Somewhere I'll Find You (34 page)

His contact laughed humorles
sly.  “It’s been making waves
ever since he was arrested in America.  A bill of sale could be traced back to the man, easy as you please.  Apparently, it’s one of his own special vintages, and only he produces it.”  There was a pause that told Michael that there was even more bad news, and when the man spoke next, Michael knew that
his hunch was correct
.  “Carver is on his way to personally look into the matter.  He says it’s only to assist, but you know how the man is.  He might arrive tomorrow or next year
, but I thought I’d tell you
.”

“Damn,” Michael muttered, “and muddy up the waters in the process.”

“Alistar plays his own game, he always has.  Even back during the last
Great War
, he played it fast and loose, and wasn’t even in his thirties
, then, was he?
  He isn’t bou
nd to change now.”  He
laughed when Michael gave him a curt version of his own opinion of Carver, and then remembered something
more.  “Oh, and one other thing:
Severance is insisting that he will only speak to you.”

Michael frowned.  “To me?”

“Indeed.  You might want to get going on it – the word is Carver wants you there as soon as possible.”

Carver be damned
, Michael thought as he returned to his papers.  There had to be something he was missing . . . something that was stirring up this hornets’ nest.  When his cell chimed again, Michael answered it with only half his attention.
  “Yes?”

“Sleeping well?”

Miles.
Michael frowned.  “As a matter of fact, no.  But I’m certain that’s not why you
rang
.” 
All right, what’s going on here?  Why is he calling so close after the call from London?  It’s almost as if he knew . . .

“Quite right.  Two things
:
I’ve just received information about Jenny Bowman.  According to the data that our people uncovered, she was on her way to success as an actress.  It appears that she died during the onset of the war – well
,
on the onset for our side of the pond, so to speak.”

Chills ran down Michael’s spine.  “How did she die?”

“Unclear circumstances,”
replied
Miles’ smooth voice.  “I’m afraid the whole affair was hushed up
, probably by the studios
.  Except for an old book dealer and an obscure researcher who had spent numerous years looking into the scandal that followed, we
probably wouldn’t even have the little that we do
.  It seems she died at her beachfront property – the s
ame little place that Paige
owns
now
.  The actor Erik Fletcher was somehow involved, but
with
the studio
hierarchy,
the way it was back then, everyone made certain that he was never officially implicated. 
Unofficially
,
ho
wever . . .” He paused a moment;
the sound of a rattling cup being placed back in its saucer reached Michael’s ears before he continued.  “There was
suspicion
that somehow he was involved, but
his alibi was airtight enough
,
so
there was no way to tie him to the incident.  It’s still considered a cold case
– after all
these years
,
it’s doubtful that anyone would poke their noses in it now.”

Michael placed the cell down, tired of mysteries, and tired of bad news.  Looking down at the open files, page after page of sterile details that provided absolutely nothing to answer the critical questions.  He sighed, wanting nothing more than to return to Paige and her large bed, but doubted that dallying with anyone, but especially Paige, would do anything to clear his head. 
All right,
he thought moving to his feet. 
I’m going to put these papers away
after
I have a chat with someone about getting ‘round the clock security. 
Abruptly
,
he grinned at the sound of a chiming clock. 
And then if Paige isn’t down by then, I’ll think of some unusual way to wake her.

* * * *

Seated in a taxi, Alistar Carver was in the middle of what promised to be a rotten night.  Sighing he glanced out at the rain-slicked streets.  Alistar hated rain.  It reminded him of just how much he had botched things with Jenny Bowman.

It had been raining that night, too.  Great gray sheets that banked off the sea and cut visibility until the tiny airstrip had almost been overlooked.  Somehow, she had managed to get past him and safely conceal documents
that
even after all these years, could destroy him. Now it was something that he had to set to rights personally, especially since Sinclair had somehow bungled his way into things.  It was time to put the past and its dangerous secrets to rest
,
once and for all.

The sun was shining brightly as Paige stood by tall windows that overlooked the bursts of roses that grew about the grounds.  Dreams that were far too real to be simply dreams paced like wildcats through her head. 
Her pulse raced when she thought of memories . . . heated memories that mixed with recent physical warmth … and left her trembling to the core.

She sighed
; there was no point waiting or refusing to confront the matters as they stood now.  The intimacy that she had shared with Michael pushed her far beyond her normal defenses, leaving her open to feelings that threatened to tear her apart.  Emotions that she wasn’t certain were entirely her own.  Her dreams pointed her to the idea that somehow, Jenny and Erik’s love affair and ensuing tragedy permeated through the house and, although it wasn’t a line of thinking she wanted to pursue, she knew that the fated lovers were somehow tied into the entire mess.  But the question that pattered madly through her brain were forcing her to the brink of madness.

One fact remained; Michael had to be told of her suspicions.
 
But where do I begin?  How do I even start?  Everything’s so confusing.  He has to be told, but …
It was ridiculous. 
She wasn’t even certain what she was going to say.

Yes
,
Michael, I have been having terrible dreams lately, full of Erik Fletcher and Jenny Bowman.  He was supposedly a spy for the British during the war, and everyone who knew him believed he was double-crossing them, working for the Germans and  . . . and what?

When she thought about it in those terms, what did it matter that a couple of people, who had died so many years before, had been involved in espionage?  What bearing did it have on the now? 
But I should tell him anyway,
she thought with a shake of her head. 
What if those dreams actually mean something?  The dress . . . the papers that we found.  They have to be important somehow.

That decided,
Paige tried the den only to find it empty, curtains softly ruffling in the morning breeze.  Glancing at the stack of papers that lay scattered on a rosewood desk, she glanced at them idly and then froze as she stared at the grainy faxed photo that lay beside them.  She didn’t have to be told that the woman was Jenny Bo
wman.  Feeling the blood rush f
r
o
m her face, she looked at that happy face and wondered how life could have gone so terribly wrong.

The sight was poignant enough to bring tears
trembling to her eyes
before she briskly shoved at the papers, watching them tumble to the floor in an angry cloud.  Something about the way that they fell reminded her of foggy darkness and a danger that still existed. It trembled in her every nerve and drummed savagely at her temples.  Suddenly she felt stifled,
choked,
and desperate to escape from an old house that held too much pain and too many secrets.

From another room, the sound of Michael’s voice, warm with excitement, steadied her.

“In the trunks?  That’s wonderful!”  Michael was on the phone with his Great-Aunt
Catherine
, when he heard Paige’s light steps
approaching purposefully
.  “Just a minute
,
Aunt
Catherine
.”  He covered the phone. 
“Our luck is changing at last.
  My aunt remembers collecting articles about Erik Fletcher
. 
I assume t
hey’re stored away in on
e of her trunks.  She’s going t
o . . .” His voice fell as he took in her pale face and the dark shadows under her eyes.  “Paige, what’s wrong?”

“I’ve got to get out of here.” Her voice was tense and determined. 
“
I’m done with the cloak-and-dagger nonsense.”

“
You’re not going anywhere alone,
” Michael
replied sharply.
 
“
Remember what happened yesterday?”

“Yesterday was a bad dream,” she replied flatly, heedless of the hurt her words could cause.  “Today is a reality check.”

“Damn it
, Paige, listen to me,
” he
grated, trying to keep his voice under control.  “You can’t …”

“No, you listen.  I don’t want explanations or excuses.  No doubt
,
they are all brilliant, but I’ve heard them all before.  My father never told me exactly what he did, but I’ll tell you this, he was exactly like you.”  Her eyes narrowed to sharp golden points while she crossed her arms.  “He was cool, smart, and very charming.  In fact, there was only one thing wrong with my father.  He was always off on some fantastic adventure on the other side of the world, leaving me alone.  Even when he was with me, his mind was somewhere else.  There was never any room for me.”  Taking a deep breath, she forced her voice to stop trembling.  “One day
,
he left and never returned.
  And you’ll do the very same thing if I let you.
”

Michael simply stared, the hand that held the phone dropping limply to one side.  On some level, he recognized the sound of his aunt’s voice, tinny with concern over the sketchy connection, but he paid no attention to it.

She looked at the walls lined with family photos, her eyes
coming to
rest on one of her father.  “So, I’m not interested.  Not in the past, not in this crazy mess
into which you’ve
steered me.  My life was normal
before you
– sane
,
even!  My home was just that, a safe haven that was
all mine.  Now …
” She
paused and swallowed; her voice was trembling again.
“
Now the home that I loved has been turned into something out of a gothic novel
.  All we need is a few rattling chains and some ghostly moans.  It’s ruined . . . every last bit of it.”