“The only person I can truly count on is myself. If I need savin’, I’ll manage it, like I’ve managed for almost a century.”
“Must suck to be so fucking old,” halfway out the door, Luke called back nastily over his shoulder.
“No, boy. It’s the alternative that sucks. That and having to deal with jackasses like you for such a long damn time.”
Matthew’s sarcastic laughter filled the room. “The old dude’s funny!” he said.
“Matthew, shut up. Luke! Get outside,” Eve shouted, eyes flashing. “Bowen, you need to shut your mouth, too.”
“Fine with me. Like my dad used to say, there’s no sense in arguing with drunks, fools, or mules.” Bowen settled back in his recliner and lifted his empty whiskey glass. “Mark, would you help an old man out and refresh this? And hand me the remote. I’m sure there’s a game on somewhere.”
Bowen had sipped whiskey and watched football into the evening, pretending to get drunk and pass out so that Eve let down her guard. Her whispers to the three men she called brothers, but who obviously were not blood relations, made his stomach clench with fear for Tate and Foster—and the six other kids these four were determined to capture.
Not if I have any say about it, you won’t.
A little after dark, Mark “woke” him and helped him up the stairs to his bedroom, where Bowen settled in to get a good night’s sleep. He’d need his rest. He’d decided to get the hell out of there first thing in the morning.
* * *
Slowly, quietly, carefully, Bowen made his way down the stairs. Bugs-a-Million, as always, was by his side, but the big dog was surprisingly graceful and truly intelligent. She crept with him, making no noise at all. Not far from the bottom of the stairway, the voices that were just susurrus became intelligible, lift ing with the tantalizing scents of breakfast and the distant drone of the TV. Bowen and the big dog froze, listening carefully.
“You’re cooking? You haven’t cooked in years.” Bowen recognized the deep voice as that of Mark, the only one of the four of them with troubled eyes.
“I thought it would make the old man feel better. We were pretty rough with him yesterday. I don’t want him hurt. Hell, Mark, I don’t want him at all. Just the kids, and we’re not even going to hurt them.” Eve’s voice carried easily to Bowen, making him suppress a sarcastic snort.
“Nah, we’re not going to hurt them. We’re just going to completely uproot them from their families and disrupt their lives forever,” Mark said.
Bowen nodded in silent agreement with Mark.
“Come on. They’ll be fine. Better than fine. They’ll have money and their own space on the island, and they’ll learn to control their powers without hurting people,” Eve said.
“Gilded cage.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she said.
“You know what it means. You’ve been living in one your entire life, and now you want to be someone else’s jailor? It’s not right, Eve.”
“I’m not going to be anyone’s jailor. I’m going to have my freedom. Just like you will,” Eve said.
“Oh, that’s right. The ‘we’ll be free and rich but out of Father’s reach’ pipe dream.” Mark’s voice was heavy with sarcasm.
“It’s not a pipe dream. It’s going to be our reality once we get all eight of those kids to Father.”
“You sound like you really believe that.”
“I don’t just believe it, I’m going to make it happen. For all four of us. Now, we need to talk about the hurricane.”
Bowen moved a little closer, wanting to be sure he caught every word.
“Nothing to talk about. I’ve changed its trajectory. It’s heading directly for us.”
“Oh, well. That’s good. That’s exactly what I wanted you to do.” Even from where Bowen crouched he could hear the surprise in Eve’s voice.
“I thought the change was smart. Bolivar Peninsula is less inhabited than Galveston Island.”
“Good point, well done,” Eve said. But Bowen could tell by her tone that she really didn’t give a damn.
“I also made another change. It’s not a hurricane. It’s a tropical storm.”
“Uh-uh, that’s not what we agreed to.”
“Well, when it’s earth’s turn you do what you think is best. It’s water’s turn, and I think it’s irresponsible to create a hurricane and then send it to smash into lowlands like this peninsula or Galveston Island. It’s already bad out there. And besides that, if there’s much more than a tropical storm warning they’re going to start evacuating, and then we’ll never find Charlotte and Bastien.”
“Okay, you’re right about that. Actually, you’re very right.” Eve’s voice sounded sly and pleased. Very pleased. “You said the eye of the storm is headed directly for us here?”
“Yes. It’s about eight-thirty right now. It should come to shore in the next hour.”
“Perfect. It’ll draw the water kids here. The old man said he owns the two hundred acres surrounding the house, and no one else lives on it. He has a beach that stretches for hundreds of yards—a private beach. Those two kids will be simple to grab.”
“Then we sit here and wait for Tate and Foster and, eventually, Charlotte and Bastien?”
“Exactly.”
“And you think they’re really just going to walk into this trap?” Mark asked.
“I know they will, or at least Tate will. We have the only person left in Tate’s family. He’ll be here. Once we have him it’ll just be a matter of time before he gives up his girlfriend,” Eve said.
Bowen had heard enough. He signaled for Bugsy to follow him back up the stairs. He grabbed the walking stick he’d carved himself and turned to the big dog. Looking her in her bright, intelligent eyes, he said, “All right Ms. Bugsy, we’re ready for our close-up,” he misquoted Sunset Boulevard as the dog’s tail wagged enthusiastically. “Let’s do this.”