VII
It was not much later when Duncan raised his head, gave her a meaningful
glance, and glided toward the locked door.
>From the other side of the door came Connor's voice, calling in Gaelic.
That unadmitted fear in Rachel vanished, like the surcease of pain.
Duncan grinned a wide, relieved grin at her, and called back in the same
tongue. He unlocked the door, which opened to admit the conquering hero.
Once inside, Connor hardly acknowledged his kinsman; his deep-set eyes
sought only Rachel.
She said nothing, and Connor glanced once at her then looked away as he
removed his coat and hung it on the coat rack. He looked wonderfully,
blissfully alive and whole. Rachel saw no blood on him. Behind him,
Duncan relocked the door.
"I didn't kill him," Connor almost apologized.
The last great weight lifted from Rachel's chest. She waited.
"I didn't know him," he added, still not crossing the distance to his
daughter. "But, uh, he's leaving the country and has promised never to see
you again." Connor's apprehensive expression was almost comical.
There was silence in the room. The whole world seemed to hold its breath.
*Leaving the country!*
"So this is where," she responded levelly, "I pitch a fit and start
throwing Tiffany lamps at you."
Connor actually glanced at the lamps. "Yeah," he agreed.
"And I cry and scream how you have no right to run my life and I hate you."
Now, Connor moved to her. "Rachel," he began, studying her uncertainly.
"And you remind me about the Game and how it has to come first and how
there will be other fish in the sea." She smiled at him, pleased that no
tears sprang to her eyes.
"Rachel, I am so sorry." He held her shoulders and she let out a laugh.
She put her arms around him, and hugged him.
"I'm just glad you didn't kill him," she murmured. *And that he didn't
kill you.* She couldn't say that, though. It was against the rules.
Later she would wince when she thought of the "persuasion" poor Michael had
gone through, but right now, Michael was still the man who might have taken
Connor from her.
Her smile faded as she pulled back from him. "But, did he send the note?"
Connor turned his head to meet the concerned gaze of his kinsman. Looking
only to his fellow warrior, Connor shook his head. "It wasn't from him.
I'm sure of it."
Knowing what came next, Rachel slipped away from him and stepped back.
"Connor, I think Emmett has the note," Duncan admitted. "And he's left."
Connor stiffened. "You . . ." He cut off his words but the accusation
penetrated, nevertheless. Duncan accepted culpability with nothing more
than a tightening of his lips. He didn't look at Rachel.
But Connor did. Nothing more than a glance, but Rachel wondered if her
fresh makeup was apparent.
"And that's not all." Duncan's voice was level, but resigned. "Today's
receipts are gone."
What! With an incredulous look at both men, Rachel moved around to the
cash drawer in the desk. She stared at its void, then looked up at Connor,
afraid of what she would see.
Connor's frown hid his already hard-to-read eyes. He said nothing as he
read confirmation of Duncan's words in her face.
"We should call the police," she ventured.
"The police!" exclaimed Connor, fury and contempt infecting his words.
Duncan stepped forward. "It's robbery, Connor. And, if he's in danger,
the police are good at finding people."
Connor whirled to put his back to the other two, his face to the darkened
window. "So am I," he growled.
Rachel was glad she couldn't see his face, but she had to speak up. "I was
going to tell you . . . Michael works for the VA, and he said no Emmett
Nash has been in a coma with them. If you believe him."
No sound or motion betrayed Connor's opinion of her researching Nash behind
his back. She and Duncan waited.
"Call the police," he commanded.
VIII
The police showed only procedural interest in the robbery, but the mention
of the note brought an officer in plain clothes, a Lt. Rees, to the store.
He quizzed Connor about Emmett, and Rachel about the store's business
contacts. Rachel's responses were coolly professional, and Connor's were
curt. Duncan's presence the man accepted with little curiosity; most of
his attention was on the store's glowering owner.
Duncan lost his non-threatening status when he began questioning the
officer. "You know something about the note," he observed.
"I know what you've told me," Rees evaded. "Is there something you've left
out?"
"I'll give you my appraisal. It looked like it was typed on an IBM
Selectric with a standard ball and fresh ink. The paper was white 20
weight bond."
"Who is L.?" asked Rees.
"I think you already have an idea. The robbery alone wouldn't be worth a
lieutenant's time."
Rees gave Duncan an irritated look and addressed Connor, who listened,
hunched on the back of an armchair. "The note sounds like Lucky Luigi.
Crime boss. Family man. He's getting on in years, now, but he's got sons
who leave his calling card. They do his killing, too. You running a fence
here, Mr. Nash? Sell Lucky a little short, maybe?"
Connor unrolled from his slouch and sprang to stand nose to nose with the
cop. Duncan made a slight move as if to interfere, then froze.
The two men glared for a few seconds. "Charge me or get out," ordered
Connor.
Rachel let out her held breath. "Lt. Rees," she said, trying to sound calm
and reasonable, "if we were fencing stolen goods, 'L.' would have no reason
to say 'I've found you.' We've been here for years."
Rees was not going to be intimidated, and he made no withdrawal from
Connor's challenge. But he did look to Rachel and answer civilly. "Yes,
ma'am. But then, I've never seen this alleged note."
Connor made a low, inarticulate sound in his throat. "You think we made it
up!" he yelled.
Now Duncan did step up and place a hand on Connor's shoulder. "Rachel's
right," he said to Rees. "If we knew who L. was, why would we invent an
incriminating note?" Rachel saw Duncan's hand squeeze some signal to
Connor.
Connor took a deep breath and forcibly relaxed. "Are you going to look for
Emmett Nash?"
"Your father?" the detective almost taunted. Rachel caught her breath
again. She wondered for a brief moment if all policemen were pigs.
Connor's eyes narrowed dangerously, but he didn't allow himself to be
baited. He said nothing.
Rees put his notebook away and began to button his coat. "Yes, Mr. Nash,
we will look for Emmett Nash." He walked to the door and paused. "You
should know . . . we've already done some checking on your 'father', and so
far we've found no record of him anywhere, after the war. Call us if he
turns up." With a smile and a tight nod to Rachel, he left.
The silence which Rees left behind was heavy and stifling like a wet
snowfall. Duncan sank into the armchair Connor had perched on earlier, and
sighed. Rachel took the desk chair and looked at Connor. Connor looked
out the window.
Rachel knew Connor could maintain an angry silence for days, unconcerned
about the discomfort it caused those around him. The best way to break it
was to get him thinking; not brooding.
"Emmett Nash is real," she volunteered, braving the subject. "The VA has
his service record." She decided not to bring up her source of this
information.
Connor turned his head a fraction.
"So it's only after the war that there are no records on him," mused
Duncan. "You looked in his room?"
"He hasn't packed," Rachel replied. "But I didn't go through his things."
Now Connor turned to face them, listening intently.
"We may be ignoring the obvious," Duncan mused.
Rachel waited for him to finish, but Duncan merely met his kinsman's gaze.
Connor went from stillness to motion in a startling burst. He opened a
drawer of the desk, and took out the watch Emmett had given him. He tossed
it to Duncan.
"How old is that inscription?"
Duncan worried the watch in one hand, and moved to the jewelry case where
he found a jeweler's lens. He returned to his chair and peered through the
lens.
Curious, Rachel thought. Connor was quite capable of the appraisal. Maybe
he didn't want the answer to be biased.
"Forty years. No more," Duncan announced.
"Less?"
Duncan, who didn't know the significance of the watch, showed sudden
understanding in his expression. He looked again.
"At least thirty," he judged. He tossed the watch back to Connor.
Connor nodded, wound the watch, then put it on.
"Rachel," he said, both kind and commanding. "Pack for the beachhouse. I
want you out of town."
"I have a final," she protested.
Connor ignored her. "Duncan, I need you."
"Kinsman," Duncan replied quietly, "you know I'm yours. But, is this our
concern? It may be a police matter."
Connor didn't answer right away. Then, with a glint in his eye, he said,
"Emmett's running from the mob. Duncan, my father's in trouble."
And that was that.
