Читать книгу Protecting the Innocent - Cassie Miles, Cassie Miles - Страница 14

Anya wasn’t wildly impressed by her first view of Roman’s house. Unremarkable landscaping obscured the front doorway and walls, which appeared to be little more than bland gray stucco. She noticed very few blooming flowers—not that autumn was the season for spectacular floral display.

When they parked inside the garage, Charlie gave a cheer. “I did it! I got the puzzle box open!”

“Good for you,” she said.

“Look what’s inside.” In his hand, he held a tiny dragon. The jaws were wide open as if the dragon were laughing.

“It’s for protection,” Roman said. “Keep that dragon with you, and you’ll always be safe from harm.”

Charlie regarded the statuette solemnly, then he held it toward her. “You need this more than I do, Mom.”

She was touched and, at the same time, concerned. “Why do you think I need protecting?”

“Duh,” he said. “Because you’re a girl.”

“Girls can take care of themselves just as well as boys.” It was never too early to start teaching tolerance; she didn’t want to raise a little misogynist. “You keep the dragon. It’s your special gift from Roman.”

Charlie stuffed the statuette in his pocket, unfastened his seat belt and popped open the car door. “Let’s go.”

The garage led into the kitchen where track lighting illuminated stainless steel appliances and polished granite countertops. The lines were clean and efficient, but it wasn’t until she stepped into the living area that Anya had the full dramatic impact of Roman’s high-tech home. Two-story, plate-glass windows offered a breathtaking view of bay and sky. The interior walls were accented with sea-foam green and burgundy. Unusual colors, but they worked well with the chrome lamps and warm hardwood floors. Charlie dashed around the room, testing the modern, modular furniture.

She’d expected a sexy den of iniquity, but this wasn’t it. “Very classy,” she said. “Your home suits you.”

“I’m almost scared to show you the upstairs.”

With Charlie in the lead, they ascended an open staircase to the second level, which was one huge room. Up here, the predominant colors were eggshell-white and a hot, passionate red. At one end was a high-tech Plexiglas office space. In the center was a conversation area. At the far end, separated by a black lacquered Chinese screen, was a massive four-poster bed in black and chrome.

Aha! This was the bachelor pad, the sheik’s boudoir. The rich, deep red bedcover and dozens of pillows hinted at lavish, seductive delights. Mesmerized, Anya drifted toward it. On the bedside table were three buttons.

“Go ahead,” Roman said. “Push the buttons.”

She glanced nervously toward her son. Was this something he should see?

The first button adjusted the vertical blinds on the wall-to-wall windows, allowing a view of the bay. That seemed innocent enough.

When she pressed the second button, the bed began to vibrate. She arched an eyebrow. “Back problems?”

“It also heats up,” he said.

“I’ll bet it does.”

She turned it off and touched the third button. A wide-screen television rose from a chest at the foot of the bed.

“Wow!” Charlie clapped his hands. “I want a bed just like this when I grow up.”

Anya gave a disapproving sniff. This was not a role model she wanted her son to emulate.

“This part of the room is better.” Roman pointed Charlie toward his office and said, “Computer on.”

The flat screen came to life, showing a crystal clear picture of an underwater coral reef. The computer spoke in a sultry female voice. “Welcome home, Roman. It’s 5:32 in the afternoon.”

Charlie ran up to the screen. “What else does she do?”

“Computer, music,” Roman said. “Classical.”

The room filled with the throbbing opening notes to Ravel’s Bolero. The sound resonated from several hidden speakers. Incredible! Anya felt as if she were inside an orchestra pit.

“Computer, softer,” Roman said.

The computer responded, lowering the volume.

“Can I talk to her?” Charlie asked.

“Sorry, buddy. She only responds to my voice.”

Anya stepped up beside them. “Why are you guys referring to the computer as a female?”

“Jeez, Mom. Didn’t you hear her voice? She’s a girl.”

And Anya wasn’t sure she wanted her five-year-old son associating with this sexy-sounding machine. What else was this computer programmed to do?

“Computer, games,” Roman said. A menu popped up on the screen. “What do you like to play, Charlie?”

“Acto-Dinosaurs.” He wriggled with excitement. “And I get to be Caveman.”

Roman typed in a few commands, accessing the program, which was one Legate had created. He placed Charlie in the chair in front of the screen and handed him a joystick. “Knock yourself out, kiddo. Your mom and I will be downstairs making dinner.”

“Okay.” Charlie was already absorbed in the game, lining up a series of battles with snarling cyberdinosaurs.

With one last speculative glance at the sumptuous bed, Anya followed Roman downstairs. “I’m impressed. Your house is fantastic.”

“Glad you like it,” he said. “It was already built, but I knocked out a couple of walls and opened it up. Made the top floor into one room.”

“It turned out beautifully. How did you learn to do this design stuff?”

“Before I started working at Legate, I had a career in contracting. I did a lot of custom homes, but my preference was big buildings. High-rises. Skyscrapers.”

“What made you decide to change careers?”

In the kitchen, he removed a foil-covered tray from the refrigerator. “It wasn’t that big a switch. Contracting and development requires a lot of administrative work—scheduling, negotiating and budget. Legate offered me a wider arena.”

She detected a note of sadness in his voice. “Do you miss contracting?”

“In a way. There’s something satisfying about putting a plan down on paper and seeing it through to completion. At Legate, nothing is ever simple.”

When he peeled back the foil, she caught a tantalizing whiff of a fragrant marinade drowning three steaks. “You never told me you could cook.”

“Every bachelor has at least three things they can make. All of mine involve red meat.” He handed her a bottle of red wine from the fridge. “Grab a couple of glasses from the shelf by the sink and come with me.”

They went outside through a sliding glass door. A long deck stretched the entire length of the house. Built out from the cliff, the deck seemed suspended in air. Anya went to the railing and peered over the edge. The drop was thirty feet to a rocky shoreline where breakers splashed, throwing up a frothy spray. “Good thing I’m not afraid of heights.”

“Or earthquakes,” he said. “When I moved in, I had the supports redesigned to compensate for shifting earth and erosion. But if the Big One hits, this deck is toast.”

“You like having a bit of danger in your life, living on the edge.” She looked down. “Literally.”

He fired up the gas grill and placed the steaks on it. “Neville calls it risk-aggressive behavior. For some reason, this is a positive attribute for a paper-pushing administrator.”

“You don’t strike me as a paper-pusher.”

“You’d be surprised at how boring my life can be.” With the steaks sizzling, he joined her at the railing and pointed to the west. “If we stand right here, we can watch the sun dip below the horizon.”

The skies, frothed with clouds, had begun to take on a crimson tinge. A salty sea breeze brushed her cheeks and throat, but Anya was warm inside the black blazer she wore over her dress. She looked up at the broad-shouldered man who stood beside her. Now that she’d started digging below his polished surface, she wanted to know more.

“We’ve never talked much about you,” she mused. “I know that you and Jeremy went to high school together in Denver. You were a runner.”

“I still hold the school record for the 500.” He smiled down at her. “I’ve always been fast.”

“So I’ve heard.” Jeremy had told her all sorts of wild stories about Roman and his harem, but she was beginning to see him as a multifaceted person who was far more fascinating than a mere womanizer. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk about your family.”

“Probably not.” He opened the wine and filled their glasses.

“Come on, Roman. Tell me about your mother and father.”

“My mother was a Gypsy,” he said, taking a sip.

“That’s why I’m named Roman, short for Romani. The Gypsy word for man.”

Very appropriate. Roman was the quintessential man. Utterly virile. “Go on.”

“Gypsies are supposed to be wanderers, and my mother was true to form. She took off for good when I was ten.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Don’t be. She was impossible and loud. Godawful loud. Always yelling about something. And my father wasn’t much better. He stuck around for me and my younger brother, but he never was much good at making a living.”

“Where is he now?”

“Don’t know,” Roman said. “Don’t care.”

“And your brother?”

“Lukas was killed in a motorcycle accident about ten years ago.” A shadow darkened his features. “I miss him.”

But he didn’t keep photos. Roman wasn’t a man who dwelled in the past. He took what life threw at him and moved on. Anya wished she could do the same. “My childhood was the opposite of yours. It was my father who left. In a way, we’re mirror images of each other.”

“Not really. Your mother was successful. You traveled the globe. My family never left Denver, and we barely scraped by.”

Having money made a difference. It was true. And Anya’s father hadn’t completely deserted her. He stayed in touch with birthday cards, phone calls and the occasional visit.

She’d always thought her life would have been easier if he’d completely abandoned her. That way, he’d be gone for good, and she’d be able to forget all about him.

“About your father,” Roman said. “I don’t remember seeing him at the funeral.”

“He telephoned.” And he had sounded truly, deeply sympathetic. His voice was at the edge of tears. But he told her he couldn’t be with her. His presence might bring danger.

This was the most perplexing aspect of her relationship with Wade Bouchard. He claimed to be part of an international cadre of scientists who were dedicated to bringing unethical practices and experiments to light. If she believed in his goals, her father was an admirable person. “Dad was always racing off to save the world. Like a superhero. Supposedly, he stayed away from me and my mother so we wouldn’t be attacked by his enemies.”

“He’s in SCAT, isn’t he? Scientists Concerned About Truth.”

“I never understood that nebulous organization. Occasionally, they issue statements to the press or on the Internet. And they have a dinky little office in Washington. But a worldwide organization?” She shook her head. “It seems more likely that my dad is a raging paranoid—fighting demons that don’t exist.”

“Those sound like your mother’s words.”

Anya nodded. “Mother doesn’t have many good things to say about Wade.”

“For what it’s worth,” Roman said. “I don’t think your father is delusional. There’s ample room for ethical concerns when it comes to the business of science and technology.”

“Of course. But there are also rational and legal methods for investigation.”

“And if those methods fail?”

What was he suggesting? “You can always tell what’s right from wrong.”

“Can you?”

He returned to the grill to tend the steaks, leaving her at the railing. She stared out into space, lulled by the rhythmic wash of waves against the rocks below. She should have been peaceful, but a small voice teased at the edge of her consciousness. What’s right? What’s wrong?

She remembered the Legate motto—For The Greater Good. It suggested that the needs of the many were more important than the needs of the few. Logical? Yes, but not always true. Legate’s policies had apparently resulted in enemies so dangerous that they needed armed security guards and high walls.

Amid all the bustling activity of genius at work, she had sensed the ominous undercurrents. Nothing she could precisely define. Just a feeling. A certain tension. She sipped her wine. On the grounds of Legate, her husband had died a violent death. Was the explosion at Building Fourteen really an accident?

A shudder went through her. Beneath her jacket, she felt a chill that had nothing to do with the weather. “When you referred to unethical practices, were you talking about Legate?”

“I’d rather not talk about Legate. It’s the weekend. Time to relax.”

But she couldn’t let this go. “Have I brought my son into a potentially dangerous situation?”

He met her gaze directly but didn’t speak. The fading sunlight cast intriguing shadows across his face, highlighting his high cheekbones. A man of Gypsy blood, he was exotic, and at the same time, strong and stable as a rock. Utterly unreadable. There were secrets locked inside him. That was all she could tell for sure.

Reaching toward her, he lightly brushed a lock of hair off her forehead. “You’ll be safe. I’ll take care of you and Charlie. I’ll be your personal good luck dragon.”