Page 3 of Angels of the Night
CHAPTER 3
“Good morning, is this Mister Alasdair MacNamara-Stark?” The man's voice at the other end of the line spoke in a polite, respectful tone. “Please, tell me the name of your youngest child, it's extremely important.”
“Good morning to you, too, and yes, I am the one you are looking for. My youngest children's names are Paisley and Axel, twins, two-year-old, and now it's your turn to tell me the point of this whole nonsense.” Alasdair's voice had a threatening edge that didn't pass unnoticed.
“I'm deeply sorry, but I had to make sure I was talking to the right person. Now, before we continue, I would like you to put as much distance as possible between you and your husband.” The voice had the same considerate tone from earlier, making the redhead suspect that his intentions were very serious.
“I'm downstairs. He can't hear our conversation.” Using sign language, Alasdair told his husband to call Darien and put him on speaker, so he could track down the source of the call. “You can start talking.”
“First of all, Caleb is safe and sound. He will be home in a couple of days. He deeply regrets causing so much agitation and hopes to be forgiven. That's it for now. You'll have more news in a couple of hours, once your brother-in-law wakes up and puts some warm food in his stomach.” Although Alasdair couldn't see the man, he sensed the smile in his voice.
“Before you hang up, I need to know if Caleb is alright, physically speaking, because for some reason I suspect he's injured. All this talk about rest and warm food...I'm a doctor, but I guess you already knew that, didn't you?” Alasdair frowned, waiting for the other man's answer, while Ardan's turquoise eyes clouded with sadness.
“Yes, a bullet touched his thigh, but fortunately, the wound was superficial, no artery was damaged. However, Caleb lost some blood, and now he needs to rest. And no, I had no idea you are a doctor; otherwise, I would have included that in my little safety questionnaire. Have a good day, Mister MacNamara-Stark!” The call ended as abruptly as it started, leaving Alasdair confused and a bit frustrated.
“Darien managed to track down the call, and the location is not far from here. That isolated property at the end of the road—the only one we didn't search last night. There is something strange, though. It was abandoned last time I checked.”
As he finished the sentence, an idea crossed Ardan's mind, and he called Saint to run a check on the property's owner. About half an hour later, the former MI5 agent called back, but the news he brought, instead of bringing light into the matter, made it even more complicated. According to his sources, the owner died, and his heir, a distant cousin, sold the property soon after.
Saint managed to find out the names of the real estate agent and the lawyer responsible for the transaction and called them. However, they refused to offer any details, invoking the principle of confidentiality, putting an abrupt stop to the investigation. Apologizing for not being able to help the two husbands more, he offered to go there and see what it was all about but was politely refused by Ardan who considered it his duty.
Meanwhile, Caleb woke up and stayed like that long enough for Zachary to feed him a small bowl of thick, nourishing soup and some omelet. The man also made sure his guest was well hydrated and offered him a big mug of refreshing herbal tea, which was greatly appreciated by a very thirsty Caleb, who asked for another one.
The beverage made the young man relax, the throbbing pain in the thigh lessening to a very dull ache, and he fell asleep again, not before thanking Zachary with a small, shy smile that made his unusual, turquoise eyes shine. The older man pulled the covers over Caleb, did the dishes, and then left the house, heading to the workshop he had created in the barn.
From his early childhood, Zachary manifested a great interest in everything engine-related and dreamed of becoming a mechanical engineer. The Fates had other plans for him, but his passion didn't falter, on the contrary, he intended to make a living out of it. Of course, first he had to invest in some professional equipment and also build a reputation.
Zachary had the money for the tools, and he had an idea of how to make a good name. Stepping into the barn, the man removed the tarp covering Caleb's bike, caressing the cold, shiny metal and enjoying how it felt against his skin. He was going to turn it in something unique, a state of the art vehicle, with shields for the tires, a powerful engine and...
“We bought it a few months ago as a present for Caleb's twenty-first birthday. Having his own bike meant a lot to him. Sorry about the intrusion, I tried to get in contact with you but failed. I guess you used a disposable phone when you called my husband. Ardan MacNamara is my name, and I'm here to see my brother.”
“I should have suspected it would happen this way, so much for honesty and trust.” Zachary's voice was somewhat bitter, disappointment pouring from it. “Your husband made a wrong career choice. He should have worked for MI5; their agents are great liars.”
“I deeply apologize on Alasdair's behalf, but we have a relationship based on love, understanding and trust. We don't keep things hidden from one another. Plus, Caleb is my younger brother, and I was concerned for his wellbeing. Try walking in my husband's shoes, please.” Ardan's manners and the tone of his voice made a strong, very pleasant impression on Zachary, who nodded in understanding.
“Caleb looks up to you and was worried about your reaction, so I thought it would be better to approach your husband at first, so he could present you the facts in the best possible light. Now, that you are here, I suspect you want to see him, right? Be careful not to wake him up. He needs sleep to recover faster.” Zachary gestured to Ardan to follow him outside the barn, then pointed to the house.
“About the injury, how serious is it? I was in the room the whole time you talked to Alasdair, so there is no point in hiding things from me.”
“I would be lying if I told you that is nothing serious. Caleb lost some blood and is very weak, even though he doesn't realize it yet. On the other hand, I've managed to reduce the amount of damage, and there are signs that the wound is healing nicely. Your little brother is a hell of fighter, in more than one way.”
“Yes, he is. He can't stand to see injustice and is always on the side of those who can't protect themselves, but he’s still a kid at heart. I would like to spend a moment alone with him if that's alright. I promise to not wake him up.”
Zachary nodded and showed his unexpected visitor into the guest room, where Caleb was soundly and peacefully sleeping, then left the two brothers to have some time alone, even if the youngest of them wasn't aware of the presence of the oldest. From the corner of his eye, the host could see how Ardan took Caleb's hand between his own, starting to whisper something.
Listening carefully, Zachary realized the man was singing to his younger brother, and he was sure it was a lullaby of sorts, although he couldn't understand the words. Memories of a very distant past invaded his mind, and he could hear his father's sweet, melodious voice singing to him in Hebrew, their ritual every evening. It was a happy time of innocence, trust and unconditional love.
Zachary squeezed his eyes shut, preventing the tears from spilling. He wasn't going to go there, not that day, not ever. He wasn't going to remember how the same man who looked at him with adoration and love sent him to military school, not giving a damn about what could happen to him there, or better said, what did happen.
A delicate touch to his shoulder brought Zachary back from the not-so-happy place he was in, the devastated expression from earlier replaced with a faint smile. Ardan stood before him, turquoise eyes shining with brotherly affection, and took his hand, giving it a vigorous shake.
The man didn't say a single word as he headed out of the house, but the peace in those unique eyes filled Zachary's heart, making it feather-light. He felt Ardan MacNamara was going to influence his destininy in a significant way, although didn't know how.
****
Blair Greenwood paced the room, checking his watch every five minutes. That goddamn lawyer was taking his sweet time, that was for sure, he thought, frustrated. They agreed on a certain hour, the attorney should have called already, informing Greenwood about the results of that afternoon's meeting with that devil of a DA, Ian Saint-Clair.
Or maybe it was that incarnation of Satan's fault, keeping the defense attorneys waiting offered him a kind of sadistic satisfaction, according to the rumors. Greenwood cursed, the sensation of helplessness driving him crazy as his future depended on that meeting's results. If the lawyer's strategy worked, Phillip Winters would be off the hook in a few days.
With the man's evil genius and the limitless resource of subjects for his tests the child trafficking ring represented, money would start to flow in no time. It had happened before, when Phillip's father teamed up with Alexander Kane, and later with Fabian Bloom, and Greenwood couldn't see why it couldn't happen again.
His phone beeped, signaling an incoming message from the lawyer. Everything went according to the plan. Professor Winters will be out tomorrow, were the words written on the phone's screen, a ferocious smile appearing on the man's lips when he read them. That devil of a DA took the bait, becoming the instrument of Greenwood's revenge against Fabian Bloom's former associates.
The bastards refused to acknowledge him as the new leader of the child trafficking ring, and it was about time to pay for their arrogance. The information the lawyer offered to devil's spawn Saint-Clair allowed him to put all those losers behind bars for the next thousand years. One less problem to worry about, Greenwood thought.
The list of things to take care of, one way or another, was a mile long, starting with that poor excuse of a man he was married to, and who, at that moment, was holding the reins, dictating the terms of their relationship. In his low, whispered voice, the whiner suggested they 'should take a break,' sending Greenwood to New York, while he stayed in his parents' residence in London.
The little prick ordered, and he didn't have other choice but to obey; otherwise, the pathetic, little creature would have divorced him, or even worse. Two weeks earlier, things got out of control again, and before Greenwood knew it, his detestable husband was lying on the floor in a pool of blood, barely breathing. He called the private, discreet clinic where Fergus checked in when the lines were crossed, and they took care of the problem.
With an annoyed huff, Greenwood pushed that problem into the furthest corner of his mind, focusing on the present. In a way, the forced exile in New York was a blessing in disguise because it allowed him to clean the organization and get in touch with the brilliant scientist Phillip Winters. The two of them were going to achieve a lot of great things, Greenwood thought, an evil smile of satisfaction casting a sinister light on his face.