Abandon The Night (35 page)

Quent’s lips twitched, but he came around behind her and took the straps from her hands, fastening it quickly and efficiently. Obviously, he knew his way around women’s complicated clothing. “We can cut it shorter,” he said. “But I don’t know what to do about the shoes.”

“Barefoot is better than those damn things,” she said, stepping away. Problem was, even that little touch at the back of her neck, that little kindness of helping her, settled over her with warmth. How had it happened that she let him get so close that even the brush of a finger felt
right
?

She looked down at his thick tawny hair, remembering her admonishments to him to wear the covering bandanna as he knelt in front of her to hack at the skirt. “You’ve got to make it shorter than that. How the hell am I going to run? At my knees.”

“You planning on running?” he asked, looking up.

“I have a feeling we aren’t going to be walking the hell out of here,” she said. “Maybe you could unzip the back a little too, so I can actually take a damn breath. So what’s the plan?”

“Right. The plan is,” he said, standing in front of her, a wide strip of shimmery white gown in his hand, “we’re going to steal the crystal of Atlantis. And then we’re going to kill my father.”

“Steal the crystal of Atlantis? Must be something very important.” Zoë raised her brows, anticipation sending her pulse faster. Sounded like a fun way to go out. “And kill one of the most powerful Elite? Hot damn. Lead the way, genius. I’m right behind you.”

19 July 2012

11:00 P.M.

I can barely write this. Forgive me for my long absence.

Devi has finally succumbed to the cancer that has spread through his abdomen these past months. He left me and David shortly after noon this day.

I have nothing left but David. But I am strong. I’ll go on.

—from the diary of Mangala Kapoor

Quent had made certain no one followed him to Zoë’s room, and it had been well past midnight by the time he’d sneaked out of the chamber Fielding had given him. The sensation of lurking about his father’s mansion had been an echo of nights many decades ago, when he did the same in an effort to remain beneath Fielding’s notice…and away from the fists and riding crops.

He’d been able to retain his pack and clothing by hiding in his room anything that could be considered dangerous, and leaving the pack out so it could be searched. Which he was certain it had been during the interminable time he was at dinner. Now he’d dressed back in his comfortable clothing—nylon cargo pants and T-shirt, with a long-sleeved shirt over it. And his light boots, complete with hidden Taser. He’d also slipped the cane-weapon into the side-back belt loop of his pants where it would be out of the way but easily accessible.

The most difficult part of finding Zoë hadn’t been the bloody tracings of her throughout the building—she seemed to touch every damn wall possible, and he’d become much more adept at only reading the memories he wanted to read—but evading the brunette who’d become a stage-one clinger at dinner. The kind of clinger who’d laughed too long and loudly at each of his jokes, even when he wasn’t joking. She’d done everything but stick her hand down his pants under the table or bare her generous breasts.

But Quent was no slouch when it came to dislodging unwanted females, and he’d given her the slip, then made his way to the spacious chamber assigned to him. It was on the highest floor of the building, and he waited there until he felt certain everyone was sleeping. The windows overlooked the glittering sea, dark and infinite in every direction. The only illumination came from the partial moon gilding the floating walkway and frosting the roofs of Mecca below. He examined the terrain from the highest part of the island, planning for a variety of escape routes. And when he was certain the household was asleep, he found his way to Zoë.

Now, as they left her room, he peered down the corridor before allowing her to sneak out after him. Everything was deserted, all was silent but for the faint whisper of water, and he moved over so she could ease past. She sparkled and shone in that white gown, despite its ragged hem, looking like Athena with her bow and the quiver slung over her shoulder.

Quent was able to navigate back to the center of the house without using his sensory powers. Before they left her room, he’d filled her in on the plan to use his psychometry to get to the hidden chamber, certain he’d be able to “read” the history of Fielding’s numeric codes and manipulations on the secret doors.

“I want that crystal. I want to learn its secrets and see what it can tell us about the Atlanteans,” he’d told her.

Zoë had been fascinated as well as enthusiastic. “It would piss Fielding the hell off, and maybe even show us a way to destroy the Elite.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“Won’t Fielding be there? Kill two birds with one arrow?”

Quent shook his head. “I don’t think so. There’s nothing in the room but the crystal. No other furnishings, so it’s obvious he doesn’t sleep there. The room is down instead of up, with only one entrance.”

“So we get the crystal then go up to his private room?”

“First we get him. Then the crystal.”

Quent led the way to the room in which he and Fielding had originally met. Since he had to “read” the history, he needed to start here to find the way to his father’s private chambers.

Inside, moonlight spilled in, silvering the space. The sound of running water, which had faded into the background like the sounds of a busy street to a Londoner, now broke the silence noisily. Everything was as Quent remembered it, and, tugging Zoë with him, he started over toward the waterfall by the hidden panel. The best place to begin tracing his father’s route, he thought, certain that Fielding would go to his private chambers through the secret passage.

As he glanced about the room again, noticing the faint wash of light over the crystal glasses and whiskey decanter, he remembered Fielding’s assertion that he’d manipulated Quent’s trip to Sedona. And as he looked around that sparse room, the truth came to him suddenly, like a splash of cold water. A punch to the gut. The ugly truth.

Was it possible? The sudden weight in his belly indicated that it probably was—that in spite of his loathing for Fielding, Quent’s whole life had been influenced by that very man.

Fed by hatred for the physical abuses, an underlying competitiveness and the absurd need to be seen as formidable—worthy—in his father’s eyes, Quent had allowed those emotions to drive his actions since he was a teen. Nearly everything he’d done—seduced and bedded beautiful woman after beautiful woman, embarked on daring and dangerous escapades in search of treasure and wealth that hadn’t come from his hated father…even given publicly of his time and money to charitable causes, to people and places in need—all of it had been a big damned fuck-you to Fielding.

A way to jab his middle finger right in his father’s face. A way to have Fielding see him as a equal, as strong and confident in his own right.

Fielding was right. He had controlled Quent’s life.

“What’s wrong?” Zoë broke the silence, and he realized he’d frozen as the unpleasant realization settled over him. “Quent? Are you in the black pit?”

His mouth flattened.
Right
. This was a pretty dark pit of self-realization. He wasn’t too certain he liked himself much right about now. “I’m fine. Just…listening. Are you ready?”

“I’ve been ready,” she said, characteristically impatient. “Are
you
?”

Feeling the solidness, the realness, of Zoë’s fingers now in his hand, all at once, Quent wondered if he was making a mistake.

They could leave now. Leave and likely escape over the walkway, or even steal a protected boat from the docks. He had his Taser, Zoë had her bow and arrows. Together, they’d be a force to be reckoned with.

Most importantly, he had Zoë.

He could get her out of here, safe and sound, and tell her what he needed to tell her. Find a way to let her know how he felt. And then if she wouldn’t stay, if she left him again…then he could come back.

But for now, the boiling, driving need to annihilate Fielding had eased to a simmer. Not because he’d forgiven the man, but because he realized what had happened had been a long time ago. Fielding didn’t have power over him anymore. He couldn’t hurt him any longer.

And if he left now, without ending his life, Quent could relinquish his father’s power over himself, no longer letting Fielding drive his actions.

He still loathed the man. Hated him for what he’d done to him, and to the rest of the world. Hitler had nothing on Parris Fielding.

He swallowed and looked down at Zoë. She’d never looked more beautiful than she did now, her hair every which way, smashed flat on one side, the winging curls limned with silvery moonlight, her almond-shaped eyes big and dark, steady. The curve of her cheek, the long sweep of her neck and throat and delicate collarbones, strong arms bare and gleaming with light.

I love you.

The words sat on the tip of his tongue. But he held them back. It wasn’t the right time. He wasn’t ready. His palms dampened and he thrust his nerves away.

“We could leave now. Forget everything and get out of here. Or we could try to steal the Atlantean crystal. What do you want to do?”

Surprise widened her eyes and she pulled her fingers from his hand, stepping back to look up at him. “And Fielding?”

Quent took a deep breath and shrugged. “Walk away.”

“You’re asking for me to decide?”

He nodded.
It’s the only way I can show you how much I love you. Give you control.

He opened his mouth to say it, to leap across that abyss, but she spoke first. “The crystal. We have to get the crystal. It’s got to be you, Quent. No one else could ever do it. And you’ll never have another chance. If you leave Mecca, you’ll never get back in.” She looked up at him, gripping his arms. “It could make a difference for all of us. It could help us stop the Elite.”

All of that without one curse word. He almost smiled. Was his Zoë softening?

“Right,” he said, anticipation sparking him. This was it. The biggest treasure he’d ever had the chance to find. “Let’s do it.”

He touched the hidden panel, grasping Zoë’s fingers once again as a way to ground himself. Reading the memories, he concentrated and memorized the code for opening the door.

Moments later, it slid open, just as silently as it had earlier that day. Zoë grinned and slipped through, and Quent followed. The only illumination was an occasional small covered bulb near the floor, spilling a small ellipse of light. He didn’t need to employ his ability to navigate back through the corridors, down to the end where the second secret door was, but he did use his fingers to brush along the wall to see if anyone had come by recently. He sensed nothing alarming and they hurried on.

The second secret panel slid open as easily as the first, but this time he had to concentrate harder to “read” the process to open the actual door to the chamber. The images blurred, dark and murky, layered with malignance and cold. Fielding. All Fielding, strong and malevolent.

Zoë’s warm hand, slender and steadying, was the only thing that kept him from sliding into that greasy black pit.

And when he at last came out of the trance of images, he realized his breathing had increased. Sweat trickled down his spine. It was too dark to see more than a shadow, but he got the sense she was looking at him with concern.

“That took too damned long, Quent,” she said, an edge to her voice. “What the hell’s wrong?”

He couldn’t put it into words. “Nothing,” he said. “I’m fine. It was…dark. And there’s a lot of evil here. My father.”

She squeezed tightly. “Are you all right? We can forget it.”

In the dark, he felt the warmth of her curves as she shifted toward him, the tickle of her unruly hair over his jaw, the low bumping sound of her arrows adjusting in her quiver. “It’s up to you. I’m fine. I want to do this.”

Zoë nodded against him, then pulled his face down. In the dark, he recognized the curve of her smile and he gave her the most tender, the most loving of kisses—short, sweet, with a bit of a tongue-slip. “Let’s go, genius,” she murmured. “I’m here.”

He pushed the buttons on the keypad, fighting this time to hold back the black images that lurked. Tension settled over his shoulders and he hesitated on the last digit.
Nine
or
eight?
He closed his eyes, let them flood him once again, dark and threatening…and then, a bit breathless, settled on
nine
.

The white wooden door to the secret chamber slid open. The ice blue glow of the crystal spilled its hue over the octagonal space, reflecting lightly off the glass walls of the aquarium room. Other than that, the place was empty and dark. Even the moonlight didn’t shine this far down through the water.

Quent felt Zoë’s intake of breath at the sight of the stone and gently eased her into the chamber. The door closed behind them and he felt the surge of excitement. A treasure beyond all imagining. From it, he could learn the history to a lost civilization, the key to understanding the men who’d destroyed the world. And, he was certain, formulate a weapon to stop them.

It was at that moment he realized why he’d been given the cursed psychometric ability. He was the only one in the world who could translate the stone and learn both past and present from it. The only one who could ever have found it, hidden here in his father’s private holding room.

What an irony for Parris Fielding, whose experiment in the Sedona cave had backfired and made his son the only person who could destroy him.

Quent pulled the swath of sparkling white material he’d cut from Zoë’s dress out of his pack and stepped toward the crystal. There was no bloody way he was touching it directly until he was somewhere safe and secure.

Who knew what kind of dark pit it would drag him into.

Just as he was about to drape the material over the crystal, he hesitated. With a quick look back at Zoë, who stood near the closed door, he said, “Be ready. I don’t know what will happen when take it off the pedestal.”