Iron House (17 page)

Michael felt the stillness in the room, the way Elena stared at him. She’d never seen him raise his voice, never seen him angry.

“No one meant any disrespect,” Abigail said. “We understand your connection to Julian. We welcome it. Please, don’t be angry.”

Yet. Michael was. He was angry at the world, and he was angry with himself. Stepping into the hall, he pointed at the guard. “You. What’s your name?”

“Richard Gale.”

“Are you any good with that?” Michael nodded at the weapon on Gale’s belt.

“Michael, what are you doing?”

Abigail came out behind him, worried. She caught his arm, and Michael pulled it free. He studied Richard Gale and liked what he saw. Assurance that bordered on eagerness. An utter lack of fear or doubt as he sized Michael up. “Try me,” he said.

And that moment told Michael everything he needed to know. He took Elena’s hand, and turned. “We’re leaving.” He led her down the long hall and onto the sweeping staircase. Behind them, Abigail followed, Jessup Falls two steps behind the hem of her skirt.

“Michael, please…”

He was resolute, but she caught him at the front door. “Why are you leaving?”

“I came to make sure my brother was safe. He’s safe.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve counted six guards since I got here. There’s probably more, all of them well armed and professional. The property is gated and walled. Video surveillance. Electronic countermeasures.” Michael shook his head. “Julian doesn’t need me.”

“But he does. You can’t just show up and then leave. He needs you. I need you.”

Michael stared out beyond the far gate. Jimmy was out there, coming. Elena’s hand felt warm and small when he squeezed it. “Other people need me, too,” he said.

That thought burned in Michael’s mind, and in Elena’s, too. She squeezed his hand in return, and he felt her relief in the way she molded against him. He’d done what he needed to do. Julian was safe. Now, they could make a life, build a family. “We have to go,” he said.

But Abigail was not finished. “You said he’s safe.”

“He is.”

“From what?”

Their gazes locked, and she was so desperate to know that Michael almost told her the truth. Jimmy. Stevan. The target painted on his back. But what purpose would such disclosure serve? “I have enemies.” He kept it simple. “People I thought might choose to hurt me through Julian.”

“What kind of enemies?” Falls forced himself into the conversation.

“People that don’t want to hurt Julian badly enough to risk security like this.” Michael was confident. Julian was bait, nothing more. “The risk leaves when I do.”

“That’s not good enough,” Falls said. “What risks? What threats? If there’s a danger out there, I need to know what it is. I want specifics: names, timing, all of it.”

But Michael was confident. Stevan had used Julian to flush Michael into the open. “Julian’s in no danger. Not here. Not with this security.”

“How did you even find us?” Falls demanded. “Adoption records are sealed. Julian’s father is a United States senator.”

Michael gave him a second, then said, “I’ve known for a long time how to find my brother.”

“How?”

A shrug. “I have resources.”

“That give you access to private information on a senator and his family? What kind of resources?”

What could Michael say? How could he explain that he knew Julian’s
GPA
from high school, that he had copies of their tax returns, photographs of the senator with two different prostitutes. Michael remembered his seventeenth birthday. Early in the morning, the sky outside still black. The old man had come to Michael’s room with a thick folder in his hand.

A man should know his family
. He’d put the file on Michael’s bed, offered a sad, knowing smile.
Happy birthday, Michael
.

It was a dark gift, but extensive. Michael later learned that the old man had spent almost five hundred thousand dollars on private investigators and corrupt officials. The old man did nothing in a small way.

So, yes.

Michael knew the senator and his family. He squeezed Elena’s hand. “We’re leaving now. It’s better for us, better for Julian.”

“But you saw him!” Abigail was desperate. “You can’t just leave.”

“I shouldn’t have come.”

“Why did you?”

She looked desperate, and Michael answered the question in his mind:
Because I had to see the security for myself; because I had to know he was protected.

“He’s your brother, Michael. Please.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What kind of danger?” Falls demanded. “What kind of threat?”

“Nothing you can’t handle.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“It’ll have to do.”

Michael aimed for the far gate and started walking. Abigail took a dozen running steps and cut him off a final time. “Damn it, Michael.” She flattened her palm on his chest, and then hesitated. She threw a glance at Falls, the giant house. “Nothing is ever as it seems. Understand? Nothing. I need you to reconsider.”

“Why?”

Elena pulled on Michael’s hand, and even he was thinking of the places they could go. Europe. South America.

Large cities where they could disappear.

Long stretches of lonely beach.

“The guard in whom you found such comfort.” Her words were clipped. “Richard Gale. In the hall outside Julian’s room.”

“What about him?” Michael asked.

“He’s not just there to keep people out.”

“Are you saying Julian is a prisoner?”

Michael felt Elena stiffen beside him. Her fingers tightened in a quiet, insistent squeeze, and he thought of what his brother had said in his moment of clarity. Then he considered the clarity, itself—the cleanness of it, the sharp, bright edges surrounded by madness. He allowed his gaze to drift down and left as he studied the long, narrow lake, the things he saw on its shores. When he looked back, Abigail was imploring with her eyes.

“I’m saying it’s complicated, and you should stay.”

She stood taller, one hand on his arm.

“I’m begging you.”

There was a time, once, when Michael could walk away from people who slowed him down. It was the most basic rule of life on the street: survival first. It was the first thing he learned after stepping off the bus in New York: people will lie, and people will kill. That truth was wound so tightly in his core it was part of him; but that was changing. Looking at Elena, he felt the cable loosen in his chest.

“Are you okay?” They were back in the car, following Jessup Falls to the guesthouse.

“We shouldn’t be here.”

“It’s just a day. Just to make sure.”

She stared at a far, gray line in the sky. “Clouds are piling up.”

“He’s my brother.”

“And what am I?”

Michael took her hand. She was angry, and he understood. “Look at me, baby.”

“No.”

“Look at me.” She looked, and Michael said, “You’re everything else, you understand? You’re my life.”

At the guest house, Falls waited for them to climb from the car, then rolled down his window. Like Elena, he was unhappy. “It’s unlocked,” he said. “There’s everything you need. Call the house if something comes up.”

“All right.” Michael stayed near the car. Elena went onto the porch and sat.

“You won’t find the gun in your car,” Falls said.

“I noticed.”

“I’ll give it back to you when you leave.”

“Do I need to count the money?” Michael dropped his duffel bag on the gravel, and watched Falls stare for long seconds before looking up.

“There’re no thieves here, young man. And no fools, either.”

“I’ll remember that.”

Falls thought for a second, then said, “I may just be hired help, but Julian’s like a son to me. I watched him grow up. I helped raise him, and have a warm place in my heart for his mother. There’s not much I won’t do for him.”

“Your point?”

“My point is I’m not as forgiving as Mrs. Vane. It’s not in my nature and not in my job description. Point is you need to talk to me. There’re things I need to know and I plan to know them. You think on that. I’ll expect you to have a different attitude come morning.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“In the meantime.” Falls put the big Ford in gear. “Don’t come near the main house without permission. Dogs are out after dark, and the guards are for more than show. I can promise you that.”

“I think we understand each other.”

Falls waited a heartbeat, then took his foot off the brake. Michael watched taillights fade in the dark beneath the trees, and then joined Elena on the porch. She was in a rocking chair, knees drawn up. Michael sat beside her. “Are you hungry?”

“I’m scared.”

“Give me a second.” He returned to the car and triggered the release of the driver’s-side air bag. It was disengaged, hollowed out. Inside was the forty-five, wrapped in newspaper to keep it from rattling. “See, all better.”

Yet Elena did not feel better. She went into a back bedroom, pulled the curtains and climbed into bed. “I love you, Michael, and I can handle this. Your brother. This place. I can give you your day, and you can get some answers. Just tell me you know what you’re doing.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

“Swear it on your soul.”

He touched his heart. “I swear on my soul.”

She pulled his head down and kissed him. “Do you love me?”

“You know I do.”

“What if you had to choose? Julian or me? Julian or the baby?”

“That won’t happen.”

She cupped his face with both hands, stared deep into his eyes. She kissed him hard, then rolled onto her side.

“It just did.”

Jessup had a room apart from the servant’s wing. It had a small living area, a closet, a bath and its own separate entrance. He could have taken a larger room, but he valued the entrance, the privacy of his own door. Abigail knocked on it an hour after Michael was taken to the guesthouse.

“Come in.” Jessup opened the door and stepped back as Abigail pushed in. They were on the north side of the mansion, the door recessed at the bottom of three shallow steps that got little sun and smelled of damp concrete. Abigail brushed past him without a word. She had an unrestrained look in her eyes, an animation she normally suppressed. He shut the door, and she paced. She traced a line of books with her fingertip, sat on the bed, then stood.

“I’ve always liked this room,” she said. “Very masculine.” She took in the heavy furniture, the paneled walls and small stone fireplace. She picked up a hand-forged fire tool, tilted it so the hammer marks glinted. “It suits you.”

“Are you okay?”

She replaced the poker and it clanked hard against the metal stand. “He’s settled at the guesthouse?”

“Yes.”

“After all these years.” Her shoulders rose. “I can’t believe he’s here.”

“It’s concerning.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“We have different concerns.”

“Must you always be so paranoid?”

“Must you always be so naive?”

She allowed a smile, touched his arm. “Such strong shoulders to bear the weight of the world…”

“You’re damn straight.”

Abigail let her hand fall away, and the smile went with it. “Have you informed the senator?”

“I’ve spoken with his security. Senator Vane is still meeting with lawyers.”

“What do his people think?”

“They think Michael’s a nut-job with an angle. Money, probably. If not that, then another asshole with ideas on abortion rights, gun control, the death penalty. Most threats against your husband revolve around those issues. They’re not looking any deeper than that.”

“But you are?”

“My interests are more personal.”

“Do you think he’s a danger?”

“I think we should be all over this guy.”

“I need more than your instinct.”

“There’s more.” Jessup moved to a small table in the corner beneath a window. He opened a file and spread out a sheaf of photographs. “These just came off the printer.”

“From his car?”

“The search was cursory, but still…”

“Who did you use?”

“Alden.”

“Alden’s good.”

Falls spread out a handful of photographs. The car. The license plate. Shots of the interior. “There was one weapon in the vehicle.” Jessup sifted out a close-up of a handgun. “Kimber nine millimeter, a high-quality handgun. The serial numbers have been removed. Not filed off, but burned off with acid. Very thorough. Very professional. We also found this.” Another photograph slid across the table. It showed an open duffel and bands of green.

“How much?”

“Two hundred and ninety thousand dollars, give or take. The bills are brand-new. Still in the sleeves.”

“Do you still think he’s after money?”

“Three hundred thousand is not a billion.”

“Is that all you found?”

“This was in the bottom of his duffel.” Falls slipped a photograph from the file folder and handed it over. The picture was of a book.

“Hemingway? Should I worry?”

“I’m just showing you what we found. The gun. Clothing. Cash. I saved the best two for last.” He slid out another picture. It was a close-up of another snapshot, a black and white photo of two small boys on a field of mud and snow. Time had degraded the image so that their features were washed out, their eyes specks of black.

“Oh, my God.” Abigail lifted the photo.

“It’s the same picture, isn’t it?”

“The yard at Iron Mountain.” She touched the two boys. Julian had the same photograph on his desk upstairs. It came anonymously one day when Julian was fifteen. No card. Just the photograph. For years, they’d speculated about that picture. Who’d sent it, and why? She’d often found Julian asleep with it in his hands. “You know what this means?”

“It means he’s known where to find us for a very long time.”

“But why didn’t he reach out to us? To Julian?” Abigail could not take her eyes off the photograph. According to Julian, it had been taken less than a month before Michael ran away. “We could have had him back years ago.”

“Which brings us back to timing.”

Some inflection in his voice made Abigail look up. “There’s more, isn’t there?”