26
Zeke turnedoff his desk lamp, braced his forearms on his knees, and closed his eyes as his head dropped forward.
He let the darkness roll over him. Tired. He was so fucking tired.
For once, at the end of the day, he’d like to leave behind the team leader, the decision-maker, the man responsible for his family’s well-being, and just be Zeke.
The guy who wanted to shoot the shit with his brothers. The guy who wanted to spend Sunday mornings fishing on Lake Junaluska. The guy who wanted to learn new ways to make Olivia Westcott cry out his name.
“Dream on, Blackwell.” He rose and stretched out muscles that had sat knotted for far too many hours.
The other offices were dark, and no one lounged in the Theater. Not surprising. It wasn’t unusual for him to lock up for the night.
The Theater was where the magic happened. Where the team ironed out the finer details of a recovery and worked out their problems.
Not with each other. Those stayed locked in silos until a stray missile blew off a door, releasing a mad explosion of new or ancient wounds. Those moments didn’t come often, but based on his brothers’ growing frustration, the countdown was underway for the next launch.
On the way out, he tapped in his security code and began the slow process of work detox.
He shoved his hands into his front pockets and drew in a lungful of fresh North Carolina air. Crisp and cool, it was a welcome balm to his heated blood. High above, a full moon ascended, whitewashing every blade, leaf, and shingle.
Liv’s guess that the St. Martins had invited her friend Kayla Krowne to the benefit had been spot-on. The object she would present to the curator on arrival was a simple, everyday ballpoint pen with purple ink. Nothing flashy, nothing expensive. Just another means of identity verification.
Zeke could think of a dozen other means of achieving the same goal, but rich people enjoyed their own special blend of high drama and games. He often wondered if they had branched off into their own subspecies. Homo sapiens opulenta? It would explain a lot.
Unfortunately, Kayla couldn’t tell Phin if the objects were unique to each guest or identical. Until they had that information, their recovery was dead in the water.
According to Sardoff, Lupos was in St. Martins’ museum. Dead in the water wasn’t an option. Somehow, they had to get both Phin and him on the guest list.
He couldn’t get this close to the ancient sword only to be thwarted by a damn purple pen or silver fork or whatever nonsense item the guests were supposed to bring. Once he confirmed Lupos’s location, he would make the appropriate modifications to the doll’s recovery plan and bring home the sword.
Then finally, he could place it above the now-empty fireplace mantel, where he could see it every day. Draw strength and inspiration from its sometimes violent and troubled past.
He recalled Liv’s curious expression as she stared at the empty hooks above the fireplace. If Brodie hadn’t diverted her attention to the elk head, Zeke would have been forced to give her the same line he’d given his family for the past year. I have something special in mind. But somehow, he didn’t think Liv would allow him to get by with such a vague answer.
Thank the Almighty for shrieking children.
Without conscious thought, his steps had taken him to the one place that quieted the conflicting voices in his head. Turning the latch, he stepped inside the chapel and paused, giving his eyes time to adjust to the penetrating darkness.
Once he could make out the former communion table on the dais, he strode between the wooden pews and waited for his mental chaos to quiet. Rather than feeling soothed by the peaceful setting, the small space seemed to amplify the riot in his head. Locating the small box on the table, he removed a match and scratched it along the side.
Light flashed and hissed, pushing back the night. He set the flame to three large candles and stared at the flickering columns as if they held the wisdom he sought in the depths of their singed wicks.
Night after night, he sat in the second pew on the right and replayed the day’s events, looking for flaws to fix and holes to patch.
There were always holes.
Many he spotted, some he didn’t. The holes made uninterrupted sleep impossible. Waking up in a cold sweat was expected, not unusual.
Tonight, his feet were too heavy to carry him to his favored pew. He stayed rooted before the Lord’s table. His hands clenched into fists deep in his pockets. Rebellion roared in his heart.
If Ash were still here, would Zeke be curled around Liv’s sated body rather than brooding inside an old chapel?
He gripped the edge of the table and squeezed his eyes shut against the erotic images.
One night.
They had spent one night together, and yet he couldn’t get her out of his mind. Out of his blood.