Somewhere I'll Find You (3 page)

“Let’s just say that she’s attracted the attention of people of the highest order – including Alistar Carver.”

“Carver?” Michael growled as he shoved at his meal.  If it had seemed unappetizing before, the mention of that name had rendered it completely inedible.  “What has that bastard got to do with anything?  You know what kind of reputation that he has.”

“And I also know that he’d love to have your guts for garters,” Miles replied mildly.

Both men knew Carver – both in person and by his standing. He had a reputation for getting the job done, regardless of the mess left for others to clean up.  Efficiency was prized in their field; ruthlessness was looked upon as an asset, and these things were both attributes that Michael and Miles had in common.  But Carver had always gone beyond those things in his search for domination.  So, if Carver was also sniffing into this girl's past, it not only smelled of importance, but of disaster.

“Speaking of Carver,” Miles added delicately, “
he’s still bent badly over the fact that you put in for retirement. And on that note, have a little gift for luck.”

Michael’s brow lifted as he carefully opened a gaily-wrapped box.  Miles wasn’t known for giving gifts on
any
occasion.  Then a grin creased his face as he carefully tucked away both the box and the holstered gun.  “What any man needs . . .
O’Brian;
you’re a man for all seasons.”

“That may be, but why are you retiring?  Your medicals seemed to indicate you’re in top form.”

Michael quietly watched a charming family of four leave.  “Because
it’s
killing me, Miles.  After a while, I s
ee
shadows everywhere, and
can’
t tell my friends from my enemies.  I can’t go back, not to the shadows, not to the adrenaline highs and the cold sweats.  Not for all the money in the world.”

Knowing that there was nothing else to be said, Miles reached inside of his rumpled suit coat before shoving a key ring across the table.  “Don’t ask how I got that – but it’s the key to the lady’s home.  Find out what you need, as fast as you can, and then get the hell out of there.  If this woman even knew you had that key for a moment, you might be lodging in a cell courtesy of the California police.  So whatever you do – do it quickly.”  Withdrawing his hand, he wiped it on his napkin as though the key had stained him somehow.  “Oh, before you pop off,” he added carefully as Michael rose to leave, “It’s rumored that her home is haunted.  Some old cinema actor lived there at one time . . . Erik Fletcher, I believe.”

Michael’s brow lifted, but he could see that Miles had more to say.  “Oh?  I think I’ve caught a couple of his films on the telly over the years.  And you don’t really believe in that balderdash, do you?”

A gleam of humor came into Miles’ eyes. “If you don’t believe me, check the file I’ve given you.  You’ll notice there is even mention of it in that report – the constables have been called numerous times over the years.  Some blather about a ghostly intruder.”

Michael shook his head.  “Miles, the only ghosts I’m worried about are definitely flesh and blood.”

Watching his friend walk away, Miles knew that Michael carried too many ghosts of his own.  Ghosts of friends and enemies alike that had died in the li
ne of duty, a line
that
had, over the years, blurred and crossed over the years.
But all of that was past now – wasn’t it?  Absently sipping his cold tea, Miles remembered that he had other business to attend.

Business that Michael knew nothing about.

Michael Sinclair was many things, but stupid was not one of them.  Despite his desire to learn more about Paige O’Neal, first things came first.  He scouted the edges of the house, noticing the variety of roses that grew in the large garden, the range of flowers along the edges of her home.  It was a warm and charming view, but one which possessed only the most basic of security measures.  In the end, he supposed, she was nothing more than
a
nother clueless
civilian was
.

Even a civilian should know better than thi
s, though.  What in the hell is
she thinking?
He muttered as memories of the dangers he had faced while guarding presidents and kings in every corner of the world, came forth to haunt him again.  Granted, his experiences had resulted in his taking more precautions than most, but protection of even the most mundane sort seemed to be at the bottom of Miss O’Neal’s priority list.  It had taken him all of two minutes to disarm her security alarm before using the key Miles had given him.

That was something else that niggled at the back of Michael’s mind. 
How did Miles get that key?
  It was certainly something he planned on prying from Miles, but at the moment, gathering what information he could about the woman that haunted his dreams was more important.

Of course with the
facts
Miles had supplied, he could have simply looked her up
o
r Google
d
her and found out at least the basics.  But it was the woman behind the news articles, hiding behind the closed doors
, that
he wanted to know.  And her home would give him his first ideas of her.

It’s rather like moving back in time in here . . .
he thought absently. 
Miles said she was a writer but I think she missed her calling.
  Moving cautiously into the charming foyer, he stared around, the key tumbling carelessly onto a quaint dish shaped like an outstretched hand. 
It’s somehow tasteful and simple all at once.  But
there’s
not much in the way of mementos.
Pausing, trying to ignore the notion that he was no better than a common
burglar was
he noticed the portrait that dominated the living room, as well as one mirrored wall.

But that’s all? I don’t fancy her as a minimalist, so perhaps there is more in her office.
  He imagined it would be cluttered with furniture and more revealing of the woman who had so faithfully kept the house in the manner he imagined it had looked when it had been first constructed. 

Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling he was being watched – which, considering his current activity, didn’t exactly please him.  He glanced cautiously about him as he moved through
the home
.  The sun beamed brightly to the left
of
him, flooding the room with golden rays.  Sheer curtains had been the only concession to window treatments.  It was then that he realized how sunlight would burst across the room like a prism when it hit those mirrors.

Once more, his eyes were drawn to the portrait hanging above the fireplace.  It was a striking painting of an imposing man.  Dark brown eyes stared arrogantly from under a shock of hair the color of dark oak, while a black shirt stood in contrast to a blazing red cravat.  One hand lay gently on the head of a German shepherd. Both man and dog stared out as if daring anyone to invade their home.  He recognized the old cinema actor; as he’d mentioned to Miles earlier that morning, he’d seen enough of his old films on the telly to know who he was.

Moving through the house, he easily found Paige’s office – her inner sanctum.  The room was as he expected.  There stood her vast collections of awards, a few professional photographs gracing her walls, while
tchotchkes
,
or knick-knacks, from her various travels scattered her desk. Library cases covered one long wall, books lodged in a neat order down long, heavy shelves.

Leaning one hip against the edge of her desk, he casually thumbed through what was apparently her appointment book.  Lifting a brow, he noted her neat handwriting.  An invitation-only party was penciled in for that very evening.  
I do believe the gods are working in my favor today,
he noted as he scanned the guest list.  A smile lit his eyes while he reached for his cell.
 
This chance will be much better than wandering through her house like a bloody robber.  I’ll meet her at this party of hers.
 

He knew just the person from whom to coax an invitation.  A simple reminder of a certain scandal in Monte Carlo the previous year would be all that was needed.  He grinned when a few moments later, detailed instructions came in via a terse text, giving him complete instructions for the evening’s activities. 

Holstering his phone and setting aside the appointment book, he suddenly shivered against the icy slide of fear running down his spine. Spinning quickly, he reached for his weapon, only to see an empty room. 
What in blazes…? 
He blinked, his heart still hammering. 
What’s the matter with me? Ten steps into this place, and I’m behaving as if I’m in primary school again.  Miles’ stories about ghosts must have registered more than I’d thought.  Lot of bloody hogwash though it is.  Ghosts.  Pah. 
Disgustedly, Michael shook his head.
  Well, I have all I need – Ms. O’Neal, it shall be a delight to meet you tonight.  I do hope I can have my tuxedo pressed in time …

With his arms folded, the specter of Erik glared as Michael left the house.  “I don’t know who you are, but you do
not
belong here.” 

For reasons he could not explain, Erik felt a certain obligation to the woman who had so lovingly restored his home.  She stirred something in him that he should have been long past feeling.  But this man . . . . This intruder had no rights to her or her home.  A ghostly laugh rang strangely through the room.  It had been a long time since he had faced a challenge of any kind.  This stranger, he thought, could at least be amusing.

* * * *

A bare light bulb illuminated the warehouse where Paige O’Neal spent most of her waking hours.  Covered with dust and cobwebs, her old jeans and sweatshirt gave testimony to her activities.  Sweeping her dark hair away from her eyes, Paige paused in her exploration of an old wardrobe trunk to gaze at her surroundings.  It seemed as if someone had given her permission to step into the past.

To her left hung the portrait of Gene Tierney for her film
Laura
, while on a nearby chair, the cap worn by Jackie Coogan when he played in
The Kid
dangled rakishly.  Unable to resist the temptation, her fingers gently caressed the velvet gown worn by Vivian Leigh in her role as Scarlett O’Hara.  It saddened her to see so many treasures uncared for as the film industry seemed to forget its past.  True, she mused, there were a few who did their best to preserve their history, but more was lost than preserved.

All whispered secrets of a bygone era and glamor that had long since vanished.  Yet, Paige felt at ease with these relics.  There were no painful memories to plague her, no deadly games of hide and seek.  Nothing like what lay within the thoughts of the man standing discreetly to her right. 

Without looking, she addressed that shadow of a man who stood nearby, representing all of
the
things that she had come to California to escape.  “Forget it Miles, I’m not going back.”

“Come, Paige, you know that you’re the best.”  Some might have misinterpreted his cajoling tone, but Paige knew differently.  Gone was the mild-mannered friend that Michael Sinclair knew, and in his place was a man at leas
t as ruthless as Michael was
. 
Only providence could provide me with such a muck-up,
he thought mournfully. 
All of us together and yet not a one of them know it’s me in the middle of things.
 
All connected, and yet neither of them know anything about each other.  Here’s to the hope I can bloody
well keep it that way. 
He took a deep breath.  “We need you, Paige.”