooted into a seat on
the opposite side of the breakfast nook.

Between the two of us, we had given her a
rough sketch of the events that had transpired the previous evening
before I received her call. Austin volunteered the fact that he had
spent the night only a few miles away in a cell at the Briarwood
police station. Fortunately, he didn’t seem to be holding a grudge
against me in that regard. Of course, Ben may not have told him
that I had sanctioned the idea, and right now wasn’t the time for
me to be making confessions.

“Well, remember, I was drinking,” he offered
as an explanation.

“Obviously,” she shot back. “But, even then
you should know better.”

“Maybe you’re right. I don’t know for sure,”
he half-agreed. “I’ll be honest, I didn’t believe him, not at
first. Not until he showed me the letters. Then I had to start
wondering if maybe he was telling the truth.”

“Letters?” she asked. “What letters?”

“That’s a little detail that got left out
earlier,” I offered.

“Go on, then,” she urged. “One of you add it
back in.”

“He has letters, Felicity,” Austin began.
“From you. Letters written in your own hand begging him to help you
get away from Rowan and his cult.”

“Cac capaill
!”
she spat, screwing up her face and shaking her head adamantly. “He
does not.”

“Aye, he does. He showed them to me.”

“Are you sure you didn’t imagine all of this,
Austin? Just how much did you drink last night?”

“I didn’t imagine them, Felicity.”

She shook her head again. “I know he’s got
his problems with Rowan and our religious path, but that’s just
insane.”

“You’re not going to get any argument from me
there,” I interjected.

“Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. Can you explain
them?” Austin asked.

“Yes. Like I said, you were imagining
things.”

“Hand to God, dear sister, I saw them with my
own eyes.”

“And, were you already seeing double?”

He shook his head and objected. “I may have
been drinking, but I was sober enough to know what I saw.”

“I can’t imagine why
daid
would make up something like
that, but all I can tell you is that they aren’t real.”