Trolls in the Hamptons (20 page)

Grant's voice took on a rougher edge, one I willfully interpreted as jealousy. “Lou is there?”

“No, but Fafhrd just broke the high diving board in half.”

T
HE DOGS WERE BARKING SO loudly and frantically that I could barely hear Grant shouting, loudly and frantically, “Take his picture! Take his picture!”

My phone was wet. So were the dogs and I, from a ton of stone gargoyle falling into the pool. More water flowed outside on the decking and chairs and potted plants than in the pool itself. Fafhrd looked surprised, then he started hopping up and down, delighted to see more tidal waves sloshing over the sides.

I wondered how long before the pool collapsed, but I yelled, “Stop jumping,” to Fafhrd, “Shut up,” to the dogs, and “Sorry, I didn't mean you,” to Grant. “Hang up and I'll get back to you.”

I dried off the phone on the back of my shirt, yelled at the dogs again, with no results, switched modes, and snapped Fafhrd's picture. He waved, as if he understood what I was doing. I half expected him to mouth, “Hi Mom,” but he went back to playing in the water. He'd throw himself backward as if he were making snow angels. Or seeing if he could float. Oh, boy.

I pushed the right buttons, sending the picture out to the ether, then I pushed redial and got Grant.

“Did you get it? What did you see?”

“I see a big red . . . ”

“Yes?”

“Tree. A big red maple tree that fell into the pool.” Then he said a word that did not usually have two o's in it, but I guess that was the British pronunciation. He sounded so disappointed that I couldn't help feeling sorry for him. This was what he lived for, what his whole raison d'être wrapped itself around. I wanted him to see Fafhrd, too, to validate my own experience.

On the other hand, I was the only one. Agent High and Mighty, due-consideration Grant could breach every civil liberty a liberal lawyer could name, but he couldn't see a single swimming troll.

He cursed again. “It's part of the ancient covenant. No images.”

“No matter, he's gone now.” I got up to make sure he hadn't just sunk to the bottom of the pool, but he was gone. The dogs were racing around, bewildered and bedraggled. I wonder if they could see Fafhrd, besides hearing his commotion. Did he have a scent only dogs could recognize? Would they chase him—or would he harm them? I kind of wished my mother was here so she could ask the dogs, but she'd have a fit at the damage from my first hour at Rosehill. I wasn't thinking about the pool, either. If Ben and Jerry were nervous before, I'd hate to see what a disappearing Goliath did to them.

“Are you still there?”

Somehow I'd forgotten about Grant.

“Yes, but neither the pool nor the dogs will ever be the same.”

“Me, neither. What now?”

“I don't think he'll come back tonight.”

“No, I meant about us.”

“Us?”

“I want to be part of this. Your troll is the most important event of the century, any recent century. His appearance is amazing, astonishing, and dangerous.”

“You sound like a geek hacking into the Defense Department.”

“We made sure no one could. But this is not just research and study and speculation; Fafhrd is real, and the threat is real. To you, to every single person alive today.”

“Yeah, I already got that. Look what he did to the pool.”

“That's not what I mean. One troll is nothing compared to what else could be unleashed on unsuspecting humanity. They won't even see it coming, no more than I could see your friend. I know I can help stop the threat. That's what I was trained to do, Willy. You have to let me. I can do it; I know I can, but only with your help. I need you to trust me.”

The dogs had given up. They came to sit beside my chair, their tongues lolling out. I knew I ought to hang up and get them fresh water and towels, but this was too important. My life, my future, my happiness—to hell with the rest of the universe—might depend on what we said now. “How can I trust you when you don't tell me anything? Not just about the wiretaps, but you don't tell people about Fafhrd, about Unity, about DUE or what the Royce Institute really does. Heaven only knows what else you aren't telling them, or me. So how do I know I'm not hearing only what you want me to know? You have too many secrets to be trustworthy.”

“Damn, Willy, I don't make all the rules and decisions about who knows what. The choices were made centuries ago to protect those who were different, who did not fit the common mold. Haven't we seen enough so-called ethnic cleansing to know what evils men can commit on anyone who worships another god, speaks another language, has a different color skin? You say you do not trust me. Picture the fear and loathing if people suspected enclaves of their fellow citizens could read their minds, could predict their deaths, could distinguish lies from truth?”

“I suppose.”

“Further, what good would it do to tell people about Fafhrd, when they cannot see him? They'd consider such a warning proof that we were all insane.”

“Not just me, for once.”

“You are not crazy. You're special. I've never met anyone like you.”

I sure as hell had never met anyone like Grant, but I lived in small circles, despite living in Manhattan. “You expect me to believe that you've never known another woman who claims to see the supernatural, when you work with weirdos all day?”

“That's not what I meant, and you know it. And I don't lie.”

We were back to the big issue. “But you do withhold truths.”

“Sometimes. So do you.”

Like not admitting how much I wanted to trust him? How he was the hottest, sexiest man I'd ever known? How his voice sent shivers up my spine? I considered that self-protection. “Listen, I don't live my life on the edge like you do. I am not used to it. I don't want to get used to it. You live for it. You are part of it. I can't be.”

“But you kissed me back.”

I felt heat in my cheeks and was happy he couldn't see the blush. “I thought we were talking business.”

“As you said, this is a crazy business. We operate more on feelings than cold logic. We have to, because we cannot ignore the talents of our associates. We listen, not just to the words, the evidence, but also to the belief in our peoples' strengths. We learn to trust our own feelings, too.”

“I thought you Brits didn't put much stock in emotional stuff. Stiff upper lip and all that.”

“That's for public show. Inside? You can't be part of this without trusting what others know, with other senses. I believe you see the troll, even though I will most likely never see him. I believe you don't intentionally call him forth, or encourage him to break the treaty rules, because I believe in you. There's no logic I could demonstrate, no rationality. Just feeling.”

I could go with that, since not a whole lot of Troll Gate made any sense.

He lowered his voice. “And I felt something else with you. Something I will not deny.”

I was feeling it now. His deep, mellow tones, with the clipped British accent, were sending tingles to places that never heard of reason.

“I felt it the second I saw you. The instant your hand brushed mine. As soon as I caught your scent and saw your eyes sparkle. Something is there between us. I know you felt it too, like a jolt of electricity, or a spark from a bonfire. Call it magnetic attraction, call it hormones or lust or magic, but don't deny its existence.”

I couldn't, not when his words made me shiver. No, that was the cool night air on my damp clothes . . . and thoughts of taking them off, with him.

“I'd like to see where that feeling leads,” he continued. “I'd like to finish what we started at your apartment.”

“Finish? I'm no one-night affair.”

“What if it takes fifty years to finish? We'll never know if we don't start.”

“Pretty words. Is that what you tell every female you want to sleep with? What's the British word for it? Shag? Swive?”

“Screw, same as here, with other expressions, depending on the company. But there's also ‘making love.' ”

“I don't want to be one of your girls in every port.”

“I don't have a girl in every port. Or in any port, for that matter. I date—I'm no monk—but I don't sleep around, and I've never had a relationship with a woman lasting more than a few months.”

“Commitment problems, huh?”

“I never found a woman I wanted to stay with longer. That's better, I'd say, than settling for an Alvin.”

“That's Arlen. That was, anyway. He was nice.”

“But no electricity?”

“Only when I tried to unplug the toaster at his apartment.”

“We can do better.”

I could hear the smile in his voice and I was tempted. Oh, so tempted. Like a moth by the candle flame, I suppose. “How do I know you're not feeding me a line of bull, just to get my cooperation? Or get in my bed?”

“Because I don't lie. And I can prove it to you by sticking around after we fix the troll problem. You'll see, with time. That's the only way you'll learn to trust me if you cannot take my word on it. I could get character references from my boss, I suppose, or the PM.”

“You know the Prime Minister?”

“What, you'd rather have a note from the Queen? That might take a bit more time than we have right now. Come on, Willy, say I can come out to Paumanok Harbor and act the lovesick swain so I can be with you day and night.”

“Here? You want to stay here?” Sharing Cousin Lily's bed? “No, that's impossible. I know half the people in this town, and I know how they talk. Good grief, my mother would hear about it in twenty minutes, in Florida.”

“Your mother knew about Alvin, didn't she? Or does she think you're a thirty-five-year-old virgin?”

“I am thirty-four, and my mother and I do not discuss those things.”

“Your birthday is next month. And how can I protect you, and watch out for dangers, if I am not with you?”

I knew I'd feel better about being out here at Rosehill if he were near.

“Besides, how can we find out how far attraction can take us if we don't get to know each other better? And how can we add kindling to that spark if I stay at your mother's house or a motel in Montauk?”

“I suppose you could stay in the apartment over the garage. I could tell people you are a writer friend of Mr. Parker's, working on a screenplay.”

“Parker wouldn't put his friend up in the chauffeur's quarters.”

“Is that what it is?”

“That's what it was. Now it's housing a battery of security devices that feed right to the men I have staying at the guesthouse. And no, I am not staying there, either.”

“I didn't know there was a guesthouse.”

“It's that cottage beyond the tennis courts.”

“I thought it belonged to the next-door neighbor.” I thought about it. “So I already have bodyguards?”

“I told you, Lou told you. You are not expendable. We don't want anything to happen to you. We would love to nab anyone who threatened you, then follow their trail back to Nicky's kidnapper.”

I wasn't crazy about being set out as bait, but I liked the idea of bodyguards. Except I'd waved at the people at that cottage when Mom and I walked the dogs. “Your men are disguised as two gay guys?”

“It's no disguise, which is another reason I don't want to stay there. Not that I have anything against them, but no one would believe I'm your lover if I hang out with Colin and Kenneth.”

I ignored the lover part. “Are they good at their jobs?”

“The best. Colin's eyesight is twice as sharp as the average person's, and Kenneth is a precog. Together they are tech wizards, weapons experts, and kickboxing champs.”

“So I don't need you here to protect me.”

“You need me, sweetheart.”

“Not too sure of yourself, are you?”

“They can't follow you around. They can't go to the beach with you or out to dinner.” He paused. “They can't help you sleep better at night.”

He didn't mean warm milk or herbal tea. Oh, my. And oh, my aching, needy body. My nipples hardened, just at the thought of sex with the secret service.

“Quit stalling, Willy. Can I come?”

Fast and hard, or slow and long, if there is a god. And unselfish, if there is a goddess. I took a deep breath. “How soon can you get here?”

Now he paused. “Um, not for a couple of days. There's been a development here concerning the boy's location.”