The Methuselah Project (23 page)

No Sophie descended to the bunker with an evening meal. The only sound came from the clock, ticking through the evening. Apprehension tightened Roger’s gut. He couldn’t imagine any clue that might tip off Hans or the guards about her. Sure, she’d bought the sweater, but Hans had approved it. Kossler used to bring him clothing, too, when necessary.

The prospect of life in the cage without Sophie’s visits oppressed his soul more than any threat Hans could snarl. On impulse, Roger jumped from the chair and gave the barred door a savage shake.

Gerhard arrived with breakfast—if dark bread and water qualified as a meal.

“Punishment rations?”

“Hans’s orders. Behave yourself. His anger will subside. You have no idea what a predicament your antics put him in.”

Roger ran a finger along one of the steel bars separating the two men. “Considering the pickle Hans has kept me in for so long, excuse me if I don’t shed any tears.”

A faint smile that may have been admiration graced the scientist’s lips. “American humor. Like rubber. So resilient, even after so long.”

“If I have a choice between laughing or crying, yeah, I choose laughing.”

Without another word, Gerhard exited the bunker.

Lunch, the meal normally brought by Hans, didn’t arrive at all that day. But just before the wall clock reached five o’clock, Roger heard the metal door opening. He leaped to his feet when Sophie strolled in balancing a supper tray. The door clanged shut behind her.

“Thank God. I thought they arrested you or something.”

“No. I believe they suspect nothing about me. The overseers for Methuselah blame you—and Hans—for what happened.” She slid the tray through its opening, then hurried back to the door and cracked it for a furtive peek up the stairs. “I can stay only a moment. Hans is waiting for me to report on your attitude.”

“Hans can drop dead, for all I care.”

“That’s how I feel, but he’s still my supervisor. One disrespectful word from me, and he can banish me from Methuselah.”

“Sophie, I’m sorry I got you involved. We shouldn’t have done anything that might endanger you.”

“Don’t be sorry. We just got impatient, made mistakes. Next time, we’ll be more careful.”

Roger couldn’t hold back the grin that sprang to his face. “Next time? You don’t intimidate easily, do you?”

“I might not be a fighter pilot, Captain Greene, but when I set my sights on a target, I keep shooting until I get what I want.”

His grin grew wider. “Girl, you’re talking my language. All right, hurry upstairs and tell Hans I’m down here pouting and looking all meek and deflated. That’s probably what he wants to hear.”

She winked. “That’s the spirit. Soon I’ll tell you about a new escape plan I’m developing.”

“Another plan? Already? Hey, I’m all ears.”

“Not now.” With that, Sophie disappeared.

His spirits restored, Roger settled into the armchair with the supper tray on his lap. “Thank You, God, for a friend who doesn’t give up.”

T
HURSDAY
, M
ARCH
5, 2015

F
IONA
‘
S
M
YSTERY
T
HEATER
R
ESTAURANT
,

P
EACHTREE
C
ENTER
A
VENUE
, A
TLANTA

“S
o was I right? Isn’t Fiona’s the greatest?”

Katherine met Jason’s sparkling eyes. His unquenchable smile warmed her heart. “Jason, you were more than right. This place is out-of-this-world crazy fabulous! I’ve heard of murder mystery dinner theaters before, but I never knew what I was missing. I’ve never had so much fun!”

“You lucked out. Your first time here, and you get to play the murderer. I’ve been here a dozen times for five different plays. I still haven’t gotten to kill a single person.”

She laughed. “If we talked like this anywhere else in town, people would think we’re psychopathic serial killers or something.”

Jason drained his wine goblet, leaned back, and crossed his legs. “Want to know a secret?”

Katherine leaned in. “A good secret or a bad secret?” she asked conspiratorially. The incredible five-course dinner, topped with her participation in the mystery, plus attractive male company had lifted Katherine’s spirits to a bubbly mood. This could likely be considered flirting. Uncle Kurt would be aghast.

“Oh, this is a wonderful nonsecret type secret,” Jason replied. “I know. I’ll let you guess.”

Most of the other patrons were already on their way out the door. Jason paid no heed. “Look around you. The walls of Fiona’s are famous for their collection of Hollywood actors and actresses.”

Katherine took a last sip of wine and swept the dining room again with her gaze. She’d already enjoyed picking out classic performers such as Audrey Hepburn, Marlon Brando, Greta Garbo, Rock Hudson, James Dean, and Humphrey Bogart. Now that other patrons no longer blocked the view, she could spot even more famous figures. “Yes. I see them. Now what?”

“Out of all the faces around you, guess which person is the author of tonight’s dinner theater.”

She scanned the movie stills. Which actor also wrote plays? Then the truth dawned. “Is it you?”

Grinning, Jason stood and bowed low. “You guessed it. So you see, I had an ulterior motive for inviting you here. I didn’t want to say anything earlier because I didn’t want to spoil the show.”

Katherine stood too. “Spoil it? Just the opposite. I’m impressed. Knowing would’ve made me appreciate the performance even more.” She allowed her new friend from the Peachtree State Mix & Mingle site to help her with her jacket.

“Shall we go, my dear?” He held out his arm dramatically, as Carey Grant might do in an old black-and-white movie.

Katherine hesitated. Tonight’s dinner was their first face-to-face meeting. Even though she hadn’t told Jason, this evening was her first genuine date in ages with anyone not connected with the Heritage Organization. She didn’t normally walk arm in arm with any male. The gesture seemed harmless enough, but something caused hesitation. Into her mind sprang the forbidding image of Uncle Kurt.

“No fleas. I promise,” Jason said with a laugh. “I got fumigated just yesterday.”

Katherine laughed, too, and forced Uncle Kurt from her mind. She accepted Jason’s arm. Together they strolled out the door of Fiona’s and along the fifty feet of sidewalk to the parking garage. Katherine shivered. After the crowded warmth of a dinner theater, the March evening breeze chilled her legs under her dress.

By the time they reached her blue Passat and the silver Honda Accord parked beside it, theirs were the last two cars in the garage. Jason lowered his arm, taking Katherine’s hand in one swift motion. The movement struck her as choreographed. Had he seized other women’s hands the same way? Or was she just being overly suspicious?

“Hey, this evening has been too great to end so early. How about coming over to my place for a few drinks?”

“It’s not that early, good sir. Don’t forget, I have work to do in the morning.”

His smile diminished by a degree, but still clung. “All right. How about I follow you to your place, then? When it’s bedtime, you can feel free to nudge me out the door—or invite me to join you, if I get lucky.” He winked. Still holding her hand, he took an intimate step closer and circled an arm around her waist.

Katherine pulled away and flipped through her car keys even as she fumbled for words. “Uh, not tonight, Jason. I had fun. But the timing isn’t good.”

She found the key and inserted it in the car door.

She felt his breath on her neck as he leaned in. “Come on,” he said, drawing out the words. His voice had shifted to deep and husky. “We’ve had such a good time together; I just don’t want it to end.” He ran his palm down her arm then cupped it around her hand as she unlocked the door. “Hold on, girl.”

“No, really. I need to get home.”

Swiftly his hands found her shoulders and spun her around with her back against the car. He caged her with his arms and planted a fast kiss on her lips. “There, you like that, don’t you, Katherine? The night’s been fun, but the game isn’t over. You’re just playing hard to get, aren’t you?”

Confusion clouded Katherine’s mind. Jason had acted gallant all evening. Where had this come from?

He pressed close to kiss her again, but she twisted her head. His lips landed hard on her ear. “Stop, you’re hurting me!”

His face darkened. “You’re not getting away that easy. I just paid sixty bucks apiece for this evening. That’s not chicken feed, girl. After a night on the town, a guy’s entitled to some female comfort.” His hands slid to her dress front.

Katherine trembled. If Jason really did write the play, wouldn’t they let the author in free? Had he lied to seduce her? Was Jason even his real name?

All at once, her training clicked, and Katherine drove her knuckles into Jason’s stomach. He reeled back, providing enough distance for her to deliver a kick to his ribs. His face contorted in shock and pain.

Seizing her chance, Katherine jerked open the car door, leaped inside, then mashed the lock button.

“Oh, I get it,” Jason said, approaching the car, his fingers opening and closing into fists. “You advertise online and give guys the impression they can get some nighttime action. But then you just take advantage of their wallet and run home with a full stomach. Is that your little game?” Jason raised a fist and slammed it onto the hood of her car.

With hands shaking and blood pounding in her ears, she started the engine, threw the car into reverse, then roared toward the garage exit.

Her mind raced. Had she let slip any information he could use to track her? Fortunately she’d given him her pen name—Katherine McNeil—and certainly not her address or phone number. Her fingers trembled at the thought.

“What’s wrong with you?” She berated herself aloud. “Uncle Kurt can’t find the perfect match, and you can’t, either. After a week of trading e-mails, how’d you miss the poignant detail that the guy was a savage miscreant? Or worse, a rapist. Did you do your homework? And you call yourself an editor. Are you hopeless, or what?” The sound of her own voice was beginning to ease the shock. “No way he wrote that play! Probably stole the real author’s name.”

Of course, not all men visiting dating websites would turn into berserk nutcases like Jason Carmichael, but just one was enough to sour her interest. She hated that Uncle Kurt might be right.

F
RIDAY
, F
EBRUARY
13, 2015

T
HE
K
OSSLER ESTATE
, G
ERMANY

I
n the days following the botched escape, Sophie had never dared to spend more than a few moments downstairs, and even then only when she brought Roger his supper. “I want Hans to think I’m frightened of you. He’s already warned me that you’ll murder me if I step too close while delivering meals.” Concerning whatever plan she was concocting, Sophie would say nothing except, “Stop shaving. Let your beard grow again.”

“Not a bad idea. It’ll make Hans think I’m drowning in depression. Good way to lull him into relaxing his guard.”