Intimate Strangers (11 page)

"Then what’s wrong?"

He frowned. "Hannah…"

She waved him to silence. "What’s wrong?"

"Listen, damn it! I’ve said all I can. I’m between a rock and a hard place. Just trust me, please. I really can’t say anything more."

"Why not?"

"You’re asking me to violate a vow I made. I can’t. Hell, I won’t do it, not even for you. Sean’s one of my closest friends, and I value both his friendship and our shared history. I also respect his privacy. Until I’m absolutely certain that you pose no threat to him, I cannot and will not initiate messages, searches, or anything else."

They stared at each other, locked in unspoken combat as they waged a war of wills replete with need and refusal, desperation and empathy.

Several minutes ticked by.

Still, neither spoke.

Hannah tried to read the emotions in his face, but all she saw was his stubborn determination to keep a vow. She sensed his distress went far deeper, however.

She pressed her palms together, struggling to rein in her temper, her escalating anxiety over Sean, and her frustration with the entire situation. When the fax machine situated on a long narrow table behind his desk beeped suddenly, Hannah nearly leapt out of her chair.

Nicholas scrubbed his face with his hands, and then raked long, narrow fingers through his hair in a universal gesture of male frustration. He muttered three words as he turned his chair to the table. "About fucking time."

Hannah, too disconcerted to say anything, simply sat in her chair and stared at him. Her thoughts drifted back to his comments about Sean. Something didn’t add up, she realized, but it took her a moment to discern exactly what. Meantime, Nicholas retrieved several pages from the fax machine once it completed its transmission.

She watched him scan four printed pages as he sank back in his chair. He slid the material he’d just received, printed side down, onto his desk blotter, and then typed a brief message on his laptop keyboard. The email sent, he shut down the computer and returned his attention to Hannah.

She spoke quietly. "What you’ve told me coincides with the letters and postcards I used to receive from Sean, but I need more than a travelogue, Nicholas. Whether out of loyalty to him or out of some desire to stop me from finding my brother, you’ve skimmed the surface of his life. I don’t appreciate your clouding the issue, nor do I care where he’s been, or, for that matter, what he’s done since he left home. I have no intention of judging or condemning Sean, so there’s no need to protect him any longer. It’s not necessary. It never has been."

He pondered her for several silent minutes, then reached out and flicked a series of switches on the panel atop his desk. Two wall panels simultaneously slid out of sight to reveal a large, sensor–studded grid map of his property. The second expanse contained a collection of TV monitors, which scanned every room in the house, except the bathrooms, and the exterior grounds immediately around the dwelling. Nicholas then flipped another switch.

First, she heard the sound of the radio she’d left on in the kitchen at lunch time. The whistling sound of the wind followed as it buffeted the roofline of the house. She gaped at the exotic array of security devices and communications equipment housed in his office.

When she finally dragged her gaze back to Nicholas, she said, "I’m in way over my head, aren’t I?"

"On the surface, it probably appears that way. There’s no need to worry about your own personal safety."

"But most people don’t…" She groped for the right words. "I mean, you’ve got enough equipment here to open your own electronics outlet. This is not just a simple case of protecting your privacy, is it?"

"Exactly."

"And you’re certain you’re not being paranoid?" Hannah couldn’t wrap her mind around the idea that anyone could require such elaborate protection from the outside world.

He smiled, but his attempt at a reassuring expression served to enhance the strained look on his face. "I probably am a bit paranoid."

"Is Sean in danger?"

"Threats exist," he conceded, "but they’re manageable, as you can see."

"Are you…" Hannah paused, suddenly flustered. In the seconds that followed, she tried to come to terms with what Nicholas had just revealed, not just her realization that his survival and happiness meant everything to her. She made herself complete the question. "Are you in danger, too?"

"I have been."

"For heaven’s sake, why?" she exclaimed. "What kind of man are you? What exactly have you and Sean done to cause people to want to harm you?"

Nicholas exhaled, the harsh sound revealing the toll of too many years lived in a heightened state of self–protective awareness. Leaning forward, he rested his forearms atop his desk and peered at Hannah with an intensity that assured her he was doing more than gathering his thoughts.

He finally said, "We’re just men who’ve lived life by a different set of rules, rules that alter a man’s values and make it hard for him to trust anyone."

"Do you trust yourself enough to know the difference?" she couldn’t help asking. "I mean, you can’t really believe that most people hold a grudge against you or want to kill you."

"Not most people," he agreed, "although the last woman who wandered onto my property was a paid assassin."

"You must be kidding!"

"I don’t kid about death, Hannah."

She heard resignation to a reality she could barely comprehend, not just the echo of loneliness in his voice that made her heart ache. What had Nicholas—or Sean, for that matter—done to become the target of even one act of violence, let alone the possibility of repeated attempts to kill them?

She nodded. "I believe you."

In that moment, Hannah stopped blaming Nicholas for his baffling behavior. She also ceased her resentment of his suspicious nature. She even forgave him his commando–style raid on her van that first day. And she thanked God that he was still alive and that her brother possessed such a faithful friend and ally.

"Hannah?"

"Yes?"

He straightened in his chair, as if steeling himself to withstand a crushing blow. "What are you thinking right now?"

"I’m thinking my big brother is fortunate to have you for a friend. Don’t look so shocked." She smiled, but her eyes remained troubled. "Now, are you going to stop treating me like the enemy?"

"I think of you in a variety of ways, but that’s not one of them." He shoved the fax he’d received across the blotter atop his desk. "You have more… staying power than any woman I’ve ever known."

"Thank you, I think."

She took the pages he’d shoved in her direction, but she glanced at Nicholas before inspecting them. The enigmatic expression on his face concealed his emotions. However, she thought she saw a hint of worry in his eyes.

Under his watchful gaze she scanned a copy of her driver’s license, which topped the first page, then copies of her library card, school identification, and her court certified child advocate credentials. She paused, uneasiness sweeping over her. Her frown deepened as she skimmed what amounted to a summary of her thirty year life.

She grew more and more disbelieving as she read the location and date of her birth, a Cassidy family bio that listed the names and current ages of her siblings, the name of the surgeon who’d performed her tonsillectomy on her seventh birthday, her grade point average in college, and a note about her broken engagement to fellow teacher Len Hillman five years earlier. Her jaw sagged in disbelief when she read the details surrounding the parking ticket she’d received less than three weeks earlier.

"How? Who?" she managed in a strangled voice.

"The process isn’t complicated, although it took longer than I expected."

His negligent tone grated on her nerves. "Who… who sent this to you?" she asked, her voice faint with shock.

"It doesn’t matter, Hannah."

"Of course, it matters. The FBI? The CIA? Tell me, damn it!"

"Don’t ask questions I can’t answer."

His level tone provoked instant fury. Appalled by the thoroughness of his investigation, she said, "I don’t know if I should smack you into next week or applaud your nerve. You’ve invaded my privacy without any regard for how I might feel about it. Why didn’t you just ask me about my life? I don’t have any secrets."

"I had to know, but in my own way. And for the record, everyone has secrets."

She fought for and found the strength to control her temper. "Because of Sean?" She waited for him to speak, to somehow justify his behavior, but he simply nodded. "You’re not telling me everything, are you?"

Nicholas shrugged, leaned back, and closed his eyes. He rubbed his temples as Hannah studied him. Despite her anger, a frisson of compassion passed through her. She ached for him, but she refrained from indulging the urge to put her arms around him and offer him a taste of the compassion that was integral to her personality.

"You cannot go on like this, Nicholas."

He refocused on her. "Like what?"

"You deserve to be a part of the world. And so does Sean. Your lives are starting to remind me of some self–imposed prison sentence."

"You’re wrong. I’m comfortable here, and I value my privacy. Sean feels the same way."

"I’m right," she shot back, "and you know it, even if you’re too stubborn and too paranoid to admit it. It may be beautiful here, but you’ve created a fortress, not a home."

Hannah slapped the four–page report onto his desk and surged to her feet. She paced the length of his office several times, glancing repeatedly at the wall map and TV monitors each time she passed them. She finally paused, gave Nicholas a searching look, and then approached him.

"You should be able to come and go as you please. You shouldn’t need to worry about people who might want to hurt or kill you. You should feel secure in your own home without all of these exotic security devices."

"You never cease to amaze me."

"Why?"

"You’re so fucking innocent!"

"Wrong again! I am not innocent!" She thought of the traumatized children she mothered and loved when she wasn’t elbow–deep in first graders. "But if I’m innocent of your particular world, I think I’m lucky, but it doesn’t mean I’m stupid, or naïve, or that I should be treated like some bubblehead who can’t be trusted. Neither does it mean that I’m blind to the fact that you’re lonely."

Nicholas went rigid with tension. "Don’t."

"Don’t what? Don’t be honest with you? Don’t care about you? Don’t feel sad that you’re trapped by circumstances you seem unwilling or unable to change? Don’t tell you that you deserve to be loved? My God, Nicholas, you’re missing out on so much that life has to offer."

"Do not assume that you know what I need or want. You don’t know a damn thing about me or the life I’ve lived. I may be a loner, but I’m not a fool."

"I don’t think you’re a fool" she protested. "I just think…"

"Stop thinking. It’ll just get you into more trouble."

She bristled. "Quit telling me what to do, because I have no intention of following your orders. Being rude or condescending will not change the facts."

"You’re a guest in my home." His eyes looked glacial as he abandoned his chair, advanced on her, and then glared down at her.

She glared right back at him, hands knotted into fists and parked on her hips, stubborn chin jutting forward, and green eyes flashing fire as she snapped, "Guest or not, I have every right to my opinions."

He grabbed her by the shoulders and jerked her forward. "You do not have rights unless I grant them."

Hannah pulled free, backing away from him. She stopped once she’d put a chair between their bodies. "I’ll leave you to your solitary life the instant you tell me how to find Sean."

"No!"

"But you said…"

He didn’t let her finish. "I said nothing of the kind."

"You bastard! You’re just being perverse," she accused.

"Life is perverse." His voice matched the bleak expression on his face.

Nicholas thought then about the man that Sean Cassidy had become, in particular his aversion to being around people. Any people. No exceptions. Post traumatic stress disorder. Sean suffered from one of the worst cases Nicholas had ever seen. His heart sank, because he grasped the shock and disappointment that Hannah faced if he even managed to arrange a meeting between the brother and sister. For his part, he felt torn between an old and time–tested loyalty and his hunger for this fierce woman who defended the innocent and challenged him at every turn.

Did Hannah possess the strength and courage to accept Sean’s radical personality changes? Would she accept Sean’s altered reality, or would she become the avenging crusader and set out on a hopeless mission?

"Please help me find him," she whispered.

"You don’t know him any longer. He’s changed in more ways than you can possibly imagine or understand." He hesitated. "If he views you as a potential threat, he could…"

"None of that is important," she interrupted. "I just need to speak to him, Nicholas."

"And I need to get back to work." He abruptly turned away from her and returned to his desk.

Hannah swore, the word stark even by her host’s standards. She marched to the open door and stepped into the hallway.

"Hannah!" he shouted.

She reappeared in the doorway, glowering at him. "What?"

"Sean is alive and safe, and I intend for him to remain that way."

She sighed. "Please just ask him if he’ll see me for ten minutes. That’s all the time I’ll need. Then I’ll leave, and I won’t ever bother you again."

Nicholas hesitated. He finally nodded, aware that he owed her an attempt to orchestrate a meeting, not just for her sake, but for Sean’s as well.

He watched Hannah disappear from sight. The prospect of never seeing her again brought to mind the darkest period in his life, a time during which the inhumanity of others had shriveled the hope in his heart and the constant threat of death had dominated the landscape of mind and soul.

He shook himself free of the melancholy settling over him. He devoted several hours to repeated attempts to establish contact with Sean, sending coded non–crisis messages to each cabin on his property. He knew that all of the residents of the preserve would search for Sean and convey his desire for communication.