An iron gate rose twelve feet in front of the stolen car. It was beautifully made, but functional, four thousand pounds of hand-wrought metal strong enough to stop anything short of a tank. Behind it, a strip of black pavement cut a straight line through velvet grass. Farther in, the house looked impossibly large; a castle behind ten-foot stone walls. Michael leaned against the car and watched traffic on the road. He studied the gates, the guards. Inside the car, Elena said his name.
“You okay?” He ducked low enough to look in through the window. Elena scooted across the seat until she was behind the wheel. She was exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes and hollows worn into her cheeks. The wear showed in her voice and in the times she’d drifted and twitched, a pale, worn soul on endless miles of interstate. Even at the motel last night, she’d curled alone on the other bed, quiet and still, but awake. In the morning, she’d showered in silence, dressed with the barest smile. She could hardly meet Michael’s eyes, and when she did, there was a secret place where none had been before.
“Are they going to let us in?”
Michael studied the men who guarded the gate. They were professional and alert, broad, fit men with short hair and impeccable suits. Both carried holstered weapons and were as polite as they were confident. Their communications gear was state-of-the-art. If they were private, they were expensive, and Michael wondered just how good they really were. “If Julian’s here, they’ll let us in.”
“Do you think he believed you?”
“Depends, I guess.”
“I don’t think he’s coming back.”
Michael studied the gate, the walls. The guards’ attention was unbroken. Security cameras pivoted from high mounts, and one of them was pointed directly at them. “He’s coming,” Michael said.
“What if they’re not here?”
“Senate’s out of session. This is their summer home. It feels right.”
Elena chewed a fingernail, hair sliding on her neck as she checked the road, the deep, black woods. She felt naked in the car, and Michael understood. But how could he tell her the truth? How could he explain that Stevan and Jimmy would never let it end with a quick, clean shot from the deep woods? How could he look her in the eyes and tell her that when they came-which they would-it would be to make things close and personal?
“I don’t like this.”
Cars blew past, and in the forest, a bird’s wing flashed. Michael peered up the drive as a vehicle appeared in the distance, a bullet of metal that became a Ford Expedition as it drew closer and slowed at the gate. Michael saw the same white-haired man behind the wheel. He got out and spoke to the guards, who remained alert but impassive as the gate swung wide and the man walked out to speak with them. “Mrs. Vane has agreed to see you. You can ride with me.”
Michael checked the road, which was empty. The walls stretched for at least a mile in either direction. “I’d prefer to have my own transportation.”
“If you want inside the gate, the car stays here.” The moment stretched between them. “The weapon stays, too.”
Michael raised an eyebrow. “Weapon?”
“Don’t insult me, son. The one tucked in the back of your pants. Put it in the car. Lock the car. Get in. Time’s wasting.”
Michael studied his face, which was sunburned, rugged, and blunt. It looked like the face of an honest man, but looks meant little to Michael. He’d known so many liars, so many frauds. “Do you know my brother?”
The man squinted, and skin puckered around his eyes. “I know Julian like he was my own son.”
“Is he here?”
“He is.”
Michael looked away first. “Just a second.” He slipped into the car, tucked the gun under the seat, and rolled up the windows.
“Are you sure about this?” Elena ran both palms down the length of her thighs.
“We’ll be fine.”
They climbed from the car and Michael locked it. The driver hitched a thumb and said, “She goes in the back. You sit up front where I can see you.”
When they were in, the old man dropped a hand to the left side of his seat, then turned in a hard circle and drove back toward the big house. Michael saw formal gardens and trees so beautifully groomed they were ornamental. In the distance, another guard stood at the front door; two more patrolled the corners. Michael could not see any sign of it, but he suspected there would be electronic measures as well: cameras, motion sensors, infrared.
“Why so much security?” he asked.
“How many billionaires do you know?”
Halfway down the drive, the vehicle turned left on a narrow, gravel lane that disappeared into a stand of oaks. “I thought we were going inside,” Michael said.
“Not to the main house. That comes later. Maybe. My name is Jessup Falls.”
“This is Elena,” Michael said.
Falls’s eyes rose to meet hers in the rearview mirror. He kept one hand on the wheel, the other in the hollow place between his seat and the door. “Ma’am.”
“You took longer than expected.”
Falls looked at Michael, shrugged. “Your arrival was unexpected. Discussions were had.”
“Whether to let me in,” Michael said.
“I was on Iron Mountain the day you killed the Hennessey boy, so, yes. That was part of the discussion.”
“Is that why your left hand is holding a gun?”
Falls shrugged, then pulled the gun from beside the seat and tucked it between his legs. “Old habits,” he said.
“Are you in charge of security?”
“Only for Mrs. Vane. The senator has his own people.”
They drove for a half mile, first through forest, then along a ridge that offered long views of the house and grounds. When that view dropped away, Falls stopped the car.
“Are we meeting Mrs. Vane here?” Michael asked.
Falls put the transmission in park. His face was all business. “We’re on the west side of the estate. We’re going to the guesthouse. That way.” He pointed. “It’s private. No one ever uses it.” He pivoted so he could see Elena and Michael at the same time. He stared for long seconds, then frowned and said, “There’s no money for you here.”
“That’s not why we came.”
“Then why?”
“To see my brother.”
“Just like that? After all this time?” Michael shrugged, and Falls asked, “Why do you carry a gun?”
“Why do you?”
“Where do you live?”
“Nowhere, at the moment.”
“What do you do for a living?”
“My last job was washing dishes.”
Falls peered through the windshield. The road stretched out. “You’re giving me no reason to trust you.”
“You’re private security, which means you’re probably ex-cop. You don’t trust me, and you won’t. Nothing I say will change that, so let’s not waste time. I want to see Julian. You say I need to speak to Mrs. Vane first. Fine. She’s agreed to see me. Let’s get on with it.”
“Fair enough. I need you both to step out of the car.”
“Why?”
“Just because I’m unwilling to pat you down on the side of a public road doesn’t mean I’m stupid.” Outside, in the cool of the woods, Michael let Falls pat him down. The man was thorough and quick. “I apologize,” he said to Elena.
“It’s okay,” Michael told Elena, and watched Falls frisk her, too. He was just as thorough, and unapologetic.
“You can get back in the car.”
They climbed in, and when Falls turned, his mouth was an uncompromising line. “There’s no statute of limitations on murder in North Carolina.” He squinted, looked from Michael to Elena and back. “I want to make sure you’re aware of that.”
“I don’t understand.” Elena leaned forward.
“He’s talking about what happened at Iron House.” Michael let a few seconds slip by, not taking his eyes off Falls. “He’s threatening me.”
“Advising you.”
Michael smiled a thin smile, no light in his eyes. “We both know there’s no warrant with my name on it. No indictment. Nothing in the system.”
“Yet, the police spent a long time looking for you.”
“Twenty-three years ago and half a state away.” Michael leaned a bit closer. “No one is looking for me, Mr. Falls; and we both know the deeper truth of why that is.”
They measured each other for ten seconds, and Falls broke first. “Just don’t push me, young man. I take my job seriously.”
“I love my brother,” Michael said.
“Then we should have no problem.”
The guesthouse was a stone cottage on a low knoll that overlooked the lakes and house. It had iron boot-scrapes by the door, a covered porch, and green shutters with black metal hinges. A lawn swept down to the water, and dense trees crowded against the back.
“Wait here.”
They watched Falls step onto the porch, then open the door and disappear. The house was small and looked as if it had been there forever. The roof was heavy slate stained green in the cracks. Blue sky shone in high windows; the low ones were black. A beat-up Land Rover Defender was parked at the entrance. Michael watched for movement inside, saw none. Elena took his arm, worried.
“Is it true, what he said? Can they really arrest you?”
“It won’t happen.”
“Because of the deeper truth?” Michael squeezed her shoulders, and she said, “What does that even mean?”
“It means the pursuit of justice is rarely perfect or fair.”
“Don’t be cryptic, Michael.”
“It means no one here wanted publicity around Julian’s adoption, not with Hennessey dead on a bathroom floor. The media would have eaten it up, so the senator kept it quiet.”
“He can do that?”
“He has money, power. It’s not like Hennessey had family.”
“What an unbelievably cold thing to say.”
“It’s the world in which we live.”
“But why would they even care?” She gestured at the far mansion. “You told Julian to say you did it. He was in the clear.”
“Scandal has been known to assume a life of its own, given the chance. Besides, I doubt Julian was entirely convincing. He’s never been a good liar. His heart is too close to the surface.”
“The police didn’t believe him?”
“Let’s just say the senator spent a lot of money and political capital to keep them from looking too deeply.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I made it my business to find out.” She frowned, and Michael nudged her hip. “Trust me, Elena. With all that’s happened in the past few days, a decades-old investigation is the last thing you need to worry about.”
“Promise me you won’t be arrested.”
“I promise.”
“Good. Thank you.” She leaned into him, looked across the lakes. “Is this what you expected?”
She was talking about the estate, everything. “There’s more security than I thought, but that’s good.”
She sighed. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
“Are you all right?”
“I’m just sad.”
“Why?”
She stared at the soft grass and the far mansion, then took his arm and leaned her head on his shoulder. “This could have been your life.”
Jessup found Abigail on the sofa in the living room. “Is he here?” she asked.
“Outside. Are you sure you’re ready for this?”
Abigail looked down. Her hand cupped a small photograph. It was black and white, very old.
“Is that Michael?” Jessup asked.
“From his file at Iron Mountain.” She tilted it so he could see. The boy was young, maybe eight. He had wild hair and a smile that looked forced. “It’s the only picture of him I’ve ever seen.” She touched the photograph. “I missed him by minutes, Jessup. I missed his entire life because we were slowed by a storm, by a thing as simple as wind and frozen water.”
“He killed a fifteen-year-old boy. He put a knife in his throat and left him dead on a bathroom floor. People like that don’t change. I’ve seen it. I know. That storm saved you a lifetime of misery.”
“He would have had a reason for what he did.”
“Then he should have stayed and explained.”
“He was a child, and frightened.”
“That’s no reason to trust him, now.”
“Of course not, Jessup. I’m neither a fool nor a romantic.”
“Then why let him into your life at all?”
“Because Julian would.”
“He’s dangerous, Abigail. I’m telling you this is a mistake.”
“He’s dangerous, how?”
“He carries a concealed weapon, for one. And I ran his plates. The car is stolen. He said he was a dishwasher. That makes him a liar, too.”
“I won’t condemn him sight unseen.”
“You pay me to protect you.”
“I pay you to do what I say. Now, just… be still. Okay. Just give me a second’s peace.” She closed her eyes, and when they opened, she pointed. “Outside?” Jessup nodded without speaking. She crossed to the window, lifted the curtain. “My God,” she said. “He looks just like him.”
Michael was taller, stronger. He had the kind of quiet confidence that Julian would never know, but there was no doubt they were brothers. They had the same brown hair, same dark, expressive eyes. But where Julian was soft, Michael was hard. Where one was timid, the other was not. Michael leaned against the car, arms crossed, one foot up on the front tire. He saw them and gave a nod.
“You say his car is stolen?”
“Yes.”
Abigail watched for a few more seconds. Outside, the girl paced, agitated; but Michael held Abigail’s eyes. There was power there, she thought. Knowing and cunning and calm. “Have it searched,” she said. “I want to know everything about him. Where he works. What he does. Who he is. Everything.”
Jessup opened his cell phone. “What changed your mind?”
“I haven’t changed my mind.”
“Then, what?”
“You’re right about one thing,” Abigail said.
“What’s that?”
She tilted her head, peered out through black lashes. “The man’s no dishwasher.”
Michael was thinking of Elena’s last words when he became aware of a subtle perfume on the air. He looked up to find a woman as elegant as the perfume she wore. She stepped onto the drive, and the moment was so many things: commonplace and strange and bittersweet. She could have been his mother. She was a stranger, but knew his own brother better than he did. Michael stepped closer, and saw that her skin was parchment pale.
“Have I interrupted?”
“Not at all.” Michael kept his own features neutral. “Thank you for seeing us. This is Elena.”
She acknowledged Elena with a nod, and when her gaze snapped back to Michael, she looked embarrassed. “I’ve often asked myself what I would say to you should we meet. It’s a normal question on its surface, you see. An everyday concern. Would I be matter-of-fact, as if we were, indeed, strangers? Or would I simply fold at the knees?” She laughed, a small sound. “I’m not the folding kind of person, but I wondered if it would all just be too much?” She looked awkward. “I’m not making sense.”
“You make perfect sense,” Michael said. “I completely understand.”
She curled one finger across her lips, and her eyes brightened. “I was at Iron Mountain the day you ran. I saw you in the snow that night, coat flapping, then gone. I saw that terrible storm take you away.”
“That was a long time ago,” Michael offered.
Her eyes went from bright to shiny wet. “If I could have found you, I would have.”
“It’s okay.” Michael didn’t know why he said it-he owed this woman nothing-but he said it, meant it, and in that moment felt the pluck of ice on his skin, the memory so real the frostbitten spots on his hands tingled. He never thought of that dark, cold run, saw it only in dreams; yet here they were, the both of them. Her eyes were large and green, and she was about to cry. “It’s okay,” he said again.
But she stepped closer and put her arms around him. “I’m so sorry.” For a moment, Michael tensed, but her hair was featherlight on his cheek. Her skin smelled of lavender and that elegant perfume. “You poor thing,” she said.
Jessup stepped closer. “Mrs. Vane…”
But she ignored him. “You poor boy.”