A Matter of Trust Read online

  “What the—” A jab of adrenaline caused her to jump when the oncoming car suddenly stopped, blocking her way. Newspaper, radio, and television warnings to women about being alone at night suddenly popped in her head.

  The relief she felt when Gaspar de Troyes rolled down the window was like the first breath of air after swimming underwater too long. He motioned for her to back up.

  Once she was parked alongside the road, he pulled up in front of her and got out of his car.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked as he slid into the passenger seat beside her.

  “Nikki, you must stop in the course of action you’ve chosen.”

  “What? Have you been following me?”

  “No.” He looked directly into her eyes as he answered. “But you are being watched.”

  . “What gives you the right to have me watched? Just who the hell do you think you are, anyway? Unless I’m mistaken, I don’t work for you so just where do you get off—?”

  “It’s for your own protection!”

  “Protection? Oh yeah, right. Against what?”

  “Richard Weston for starters.”

  Nikki’s heart seemed to skip a beat. Did Gaspar know about the overtures Mr. Weston had made and if so how? Could he know what Mark Robinson had told her? And could Robinson be right about Gaspar? She didn’t think so, but what if he was fooling her?

  “What makes you think I need protection from him? In case you’ve forgotten he’s out of the country.”

  “But his eyes aren’t.” Gaspar reached over and turned the key to kill the engine. “Nikki, listen to me. You may think this is a game but be assured that it is not. Richard Weston wouldn’t hesitate to give the order to have you terminated. It would be neither the first nor the last time.”

  “What’re you saying? That’d he’d have me killed just because I turned him down?”

  Gaspar shook his head. “No, he’ll continue to pursue you until you surrender to him. It’s his nature. Never has he been rejected. But that’s a fight meant for you alone. However, don’t think that if he suspects your motives for taking the position are anything less than what you told him, he’d hesitate to discover the truth. And should that truth be discovered, I fear that your demise would shortly follow.”

  “You son of a bitch!” She lashed out and punched him in the face. “You sorry sack of shit!” Her voice rose as she pelted him with blows. “You know why Christian died, don’t you? You got him involved in something that ended up with him dead and me in some--some mess where everyone’s saying the other guy’s the bad guy and a murderer and I don’t know who the hell to trust and—and--you rotten bastard!”

  Gaspar dodged and deflected her blows until finally he managed to capture her wrists. “Enough!”

  Nikki glared at him hatefully, her chest heaving with exertion. “Let go of me right now.”

  “Only if you give me your word you’ll listen to what I have to say.”

  She jerked, trying to break his grip but could not. “Fine.”

  “Your word?”

  “Yes.”

  He released her and pulled out a handkerchief to dab at his face. “I understand your anger and you have my word that I’ll do everything in my power to make sure no one suspects your real motivation for taking the position. However, it hardly makes my job easier if you insist on drawing attention to yourself in this quest you’ve set upon.”

  Nikki’s first inclination was to light into him about nosing into her business, but something else demanded her immediate attention.

  “How about you tell me exactly how you plan on protecting me, Gaspar? Are we suddenly going to become joined at the hip, or how is it you’re going to protect me while I’m in there and you’re out here?”

  Gaspar sighed. “I must ask something of you.”

  She gave him an incredulous look. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Yes, very.”

  “What?”

  “When you return to the estate, make sure you are not being observed and go to the third floor of the west wing.”

  “How about I just jump off the damn roof? The stairs to the third floor end at a locked landing and guess what? I pawned my secret-agent lock-pick set to buy lunch.”

  Gaspar seemed to take no notice of her dark humor or sarcasm. “The door will be unlocked.”

  “Oh really? And just how are you going to accomplish that, Houdini?”

  “Please, just do as I ask. I promise you that if you do this, your faith in me will be restored.”

  At that moment Nikki thought she had managed to get mixed up with a real kook. But despite her efforts, she couldn’t suppress her curiosity.

  “Okay, fine.”

  Gaspar smiled. “In fifteen minutes, be on the landing.”

  He got out of her car. She watched as he returned to his own vehicle. After he had pulled around her and headed away from the estate, she started her car. It seemed that she’d done nothing but deal with nut cases since she’d lost her last job. What kind of weird plan did fate have in store for her? If she had any sense, she’d return to the estate, pack her things and get the hell out.

  Instead, fifteen minutes later she found herself at the top of the stairs on the third floor of the west wing, feeling foolish as she lightly tapped on the door.

  A metallic click preceded the door swinging open. Light spilled out onto the dark landing. Hesitantly, she stepped inside the door.

  Gaspar smiled at her. “Thank you.”

  In astonishment she turned a half circle, staring at him as he closed the door behind her.

  “How’d you get in?”

  He gave her an enigmatic smile and gestured for her to accompany him. She followed him through the small foyer and into a large, well-appointed room with floor-to-ceiling bookcases, a massive fireplace that burned in spite of the warm weather, supple dark leather furniture, and deep cushiony Persian rugs.

  In front of a massive picture window was a wheelchair. She could see nothing of its occupant but the back of his head. His silvery hair danced with light from the fire.

  “Sir, Ms. Nikki Morgan. Nikki, Mr. Simon Richard Weston.”

  Nikki cut a quick look at Gaspar in surprise before returning her eyes to the man in the wheelchair who was maneuvering the chair to face her.

  “Ms. Morgan, delighted to meet you, my dear.” Simon extended his hand to her.

  Nikki was stunned. Set within the lined and aged face were eyes that were nearly identical to his grandson, Max. The difference became pronounced however when his eyes met hers. Looking into Simon Weston’s eyes was like looking into the well of the past. Knowledge and wisdom and eternal secrets seemed to shine forth from their depths. Simon smiled and the spell was broken.

  “I-I’m sorry.” Nikki stumbled for words. “I guess I’m a little--no, I’m a lot surprised.”

  “Understandably so.” Simon gestured to a grouping of chairs near the fireplace as he maneuvered his chair.

  “Would you care for something to drink?”

  “No. No, thank you.” She took a seat, looking at Gaspar with a puzzled expression.

  “I would imagine that you’re a woman with many questions,” Simon said.

  “To put it mildly.”

  He chuckled. “Perhaps I can be of assistance.”

  She looked from him to Gaspar then back to him. “Okay, first of all, how did Gaspar get in here?”

  Simon rolled over to the bookcase and activated the secret entrance. Nikki got up to take a look. “Does everyone in the house know about this?”

  “No.”

  She reclaimed her seat as he closed the passage. “Okay, that’s the how, now about the why.”

  “Gaspar is here at my request, as are you.”

  “You mean here, in this room, tonight.”

  “I mean on this estate.”

  Nikki leaned back against the soft leather of the chair. “So, what you’re saying is the reason the Westons hired me is because of you?”
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br />   “In a manner of speaking yes. You see my dear, having retired from public life has provided me with the opportunity to use my talents and energy in other directions. Such as manipulating people and events from afar in order to achieve those things I’ve designated as my life’s goals.”

  “Which are?”

  Simon’s genial expression changed to one she saw as fervent determination. “Truth, my dear, truth. Before I leave this world, I fully intend on knowing the truth to certain questions, the most pressing of which is that hidden truth to the identity of the gods.”

  “The identity--hold on. Excuse me for seeming dense, but could you make that a little clearer just so we’ll be on the same page?”

  Simon’s laugh bubbled up, rich and hearty. “I do like the way you phrase things, Ms. Morgan.”

  “Call me Nikki.”

  “Nikki.” He inclined his head. “Thank you. I am, of course, Simon. Now, to clarify, in short, I seek proof that the ancient gods of this world were not actually of this world and were not, in the universal scheme of things, gods at all, but rather intelligent beings from another world, dimension, or plane of existence.”

  His answer surprised her enough to create a momentary pause as she considered how to respond. Things just seemed to get stranger every day. What had she fallen into?

  “Oh.” At the expectant look on Simon’s face, she found her voice. “So that’s the goal of this group you and Gaspar joined?”

  Simon seemed amused by the question and even Gaspar chuckled.

  “What?” She looked from one to the other. “What’s so funny?”

  “My dear,” Simon said. “Since the beginning, my family has directed the group.”

  “Since the beginning of what?”

  “Recorded time.”

  She gave him a look filled with skepticism. “That’s kind of a big bite to swallow, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

  “Yes, indeed it is. However, it’s nothing more than the simple truth.”

  “If you say so. But that doesn’t explain why Gaspar wanted me to come here and apply for the job. Or why he tricked me into believing that I’d have a hope in hell of finding anything in this museum. Or,” she paused for emphasis, “why he seems to think I’m in some kind of danger.”

  “You’re absolutely right. That’s why you’re here now. So that I can supply those answers. First, I asked Gaspar to find a suitable candidate for the position.”

  “You wanted Gaspar to find a—a—companion for Max?”

  “No.” Simon shook his head. “I wanted him to find someone who felt as passionately about certain ideas—about the search for the truth as I. That’s why he selected you. You see, Nikki, I understand you far better than you can imagine. I know your longings for the truth, your search for the truth, and your fear in what you may discover in the truth.”

  Simon’s words made her feel uncomfortable, as if he did indeed understand her hopes and fears. However she wasn’t about to let him know that.

  “That still doesn’t explain why I’m here.”

  “Simple. To help me find that which I seek.”

  “And how am I supposed to do that? I know nothing about you, your son, or your quest for this artifact. What could I possibly uncover what someone of your obvious knowledge, experience—not to mention wealth—can’t?”

  Simon moved his chair closer, reached out and took her hand. “Maxwell.”

  Nikki jumped up like she’d been shot out of the chair. “What?”

  “I didn’t mean to alarm you, my child, and believe me that of all the members of this family, I alone want to protect Maxwell.”

  “As in keeping him locked up like a prisoner?”

  Simon smiled and raised his hands prayer-like to his chin. “Yes, indeed, you were correct, Gaspar, my friend.”

  “Excuse me, but you want to clue me in?” Nikki asked.

  “Forgive me,” Simon said. “You see, Nikki, what I’ve searched for all these years cannot be found without my grandson, for I suspect he is the only person alive who can point me to its whereabouts.”

  “Max? But if you think that why not just…” Nikki fell silent. If no one had ever bothered to spend time with Max then she was the only one who knew that Max wasn’t some mentally stunted individual who couldn’t communicate. She wasn’t about to divulge Max’s secret.

  “Why did I not simply ask him?”

  Again, Simon surprised her. “You mean…?”

  “Yes, indeed I do. My grandson isn’t the simpleton everyone supposes him to be. You might say that he plays a role.”

  Nikki fell back down in her chair. “Excuse me, sir, but this whole thing’s getting stranger by the moment. I have no idea what’s really going on, and probably don’t even want to but…” She looked Simon in the eyes. “But I do know that I don’t want to see Max hurt. In my opinion he’s been hurt enough.”

  “You exceed my dreams, Nikki Morgan.” Simon took her hand and lifted it to his lips.

  “Well, that’s…that’s wonderful, I guess, but it doesn’t make any more sense than anything else I’ve heard or seen.”

  “Perhaps it will help clear things up if I told you a little story. If you’ll bear with me?”

  “Have at it,” she replied.

  Simon drew in a long breath, steepled his hands in front of him with his index fingers touching his chin and stared into the fire for a moment. “By the time my son Richard entered the university, I knew beyond all doubt that he would never share my passion in the search for truth. Whereas I, lucky that I was to be born into a family of means, used my wealth to accumulate more in order that I might indulge in my quest, Richard was attracted to other things wealth provides. Power and status, but most particularly power. Richard knew of my interests, but shared them only in terms of whether the possession of any such artifacts would bestow upon him power over others. Therefore, he was never initiated into The Society, as was I and likewise, Gaspar, by our respective families.

  “Being the man he was, Richard’s every energy and action was motivated by the accumulation of more wealth, more power. To his credit, I must admit that our family’s holdings, since he took an active role, increased exponentially. The methods he used, I am, however, not particularly proud of. But that is another tale in and of itself.

  “Richard and Helen met and were married and he moved his new bride into our home. She was a stunningly beautiful young woman. As cool and caustic in personality as fair of face. From the beginning, I knew that Helen had no great love for Richard. What she saw in him was a rise in social standing.

  “Helen’s family was not poor by any standard. She went to the finest boarding and finishing schools, and attended a private college where she received a degree in art history. By marrying Richard, she, in a way, put her education to use and began purchasing art all over the world, socializing with the wealthy and influential on every continent.

  “During the early years of their marriage, I maintained control of the family holdings. Richard worked in a position inferior to mine, something that rankled him no small amount, but Helen even more. You see, Helen wants to be the queen bee in any hive.

  “It didn’t take long for Helen’s icy demeanor to wear thin for Richard, and he began seeking physical gratification elsewhere. Helen, of course, with her vast circle of acquaintances, soon discovered his infidelity. However, like the cunning creature she is, she didn’t confront him directly, but sought to ensure that despite his wandering sexual attention, none of his paramours would ever replace her. In short, she became pregnant.

  “To my great sorrow, Maxwell was virtually abandoned by his mother from the moment of birth. She returned to her social activities, leaving her child in the care of governesses, tutors and housekeepers. He was brought out and displayed whenever a—what you might call—publicity opportunity, arose.

  “My own role was no more admirable than Richard’s or Helen’s. I spent little time my with grandson. Because of Richard’s adept and as
tute business acumen, I had shifted much of the running of the family holdings to him, freeing myself more and more to my own interests. The family holdings continued to grow, thanks in part to an alliance Richard formed with a young military officer assigned to the Pentagon, Mark Robinson.

  “Those interests, coupled with my son’s and daughter-in-law’s self-centeredness, would incite the most tragic event to happen to this family since the death of my beloved wife.

  “Shortly before Maxwell was wounded in Iraq and sent home, Helen became aware that Richard was involved with a beautiful young woman whom he adored. This affair was different from all the others that had come before. Richard was in love with his mistress, Amanda. Helen was livid and set about to even the score.

  The first thing she did was take a lover herself, Richard’s closest friend and confidante, Mark Robinson. Truth be told, Mark had been in love with Helen since the moment he first saw her. Initially, I don’t think she cared for him, but over the next months, it appears she fell in love with him—in as much as she’s capable of loving anyone aside from herself.

  “Using Mark’s love for her as a weapon, Helen convinced him to have Amanda killed. It was easy enough with his contacts and he would have done anything for Helen. Richard was devastated, but to Helen’s surprise, didn’t turn to her for comfort. In fact, the rift between them grew much wider.

  “What Helen did not count on was the strength of Mark’s feelings for her. He wanted Helen for himself. Not as a lover but as a wife. She wouldn’t consider leaving Richard, however. Through him her status in social circles was climbing higher and higher. A loveless marriage was little to endure for the kind of social status she craved.

  “At any rate, she and Mark had a terrible falling out and she refused to see him. During the time they were estranged a major event happened. One of the members of The Society successfully located the housing device for the Stones. This member, a man by the name of Lucien, was to bring what he’d found to me, here at this house.

  “Unfortunately, I did not receive the communiqué notifying me of Lucien’s arrival, and was in Jerusalem when he arrived. Richard was also absent, on some business affair or other.