Trove (The Katie Walsh Mysteries) (2 page)

Boston, Massachusetts

Present Day

The glass sailed across the room, slamming into the oak door releasing aromatic droplets of rich, well-aged whiskey as it shattered. “Son of a bitch. It’s been nine months since Josh’s murder and I’m no closer to finding the bastard who did it,” Alec MacGowan spat. “The only progress made in the last three months is that I’m thirty thousand dollars poorer.”

Robert Baines stared at the reflection of his younger half-brother in the mirror over his mantled fireplace. It was an unguarded glimpse into the turmoil consuming his life. It was hard to believe that Alec was now forty. The dark, almost black straight hair, the athletic six foot three inch build, and those grey eyes, the eyes of Alec’s father. Robert shifted his gaze to himself. His own hair was medium brown and curly, his height three inches shorter, his eyes of clear sapphire blue, the eyes of their mother. He sighed, bent down and carefully lifted the shards off the hardwood floor. “You’re too impulsive Alec. You’ve destroyed a perfectly good glass.”

“You’ve got millions. You live in this penthouse all by yourself, not even a damn dog. You’ve been well off since you cashed out of the market before the tech bubble burst, so stop complaining about an ordinary glass.”

“Alec, you’re forever acting first and then trying to make amends. It gets old fast. Besides, I told you I’ll reimburse any expense. Now get a towel and wipe up the mess you created.”

Robert’s methodical approach to life, his general calmness, along with his intense interest in Celtic history helped him earn the appointment of a director’s position on the board of the Nordstrom Institute. His general demeanor was a tremendous asset in dealing with the intrigues, subterfuges, and professional jealousies of the research world.

Alec returned with a towel and cleaned up his mess, still fuming at his lack of progress. “I just don’t get it. Two respected academics in runes and not only can’t they translate Josh’s symbols, they tell me there are unknown runes in his work. And then, the icing on the cake, their translations are almost exact opposites of each other and neither one makes any sense when I consider them in relation to the rest of his notes.” He ran his hands through his hair.

“What the hell am I going to do? I’ve run out of options,” he said as he slumped into the black leather sofa cushions.

Robert sat down opposite his brother but remained silent. Alec scrutinized him. Robert squirmed under the close inspection.

“What is it you’re not telling me?” Alec asked. He narrowed his eyes, leaning his arms on his thighs. “You know something.” The silence hung over the room like the Sword of Damocles. “So help me, if I have to beat it out of you I will. Now talk.”

He leaned away from Alec. “There may be another option. However, this one isn’t going to be easy.”

“Easy, what the hell is easy? Seems that word doesn’t exist in my vocabulary anymore.”

“Well, it would involve the Nordstrom Institute.”

“I thought you said that they don’t take outside research requests.”

“They don’t.” Robert rested his interlaced fingers on his slight paunch and explained, “However, employees have access to the databases and in-house experts for research.”

“How does that help me?”

“Currently the Institute is in the process of creating a new division, Celtic Lore to be exact.”

Alec stood, strode to the credenza, and poured himself another whiskey. “Celtic Lore? Who’s heading it? Lucy Millar?”

“No one yet. The lead candidate is Dr. Katie Walsh. She holds a doctorate in Nordic and Celtic mythology.”

“Not seeing the correlation, Robert. How does that help me?”

“While researching and writing her thesis, she became a de facto expert in runes, particularly Anglo-Saxon runes. She actually has a substantial portfolio of runic translations. The Institute is close to awarding her the position as head of the new division.”

“Is it a done deal, or will they consider additional candidates?” Alec asked.

“They’ve informed her that she is the leading and, at this time, the only candidate.”

“So what’s the hold-up? I mean why not just make it official. Is it that she’s not really qualified and the offer is more to satisfy a quota?”

“Well,” Robert started, “Katie, Dr. Walsh, is not your staid, stereotypical academic. She’s no shrinking violet. Some on the board find her no-nonsense attitude suited more for an operational role and not a division head. She’d never accept a quota job. She’s worked hard and earned her reputation by producing viable results. She’s developed a methodology to peel back the layers of time, culture, and changes in language to get to the origins of some of the ancient Celtic and Nordic myths. It was painstakingly slow work most times, but she kept at it and the results, which will soon begin the vetting process, were worth her and the Institute’s investment.”

“Then exactly what the hell is her problem? Why hasn’t she locked down the position?”

“You have to understand where this is coming from, Alec, but Katie is a dear friend of mine. However, I admit that she doesn’t… doesn’t play well with others. Not that she’s mean or vindictive. She just doesn’t play with others, so to speak.”

”Don’t tell me she’s one of those people whose life is their job?” Alec interrupted, shaking his head. “That’s why I find most female academics dry, frustrating, and uninteresting. They have a chip on their shoulder bigger than this room.”

“Look, she works hard and long hours, but I don’t think she lives for the job. It’s just that for now, it’s all she has. Other groups in the Institute will hound the division head for access to the translations and help applying them in their work. The role will, by its very nature, be mostly about appeasing and stroking egos. That’s not Katie’s strong suit.”

Alec laughed. “Sounds like a real wildcat. You sound like you know this creature really well.” He peered closely at Robert’s face.

“I do. As I said she is a very dear friend and don’t refer to her as a creature. She’s actually quite charming. And why the hell are you looking at me like a specimen under a microscope, Alec?”

“Just checking for cat scratches,” Alec joked. “Ok, so if I understand you, I can apply for the division head. With my project management background and your help, I have an excellent shot at gaining access to the Institute’s resources.”

“If you’re hired, you’ll need Katie’s support. She’s working on a big project right now. But in all probability she’ll be the only one who can decipher Josh’s runes. But I won’t help you in securing the position. I’ve already thrown my support behind her. You’re on your own in obtaining this job.”

Alec studied his brother’s face intensely. “Does this Dr. Walsh mean anything to you, I mean, on a personal basis? I’m not sure if I’ll end up damaging any relationship you may have.”

“I told you, she is a very dear friend.”

“And that’s all?”

Robert inhaled. “She’s a very dear friend.” He exhaled loudly. “Don’t make her into collateral damage in your search for justice. And whatever you do, don’t call her ‘little one.’
She goes ballistic when guys call her that."

****

Katie Walsh, investigative mythologist at the Nordstrom Institute in Boston, arrived in London twelve hours after she’d checked in for her nonstop flight from Boston. What normally would’ve been a five-hour trip had turned into a half-day ordeal. They’d departed nearly three hours late due to crew problems. The rumor spreading through the gate much like the incoming tide surrounding Boston’s Logan Airport had the co-pilot suffering the aftereffects of a liquid dinner and the airline waiting for a substitute to arrive. The delay was compounded when they landed. It seemed as if Customs was carefully screening almost every passenger from every flight. Katie just wanted to grab a quick nap before the conference began, but it was already late afternoon by the time she checked into the hotel.

After a quick shower, she turned to check herself out in the full-length mirror.
Definitely holding up well for thirty-five
, she thought as she slipped into her favorite red silk dress. She did a quick twirl, loving how the sensuous material flowed around her lower body and layered gentle, teasing folds against her legs. She smiled, satisfied with her appearance, and left her room, ready for a drink at the meet-and-greet social. Once she downed a drink or two, she was sure she could smile warmly at her colleagues as they regaled each other with their daring exploits in the research stacks. She had to admit that every once in a while she’d hear an intriguing snippet of information that she’d tuck away for future reference. But that didn’t happen often.

Checking in at the reception table, she found herself raised off the floor in the vise-like grip of two linebacker-sized
arms. A deep baritone laugh enveloped her, rumbling through the arms holding her then coursing through her body like the remnants of distant thunder. “Katie, my Little One, when are you going to grow taller so I can look you in the eyes without lifting you high in the air?”

“Eric the Red,” she said between breathy giggles. “How I’ve missed you. Do you know how special you are? You’re the only one that I let call me ‘Little One.’ Anyone else tries to call me that and I’ll—”

“Aye.” He laughed as he set her back down. “I remember when Greg Wilson tried that. You slapped him so hard his face wore your hand imprint for two days.”

“Can’t say he didn’t deserve that. He actually grabbed my butt as he said it, like he was playing with a toy. And that was after I gave him fair warning.”

“Katie,” he said, smiling, “you are many things, but you are not a toy. A plaything maybe, but not a toy.”

Eric Murray was a beefy, copper-haired Scotsman standing a shade under six feet and weighing about two hundred and thirty pounds, almost all of it muscle. He was a formidable foe when it came to the caber toss, and though he could speak the Queen’s English, he would revert to his Scot’s accent at any moment and particularly after a few drinks.

She shot him a withering look, which quickly morphed into a grin. “I need a drink. Join me?”

“Aye, absolutely, mae wee bairn.”

****

Alec MacGowan watched the woman and the interplay with the red-haired male, appreciating the genuine warmth he detected in their greeting. The affection between them suggested more than friends. Lovers perhaps? She was exactly as Robert had described her: petite, about five feet tall without the killer heels, chestnut hair, sparkling eyes that were noticeable even behind her glasses or maybe because of them. His appreciation of her grew as he noted that she had curves in all the right places, though Robert neglected to mention that. She had a woman’s figure, something to hold onto, sink his fingers into. He hated the way modern women tried to deny the luscious curves that nature endowed them with.

He noted that she was not a staid academic as most PhDs he’d dealt with seemed to be. She was not one to hide behind the academic uniform of dark man-tailored suits. She was wearing a red dress that accented her figure, hugging and folding against her body suggestively, while the other females were dressed in variations of their unspoken dress code. Most researchers were rather bookish or totally obnoxious and angry at the world, though he had to concede that the research profession was very cutthroat. Competent people were forced to fight each other to grab their piece of a finite amount of financing. But she… she seemed alive. Robert was right, though. She didn’t look like a pushover. She was definitely in charge of the huge man with her, or was it more that he was protective of her, indulging her, but protecting her?

He watched her as she headed toward the bar and him. As she neared, he started towards them and then froze.
No, it can’t be her
. It couldn’t be KitKat, the woman with whom he spent the night five years ago.

His anonymous lover had a name and her name was Dr. Katie Walsh.
Damn, this makes everything more complicated.

He exhaled, steadied himself, and stepped in front of her, effectively and totally blocking her path as she neared the bar with the red-headed male in her wake.

“Excuse me, but aren’t you Dr. Katie Walsh of the Nordstrom Institute?”

She halted, forced to stop abruptly. She teetered in her high heels, grabbing the red-haired man’s arm to avoid ending up in a heap on the floor. She raised her head and scowled. He
watched her closely as she scanned his face for recognition. He mused that it may have been difficult since her glasses had slid down from the bridge of her little nose and were now resting on the tip of it, clearly in danger of continuing their downward path.

“Yes, I am. I’m sorry, but do I know you? You look somewhat familiar, but I can’t seem to recall your name.”

“We have a mutual acquaintance, Robert Baines.”

“Really?” she said, tilting her head slightly, releasing her scowl at the mention of Robert. “How do you know Robert?”

“Actually, he’s my half-brother.” He added, “My
older
half-brother by three years. I’m Dr. Alec MacGowan, archaeologist.” He reached over, and with his forefinger, he gently pushed her glasses up to the bridge of her nose then nodded his head slightly. “At your service.”