Severed Threads (9 page)

Rachel shrugged. “I was planning to but I have a lot work to finish up before the meeting tomorrow."

"Well, if you don’t mind, I’d really like you to be there."

She studied him for a moment, struggling to keep her eyes from narrowing. "Why’s that?”

“
I have a dinner meeting this evening and a flight early tomorrow morning. I need you to go in my place.”

“
But aren’t there other board members attending?”

“
Possibly…but it doesn’t change the fact that you’re the best person to represent the foundation. The mayor will be there and Professor Ying would certainly appreciate your making the effort.”

Rachel came to an abrupt stop before the open storage room.

"So, can I count on you?" he asked.

"Sure," she said, nodding. "I’ll be here if you need anything else, Mr. Nash."

He took a few steps away then halted. "And Rachel, if you don't mind, it's
Tom
. I've never been a big fan of formalities."

She held onto the doorknob and forced a weak smile. "Right." She waited for him to continue on his path before she ducked inside. "Phew."

After palming the wall for a switch, she flipped it, illuminating the stuffy space. A pair of lights ogled an old portrait hanging on the wall: Warren Nash, the quirky Texas oil baron who had relocated to L.A., bringing his millions with him. She’d never officially meet Tom's grandfather, but shortly after being hired, she received a handwritten letter from him encouraging her to spend his money wisely. Time would tell if his grandson intended to continue his conservative practices.

Well, as far as finalizing grants was concerned anyway.

At the wall of metal file cabinets, she opened the S – T drawer and rifled through the crowded files. Trident’s folder was nowhere in sight. She picked up the phone and was about to buzz Marcy when another option came to mind. She pulled out a closed case drawer and discovered a file hand-scripted with the label
Cohen
. After tugging it free, Rachel considered returning to her office, however, that could mean another encounter with Tom. She opted for the bare wooden table and chair stationed beside her. Once settled, she spread out the contents of Chase’s folder: information on his boat, endorsement letters, his personal resume, newspaper clippings in all shapes and sizes. After scanning them thoroughly and making notes about his misadventures for more than an hour, her heavy lids dropped.

She rested her chin on her arm, intending to close her eyes for only a few minutes. But the warmth in the room seduced her, drawing her back under the ocean. She was breathing on her own – without a mask or regulator. Completely weightless with no sense of linear time. Through the murky water, an image came into view: a wetsuit, rapidly approaching. But strangely, she felt no apprehension, no overwhelming fear. No need to escape. The second she recognized Chase, he reached for her face. His lips were on hers, soft yet demanding – locked in a passionate kiss. Although her mind told her it was utterly impossible, that she should flee for her life, Rachel never wanted the sensation to end.

She never wanted to wake up.

“
Rachel.”

A man’s deep voice startled her awake. Her clouded vision fell on the silver-haired man standing in the doorway.

"It’s Uncle Paul. I was told you were in here."

As he stepped further into the room, she inwardly cringed. His resemblance to her father was uncanny. Disturbingly so.

“
I haven’t been able to reach you at home, so I thought I’d take a chance in coming here instead."

Rachel swallowed hard.
Why is he here?
She struggled to find her voice, but shame from avoiding him had stolen it. Gripping the top of the desk, she debated on what to do. She wanted to get up and edge her way out of the room. Bolt from any remnants of her guilt-ridden past.

"This is a pretty big place," he continued, taking a seat in an adjacent chair. "You could get lost here."

"Unfortunately, I’m...just about to head out." She closed the file and rose to her feet. "Maybe we could do this another time?"

Paul Lyons reached out, placing his warm hand on her forearm. "This will only take a moment. I promise."

Rachel slowly lowered herself and lifted her chin. His brown soul-piercing eyes forced a dry swallow.

"I can’t imagine how difficult this whole situation’s been for you…with your dad and his accident. Not to mention the police investigation that went on for months. You would think after living in this community for so many years…"

She was painfully aware that he was hardly telling her anything new. When her father's financial shortfalls came to light, an investigative reporter from the
Gazette
saw an opportunity to make a name for himself. He stirred up the township with ridiculous theories ranging from foul play to intended suicide. The idea that insurance was a possible motive was nothing short of ludicrous, especially with her father's history of overdue bills and lapsed policies. But worst of all, the medical examiner had listed the cause of Sam's sudden cardiac arrest as equipment failure and it had been Chase’s job to ensure the dive gear was working properly.

"Are you managing all right?" Matt's question invaded her thoughts. "Before I left for London, I know you insisted on handling your father's affairs, but there's no reason I couldn't pitch in now and –"

"I’m just fine. Really. There’s no need to worry about me." She lowered her eyes to his conservative black suit. Belated bereavement attire.

"Yes, of course, you’re right. Although I wasn’t able to attend the funeral, your dad would never forgive me for not looking out for you now." He layered his arms across his chest, giving the impression he was preparing for a lengthy visit.

Too little, too late
. She pressed her hands in her lap, willing him to walk out of her life, just like everyone else. Just like her absentee mother Allison Lyons. Even though the pretty ex-stewardess had two young children at home, she’d grown tired and disenchanted with her life. She’d cheated with a number of men before disappearing that night. Word reached her father three months later that she was living in Alberta, Canada with a corporate attorney who had three kids of his own. Although she continued to send birthday cards and impractical gifts over the years, the message Rachel left regarding Sam's death was never acknowledged. Her phone call was never returned.

The bitter memory lifted Rachel’s eyes. "Uncle… there’s really no reason to keep you. I’m sure you’ve got more pressuring matters to attend to."

He angled a discerning look. "Well, I know you’re busy. I suppose I should get to the point of why I’m here."

Finally.

He reached for Rachel’s hand and placed a set of keys in her palm. "I had a time convincing the new owner to part with her, but I know this is what your dad would have wanted."

She drew her hand back and stared down at the gift, puzzled by his gesture.

"They're for
Stargazer
," he clarified.

Rachel stared at him in astonishment. Without question, he was talking about her father’s106-foot motor yacht, outfitted with every possible amenity. Teak, polished brass, all the gauges and marine instruments her father could buy on credit. If it hadn’t been repossessed years earlier, she wouldn’t have hesitated to sell the grandiose toy that had come between them.

"When the time is right, you and Devon should take her out on the water. Spread your dad's ashes in the place he loved most."

Pressure was building at the back of her eyes. She struggled to stay focused, to keep her whirling emotions in check. “I…I don’t know how to thank you. It’s an incredibly gesture, Uncle Paul, but it’s just
way
too much and –“

“It’s nothing. I’m just sorry it took me so long to get this handled. Between my trips abroad and personal obligations…anyway, she’s back where she belongs. Maybe you can even put a crew together and come visit me sometime.”

Rachel nodded appropriately. When her uncle stood, she pushed herself upright. She pressed her arms around him in response to his hug. After he disappeared through the open doorway, she blew out a guarded breath and looked down at the menacing metal warming her palm. Without hesitating, she tucked her anguish into a coat pocket.

For another time.

After returning Chase’s file to the drawer, she collected her belongings and made her way back to her cramped office. She had just sat down at her desk when Marcy appeared in the open doorway.

"I hate to tell you this," she said, "but your undecided vote called and left a message. It seems that Mrs. Van Dozer plans to vote against your funding request tomorrow."

Rachel blew out a huff.
Great.
That’s all she needed. Another complication. But never had she willingly backed down from a challenge, even a sizeable one. By her estimate, she had just enough time to assemble her notes and primp before cornering Megan at the reception. If she failed in swaying the woman’s decision, there was every reason to believe Dr. Ying’s grant would be shelved permanently. All evidence would be tucked away and forgotten in the storage room’s dusty file cabinet. With her obligation completed, the adventure she’d been involuntarily drawn into would be coming to an abrupt, anticlimactic end.

Nine

By the time Chase arrived, the swanky party was in full swing. He snagged a sparkling flute from a passing tray and scoped out the museum’s bustling arena. The floor was in perpetual motion. Tuxedos and cocktail dresses wove in and out, heads turned and bobbed, drinks flowed. A constant, respectable roar was muted with wafting music.

Chase approached a small gathering of jewel-encrusted matrons. His broad smile was met with blank questioning stares. After maneuvering around them and shaking a few hands, he glimpsed Dr. Ying in the crowd. He intended to assure him that Rachel’s issues would be handled but, unfortunately, Ned Daniels intercepted him.

The stout, curly-haired waiter was balancing two trays while random hands reached around him, snatching assorted appetizers. “Man, never thought I’d see you here."

"Me either. “Chase took a sip from his champagne glass and instantly remembered how much he hated the stuff. He set it down and noted the growing line in front of the ‘gentleman’s’ bar. "So how’d
you
get roped into this?"

"My tight ass aunt got me the job," Ned said. “Thinks everyone should earn their own way. Even if you’re going to school and already got three jobs."

Chase was briefly distracted by a curvy blonde’s inviting smile. "Sure glad she’s your relative and not mine."

"You should be. She’s a
real
bitch. Been barking orders all night, like she’s in charge or something."

Know that feeling.
Chase smiled. If not for Ian’s bullying antics, he wouldn't have bothered to come. He stretched his neck, resuming his search. But Doc had already moved on – cornering a hot Hispanic beauty. Or was it the other way around?

Chase relaxed his shoulders. He glanced back at his brooding friend. "Say, Ned, you wouldn’t happen to know if Rachel Lyons is here."

"Actually, I do. She and my aunt have been in the main hall next to that Oriental picture for almost an hour." He tossed his head toward the bend in the room. "Can’t image how she’s managed to put up with Aunt Meg's crap as long as she has." His eyes dropped to the remaining cheese puffs on his tray. "Vultures," he grumbled. As soon as there was an opening, he squirreled out of sight.

Following his lead, Chase headed in the opposite direction. The farther he got from the bar, the louder the music grew. As he rounded a corner, the fresh view stopped him in his tracks. Overhead, the intricate ceiling towered at least forty feet high. Massive metal beams arched the two hundred foot span. The combination of metal and glass was ingenious, creating the overall effect of a domed amphitheater with an indoor terrarium and three winding balcony floors.

On the main level, dozens of lit alcoves lined the walls, housing flickering candles, sculpted figurines, vases, pottery – rare, exotic artifacts like the ones he'd seen in
Archeology Today
. His eyes traveled past the blaring quartet, above the bobbing dance floor to the enormous mural at the far end of the room.
The Great Wall of China.
The winding fortification had been impervious to attack, protecting anointed warlords for centuries. Even though Chase’s extensive research had dispelled any myth of dying laborers being added to the wall’s mortar mix, the horrific possibility still captured his imagination.