Rebecca York - More Than a Man

Noah sucked in a breath. Simon was Thomas’s older son. And in following long-standing tradition, he should have been the one to take over from his father. But Simon had never been an easy child to deal with, and in his teen years, he’d exhibited some mental instability that had evolved into paranoid schizophrenic episodes.

Noah had paid for his treatment at a very expensive private mental hospital in the Bay Area. With medication, he’d been able to leave the hospital and had been living in Half Moon Bay, working at one of the many garden centers in the town.

“He quit his job and came home,” Thomas said. “I think he might be off his meds.”

“Thanks for the heads-up.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault. We’ll deal with it.”

“He’s been asking questions about you,” Thomas continued. “Questions I won’t answer.”

“I’m sorry to put you in that position.”

“As you said, it’s not your fault.”

They talked for a few more minutes about the young man as Noah drove north, looking with disgust at the brown haze hanging over the coastline.

By the time he reached Santa Barbara, the sky looked better. Continuing north of town, he turned off on a two-lane road that wound through stands of sycamores, live oaks and mounds of pampas grass.

It was a landscape he liked, a landscape he hoped he wouldn’t have to abandon anytime soon.

He had a good chance of realizing that ambition, because the location of his home was secret. When he’d changed his name twenty years ago, he’d made sure that nobody knew where the man named Noah Fielding really lived. His mail came to a post office box. His bank was out of state. And he could handle trans-actions over the Internet. In fact, there were no clues leading to his current location, and he meant to keep it that way.

GARY Carlson arrived on Grand Cayman just after Noah had checked out of his bed-and-breakfast. Gary was the brother of Eddie Carlson, the man who had been piloting The Fortune when it had gone down.

Eddie and Gary had been close, and he was having trouble coping with his brother’s death. He was also wondering why Noah Fielding felt compelled to transfer a million dollars to the widows of the men who had been in the submarine with him.

As soon as his plane landed, Gary went directly to the police station and tried to get the straight scoop on what had happened below the turquoise waters of the Caribbean.

The cops were sympathetic, but they wouldn’t give him anything beyond basic information because the incident was still under investigation.

Next he talked to the captain and crew of Neptune’s Promise, which was docked in George Town.

There were mixed reactions from the crew. Some thought the rich man who had backed the expedition, Noah Fielding, had sacrificed the other men to save himself. Others thought Fielding was just a lucky son of a bitch.

Whichever it was, Gary wanted to talk to him. But nobody seemed to have his address and nobody knew how to get in touch with him.

After thirty-six hours on the island, his anger and frustration building, he knew he wasn’t going to get any information on his own. He wasn’t a patient man under the best of circumstances, and he suspected his grief was affecting his judgment.

But he wasn’t willing to drop the inquiry into his brother’s death. Once back in Baltimore he looked up a local outfit he’d heard about—the Light Street Detective Agency—and hired them to tell him where to find Fielding.

PULLING up at the entrance to his walled estate, Noah used his remote control. The gate swung open, then closed behind him as he drove toward the sprawling house.

The landscaping along the winding driveway took advantage of the dry climate, interspersing huge boulders with yuccas, cacti and native plants like manzanita. Rounding a curve, he caught sight of the house which was mostly one story but jutted up to a second floor in several locations.

Home.

It was based on the design of an ancient pueblo village that he’d seen long ago and admired for the simplicity of its lines. He’d drawn up plans and started building the house himself, on acreage he’d acquired years earlier while using a different name. It was the site of an old ranch that the family had never been able to make a go of. They’d been glad to unload it to the eccentric gentleman from San Francisco. Noah had found it the perfect solution to his need for privacy. An estate out in the dry, brown hills.

The first dwelling had consisted of five rooms, but he’d added on to it over the years, hiring local workmen to help him with the construction. The house wasn’t the only building on the grounds. He had a workshop, a lab, a stable, a number of storage buildings and a fully equipped gym spread out around the property.

Thomas must have been waiting for a signal from the gate because he stepped outside the front door and waited for the car to pull to a stop.

Noah slowed, studying the man as he walked toward the Lexus. He’d been with Noah for a long time, and now he was in his sixties. He still stood straight and tall, and his mind was as sharp as ever. But there were little signs that he was getting on in years, like his receding hairline and the sagging skin under his chin. He wouldn’t be here forever, and Noah would have to face that sad truth sooner or later.

He pulled to a stop, put the vehicle in park and pressed the button to open the trunk.

Thomas stepped forward. “Let me help you.”

“No need.”

As Noah walked around to the trunk, he caught a flash of movement and looked up to see Simon appear in the doorway.

Moving slowly and deliberately, he approached Noah and his father.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

“It’s good to see you,” Noah answered evenly, as he studied the son of his old friend, trying to figure out how this would go. One thing he knew: he didn’t like the look in the young man’s eyes or the tone of his voice.

Simon answered with a laugh that made the hair on Noah’s scalp prickle. “You can’t fool me. You hate me.”

“Of course not.”

“You and my father. You’ve always been against me.”

“Let’s go inside and talk.”

And I’ll contact the hospital and have them pick you up.

“You’re hiding something from me.”

“No. Let’s go in and I’ll tell you everything.”

Hope bloomed in Simon’s eyes, and Noah thought he had broken through.

But the moment passed. “It’s too late for that.”

Simon pulled a gun from under his jacket.

Thomas’s eyes widened. “Put that away.”

The young man aimed the weapon at his father.

“You don’t want to hurt him,” Noah called out.

The weapon swung toward Noah who was calculating his chances of disarming the kid before something bad happened.

As the three of them confronted each other, Simon focused on his father again.

“If you won’t tell me what I want to know, then you’re going to die.”

As Simon raised the gun, Noah acted on instinct. Leaping forward, he pushed Thomas out of the way.

He heard an explosion, felt the impact of a bullet slamming into his chest. He crashed to the ground and as he lay in the driveway, another bullet made him jerk.

“Stop. For God’s sake, stop.” That was Thomas shouting at his son. Then he called out, “Help. Somebody help.”

Noah’s gaze swung toward his friend’s voice, but it was too much effort to keep his eyes focused. Everything around him was dimming.

He heard running footsteps, then scuffling sounds.

“Get the hell off me.” That was Simon. He started babbling threats, his voice fading as someone dragged him away from the bloody scene.

Thomas knelt over Noah. “I’m sorry. So sorry.”