John Hart - Iron House

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.”