Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Franco: We should start a podcast.
Franco: A PODCAST ABOUT SECRET SOCIETIES.
Colum: Is this a sex thing? You want Juliette to punish you?
Franco: It wasn’t. But it is now.
C olum walked down to his flat beneath the archive to call Eric. If Annie and Xavier thought it strange that he wanted privacy, they didn’t say. Obviously, they knew what he was going to tell Eric regarding the investigation.
However, there was something else he needed to say that he didn’t want them to overhear.
Once he was in the flat, he walked over to his rarely used couch. Since he spent most of his waking hours in the actual archive, the furniture here still looked like new. Well, used-new, considering he’d bought it all from a secondhand store.
He FaceTimed Eric and while he waited for the other man to answer, he mentally prepared himself for the coming conversation. The topic he planned to bring up would shove the two of them into that realm of emotions they were both so careful to avoid.
“You okay?” Eric asked gruffly, the question his standard greeting whenever Colum called. Probably because Colum hated talking on the phone, so he only did it when there was a problem or because it was necessary.
Eric was in his office at Triskelion Castle, seated at his desk. Colum glanced at the window behind him and saw the sheets of rain trickling down the glass.
“Another lovely day on the Isle of Man, I see,” he mused.
Eric didn’t spare a look behind him, shrugging. “If it was sunny, I’d have to do cardio.”
“Don’t you have a treadmill?”
“Shhh, or Regina will hear you.”
The tips of Colum’s lips twitched upward. He knew Eric was trying to make him laugh, make him smile.
“Did you just call to talk about the weather?”
Colum shook his head.
“Are you sitting in your flat?” Eric asked. “Where are the other two?”
“I left them up in the archive working. We’re back in Dublin,” he said, though he knew Eric was already aware of that. There were still Spartan Guards protecting the archive, and they reported back to the fleet admiral regularly.
“Since you’re calling, can I assume you’ve found another part of the manuscript?”
“We did,” Colum replied. Annie and Xavier were currently re-reading it, just in case they’d missed something or were wrong about where the next—and hopefully, final—piece was. “Xavier had a hunch that part of the manuscript might be with Wilde’s first love and trinity wife, Florence Balcombe, and he was right.”
“A hunch, huh? Sounds like solid investigating.”
This time, Colum’s grin was full-fledged. “Xavier thinks like Oscar.”
Eric smirked. “Like some sort of tortured soul mind meld?”
Colum chuckled. “Annie says Xavier has black cat energy, and that’s sure enough.”
“Is that right?” Eric tilted his head, and Colum got the sense the man was studying his face…hard.
“Anyway, we tracked down a great-niece who gave us several of Florence’s boxes. They contained her letters, writings, some old books. The last piece of manuscript was found amongst them. It was a bound book; however, it had a fake title and credited the work to a popular essayist from that time period. We’re assuming the book wasn’t appealing enough to encourage any of Florence’s descendants to read it. The title was off-putting enough. Studies of a Sweltan .”
“So, you’ve got the last piece.” Eric looked relieved, though Colum suspected that relief was based more on his safety than concern over the manuscript getting out. Since Josephine’s death, Eric had become quite protective of him. “Good. That’s it, then. You’ve recovered it all. Now the American can fly home, and Xavier?—”
“No. They’re not leaving,” Colum interjected, with more force than he intended.
“Colum,” he started.
Taking a steadying breath, he continued in a more normal tone. “Our work isn’t finished. We recovered what is clearly the final piece, written by Wilde after he served his prison sentence. We believe he wrote it while he was living in France during the final years of his life. However, this section doesn’t line up with the second part of the manuscript, so we think there is another piece—a third part—still out there.”
Eric sighed heavily. “Of course, there’s still more. Amazing how Wilde manages to be a pain in the society’s ass even after his death. Any idea where the third part is?”
Colum nodded. “Actually, yes. Xavier believes Oscar gave it to Bram. Annie was able to discover that there was an auction approximately six months ago, and a lot of Stoker’s things—including three paintings and two sculptures—were included. Since we found the first section in a painting and the second in an old theater prop, we’re guessing this piece was hidden in a similar manner. We’re surmising that the final piece was discovered by the new owner, who is hiring people to find the rest.”
Eric scowled, clearly still angry that the archive was attacked and that someone came after them in New York. “Who won the auction?”
Eric wasn’t going to be happy with Colum’s answer. “An American tech-bro who goes by the name of Dodge.”
“Just Dodge?”
“Yes.” Colum watched as Eric lifted a pen, jotting the name down.
Eric rolled his eyes. “Sounds like a shit wriggler.”
Colum let out an amused snort. It was always funny when Eric literally translated his native Danish curses to English. “Worse than that even. A podcaster. According to Annie, he’s one of those fellas who thinks he knows best and everyone should live their lives based on what he says.”
Eric muttered a curse. “Everyone with a social media account thinks their stupid opinions are the only ones that are right nowadays.”
“It makes sense that Dodge would go to the dark web to see how much a previously undiscovered Wilde manuscript would sell for. He also sounds like the kind of person who would love to be the one to out a centuries-old secret society to his followers.”
Eric reared back in his office chair, frustration rife on his face. “Fan-fucking-tastic. Just as soon as we manage to put one fire out, another bursts to life.”
“We put a fire out?” Colum asked.
“Vadisk’s mission in Crimea was successful,” Eric replied.
At the Trinity Council, Colum’s investigation wasn’t the only one that was assigned. Another was given to Vadisk Kushnir, an MPF member and security officer from Hungary. He and two other members—one from each secret society—were charged with tracking down a blackmailer who was targeting members of the Masters’ Admiralty and Trinity Masters.
“He found the blackmailer?”
Eric started to nod, then paused. “He did. The problem is, he encountered another asshole along the way. Someone else who knows too much about the Masters’ Admiralty.”
“Who?”
The reason Eric and Juliette had started the Trinity Council was because there’d been too many outside threats to the two societies. They’d decided to go on the offensive rather than waiting for the bad guys to come after them. Sadly, there never seemed to be an end to the villains out there, hoping to destroy them.
Eric rubbed his jaw wearily, and Colum noted the dark circles under his eyes. It was clear he wasn’t sleeping. “Someone calling themselves the Spaniard. You ever heard that name?”
“No.” Colum grabbed a pad of paper and made a note of his own. He would do a deep dive into the archive to see if he could find anything on this new enemy. “I can start digging to?—”
“Leave the Spaniard to me,” Eric interjected. “Your mission remains the same. We need to get the rest of that manuscript. I’m assuming Dodge lives in the States?”
Colum groaned. The idea of another transatlantic flight as appealing as a root canal. If he kept this up, his internal clock would simply shut down completely.
He started to insist he could continue his mission and research the Spaniard, but he held his tongue, aware his offer wasn’t because he wanted to help as much as he wanted to stall before continuing the next part of his investigation. The idea of Annie and Xavier spending a few more nights in his bed was more appealing than he should admit.
Once they found the last piece…
Colum ran his hand through his hair, unwilling to think about them returning home.
“Aye. Dodge lives in Texas,” Colum said softly, a long, slow sigh escaping. “We’ll book flights tomorrow?—”
“No. Now that we have a name, we give our tech team time to see if they can connect Dodge to the original dark web inquiry.”
“Then are we… No, we have to keep…” Colum panicked.
“This is all based on Xavier being a cat, right?” Eric cut in.
Colum smiled and nodded, but it was strained, anxiety that Eric was about to declare this mission over, choking him.
“Then stay there, keep looking for some actual evidence. If we’re going to rob this Dodge idiot, I want to do it based on more than a hunch about where the manuscript might be.”
Colum slumped in relief, eyes closed.
Eric’s brows furrowed. “I’ll ask again, Colum. Are you okay? You seem different.”
Colum was tempted to ask how, but that would be another way to stall.
Taking a deep breath, he blurted out what he wanted to say, the words running together without a break between. “Idon’twantalovelessmarriage.”
His pronouncement was met with silence as Eric held his gaze. A brutal silence that lingered too long. Colum wasn’t the type of person who felt as if he had to fill a quiet moment. Hell, most of the time, he preferred silence to talking, but this time…he couldn’t hold his piece.
“I don’t want to be Nikolett’s punishment,” he hastily added.
That assertion provoked a response from Eric, who barked, “I’m not punishing Nik. And you’re not anyone’s punishment, goddammit.”
Colum had been thinking about this conversation nonstop for the last few days, trying to figure out what he wanted to say. Nothing had come to him, which was no surprise. Talking about feelings and deep shite like that was where Josephine shined. Him and Eric? Not so much.
However, he couldn’t hold his tongue. As he grew closer to Annie and Xavier, the desire for something he never thought he’d have—or even wanted—had begun to grow as well.
Marriage had always been out of the picture for him because Colum had never been willing to open himself up to another person on that level. Perhaps it was more accurate to say he hadn’t been able.
But all of that had changed. Annie and Xavier hadn’t been turned off by his oddness; rather, they’d embraced him for who he was. More than that, they had helped him uncover parts of himself he didn’t even know were there. The parts that liked talking to someone for hours, that fucking loved sex, and that genuinely enjoyed the company of another person. They’d pulled him out of the box he’d placed himself in when he was just a young boy. He’d spent his entire life feeling like the awkward square peg in the round hole, but with them, he felt normal, accepted. Happy.
“Colum,” Eric said, and he realized he’d fallen into bad habits, getting lost in his own thoughts.
“I never thought I wanted to get married,” he started. “I’ve always been more comfortable on my own. The idea of attempting to make a life with two other people felt like an insurmountable challenge. I always figured I’d be more successful attempting to scale Mt. Everest in a pair of runners.”
Eric drew his finger over his lower lip, considering that. “You took the position as archivist to avoid the trinity marriage. You were so insistent you would never want to marry.”
“Aye, I was. I was wrong,” Colum admitted.
Eric rubbed his forehead. “The stipulations on the trinity archive mean you have to marry an admiral.”
“I know. And I will. But not her. Not Nikolett. I can’t. You love her,” Colum said. “I understand why you assigned that trinity. I really do. I agreed to the marriage to get the joint archive, and Nikolett is the only unmarried admiral. But let’s be honest here, Eric. You thought by marrying Nikolett to me, you had tied things up in a neat bow. I would retain my solitary lifestyle. And while you wouldn’t be able to have her, no one else would either. The thing is…that’s not fair. To me or her or Sarah, who you’ve stuck in the middle of God knows what.”
Eric sighed. “Colum, Nikolett is the?—”
“I know, I know. She’s the only unmarried admiral. I didn’t think of it at the time, but you did. I know you did, and so did Nikolett, based on her reaction. You could have just as easily changed the stipulation to make it someone in a vice admiral or security minister position. If Nikolett hadn’t been available, that’s exactly what you would have done. And Hande would have agreed.”
Eric stared at Colum through the video chat, looking stunned. Colum rarely called Eric on his bullshit—again, Josephine was the one who’d always done that—but being with Xavier and Annie made him bold.
Then Eric’s expression cracked, and Colum’s heart thudded hard.
“You love her,” he said softly.
Eric shook his head, not in denial but because—as always—he was trying to shove away something he didn’t want to admit. “It doesn’t matter. Colum, you know why I can’t be with her.”
Colum used to understand Eric’s reasons, aware the man was eaten up with guilt over his first wives and Josephine. Colum had suffered from the emotion as well, hating himself for letting Josephine leave the archive alone that night. She’d just wanted to have a goddamn meal with him, and he’d refused. He had spent every night since then imagining what she must have gone through, how scared she’d been, the pain she’d suffered at the hands of that killer, how he hadn’t been there for her, how his last words to her had been “get away from me.”
He’d almost let that guilt convince him he wasn’t worthy of happiness or love, but he was wrong. Eric was wrong too.
Colum held Eric’s gaze. “I can’t give you the answer to this thing between the two of ye. Christ knows I can barely figure out my own shite. All I do know is, I’m not living the life Josephine would have wanted for me. Neither of us is.”
Eric held his gaze for a long time, his eyes filled with sorrow. “I’m sorry, Colum.”
He wasn’t apologizing for the trinity marriage but for what happened to Josephine, even though Colum didn’t blame him. He never had.
“That’s not an apology you need to make.”
Eric bowed his head, Colum’s words falling on deaf ears.
“It’s time we both stop wallowing in our grief, Eric. Time we reach for those things Josephine wanted for us. Happiness. Love. Family.”
Eric lifted his gaze. “I want those things for you too.”
“And for yourself?”
Eric shook his head. “I…can’t.”
Colum understood that response, even though he hated it.
“Give me a few days,” Eric said, his no-nonsense fleet admiral tone firmly in place.
Colum nodded, aware that was as much as he could hope for.
His American broker was calling.
Glancing at the phone, he debated declining the call. His various brokers all knew his preferences for jobs, and they wouldn’t call him with something that wasn’t interesting, lucrative, or related to his special interest.
The issue was, he wasn’t in the U.S. and right now, he had no intention of leaving Eastern Europe. He’d had fun in Crimea and was enjoying himself playing a game of death by a thousand cuts with a pretty woman.
Of course, she didn’t know they were playing. She thought she was in serious, near-constant danger.
She also didn’t know she was bait.
It had surprised him how strong she was. How resilient. Bullet wound, broken leg…she kept going. And she hadn’t called for help. It had been a long time since someone surprised him, but she had. It was making him want to do something foolish…like talk to her.
Meet her.
Maybe do more.
Distracted by that thought, he answered the phone.
“Spaniard,” his broker said in greeting.
“I can’t come to America right now.”
“The client is American, the job in Dublin.”
Dublin? He jerked his attention away from the screen where he was staring at stills from a drone video taken of her in her back garden, after she’d stepped on the bear trap he’d left for her.
“What’s the job?”
“I can’t be certain,” the broker said. “But it might relate to your special interest. Or something close to it.”
Slowly, he sat back as the broker told him about a piece of a book written by Oscar Wilde. A work of fiction about a powerful secret society. The owner of the piece—an American with more money than sense, and who went by “Dodge”—wanted to find the rest of the book and then sell it for a small fortune.
He’d used electronic crawlers to monitor for anyone accessing or searching for terms specific to this lost Oscar Wilde manuscript and identified a Frenchman who was staying at a private residence in Dublin. The Frenchman searched a digital library, using terms that made it clear he was looking for the same thing as Dodge.
Dodge hired a man to question the Frenchman, but instead, the amateur decided to break into one of the buildings the Frenchman had visited—the Admiral Archive. The fool never even made it inside.
When the Frenchman and two companions went to New York, Dodge hired another idiot to either question them or take anything that looked like a book if they had it on them.
That man lost an eye for his trouble.
Dodge had finally decided to be smart and hire a professional, since clearly one of the three people he was currently tracking electronically was more dangerous than anticipated. The trio had just returned to Dublin, back to the Admiral Archive, and Dodge wanted someone to go in and force them to turn over the rest of the pieces of Wilde’s lost work of fiction.
Which might not be fiction at all.
“I’ll take the job,” he told the broker. “I can’t go personally right now, but I’ll send in a team.”
“Fee?”
“Charge him double. A penalty for being stupid. And I need that manuscript.”
“The manuscript?”
“The physical manuscript piece that he has. I need it in my hands by tomorrow, or I won’t take the job. Tell him it’s necessary.”
He ended the call.
Colum O’Connor, Eric Ericsson’s brother—for lack of a better description—was finally in play. He was well aware of who Colum was to Eric, but the Irishman had been a dead end since he never went anywhere or did anything. Except now, he was crossing the Atlantic with a trinity, maybe his trinity, looking for the rest of whatever it was Dodge had.
This might be it, might be what he was waiting for. He could go to Dublin and…
Slowly, he sat back. No. He wasn’t going to Dublin. He was going to stay right here. He’d make sure the men he sent to Dublin dropped the right hints. He’d hate for Eric to live in ignorance thinking the upcoming attack in Dublin was an isolated incident. Much more fun if he realized things were connected.
He studied the image of the blonde in her garden, an odd feeling gripping him.
Maybe it was time he made her acquaintance.