HDA - Living in Darkness Trilogy - Pt 2 - The Search

"No, no, no, no." Messier massaged his temples with the first two fingers of each hand in a circular motion. "I want Morgan. Quinn can't hide her forever. Where the hell is she?"

Michael Radcliffe scowled. "Look, pal. Your wife got pushed off a bridge and she has amnesia. Back off."

Brian swallowed hard. "I.....love her. I've been going crazy without her."

Michael could easily attest to that. "Look, whoever tried to kill her will try again. It's better if she stays with Quinn." Suddenly, it dawned on him with what he'd learned last night from Quinn that Alethea had been right about it being a good idea for Ariel to go to Egypt. Especially now.

Brian frowned. "You're saying I can't protect my own wife?"

"I'm saying you might not be able to." Michael leaned against the doorjamb of his bookstore. It was too early for all this crap. Just then he saw Quinn jogging toward them.

"You called, Michael?" asked Quinn as he jogged up to them.

"I want to see Morgan."

"She doesn't want to see you."

Although tall and lean, Brian was still an inch shorter than Quinn. "I take it she told you."

"Something like that." Quinn bit back a groan. He was starting to sound like his late grandmother.

"You can't keep me from her," growled Brian, his hands clenched into fists.

"Until she wants to see you, yes, I can," said Quinn more calmly than he felt.

Brian glared at him. "I'll kill you first," he threatened and stalked away.

Quinn watched him leave, then turned to Michael. "What was that all about?"

"Mr. Neanderthal coming to claim his cavewoman. Good thing we're going south for awhile."

Quinn had completely forgotten. "Right." He started for the street, then stopped. "Michael, there's something not quite right..."

"You noticed it too?"

Quinn started to nod, then thought about it for a moment. "What did you notice?"

"His accent. It's not quite French."

Quinn blinked. "Oh. I noticed there was no wedding ring." Quinn shook his head. "Oh shit."

"What?" Michael was wide awake now and his brown eyes speculative.

"She said she didn't feel married. And that she didn't like him."

"Can't say I'm surprised. I don't like him either."

"Michael."

"Okay, so?"

Quinn frowned. "Maybe she was right."

Michael turned to go inside. "Now wouldn't that be something. Question is, if she's right, why is he faking it?"

"Michael--" Quinn began but Michael had closed the door and locked it. Quinn shook his head and started back toward his yacht at a slow jog. Why did he always get the really weird ones as friends?

***

20 May 2003

Paris, France

9:34 am

"What makes you think I can read French?" Ariel looked up from her fruit and toast. Despite a restless night, she felt wide awake. She spared another glance at the newspaper, then looked at Alethea. "At least I don't think I can read French."

The dark-haired woman shrugged. Today, Alethea was dressed in skin-tight indigo jeans and a silk tank top the color of tangerines. Her sunglasses were perched on top of her head. "No prob. Nick can read it when he gets back."

Ariel nodded. She was wearing knee-length walking shorts and a hand-crocheted tank top, both the color of pale stone. Her auburn hair was in a single braid that hung down her back to her waist. "Where is he?"

"Out for his morning run."

Quinn came into the galley just then, looking hot and breathless. After he'd left Michael's shop, he'd taken off for his morning run hoping to clear his brain. But he was still unsettled. "Ariel, last night..."

Alethea arched an inquisitive eyebrow. "Last night?"

Quinn grunted and glanced her way. "Not now." He reached into the refrigerator and took out a carton of orange juice. He unscrewed the lid and drank from the carton. After a moment, he set the carton down and looked at Ariel. "You said you don't feel married. Explain that."

Ariel blinked, surprised. "I--" How do you explain a feeling, she wondered, remembering the image from the night before. That couldn't have been her, could it? "I just know I'm not married. Married means partnership, together for ever, love, peace. I didn't feel that with him." Another image came to mind--sandy blond hair, oh-so haunted blue eyes. She felt her throat close up and tears prick her eyes. Blue eyes...

Quinn rested both hands on the countertop and sighed. "I think you were right."

Startled from the image, Ariel sucked in a breath and looked over at Quinn. "You're kidding."

"No."

"Why?" asked Alethea, an odd look on her face as she glanced from Ariel to Quinn.

"Brian came to harass Michael this morning." Quinn paused to drink from the carton again, then cleared his throat. "He wasn't wearing a wedding ring. No sign he'd ever worn one. And Michael said his accent wasn't quite as French as it should be."

Alethea drummed the fingers of one hand on the countertop. "Hmm, I'll give him that, he has an ear for accents the way some people have an ear for music." Suddenly, she jabbed a forefinger at Quinn. "Don't you dare repeat that to him."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"You know, it's a good idea that we're going to Egypt then," said Alethea, removing her sunglasses from their perch and slipping them on. She pointed to Ariel. "Which means you need more clothes. Hence another shopping spree." She held out an imperious hand in Quinn's direction.

He slapped it away. "What?"

"Shopping--money--or credit card. Which ever suits your fancy."

Quinn screwed the lid on the orange juice carton and took his time replacing it in the refrigerator, then shook his head. "Oh no you don't." He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at Ariel. "She gets the credit card."

Ariel couldn't resist teasing him. "And what's the maximum limit?"

Quinn groaned. "I should've known you'd corrupt her," he muttered, shooting Alethea a mock glare.

Alethea laughed. "We won't spend more than two grand."

"Oh, that's so reassuring."

***

20 May 2003

Boston, MA

9:11 am

He didn't like law offices. He shifted in his chair. Despite the indigo jeans and the Looney Tunes T-shirt not having a single rip in them, he still felt the secretary was watching him warily.

"You're Marc Colton, aren't you?" she asked finally, her skirt suit a soft yellow and immaculate. Her dark hair was in a fashionable short style and her makeup flawless.

He shifted in the chair again. "Yeah."

"Oh. I love your music."

He relaxed, surprised, and grinned. "Thanks."

"Hey, it helps me get my aggression out. Don't let the clothes fool you, I'm a headbanger."

The old adage of never judging a book by its cover came to mind as her intercom buzzed. She nodded. "Go on in."

Taking a deep breath, he got up and walked through to the inner office. The man seated behind the desk was an uncanny younger version of his brother--same wheat gold hair but cropped short and the eyes were more green than blue. He looked up with a smile. The smile slowly faded as Marc didn't smile back. "What's wrong, Marc?"

Marc sat down. "You've been reading the papers?"

Justin MacKensey shook his head and loosened his paisley tie. "Been too busy. Why?"

Marc took a deep breath, steeled himself for what he had to say. "Casi...Casi's been kidnapped."

Justin sat back in his chair as if he'd been shoved back and dropped the pen he'd been holding. "My God, when?"

"Seven days ago."

Justin shuddered. "What can I do?"

"Find Joe." said Marc, his tone brooking no argument.

Justin blinked. "I can't. I mean--" He took a deep breath. "I haven't seen him or talked to him in months. When he left last July, he didn't even say good-bye."

Marc could tell that had hurt Justin. In the few years he'd taken up residence back home between tours, he'd learned Justin looked up to his brother. At one time, they'd been close. Marc knew the feeling all too well. "He didn't say good-bye to Case last year either." Marc didn't add that tensions had risen dramatically at Catherine and Ethan's wedding or that Casi had been hell to put up with since Morocco--until she'd been kidnapped.

Justin took another breath. "How'd it happen?"

"She'd gone to a writer's conference in Paris."

"You sound like you were relieved."

Marc sighed. Justin was a criminal lawyer, not much got past him. "You know Joe was Ethan's best man."

"Yeah. I wish I could've gone."

Marc nodded. "Joe was on assignment. Which led him to Morocco."

Justin frowned. "Let me guess. Casi followed."

"Give the man a stuffed legal brief," said Marc. "Yep. And when she came home, she was--" Marc grunted. "Was not her cheerful self."

"Why do I get the impression you're putting it very mildly."

Marc sighed. "Casi has a temper."

"No, really?" Justin shook his head. "Don't forget, Marc, I first met her in Kenya too. She's the only person who doesn't cater to him. She'd blast him with both barrels when he needed it." Justin shook his head, ruefully. "Even that first time."

Marc found himself grinning. "She did, didn't she."

Justin flashed back to that fateful trip to Kenya nine years ago. "I think for Joe, it was love at first sight." Justin's humor got the better of him. "What he had of it, anyway." He sobered up and took a deep breath. "I'll call him, Marcus. After that, it's up to him."

Marc nodded. He understood more than Justin thought. "All right. Thanks." He left out of Justin's office, gave the secretary a smile and a wave and left the building. He glanced back at the double glass doors and hoped fervently, that it would be enough.

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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.