Because there wasn’t any darkness.
“You were absolutely right, Michael.” Darcy sat back and ate her cereal, completely comfortable to be here with the sun shining brilliantly on Sylvie. For some reason, it seemed to be the right place to be at the right time. “Now tell me what you’re doing at school. And then I’ll tell you what a fantastic star I’m going to be someday. Not as big as your Cara, but then she’s really one of those once-in-a-lifetime talents, and I’ve only got a terrific voice and star quality. But that will be enough, don’t you—”
*
“Michael, what have you been doing?” Eve stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips and trying to look stern. It wasn’t working. She was too relieved to see that Darcy was no longer the broken woman she’d been the afternoon before. She was still pale, but she appeared subdued but normal. “I’m sorry, did he wake you, Darcy? How long have you been up?”
“Only a couple hours.” Darcy smiled at Michael. “We were just getting to know each other. Only somehow it ended up with me talking entirely too much about myself…” Her eyes went to the reconstruction across the room. “And Sylvie.”
And nothing was healthier, Eve thought. Bless Michael. “I’m sure my son slipped in quite a lot about himself.” She looked at the empty cereal bowls. “I see you’ve had a light breakfast. Would you care to have something more substantial? Joe is going to take Michael to karate practice this morning, and he probably shouldn’t eat too—”
“Karate,” Darcy repeated. She made the connection. “Gary.”
Eve chuckled. “Well, evidently you didn’t completely monopolize the conversation, Darcy.” Eve turned to Michael. “Go take your shower and wake up Cara, Michael. She told me she wanted to go with you. She said she might need to pick up a few moves herself.”
“Yes.” Michael laughed and jumped to his feet. “I was afraid I wouldn’t get to see her much today.” He ran down the hall toward the bathroom. “I can show her some moves. Dad says I’m getting really good.”
Eve turned back to Darcy when he’d disappeared. “I didn’t mean to take Cara away from you today,” she said quietly. “I know it must seem as if you’ve been thrown into a den of strangers at a terrible time in your life. But Cara said you had questions, and it seemed a good time.”
“Not strangers.” Her gaze shifted to the reconstruction again. “Even your son has made me feel very much at home.” She looked back at Eve with a smile. “I may be disappointed when I wake up, and he’s not sitting in that rocking chair looking at me with those big brown eyes.”
Eve sighed. “He didn’t? Oh well, it’s good you get accustomed to him right away. He’s a bit of an acquired taste.”
“You don’t believe that.” Darcy grinned. “You know what you’ve got, Eve. He’s a wonder.”
Eve nodded. “I know what I’ve got.” She grinned. “Maybe I just don’t want everyone else to be green with envy.” Her smile faded. “And I’m glad he had this time with you. Michael has a rather unique perspective on my work, as you’ve probably noticed. I assure you, it’s his perspective, not mine.” She paused. “But it’s quite wonderful and worth considering.” She turned away. “Now why don’t you go take your shower and dress while I fix an omelet for you.” She made a face. “I’m not much of a cook, but I can do a decent omelet. Then we’ll get down to Sylvie.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Yes, I do,” she interrupted. “You’re going to need more than a bowl of flakes to get through the things I’m going to tell you.” She added grimly, “And before I came out here this morning, Joe was taking a call from Jock Gavin, and that was pretty nasty, too.”
Darcy made a face. “Cara said that she didn’t want you to know about that just yet.”
“I can believe it. Cara has always wanted to protect me. Well, Jock evidently did want us to know ASAP.” Eve headed for the kitchen. “So it’s all cards on the table, so we can figure out this nightmare.”
DELTA FLIGHT 2482 OVER MARSEILLES, FRANCE 4:50 P.M.
“The fingerprint belongs to Rory Norwalk, born and raised in Belfast, Ireland,” Joe said when Jock picked up his call. “Dalroth, with Interpol, says that he’s a very nasty customer who has a record several pages long that includes everything from theft and human trafficking to drug smuggling. I’m texting you a photo right now. Ten years ago, he set up his own organization and runs a team out of Dublin. He’s good at what he does.” He paused. “First, you should know that according to reports, he’s a psycho. He grew up working with the IRA, and the stories about the torture he inflicted while he was with them were pretty bloody. He enjoys it. He’s been picked up for at least three cases of murder since he set up his organization. Never proven.”
“Shit.” Jock’s hand tightened on his cell phone. “What connection does he have with Kaskov or any of the Moscow Mafia families?”
“None that Dalroth can trace. He doesn’t work with any of the crime families. He tends to hire himself out to the highest bidder, but he sticks to his own turf. He’s always confined his operations to London or Dublin.”
“Then how the hell did he end up in Cara’s suite in New York?” He accessed the photo of a tall, powerfully built man, wearing an olive-green windbreaker. Rory Norwalk was fortysomething, with dark eyes, a shock of thick brown hair, a square face, and thick lips. Nothing unusual. Someone you’d pass on the street and barely notice. But now Jock would notice, he’d never forget. “What’s he doing in the U.S.? There has to be a connection.”
“Cool down,” Joe said quietly. “You said that Cara thinks he could be targeting Darcy Nichols. That’s why you’re on that plane.”
“I’m here because I have to explore every possibility. I don’t like the idea that Eve received that gift package of the skull of Darcy Nichols’s sister. The connection is too damn clear.”
“Do you think I do?” Joe asked harshly. “I’d be on a plane myself if I could justify leaving my family with that nut job running around. Norwalk got close enough once to leave that skull. He’s not going to get that close again.”
Thank God. And Jock was passionately grateful that Joe was there to form that protective barrier. He’d been on edge ever since he’d taken Cara’s call last night. “I’ll check it out. What did you find out about Felicity Jordan?”
“I texted you her current address in Nice. It’s a villa on the Mediterranean. Evidently she lives very lavishly on Darcy’s residuals. I’ve been trying to contact her or her current husband, Raoul Napier, all day, but it goes straight to voice mail. I got Dalroth to do a little checking of illegal activity with the local authorities, but they appear to be clean. If you can call her mother’s appropriation of Darcy’s funds clean. Raoul Napier likes to gamble and has been picked up on possession, but no serious criminal record.”
“What about Sylvie’s sanitarium?”
“That took longer. It has stringent privacy rules. That’s one of the prime attractions to the wealthy parents who put their children in the place. Eventually, I was able to bypass the clerks and get through to someone in authority. I found out that Sylvie Jordan had been removed from the sanitarium by her mother and stepfather almost two months ago.”
“So Felicity was lying to Darcy,” Jock said grimly.
“It would appear so. And probably backed up by a fat bribe to the desk receptionist at the sanitarium who answers their phones. You’ll have to determine that for yourself. If you can find Raoul Napier and his wife, Felicity.”
“Oh, I’ll find them,” Jock said. “I have contacts I can tap for information in most places in the world. It’s what I was trained to do. Find and eliminate. I’ve already called Charles Benoit, who is very, very good at digging and providing that information. He’ll be meeting me at the airport in Nice.”