Fire And Steel (The Merryweather Chronicles Book 2) (3 page)

      Underhill gave a soft laugh and slid onto the bench beside her, not close enough to invade her space though. He sighed and looked at the two playing children and their terrified mother. The young woman now watched Claire and Underhill almost as much as she had watched her little ones. "How is young Merryweather? Is he still having trouble with those Krueger boys?"

      Claire shrugged, glancing at the woman and her children. The woman was gathering up her boys, shooting dark suspicious looks at Underhill, and Claire suddenly felt bad for the old man beside her. She looked at her teacher and said. "I'm sorry about that."

      Underhill looked at her, eyebrow raised. "Don't be foolish, Claire. You can no more apologize for that woman's fear than you can make that fear vanish. It's good that she was afraid. If I could scare every child into their homes with my ugly old face, I would. Safer for them to be home and scared, then out and about during these dark times." The last was said with a very pointed look at her.

      Claire couldn't help but laugh. His smile returned, easy and natural despite how it tugged at the scar across his cheek. Claire spoke without thinking, otherwise she might have never found the nerve. "Mr. Underhill, how did you get your scar?" This was a question that had nagged at her ever since her first class with him, but she would never have considered asking it at school. But they weren't at school now and, after his not so subtle comments about her foolishness, she wasn't feeling subtle at all.

      Instead of being offended, Underhill laughed and said. "You've got grit, girl. I'll give you that." He went quiet for a moment, studying the now empty playground for a long time, before answering. "It happened a long time ago. In a war."

      "I'm sorry." She said, unable to stop herself.

      He gave her a mock frown, then smiled sadly. "You've got nothing to be sorry for, girl. It was ages ago. I was a different man then. And it was a different world." Shaking his head, he met her gaze for a long time, peering hard into her single green eye. Then he surprised her by asking. "Turnabout being fair play and all, would you show me what lies beneath all of your colorful eye-patches?"

      Claire hesitated, but only for a moment. It was only fair. She pulled the eyepatch aside, exposing the smooth unblemished skin underneath. He stared at it a long time, his face expressionless, before making a small gesture to show that she could replace the patch. He didn't apologize or offer weak platitudes and she loved him for it.

      Instead, he looked at her and said. "When I was a boy, my father told me many stories of fantastic places and magical peoples. It was said that once, long ago, there lived Seers, beautiful girls gifted in prophecy. They saw the future and could look into the hearts of every living creature and see what dwelt within. They were revered as goddesses and as rare as precious jewels." When he stopped speaking, he cleared his throat and looked out over the lake, watching the wind spread ripples out across the broad expanse of water.

      Claire was speechless. She looked at the old man's grizzled features, teased by the thought that she could somehow see the young man he once was. The ghost of a handsome young man seemed to shimmer beneath his tough scarred exterior. Before she could formulate a response, Underhill glanced past her and smiled. "There's your young man now, I think."

      Claire turned, immediately spotting Brandon, ambling toward her from across the street. When he saw that she had noticed him, his face broke into a broad smile. He was holding a coffee with one hand and waving with the other. Her heart swelled at the sight of him. She turned back to Underhill, to thank him for the story and for sitting with her, but he was already gone.

      She caught sight of him, crossing the street and going into Goldman's Bookstore. For an old man, he moved silently and swiftly. She was still watching the store across the street when Brandon walked up and said. "Was that Mr. Underhill?"

      Turning, she smiled up at Brandon and pushed the odd conversation from her mind. He was so beautiful, with his strong features and wavy brown hair. She slipped her arms around his waist and lay her head on his chest, losing herself in the feel of his strong arms around her. Once upon a time, she might've worried about who might've seen her out with a boy, but those days were long past. Now, she could simply take comfort in the arms of the boy she loved. Turning her face up, their lips met and the rest of the world vanished in a blast of heat. No more thoughts of darkness or missing children. No daydreams of fantastic beasts and magical Seers. Nothing existed but the feel of Brandon's lips on hers.

      Across the street from the park, standing in the cool shadows of the dimly lit old bookstore, two old men watched the young lovers through dusty window glass. While Underhill was a grizzled old specimen, every bit as tough as he looked, the other was a horse of a different color. Archibald Goldman, Arch to his friends, was a slight man with a wisp of white hair on top of a mostly bald and wrinkled old skull. Whereas Underhill was what anybody would rightly call an old man, having already lived years longer than he ever expected in his former life, Arch was something far more ancient. The aura surrounding the wizened little man was of something of tremendous age and frailty, but that was bellied by the steel in his gaze and the spryness to his step as he turned from the window and walked across the shadowed main room of the bookstore. He spoke to the air as he walked, his voice tight. "Well?"

      Underhill squinched his eyes a bit, an expression that tugged at his scar, and said. "It's still too early to tell. But I think you're right. It's past time we got involved."

      "And the uncle?" Arch asked, his tone chilly. He'd never gotten along with Gerrick Merryweather.

      "We'll cross that bridge when we reach it, old friend."

      The older man nodded and sat down at the tall front counter, opening an old ledger and marking out a few notations against a long column he'd been working at all morning. He wouldn't watch the two young people so blatantly tempt fate for something as fickle and unpredictable as love.

      Underhill stood at the window, continuing to watch Brandon and Claire, trying to read what he could from their long embrace and their tentative kisses. It hadn't happened yet, of that he could be somewhat certain. Otherwise, the dark and terrible things happening in Matheson would have already escalated to more horrifying levels. He shared Arch's disdain for what he was seeing from the two young people, but for different reasons. He wasn't opposed to the two young people falling in love, not at all. He just wished they would be more careful. He knew that he wasn't the only one watching them and for much the same reason. 

CHAPTER 3

      Faux stopped walking and breathed deep, the clean forest air almost overwhelming his lungs. Looking to the left and the right, he could make out the other men moving through the trees at the same slow pace that he was going. Teague on the right. Baker on the left. Past them, the other deputies were spread out at thirty yard intervals, widening the search pattern to over two hundred yards across. Always keeping each other in sight and within shouting distance, they knocked down brambles and limbs to hammer an ugly path through the trees, occasionally calling out their position if they were ever out of sight for more than a few seconds.

      The sun was low in the sky, dipping toward the horizon, when Teague called out to Baker and Faux. "Let's bring it in, guys." 

      Faux waited for Baker to reach him before they walked together to where Teague waited. They all stood in a circle of open ground in the middle of the woods as they waited for the other searchers to arrive. Baker stared out into the woods, watching the shadows grow longer, when the last of the deputies reached them and Teague said. "We're done for now. We'll come back at daybreak. We won't gain anything staying after dark and I don't want us ending up like the others."

      A couple of the other deputies were nodding in tense agreement. But Baker was shaking his head, peering up at the sky. He said. "Derek, we still have a couple of hours of light. A little more searching might get us something? Especially if these things are night feeders. We might see something after dark?" He looked at Faux, perhaps expecting him to back his play, but Faux was already shaking his head.

      Faux said. "We're not ready for whatever is out here. I'm sure of that. We need more men. And we need light."

      Baker gave over with only a little grumbling and soon they were back at the Mill. While Baker gathered in his team and they began backing up their equipment, Faux and Teague stood next to the big silo and watched the growing shadows. Teague pulled out a wrinkled pack of cigarettes, offering Faux one before lighting up. Huffing out smoke, he looked at Faux and said. "So why exactly is a Bureau man following around the Oklahoma State Police? And don't feed me that line about inter-agency co-operation." He had the good grace to smile while he said it, to take the sting out of his words.

      Faux paused a moment to light his own cigarette, then said. "What's to tell? I stepped on some toes."

      "Must have been sensitive toes?" 

      "Nah," Faux looked at Teague and grinned. "Expensive shoes." The two men walked over to the front of the silo. The door hung open, the fading sunlight not quite reaching the back wall of the silo. Inky darkness hung above, broken only by pinpricks of light, shining through rusted out places in the metal roof. Neither man moved to step inside the silo. Faux said. "This is some kind of strange town you have here, chief. I completely expected to find reporters crawling all over the scene? Missing children, as well as a missing police force, tends to draw them in like jackals?"

      Teague didn't answer right away. He smoked his cigarette for a long ten count, then spoke softly. His tone was introspective. "Matheson is a quiet place. A tourist town, with its share of secrets. Secrets that the town's leaders keep a very tight lid on, just in case they hurt the town's best interests."

      Faux nodded. He's seen it in lots of towns, cut off from a state's central government. "And that includes telling the press what they can and can't report on?" He shook his head. "You're gonna have to teach me how they accomplish that? I could use that trick back in D.C."

      Teague shrugged. "That's not something I know much about. Or approve of." His face and voice went hard. "Chief Wyntrop liaised with the Town Manager and the Council. I'm only acting chief until they get around to replacing me."

      "Who are they going to find that's more qualified than you?" Faux asked in all seriousness.

      "Keeping the town's secrets and not asking questions seem to be the only qualifications that they're interested in, at least in a chief." Teague dropped his cigarette half smoked, crushing it under his boot heel before going on. "I'm not the most popular officer with the council. The only reason I'm acting chief now is because Wyntrop had his favorites with him when he went missing."

      Faux can tell this is a touchy subject for Teague, so he moved on to something else that was nagging at him. "Baker hasn't brought it up yet, but is there a decent motel in town that we can hole up in? If we're going to start at daybreak, I'd rather not have to drive two hours to get back here first."

      "Don't blame you there, at all." Teague said. "I'll point you to a good place. Is the State going to want to foot the bill for an overnight, with it only being a two hour drive?"

      Faux smiled. "We'll let Uncle Sam pay the tab. These guys have been good enough to let me tag along without giving me too hard a time. It's the least I can do. Besides, if I can rack up a few thousand dollars in motel charges, I might actually get my A.D. to return my calls."

      Laughing softly, Teague walked off to talk to his deputies. He talked to all four of them, pairing them off. "Two of you stay here tonight. Keep your eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary, but don't go into the woods. Try not to get out of the car, if you can help it. That's an order." The two men looked suitably impressed by Teague's words, though it could just as easily have been the sight of the taped off vehicles belonging to their missing brothers. They each gave a tight nod before getting into their car.

      Teague waited for Faux and Baker to get into their vehicle before climbing into his car and pulling up alongside them. He leaned out of his open window and waited for theirs to go down before calling out. "Follow me into town and I'll get you and your team settled in at the Hilton."

      As they fell in behind Teague's car, Faux looked over at Baker and said. "The Hilton?"

      Baker just shrugged. "It must be a nice place."

      The Hilton was actually a squat L-shaped motel called The Crane, right off of the main highway. It was cheap and clean, the furniture worn but comfortable looking. After getting rooms for himself, Baker, and his team, Faux found himself alone in his room. More tired than the day's activities could account for, Faux took off his coat and tie and kicked off his shoes before sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling out his cell phone. It took three tries for his call to go through. The cell signal in Matheson was sketchy at best, but after getting up and standing in the open doorway to his room, he finally got through to his office. He checked his messages and gave his location to his Assistant Director's secretary. She seemed cool and distant, though he'd known her for over a year. His orders were still the same. Liaise with the state crime lab and help them in whatever capacity they required.

      Disconnecting, Faux stood in the open doorway and looked out over what he could see of the town. A cold wind lashed his face and he suddenly felt like he was being watched. There was something out there in the shadows of Matheson. Something cold and wild, challenging him to come out and face it, to join it in the shadows.

      Still feeling that dark gaze upon him, Faux turned and closed the door.