Heather Graham - The Dead Room

Well, she would probably either be dead now—having scared herself into an early grave—or in a mental hospital. Adam Harrison and his team, especially Nikki Blackhawk, had undoubtedly saved both her life and her sanity. But that was information she shared with no one. Not Brad, and certainly not Professor Laymon.

She watched as Brad walked over to talk to Laymon. Brad was definitely a good guy, the best. If she’d had a brother, he couldn’t have been better to her. Years ago, when they had first started working together, she’d known that he wanted more of a relationship, but no one was ever going to stand a chance against Matt. And in fact, he’d liked Matt so much himself that they’d all fallen into a great friendship. She hesitated, watching Brad, glad that nothing had changed, that he had kept a brotherly distance from her and given his full support without any indication that his affections could turn sexual. She knew she would never feel any differently about him; there came a point in life where someone was a friend and that would never change. Brad was tall, well muscled, patient, intelligent and fun. The perfect guy—for someone else. The great thing about their friendship was that they shared their love of what they did. Some of the first enjoyment she had felt since the explosion that had killed Matt had been because of Brad, because of the excitement in his dark and arresting eyes when they made a discovery.

In large part thanks to him, sometimes, she could even have fun these days, going for drinks or dinner after work. His presence kept other guys away, but if he wanted to start something up with someone else, she didn’t get in the way.

They had worked well together before the accident.

Now she relied on him more than ever—even if she was the one who usually “saw” the past more clearly and homed in on a location with eerily perfect accuracy. Sometimes he eyed her almost warily, but when she shrugged, he let it alone.

She watched as Laymon listened to Brad. His face lit up as if the sun had risen again purely to shine down on him. He was up in a flash, hurrying to Leslie’s side, shouting excitedly and bringing the rest of the team—teachers, students and volunteers—in his wake. “Watch where you walk,” he cautioned. “We don’t want all this work trampled.” Hopping over one of the plastic lines set out to protect the dig and provide the grid that allowed them to map their finds, he seemed like a little kid, he was so happy.

He stared at Leslie, eyebrows raised questioningly, then looked down at the skull she’d uncovered before turning back to her again. A broad smile lit his worn features. He pushed his Ben Franklin bifocals up the bridge of his nose and scratched his white-bearded chin. If anyone had ever looked the part of a professor, it was David Laymon. “You’ve done it,” he said.

“We’ve done it,” she murmured.

“We’ll uncover the rest of the skeleton in the morning, then get it to the folks at the Smithsonian…right away, right away. It’s too late to work anymore tonight, but we need to secure this area before we go, then get back to work first thing in the morning. From now on we’ll need speed—and real care. Leslie, I could hug you. I will hug you!” He drew her to her feet, hugged her, then kissed her on the cheek. She was suffused with color, a blush staining her cheeks, as a burst of applause sounded from all around them.

“Hey, please,” she protested. “We’re all in on this, and Brad was the one to cordon off this particular area.”

“Still, what a find,” Professor Laymon murmured. “You’ll need to speak to the press. This is big excitement for this area…for historians everywhere.”

“Please,” she said softly, firmly, “let Brad speak to the press. Better yet, the two of you can speak as a team.”

Laymon frowned, looking mildly annoyed.

“Please,” Leslie repeated firmly.

Laymon sighed deeply, looking at her with sorrow in his gray eyes. “You never used to be so shy,” he said. “Okay, sorry, I understand. It’s just that…” He shook his head. “I understand. Whatever you want. All right, I’ll get the ball rolling for the press conference, and you stay here—grab some students to give you a hand—and make sure that the site is protected until we get back to it in the morning. I’m going to see to it that we get some police out here to keep an eye on things, too.”

Leslie wasn’t sure why anyone would want to disturb a paupers’ cemetery, but she knew that plenty of digs had been compromised, even ruined, by intruders in the past. She assured Laymon that she would stand guard until they were battened down for the night.

He stared at her, letting out a sigh and shaking his head again as he walked away. Brad walked behind him. One of the grad students, a shapely redhead, hurried up alongside Brad, slipping an arm through his. Leslie decided that she would have to tease him about her later.

For a moment, she wondered what Brad said about her when he decided to get close to a woman. Oh, my friend Leslie? Completely platonic. She was engaged, but there was a terrible accident. She almost died, and her fiancé was killed. Since then she’s been having kind of a hard time, so I try to be there for her. But it wasn’t that long ago, just a year….

Just a year.

She wondered if she would ever again feel that there was a perfect guy out there for. Right now, all she felt was…

Cold.

Just a year. A year since she had buried Matt. Buried her life…

With a shake, she forced her attention back to her work.

Despite her determination to call it an early night, she found herself dragged to a celebration dinner. They didn’t opt for anything fancy—budget would always be important in field work—just a chain pancake house on the main highway. But when the group decided to go on to a local tavern for a few drinks, she at last managed to bow out.

She returned to the residence provided for those higher up in the echelon. She, Laymon, Brad and a few others were housed in a Colonial plantation that was now a charming bed-and-breakfast. Their hostess, a cheerful septuagenarian, rose with the rooster’s crow, so she went to bed early. She happily saw them off each morning, and since she was a bit hard of hearing, she was also happy when they came in late at night, because she never heard a thing.

Very tired herself, but feeling a comforting sense of satisfaction, Leslie helped herself to a cup of hot tea from the well-stocked kitchen left open for the help-yourself pleasure of the guests. She took a seat before the large open hearth that dominated the room and sipped her tea from the comfort of the rocker to the left of the gently burning fire. Within a few minutes, she knew she was not alone.

She glanced slowly to her side, a smile curving her lips as she looked at the man who had joined her. He had a rounded stomach, emphasized by his plain black waistcoat and the bit of bleached cotton that protruded from his waistband right where it shouldn’t. His wig was a bit messy, but in the style of his time, and the tricornered hat he wore sat perfectly atop it. His hose were thick, white and somewhat worn; his shoes bore handsome buckles. His cheeks were rosy, his eyes a bit dark and small beneath bushy brows. He looked at her and returned her smile with a sigh of satisfaction. “Well, now, it’s good and done, eh?” he asked her.

She nodded. “And you mustn’t worry, Reverend Donegal. It’s true that some of the bones will be boxed and sent for analysis, but the people at the Smithsonian are very careful and reverent. They’ll be returned, and we’ll see to it that all the dead are reinterred with prayers and all the respect that’s due them. And I believe that once the significance of what we’ve found here has been verified, the Park Service will have its way. A lovely memorial and a facsimile of the church will be built, and generations of visitors will be able to enjoy the beautiful countryside and learn about everything that happened here during both the Revolutionary and Civil Wars.” Her smile turned slightly rueful. “I know you did a great deal to help refugees during the Revolutionary War, but this very house was a stop for escaping slaves during the days of the Underground Railroad. There was also a Civil War skirmish in the front yard here. It’s amazing the place is still standing.”