Timeless (48 page)

Damn him. Damn him to hell. “No.” He drew a breath and beat back the urge to scream at the man. “I want to know the answer as badly as you do. But she isn’t to be trusted. She’s as eager to gain credit for something important as the rest of us.”

Nicodemus folded his hands in his lap. His fingers, yellow, claw-like, had the waxy appearance of a cadaver. “I think she is being driven by other desires. There is something else she is keeping closely hidden. Sooner or later she will reveal it. And when she does, we will be waiting.”

His dark eyes homed in on him intent, demanding. “We are in agreement about the documents then?” It was a statement, not a question. 

 His gaze strayed to Mc Bean. The man’s smug look drove the anger he felt higher into his chest. Nicodemus watched and waited.

“Give them to her.”

Nicodemus nodded.

“And what about the boy? What do you intend to do about him?”

“He and his parents have been persuaded to stay in Scotland for a few more days. They will be dealt with.”

Well at least he was on top of that situation.

He slammed out of the cabin and stomped up the hill. The choking spurt of anger and frustration threatened to strangle him. He had to kill her. She was ruining everything. But if he killed her, he might never discover what she knew.

He paused atop the hill and his gaze swept across the loch. The water glistened in the early evening light. He drew several breaths as he beat back his emotions. He had to maintain control. He smiled as an idea formed.

What if he eliminated Quinn? Being the emotional creature she was, she’d be vulnerable, upset. She’d be without support, without protection. That would be even better.

But first, he had to know what tie she had to the stones. There had to be one.

The possibility the boy, Will, had escaped with only a bruise after the attack Regan and Quinn had described was unlikely. He’d dwelt on that more and more. The boy had been semi-conscious when brought up out of the chamber. By the time he’d arrived at the hospital he’d been fully conscious and demanding to be released.

He’d been put in a room for observation for the night, but had been released the next morning.

Why had Quinn’s brothers stayed at the hospital the entire night, watching over him?  Their presence had made it impossible for he or Nicodemus’s men to get close enough to question the boy.

What did he know? What had he seen? And what was Nicodemus going to do about him?

“Probably the same thing I plan to do about Quinn,” he murmured.

Chapter 43

Quinn climbed the metal steps to
Grannos
’s deck, his movements slow and sluggish. The morning meeting with the local constable had gone well, all things considered. He and Regan had answered the man’s questions as truthfully as possible.

Spending the rest of the day on board one of the search vessels had been an exercise in futility. The search for Marissa’s body had moved farther down the loch and would continue one more day.

All that effort for a body that would never be recovered. He shuddered as the memory of Marissa’s screams rose up to haunt him. He raked his fingers through his hair and pressed the heels of his hands against his ears as though to shut them out.

Struthers appeared on deck and he dropped his hands.

“Any word?” he asked.

Quinn shook his head.

“I’m sorry, Quinn. I know she was important to you once.”

“Thanks.”

Important to him. Had she been? What he’d told Logan and Rob had been true. She’d been a distraction from responsibility. But his feelings for her had been nothing compared to those he had for Regan.

He looked up to find Struthers studying him. “I’ll be spending the night aboard
Grannos.
If you have somethin’ better to do with your time, you’re free to do it.”

Struthers tugged at the stringy ponytail that lay against his neck. “Are you sure you want to be alone? I don’t mind hangin’ out.”

“I’m good. Well, not good, but— I’ll take the watch. ‘Twill give me somethin’ to concentrate on besides—” His attention shifted toward the loch. Guilt at playing to the other man’s sympathy tweaked him.

Struthers nodded. “I’ll get my bag. Do you know when we’ll be packin’ up?”

“Nicodemus has extended our contract for a couple of weeks. But you and the others can pack your things and head back to the
Nechtan
the beginning of the week. She’ll need to be supplied and prepared for our next salvage.”

“Aye.” He paused. “I won’t be sad to leave this place. It gives me a wee strange feeling.”

“Aye, it does.”

“Do you think luck is tied to places?”

“No. I don’t think there’s any such thing as luck, only people and their choices. Why do you ask?”

“The lad you helped— Will. There was a report on the news tonight. Instead of returning to America, they decided to spend a few days on Skye. It seems they were offered an extra two weeks paid vacation in Scotland for their troubles. Their car went over the side of the mountain, and he and his parents were killed this morning.”

“Jesus!”  Shock raced through him catching his breath and making his face numb.  Quinn leaned heavily against the railing. He struck the railing with his palm so hard pain shot up his arm. Damn them!

“I’m sorry, Quinn.”

“He was just a lad. And his parents—” Completely innocent. The boy had been so confused after waking, he’d have never remembered what he saw, and if he had, it could have been easily dismissed as a dream. The chances their death was truly an accident— He shook his head.

Struthers drew his jacket closed and zipped it. “’Twill be a relief to get back to where we belong, back to normal.”

 “Aye, it will.” If only he knew what normal was now. “I’ll spend some time tonight listing what needs to be done. I’ll want you to take care of things until we arrive on
Nachtan
.”

“Aye, Boss. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Quinn nodded. “Good night.”

Quinn wandered to the bow of the boat. He focused on the cofferdam. He’d hoped. Had prayed. Nausea twisted in his stomach. Bent at the waist, he rested his forehead against the metal railing until the feeling passed. But the ache in his chest grew until it threatened to cut off his breath.

He’d have to find a way to protect Rob and Logan from the fallout. Out of everything, the loss of their faith would be the hardest to bear. He swallowed against the knot that rose in his throat.

He’d only have to blow a small section of the dam’s exterior shell to flood the site. He’d rig the chamber to collapse as well. That would successfully end all of this.

The whine of a johnboat’s motor catching signaled Struthers’ departure. Quinn straightened and strode aft, ducked into the galley and moved on to his cabin. He returned topside dressed in his dry suit.  He strapped on his tanks and checked his regulator. Tilting his dive computer, he calculated his dive. As he moved to the machine room he looked toward the site to see if anyone were about before starting the air compressor that would feed the cutting torch. All seemed clear.

With the compressor running, he threw the switch to make the torch hot. He adjusted his slippers, hung the face shield at the back of his neck, pulled in place his full-face mask, and stepped off the side of the dive platform.

Towing the air cable, it took him some moments to swim the distance between the cofferdam and the
Grannos.
Quinn secured the face shield and ignited the underwater cutting rod. He laid the tip of the rod onto the sheet metal of the cofferdam. The water bubbled around him as though he were boiling inside a caldron. The rod sliced through the steel piling like a scalpel through skin. He moved onto the next section three meters to the right. He concentrated on the work, to keep from thinking about the repercussions of what he was doing.  As he cut through the layers of steel to weaken the dam, the underwater dive light clamped to his belt swung back and forth like the pendulum of a clock. Ticking away the moments of freedom he had left.

*****

Regan studied Quinn’s expression. “Where are we going?” she asked, as he guided her from the cabin she shared with the girls down to the dock. Instead of one of the small johnboats, he drove one of the inboard
Bayliners
.

The hint of melancholy in his smile had anxiety settling like a knot in her stomach. He’d been so quiet yesterday the few times they seen each other. And then he’d left her early to spend the night on board
Grannos.
She’d wanted to ask him to stay with her. She’d been afraid for him to be alone. Afraid Nicodemus’s goons might harm him.

“I’ve discovered something you should see, and since it doesn’t grow dark until after nine, we have time to make the trip,” he said, breaking into her thoughts.

He gripped her hand to steady her as she stepped down into the boat. He untied the bow and leapt down behind her seat. With a practiced ease he climbed over the driver’s seat and slid behind the wheel. He twisted the key and the engine fired.  The familiar smell of oily fuel and the loch wafted up to her. He backed the vessel out into the loch then turned the bow down the middle of the channel.

They passed the site. The dark blue steel pilings of the cofferdam looked foreign to the rest of the natural surroundings. Why had they not at least painted the steel to blend into the environment? Not that it would help.

Quinn thrust the gearshift forward and the nose of the
Bayliner
rose.  Regan perched atop the seat back to see where they were going. He guided the bow toward Isle Maree.

Sudden fear ran along her nerve endings, and she slid back into her seat. She had researched the island, just as she had the loch and surrounding areas. But there was something about the small mound of land in the distance that caught her breath and shocked her heart into a gallop.

Quinn slowed the boat as they approached the northern tip of the island where a small finger of land jutted into the loch. The water appeared blue-black. This was the deepest part of the loch, over three hundred feet.

A shiver raced up her spine.
Witches’ Point.
  It had to be. She’d read they’d thrown witches into the loch as a test and buried them on the island after they drowned. Coira could have faced that for her beliefs, had she not been murdered. How had she held on to her faith with such strength? How had she faced Braden’s absences, knowing he might never return?

Quinn turned the boat away from the site and motored around to the opposite end of the island.  The wind bombarded them, kicking up the water. The
Bayliner
rocked so hard Regan’s grip tightened on her seat and she braced a hand against the windshield.

 A bare area with markings where several other crafts had beached came into view.  The hull of the boat made a grinding sound as Quinn ran the bow up on the bank. He killed the engine and leapt out to drag the craft further up and secure the bowline around a large rock.

Silence settled around them, a strange preternatural silence devoid of the normal sounds of birds. Birds nested everywhere—why not here?

A stiff bone-chilling breeze chased them up the wide leaf-strewn path into the trees. The clustered brush and greenery acted as a break. She paused to rest a hand on one of the large oaks. Most of the trees in the area were pine. But here she saw oak and ash, holly and birch. She drew in scent of greenery, fresh and crisp.

An odd dead tree leaned upon supports just ahead on the path. Coins were scattered about it and hammered into its bark. Regan paused to run her fingertips over the edges of the coins and study them. Had the “money tree” really given up wishes for such payment?  And where was the “sacred well” supposed to heal lunatics?  Maybe she’d drink from it.

Nicodemus’s desperate need to be healed came to mind. Argus’s hope for him as well.

What would she have given to have her mother’s mind whole?  What would she have done to be able to carry on a normal mother-child conversation with her?

Their relationship had so often been reversed. She was the one caring for her mother, soothing her fears, and trying to quiet her outbursts.  When Evelyn grew too unstable, social services had come and taken her away.

She’d been hounded by guilt for months because, God help her, she’d been relieved they’d come for Evelyn.

Her mother had died, never knowing peace, or having a clear drug-free thought. What hell that must have been for her. What hell it had been for them both.

And now the fear of following in her mother’s footsteps dogged her. The diagnosis had been schizophrenia, but what if her mother had experienced unexplained events similar to her own? Real events she couldn’t cope with.

A distinct memory rose up to torment her.  She’d awakened from a sound sleep to her mother’s raving about having lost her baby, but she had been there with her the whole time, a child of six. Was that tormented quest tied to Coira, or trapped in her mother’s own demented mind?

Was she reaching for an explanation for her mother’s condition in the hopes of ending the constant fear of following in her footsteps? Probably.

Quinn offered her his hand and she grasped it. They wandered further along the path. If the supernatural occurrences they experienced freaked Quinn out, finding out about her mother’s illness and the possibility she might develop the same condition—Quinn would be right to cut and run. Why would he want to take a chance on a woman who might go crazy some day?

The path expanded into a clearing. Dark mounds of stone created a large circle. Inside the henge, headstones thrust from the ground. Some appeared just misshaped blocks of stone. But others were carved in a more elaborate manner and appeared newer.

Quinn paused just outside the circle. Regan stepped through the opening to the circle and strolled around the perimeter. One particular head stone drew her. A flat stone with no distinct markings, it blended in with the rest. She knelt to brush the leaves away and a wave of grief rolled over her like a tsunami bringing instant tears to her eyes. “Who are you? Are you Braden or Bryce?