The Crusader ("The Crusader" Prequel to "Kingdom Come") (17 page)

Bud took
her arm as they crossed the street and headed for the restaurant. When he
subtly tried to take her hand, however, she pretended to dig in her purse for a
tissue. Regardless of the fact that she had asked him to sleep next to her,
somehow, holding his hand was more of an intimate encouragement and she wasn't
ready to cross that invisible line. She felt like a hypocrite.

The
restaurant was lively, a three-piece jazz band playing loudly and Rory sighed
with satisfaction as the host seated them. Immediately ordering a Long Island
Iced Tea, she settled back with the first alcohol she'd had in fourteen months,
drinking nearly half of it before they even ordered dinner. By the time the
meal arrived, she was feeling no pain and happily ordered another.

"You'd
better take it easy on that stuff," Bud admonished with a smile. "If
you get drunk, I'll pretend I don't know you and leave you here."

She
grinned, her cheeks flushed with the liquor. "Oh, lighten up, Bud. Why
aren't you drinking?"

He
chuckled as she munched enthusiastically on her poached salmon. "Because
alcohol makes me throw up. I used to be able to drink with the best of them,
but age has inhibited my ability."

She
slurped the last of her drink just as the waiter came by the table with the
next round. "You're not old," she scoffed. "You're only
thirty-nine. If you were really old, then that would mean I only have eight
more years until I become really old, too."

He
continued to grin, cutting his prime rib as Rory ate her meal with gusto. After
the past several hellish days, it was good to see her smile again. When the
band began to play another set and she started wriggling in her seat to the
music, he simply sat back and enjoyed the view.

"Wouldn't
Dave be jealous of us?" he asked, nursing his cola. "Not only does he
have a passion for jazz, but he can drink beer until he drops. He loves places
like this."

A
mischievous gleam came to Rory's eye. "Let’s text him a picture of us
drinking beer with the band in the background," she giggled. Then she suddenly
put up her hand as a thought occurred to her. "Wait! I've got a better
idea; I'll mail him a beer bottle, a program, and a doggy bag with a bread crust.
How 'bout that?"

Bud
laughed. "Put teeth marks in the bread crust and lipstick imprints on the
beer bottle and he'll hate you forever."

Rory
joined in his laughter, picking at the last of her herbed zucchini. "He
already hates me. This will just rub it in."

Bud
shook his head, motioning to the waiter for another cola. "Trust me, Rory,
he doesn't hate you. In fact, if it's at all possible for David Peck to become
attached to anyone, I think he's fairly attached to you."

She
cocked an eyebrow, her mouth full. "You call the relationship we have an
attachment? Good Lord, I'd hate to be the person he truly hated."

Bud's
smile faded somewhat, turning his attention toward the band. "Everyone has
different ideas of attachment. Some are just more pronounced than other."

Attachment.
Somehow, the word sounded a lot like Obsession. Rory's stomach suddenly twisted
with thoughts of Sir Kieran once again, the once-mighty warrior destined to be
buried in a family crypt without his armor, without his sword, and without the
trappings of the life he had lived.

She set
her fork down, gathering her drink and wondering if the alcohol would ease her
distress. Bud noticed she had grown particularly silent, passing her a glance
only to notice tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Oh...
Christ," he muttered, scooting his chair around to her side of the table.
There was a napkin by her plate and he snatched it, drying the tears before
they fell to the swell of her breasts. "Not now, Rory. Come on, honey,
there's no need. We're having a wonderful evening and you're going to make
yourself sick with all of this crying."

She
sobbed softly as he continued to mop up the tears. "I...I can't help it. I
didn't even get to say good-bye, Bud. They just took him away like he was a
piece of meat and that was the end of my beautiful knight. I'm cut off
completely."

"I
know," he murmured. "But you can say good-bye to him at the
internment. Please don't worry so much over this."

She took
the napkin from him, wiping daintily at her eyes so she wouldn't smear her
heavy mascara. "I'm sorry, but I can't help myself," she whispered,
feeling his arm go around her shoulders comfortingly. "Every time I think
about the situation, how lovingly we worked with him and then how his family
carted him away like he was a mindless, meaningless object, I just go to
pieces."

He
hugged her gently, kissing her forehead as she sobbed into the napkin.
"You have to trust that the people his family hired are going to treat him
with the same respect we did. Becker says they're some of the best in the
field."

She
suddenly stopped crying, the hazel eyes fixing on his suspiciously.
"Becker?" she repeated. "When did you talk to him?"

He
maintained an even expression. "While you were sleeping."

Her
eyebrows rose in outrage. "But I wanted to talk to him, too. Why didn't
you wake me?"

"Because
I knew you'd fly off the deep end and probably get yourself into a heap of
trouble," he said frankly. "Even if the man is your uncle, he's still
your boss."

Her
expression was dark and she looked away, sniffling and reaching for her drink.
"He's my mother's uncle," she clarified, taking a long swallow.
"And when I tell her what's happened, she'll do the yelling for me."

Bud
cocked an eyebrow. "Fight your own battles, little girl. Don't pull your
mother into this. Whatever problems you and Becker have, that's between the two
of you."

She
sniffled again, wiping her nose with the napkin. "My mother's been
involved in this since the beginning," she said quietly, avoiding Bud's
gaze. "How do you think I got permission from the board of regents to go
hunting for a fabled biblical relic?"

"Your
mother's on the board," Bud replied softly. "One of the three
ordained ministers that voted for your funding, I believe."

She
didn't say anything for a moment, trying to regain her composure. The band was
playing a classically jazzy tune and the place was hopping, but Rory hardly
noticed. She was still pondering their conversation.

"I'm
curious. Did you ever tell Dave my connections?"

"No.
He was having a hard enough time dealing with the goal of the project. If he
knew you were related to both Becker and Dr. Sylvia Osgrove, we probably would
have lost him altogether. And I needed him."

Rory
remained silent, watching a band member with three-foot-long cornrows pick at
his electric guitar. "I used them, you know," she murmured. "My
mother and Uncle Uriah. I used them to get my dig. I would have done anything
to get it because I thoroughly believed in my goal. I was willing to do
whatever I had to in order to get funding, but once I had financial support I
was positive my work would speak for itself."

"It
did," he replied, the hand on her shoulder caressing it gently.
"Locating the crusader was a remarkable achievement."

She
snorted softly, pulling away from his stroking hand because it threatened to
move beyond casual comfort. Leaning forward, she drained her glass. "Let's
face it, Bud. It was a fluke. Now we have nothing to show for it except renewed
international relations between Britain and the States." She sighed
heavily. "Everything I worked for is ruined. Gone. Ka-boom. God, I hate my
life."

He
watched her a moment, a smirk on his lips. "Well, then, have another drink
and indulge your misery. You're young, beautiful, have a doctorate in Biblical
Sciences and have succeeded in locating an intact grave on your first major
dig. Christ, Rory, you really have a lot to be miserable over."

She
scowled at him. "Oh... shut up, Bud. You're so damn smug."

He put
his hand on her back, laughing softly. "A confidence that comes with age,
honey."

The
waiter came around again and Bud ordered dessert for the both of them whether
or not Rory wanted any. On her third Long Island Iced Tea, she decided the
chocolate mousse looked very good and not only ate hers, but finished Bud's as
well. Sick with sweets and too much alcohol, Rory wallowed in her chair as Bud
had the waiter take away the half-finished drink and ordered her coffee
instead.

As the
night moved on, the band lapsed into a cool set of songs and the restaurant
packed out. Rory's lids were half-closed as she listened to the music and Bud
decided it was a good time to leave; they'd had a nice, relaxing time in spite
of everything and he wanted to get her back to the hotel before she collapsed
completely.  Half-way home as they strolled along the darkened edges of Hyde
Park, Rory came to a halt.

"I've
decided something," she said softly.

He
paused, looking at her and noticing she appeared amazingly lucid. "What's
that?"

She took
a deep breath, glancing to their surroundings as she formulated her thoughts.
"I've decided I don't want to go to Sir Kieran's interment."

He was
genuinely surprised. "What?"

"I
said I don't want to go to his interment," she repeated patiently.
"You were right when you said the last thing we need is for me to run amuck
at his funeral. But I've got to tell you, Bud, the way I'm feeling about this,
I can't guarantee that I'll remain in control. So it's probably better if I
don't go at all."

He
didn't try to talk her out of her decision. Frankly, he was glad she had acknowledged
her limitations. "If you say so."

Rory was
still gazing at him, her brow furrowed in thought. "I do. No funeral. But
I still want to say good-bye to him."

He
crossed his arms against the cool breeze whipping up from the park; spending
the past year in a hot, arid country, he wasn't used to the chill. "And
how do you want to do that?"

"By
going to the morgue."

"They
probably won't let you in."

"They
will if I say I'm part of the Hage family entourage."

"Don't
you think they'll have a list of the individuals permitted to view the
body?"

"Probably."
She stepped closer to him and he was struck by the expression on her face.
"But if the admitting clerk is distracted, I can slip by without being
noticed."

She
wasn't going to take no for an answer. He could see it in her eyes. After a
moment, he sighed heavily. "Christ, Rory. You want me to cause a diversion
while you sneak in?"

"I
just want to say good-bye to Sir Kieran. I don't care how I get in, but I'm
going to get in with or without your help."

He scratched
his head and turned away, resuming their walk back to the hotel. Rory remained
still, watching him fade down the sidewalk.

"Please,
Bud?"

He shook
his head and kept walking. Rory was about to follow him when he suddenly came
to a halt.

"First
you steal the knight's journal, and now you want to bust into a morgue,"
he said with more passion than she had seen from him in a long while. "My
uncle isn't a dean at a major American university, Rory. If I get in trouble,
there's no way out for me."

She stared
at him, a true sadness filling her eyes. "You think I'm taking advantage
of you?"

"I
think you're trying to, whether or not you realize it." His tone was soft
again. "You said yourself that you used your mother and your uncle to get
what you want. Isn't it possible that you're doing the same thing to me?
Christ, you know I'd walk through fire if you asked me to."

She
lowered her gaze guiltily. He was right; she knew he would do anything for her
and at this moment she was willing to use his devotion to her advantage. All
she wanted to do was bid Sir Kieran farewell, privately, away from the eyes of
his family and away from those who didn't understand her devotion to him. Even
Bud. He was so blinded by his own feelings that his jealousy was making him resentful.

"Then
forget I asked," she murmured, turning away from him and heading across
the street.

He
followed, grabbing her roughly by the arm. "Where are you going?"

She
jerked away, racing to the other curb to avoid being hit by a car. Bud came up
behind her and grabbed her again.

"Answer
me, Rory. Where in the hell are you going?"

She
broke his grip, trying to stay away from him. "To Middlesex Hospital. If I
have to beg, plead, or sleep with the admitting clerk, I'm going to see Sir
Kieran."

Bud was
athletic and amazingly strong for his average size. Moving up behind her, he
threw both arms around her torso to halt her advance. "You're not going
anywhere tonight," he growled in her ear. "You've had too much to
drink and you're functioning on four hours of sleep. I'll see about gaining
permission to see Sir Kieran tomorrow."

Undeterred,
Rory shoved her elbow into Bud's gut, releasing his hold. He grunted, holding
his ribs as she resumed her eastward march.