COME UNDONE
by
PiperMerlyn
Chapter 33
The Chapters
30 October 2003
Bucaresti, Romania
3:40 pm
“I see you found her.”
Casi turned from studying the huge soaring foyer and it’s threadbare furnishings to see the man she’d seen at the British Embassy last night—but the sun was up and he seemed unharmed. She remembered with sudden clarity that the second man had seemed so different than the first one. Now she understood. “Omar Hadad.”
His smile faltered and his dark eyes grew hard, he glanced at Kendra. “You told her?”
“No. Why should I?”
He smiled again as he looked at her but Casi could see it was forced. “Hello, Cassandra,” he said pleasantly. He stepped close enough to touch her cheek and she noticed his hand was not cold but warm. “You’re not frightened, are you?” he asked.
“Of you? Why the hell should I be? You’re no vampire.”
Omar Hadad laughed low in his throat, then nodded to Kendra. “You can go now.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Hadad stepped closer and pulled Casi to him. Casi shoved on his chest but he didn’t release her. She raised her head and found herself staring into a pair of midnight-black eyes. “Let me go.”
He shook his head, then tilted it and brazenly slanted his mouth over hers and kissed her, his cheek pressed against her nose. Casi found she couldn’t breathe and it felt as if he were drawing all the air out of her lungs. She hit him in the shoulder but he didn’t move. Her lungs burning, chest aching, she never felt the prick on her neck. All she knew she was going to die...then everything went black.
Hadad pulled away, then lifted his head and closed her strangely staring eyes. The kiss would be the last thing she would remember for awhile. He touched her lips lightly with a long elegant forefinger, then trailed it over her chin, down her throat to touch her pulse beat while his other arm supported her weight.
He rested his entire hand on her throat and slowly began to squeeze. Her breathing became labored as he tightened his fingers.
“You fool.”
Hadad jerked his hand away and glanced over his shoulder to see Kendra glowering at him. “I told you to leave.”
“You’re not killing her. Or I’ll kill you here and now.”
“I will do what I damn well want.”
“No.” Kendra stepped closer. “Unless you want a knife buried in your heart.”
“Quiet, woman.” Hadad hefted the unconscious woman in his arms and headed for the stairs.
Kendra watched him leave, feeling uneasy. She wasn’t about to let Casi die but she had to be careful with Hadad or risk her own life. She spun on her heel and left the foyer. It was time to set things in motion.
*****
30 October 2003
Boston, MA
1:34 pm
The guitar solo was on it’s last chord and he counted one beat and opened his mouth to repeat the chorus when just like that his mind went blank. Marc stepped back from the microphone and made a chopping motion with his hand. The music died away, leaving a sudden silence in the rehearsal room.
“Man, that was my best one yet, why’d you freeze?” asked Ian, looking hot and sweaty.
Marc shook his head and swallowed hard. “Casi.”
Kari frowned. “Marc, what’s wrong?”
“I don’t know.”
There was a thumping sound as Carl hurried down the stairs to the basement. “It was sounding great, who called it?”
Everyone pointed an accusing finger at Marc. Marc waved a hand as if to swat them away. “Stop it,” he said, hoarsely.
Carl narrowed his eyes. “What is it? Are you sick?”
“No. Casi—I think she’s in trouble.”
“Damn it,” muttered Ian.
Erick would have jabbed the man in his side if he could have reached him. “Shut up, Ian.”
Before anyone could say another word, the telephone rang. As one everyone turned to stare at the noisy phone. Erick frowned. “It’s either Donovan or Catherine.”
Suddenly serious, Ian shook his head. “No bets.”
Stiffly, Marc walked over to the phone. “Hello?.....Yes, I felt something....Yes, I know.....I don’t know.” Marc frowned as his brother’s tone broke through his daze. “Donovan, are you all right?....Talking like that will get you to thinking like that....I’m serious. Casi expects you to be domineering and bothersome. You’ll disappoint her if you change....I know it’s not—hold on.”
Marc punched a button on the phone. “Hello?”
Ian threw up his hands in exasperation. “Next thing they’ll all have conference call.”
“Not that they’d need it,” commented Adrian, practicing his drumstick twirling.
“No wisecracks from the peanut gallery,” said Ian, pointing a finger at Adrian.
Marc sat down in a metal folding chair. “Yeah...Donovan’s on the other line....Are you sure?....Cat---“ He sighed. “All right, I get it....Why don’t you talk to Donovan instead of me? He’s the one that goes overprotective at the drop of a hat...I’d rather talk to you. You make sense....Okay, okay. Bye.” He punched the same button again. “Donovan, it was Cat.....Yeah, she wants to talk to you....Look, she just wants to talk to you....Fine.”
Marc hung up the phone then saw everyone looking at him. “We all felt something. Casi’s in trouble but none of us can just drop everything and go. We don’t know where in Romania she is.”
Ian frowned. “We’re just rehearsing. First gig of the tour’s not for a week. Go.”
“And do what, Ian?” Marc shook his head and stood up. “What do I do? Search the entire country for her? Cat’s right. Joe and Ethan are both over there. They’ll keep her safe.”
“What if they can’t,” said Carl, in the quiet.
Marc shook his head again. “Don’t go there.” He walked back to his microphone stand and sighed. “Please.”
Kari looked worried. “Marc—“
“I’ll be fine. Let’s start over.”
Ian didn’t move a muscle. “Marc, if you need a sec—“
“I said let’s start over.” Marc cleared his throat. “And stop looking at each other, acting all worried. Let’s start over.”
Adrian tapped his stick on the edge of the drum casing. “One, two—“
Ian started the riff on the guitar, followed by Erick. Marc took a deep breath, sent up a quick prayer and started singing. He’d deal with the uneasiness in his own way, later....
*****
30 October 2003
Orlando, FL
1:42 pm
No sooner had he hung up with Marcus did the phone ring. Unconsciously, he reached for his wife’s hand. Brittani had come in only moments before, thinking something was wrong. Now he was glad she was here. “Hello?.....Hey, Cat, yeah Marc told me.....No, I’m not acting like a defeatist but—“
Brittani squeezed his hand back and settled more comfortably in his lap, resting her head on his shoulder. “It’ll be okay, Donovan,” she whispered.
“Yes, I know that,” Donovan said into the phone. “Yes, I know he went over there and found her. Yes, I know that but....And you say I’m defeatist?.....Meant to be. Cat....I don’t believe in fate...Cat—“ Donovan shook his head. “Cat, stop it....Fine.....Yes....Yes.”
Brittani sat up as he shifted in his seat. “Catherine, don’t take that tone with me.....Fine. I’ll talk to you later.” Donovan practically threw the phone receiver in the direction of the base. He shook his head and settled it down in its cradle. At Brittani’s look, he shook his head. “You don’t want to know.”
Brittani frowned. “Donovan, you do sound a little down. Like you’ve given up.”
Donovan heaved a sigh. “What do you do when you can’t do anything else?” He held up a hand to her. “No—don’t answer. I have already been told what to do. But damn it, it doesn’t seem like enough.”
“Maybe not but if it’s all you can do...”
Donovan sighed again. “I want to do much more. I wish---“ He shook his head. “I wish I could keep her safe the way I used to. In school, all the guys knew to leave Casi and Cat alone or I’d deal with him. On that, Marc would always back me up. When Casi first tried playing detective, I went into panic mode. How the hell could I protect her when she was putting herself in harm’s way?”
“It’s Casi’s nature.”
He went pale. “God, I know that. She’s got a scar on her hip for God’s sake. I know that.”
Brittani touched his cheek. “Donovan, if it’s meant to be—“
“Don’t,” he said harshly. “That’s what Cat said. I couldn’t bear it. I don’t think I’d ever handle losing a sibling.” He shivered. “God, no.”
Brittani wrapped her arms around his neck and laid her head on his shoulder. She could feel him shudder and realized that he was so dreadfully worried. Praying didn’t really seem like enough. Especially when the whole body craved action. She felt tears prick her eyes, tears he might be unable to shed. She squeezed her eyes shut and decided to pray for them both. Oh dear God, please let Casi be okay...
*****
30 October 2003
Bucaresti, Romania
3:45 pm
He’d left the hotel on foot, feeling full and steady. The sun didn’t bother him right now, his stomach didn’t feel ready to revolt, his head wasn’t even throbbing slightly. Joe knew tonight he could sneak into the castle up on the hill and find the information he was looking for. He suspected it was Omar Hadad up there, posing as a dead man to give rise to vampire rumors for some wicked purpose—who knew what.
Without meaning to, Joe passed his favorite cafe and decided on a cup of coffee. He hadn’t had a good cup of coffee since---He frowned, he didn’t even remember. He shook his head and sat down at his usual table and felt a sense of displacement. Had it only been twenty-four hours since Casi had sat across from him, they’d talked....
A shadow fell across his table and Joe looked up expecting to see young dark-haired Brann. The girl had kinky brown hair and hazel eyes. She studied Joe for a long moment like he was a speciman under glass. Something about her unnerved him. “Where’s Brann?” he asked when it hit him she probably didn’t speak English or much of it.
“Sick. Name’s Greta. What’ll it be?”
Joe had a bizarre flashback to a show his mother had watched a long time ago. He half-expected to hear Greta say ‘Kiss my grits’. “My usual.”
“Right.”
A cold chill swept over Joe. He couldn’t explain the sudden dread he felt. She was new—at least to him—how could she know what his usual was? It could be food, beverage or something else. “Wait,” Joe said, glancing at her. “I’ve changed my mind. I want coffee, two sugars and one cream.”
Greta nodded, her curls bouncing. “Right.” She headed for the cafe kitchen.
Joe took a deep breath. If she’d worked there awhile she’d probably know that was his usual. He gripped the edges of the small circular tabe and stood up, shoving the chair back and to the side in one smooth motion. Without thinking he reached for his gun before he realized he wasn’t packing. It still sat in the suitcase because it hadn’t been a good idea to walk around Bucaresti armed.
Greta stopped to look, then started back towards him. He moved to half-way face her and froze as he saw the odd-looking gun. Before he could move, he felt a sharp jab in his neck not far from the puncture wounds. Liquid fire raced through his veins and he staggered. He focused both eyes on her. “Lilith Raven.”
“You do remember me. I’m flattered.”
“Go to hell.”
“Not without you.”
Joe felt dizzy and nauseated and suddenly he knew. “You...My..God....it was you.”
Lilith walked closer and touched his cheek, making him flinch. “Guilty.” Almost gently, she pushed him into his chair. “Now you’re mine.”
Joe felt his chest tighten and he found it hard to breathe. “Like....hell.”
Lilith leaned over and kissed him even more breathless. “Your beloved can’t rescue you this time.” Lilith’s grin was wicked. “She’s otherwise engaged.”
Joe’s vision darkened. “No...not Casi.” He tried shaking his head and blacked out, sagging limply in the small chair. Lilith’s grin widened. “Oh....yes.”
*****
30 October 2003
Bucaresti, Romania
3:51 pm
“I’ve seen better hovels.”
Gil, hush.” Natalya shook her head and got out of the car. They’d gone straight to the British Embassy but the receptionist had said the Ambassador was in Brasov and the daughter wasn’t in. The woman did give them the address for Varick.
Gil got out of the car and slammed the door as a dark-haired man stepped out of the building onto the sidwalk. Gil gestured to the man. “Tenant?”
Natalya shrugged. “Probably.” She turned to see Whitfield get out of the back seat. The Englishman had an odd look on his face as he studied the man in the distance but Natalya decided not to ask him if he knew the man. The three of them walked over to the man.
Gil gestured to the building. “You live here?”
“Not in a million years,” said the man without turning around. He glanced over his shoulder. “Who’s asking?”
Gil flashed his identification. “Inspector Henerik---“
“Good, I want to report a missing person. Kurt Varick. Dark hair, blue eyes, beard....” The man paused as he noticed Whitfield, then cleared his throat. “Hello, you a cop too?”
“Hell, no.” Chad recognized the man now. He’d seen him somewhere—no, he’d seen pictures. Pictures—Catherine and her husband. Bloody hell.
The man gave him a polite smile and turned back to Henerik. “I’m Elliott Marsden, an old family friend. I’ve been up to his apartment but no one’s there.”
Natalya stepped forward. “I’m Inspector Corwen, Mr. Marsden. I’m afraid we’re here about Varick as well. He’s a suspect in a murder investigation.”
Marsden shook his own dark head. “Don’t be ridiculous. He didn’t kill anyone.”
“You sound quite sure of yourself,” said Chad, his hazel eyes narrowed.
“Well, when you’ve known someone as long as I have, you know their quirks, their habits, et cetera. I know he didn’t kill anyone.”
Natalya glanced at Whitfield, then Marsden. “Do you two know each other?”
“Not at all,” said Marsden, almost cheerfully. “A case of mistaken identity, to be sure.”
Whitfield just grunted rather rudely.
Natalya looked at each of them again and sighed. “Mr. Marsden, how do you know Varick?”
Marsden sighed. “Such a sad story there. Man lost his love, then lost his love again.” He shook his head, then looked at the three of them. “Oh I’m sorry, only the first one is dead. The second one isn’t. No, no, no. She’s still alive, gallivanting around the countryside, visiting Dracula’s castle, et cetera, et cetera.”
Gil frowned, looking confused. “Dracula’s castle is in Brasov.”
“Really. You learn something new everyday,” mused Marsden.
“Was Ailsa Haines his first love?”
“Oh, no, no, no, of course not. She was a blond, pretty little thing, collected stray animals the way some people collect beer steins. And to answer your next question, he didn’t hurt her. She died in an accident, dreadful accident, almost killed him too.”
Chad Whitfield blinked as he remembered with sudden clarity his baby sister’s chattering. They hadn’t stayed for Catherine and Ethan’s reception. He’d had barely enough time to get there as the ceremony started and just enough time to get back to London, but inevitably Alexandra had located Cassandra and had talked with her until it was time for her to walk down the aisle as the maid of honor. If he didn’t already know MacKensey was here, Catherine’s husband had just comfirmed it.
Marsden gave him another polite smile but his eyes gave a different message. Chad took a step back. “I think we’re wasting our time here.”
Gil gave a curt nod. “I do too. Nat, let’s go up, investigate the apartment.”
“There’s nothing to find,” said Marsden, his cheerful tone fading slightly. “Door was open, bed unmade, everything else in shambles.”
“Your doing, Mr. Marsden,” asked Natalya.
“No ma’am. My mama taught me to respect other people’s property.”
Gil and Natalya shared a look, then headed for the building. Marsden made no move to follow them—neither did Chad. The moment they were out of sight, he whirled on Marsden. “Bloody hell, it’s him, isn’t it.”
Marsden blinked. “Excuse me?”
Chad just barely managed to keep his voice down. “Your partner, damn it. He’s here, isn’t he. He’s Varick, isn’t he.”
Marsden arched an eyebrow. “You’re very good at connecting the dots. You should be a detective.”
“That’s not even funny. Hell, Cassandra’s off investigating this entire affair and you’re making jokes.”
Marsden made a casual sweep of the area. “I was rather surprised not to see her with you.” He sighed. “I’d rather wish I had. It would make me feel a damn sight better.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You won’t like it.”
“I don’t like it already, Marsden.”
Marsden turned slightly, gave a nod of his head in the direction of the dark castle on the hill north of the city. The towers could just barely be seen from their position. “She’s up there.”
Chad turned around. “My God, what is she doing up there? Isn’t that where Thayer lives?”
“Yes.”
Both men turned back to see the two inspectors joining them. Natalya frowned. “You didn’t mention the object in the sink, Mr. Marsden. Interestingly we received a present earlier. The glass shard matched the remains in the sink.”
Marsden glanced around. “I didn’t venture that far in. Is the glass shard important?”
“It held several milliliters of a very odd liquid,” said Gil, his voice cold. “Very odd indeed.”
“More of the liquid was in the sink, caught among the remaining pieces of glass.”
Chad let out an explosive sigh. “Are you going to share with us or leave us in the dark?” he snapped.
Natalya cleared her throat. “The small amount we received and tested showed us it was quite nasty, full of chemicals, full of toxins. If someone has been injesting that, it’s a wonder they’re still alive.”
Marsden went rather pale, so did Chad. Both men glanced again to the towers belonging to Thayer’s castle. Chad took a deep breath. “You say she’s up there, that right?”
Marsden nodded slowly. “Wouldn’t do for you rush in where angels fear to tread now.”
Gil glanced from one man to the other. “Thought you didn’t know each other.”
“Amazing how fast one can become aquaintences nowadays,” replied Marsden.
Natalya glanced up at the castle. “What do you want with Thayer, anyway?”
Marsden sighed. “It’s Omar Hadad, a drug smuggler. He’s only posing as Dorian Thayer.”
Natalya stared at him. “The print...” She looked at Gil. “The print on the necklace Miss MacFairlaigne brought in. It belongs to Hadad.”
“So he killed Haines.” Gil grunted. “Why, damn it, she was his housekeeper.”
“She was apparently dating this Varick,” said Chad. “Maybe he was afraid she’d share information as well as other things.”
If it was possible, Marsden went a shade paler. “Damn. Excuse me.” He darted off to hail a taxi before anyone could stop him.
Chad felt cold and scared, not for himself but for Cassandra. What the bloody hell had she gotten herself into this time? He glanced at the two inspectors and wondered what could he possibly do now? He did know Marsden after all and he knew what it meant if the man was here.
“Mr. Whitfield, do you need a ride back to your hotel?”
“Yes, thank you,” said Chad distractedly. He glanced at the apartment building, then in the direction of Thayer’s castle and shook his head. “Yes, I need a ride.”
Natalya frowned, feeling concerned. She couldn’t shake the feeling the man might try something dangerous. “Mr. Whitfield, I’d appreciate it if you let us figure this out.”
He paused in the process of opening the back door of the four-door sedan and blinked at her. “It’s my fiance,” he began, realizing he wasn’t being entirely truthful. Cassandra had said no. “I couldn’t bear to see her hurt or....or...” He shook his head again.
“We’ll do our best to keep her out of harm’s way, Mr. Whitfield. Please, when we drop you at your hotel, stay there.”
Chad wanted to argue, to beg for them to race over to Thayer’s and rescue Cassandra. He doubted he could sit still at the Hanul Manuc, just waiting. He took a deep breath. “I can try, Inspector, that’s all I’ll commit to.”
Natalya nodded and the three of them got into the vehicle. After Chad told them where he was staying, they dropped him off at the Hanul Manuc and drove off. Taking a deep breath, he walked inside and veered for the restaurant. With a world-weary sigh, he sat down at a table but when a waiter came toward him, he waved the woman off and in the process glanced over his shoulder toward the archway that opened onto the lobby, then did a double-take. What was he doing here?
The man spotted him and headed in his direction. Chad groaned. This man was the last person he wanted to see right now. Well, second to last, anyway. The man sat down across from Chad and arched an eyebrow at the lack of food and drink on the table. “Bad food?”
“Go away.”
“I just arrived.”
“Why are you here?”
The man leaned forward, glanced around furtively. “Clandestine encounter, very secretive,” he said in a whisper. Then he cleared his throat, sat back and spoke in a normal voice, “You?”
“You’re in a damn good mood.”
“Slept the entire flight. Never felt better. Must be this mountain air.”
“What do you want?”
“How about good afternoon.”
Chad shook his head. “If this is good, you can have it.”
“Well...you’re in a damn churlish mood.”
“It’s been one of those days—and a worse week.”
The man frowned. “Chandler, you’re usually not the morose one. That’s Douglas.”
“Not since he married. Byron’s the morose one now.”
“Even that I don’t understand,” muttered Emerson Whitfield. “So what’s your problem?”
“Cassandra.”
Emerson whipped his dark head around. “I don’t see her.” He turned to face his brother. “Tell me, Chandler, you’re not letting her roam freely, are you? After all, she’s your intended.”
“Not anymore.”
Emerson arched his other eyebrow. “Pardon me? I must have missed something. The last time I talked to you, you were bringing her here to propose. That was—I do believe—only two days ago.”
“Emerson, shut the bloody hell up.”
“I take it back. Churlish isn’t the word for you. More like—“
“Don’t say it,” interrupted Chad. “Now leave.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible. There’s someone I have to see.” Emerson glanced over Chad’s shoulder, out into the lobby and nodded. “And there she is. I do so love when everything runs according to schedule.”
Chad looked around and felt his jaw drop. “Her? You’re here to see her?” Chad shook his head. “I cannot believe you came halfway around the world to grovel.”
Emerson gave his brother a hard look. “Grovel wouldn’t be the word I’d use,” he said, his tone mild compared to his expression.
“Beg? Plead?”
“None of the above.”
Chad frowned as she spotted Emerson. For a split second, her face lit up—until she saw him. “Emerson, what the—“
“None of your concern.” Emerson stood up. “Don’t wait up.”
Chad couldn’t believe it. Why had Emerson come all the way to Romania, he wondered, watching them leave, to see Miranda?
*****
Miranda Berkeley-Smythe glanced over her shoulder as Emerson popped open her umbrella. A cold drizzle had started. “He knows.”
“But he doesn’t know what he knows,” Emerson said pleasantly.
“Emerson, I’m serious.”
“So am I, my dear. He thinks I’m making up with you after that horrendous fight which ended when I dumped you. But we both know there’s no reconcilation since there was no fight.” Emerson turned her to face him and he kissed her. “No fight, no split.” He kissed her nose. “Darling, rain agrees with you. So does Romania.”
Miranda’s scowl faded. “Oh, Emerson, I’ve missed you.”
Emerson pulled her close and they continued walking. “Well?”
“I don’t know. There’s no proof.”
“Are you certain?”
“There’s the possibility. But it raises the question of why? Why use a dead man’s identity?”
“Well, that particular dead man was rumored to be—“
Miranda shook her head. “Ridiculous heathen superstition. Vampires don’t exist.”
“So you say.”
“Emerson, don’t be ridiculous.”
“An investigator must keep an open mind, Miranda. Just because we don’t believe the same way gives us no cause to be condescending.”
They entered the gate of the embassy and ducked under the porch roof. Emerson shook out the umbrella and stood it on it’s metal tip to dry, letting the handle rest against a wrought iron plant stand. “Miranda, your father...”
“Papa’s not here. He went to Brasov for something or other. Let’s go in and dry out.”
Emerson followed her inside and took off his outer coat. “You mentioned someone else interested in Dorian Thayer.” He hung the coat on the coat rack and rubbed his hands together.
“Oh...him.” Miranda’s scowl returned. “Name’s Kurt Varick. He works here but right now he’s sick.”
“Nothing dreadful, I hope.”
“Chandler’s girlfriend seems to think so.”
Emerson stared at her. “Chandler’s......girlfriend? Cassandra MacFairlaigne?”
“Yes.” Miranda led the way into her father’s library.
“Explain.”
“She asked me if I knew Kurt Varick, said they’d been close in high school. She knew he was sick.”
“High school?” Emerson frowned. “She went to a high school in Boston, I do believe. But her boyfriend was a transplanted Irish lad.” Emerson’s gray eyes widened. “And you say he too is interested in Thayer.”
“Yes. What is it, Emerson? Who is he?”
“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say.”
“Emerson...”
“The truth will out eventually, Miranda. Be patient. Now tell me about Thayer.”
Miranda heaved a sigh and sat down in a comfortable upholstered chair. “He’s elusive, yet reports say he walks around in daylight. Rumors abound about vampirism.” She shrugged. “Who else could it be?”
Emerson helped himself to the stash of Cuban cigars on her father’s desk and settled down in a brocade upholstered chair. “You’re certain?”
“It has to be him.”
“Yes, well, stranger things have happened. I had thought he was dead.”
“Americans always do a half-ass job, Emerson.”
“Is that why Bond is British?” asked Emerson in a naive tone.
Miranda rolled her eyes. “What do you intend to do?”
“Finish this cigar. I just lit it up.”
“Emerson.”
“Oh. You mean that. Well....” Emerson shrugged. “About this Varick, do you know where he resides?”
“Who is he?”
“Really, Miranda, I thought I taught you better than that.”
Miranda let out a rather unfeminine grunt. “Emerson, I just want to know who he is.”
“At the risk of blowing his cover possibly? I only have a suspicion anyway. I have been known to be wrong before. Rarely, of course, but I—“
“Emerson!”
He puffed away contentedly on his cigar. Of course Percival wouldn’t be happy when he discovered one of his cigars missing, Emerson knew. “Hmm?”
“What are you scheming?”
“Come darling,” said Emerson grandly. “Let’s go visit Varick, wish him well. Cheer the bloke up.”
“Then you wouldn’t want me coming along.”
Emerson stood up. “Why not? Really, Miranda, you seem positively morose. Between you and Chandler, you’ll force Byron either to burst into song or brick himself up in the dungeon.” Emerson helped her to her feet. “I really don’t know which would be worse.”
Miranda bit back a smile. “Emerson, behave.”
“I mean really, Miranda. Byron’s been like a zombie for years now. And Chandler, well, he’s not much better since—“
“Since what?” asked Miranda. She’d forgotten Emerson loved to draw things out, create drama.
“I do believe there’s trouble in paradise.”
“What happened?” asked Miranda.
“I’m not certain.” Emerson led the way out of the library. “Chandler brought Cassandra here to propose. But he told me he’s not sure anymore.” They left the Embassy and Emerson signaled for a cab. One made a U-turn and came back toward them.
Miranda frowned. “Varick.”
“Ah-ah-ah.” Emerson lifted a hand, pointed a finger at her. “An investigator never jumps to conclusions, my dear.”
“Emerson—“
“Seriously, Miranda, what do you have against the poor bedeviled chap?”
“He turned me down.”
Emerson helped her into the cab and got in beside her. “Give the driver the address.” He waited until she did before adding, “What in heaven’s name were you offering?”
“Don’t go there,” snapped Miranda. She sat back, folded her arms across her chest.
Emerson arched an eyebrow and sat back in his seat. “I know I said get a feel for the role but you don’t think you might’ve gone a tad too far?”
“It’s not like anything happened, Emerson—“
“No, no, no, of course not,” said Emerson drily.
“—he was too busy charming the apron off Ailsa Haines.”
“Does no good for any of us to speak ill of the dead.” Emerson shook his head. “You don’t think he might have had a role too? She did work for Hadad.”
“Then he really didn’t turn me down?”
“No need to get that excited, darling,” said Emerson, sounding mildly amused.
“Oh. Right.” The cab pulled up in front of a rundown apartment building. Emerson—still not sure whether he should be pleased or angered that she’d played her role so well—got out of the vehicle, then helped Miranda out. She pointed to the building. “It’s apartment 4C. On the left, in the back.”
Emerson grunted, looked around. “Abominable, really. Who built this ramshackle place?”
Miranda shrugged and led the way inside and up the stairs. At the top of the landing, Emerson stopped her from going to Varick’s apartment. “Look,” he whispered.
The door was closed but at a second glance, Miranda saw there was a crack between the door and the frame—just enough space to prove the door couldn’t be locked. Emerson stepped in front of her but before he could take another step, the door swung open and a tall, dark-haired man stepped out.
Emerson smiled. “Kurt Varick, I presume.”
The man looked him up and down. “Let me guess,” he said, sarcasm in his tone. “You’re James Bond.”
“Not that lucky, I’m afraid. Mr. Varick?”
“Mr. Marsden. What do you want with Varick?”
“To gossip about a mutual acquaintence.” Emerson shrugged. “Perhaps you know him? Dorian Thayer?”
“Who are you?”
“Oh, I knew I was forgetting something. Emerson Whitfield.”
“Chad’s brother?”
“Why....yes. You know him?”
The man gave a start, looked around and sighed. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I’m married to Cathy, Casi’s sister.”
Emerson slapped his forehead with the flat of his palm. “My God, the wedding! But your name—“
The man glared at him. Emerson nodded. “Right, right, Mr. Marsden. Then I was right.”
Miranda frowned. “About what?”
“Nothing of consequence, darling. Mr. Marsden, I do believe a talk is in order. You see, we’re all after the same thing—or should I say the same person.”
“Varick?”
“Thayer.”
Marsden narrowed his eyes. “Hadad.”
Emerson smiled. “Exactly.”
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Disclaimer
The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The authors have just borrowed them for an adventure or two. The authors promise to put the boys back when they are done with them. The authors do claim copyright to the original characters in this story. Please do not borrow original characters without express permission of the authors.