Catching the Wind(15)

His story fascinated her. The journey through an occupied Belgium seemed impossible, and yet he’d finished it, despite all that opposed him. It would make a compelling feature, but no matter how much she researched—or what she uncovered—there would be no article. Mr. Knight wanted to find Brigitte, but he’d made it quite clear that this story was not for the syndicate.

Any information she found on the Rickers in the process of her search, she could retain for her article, but how could she take on this job and maintain her position with World News? Even if he did pay for her work, she wasn’t certain she wanted to partner with a man she knew so little about. A man who apparently knew an enormous amount about her.

She heard footsteps behind her and turned to see Jack, his gaze focused over her head, beyond the stone wall. “If you keep your eyes on the water, you’re bound to see one of the orca pods swim by.”

“Killer whales?”

“It’s a strange name to call them when they’re not even whales,” he said. “Orcas are actually part of the dolphin family.”

She sighed. “Not everything is as it seems.”

Jack sat on the edge of a cushioned deck chair, his knees folded up into an awkward sort of platform. “Don’t be afraid of Mr. Knight. He is a good man.”

“He’s asking me to do the impossible.”

“I’ve worked for him more than forty years, and one thing I know for certain, he’s an excellent judge of character.” Jack stretched out his legs, then scooted the chair closer to her. “He wouldn’t ask you to do something he thinks an impossibility.”

She lifted her feet, letting the water stream off her toes, back into the pool. Had Jack heard the story of the boy who’d tried to rescue Brigitte? Daniel didn’t seem like the kind of person who liked to share his past either.

Her neck craned back, she looked up at the spires towering overhead. “Who built this place?”

“Mr. Knight hired a crew to build it in 1970, but it took them almost ten years to complete.”

“Why did he build a castle?”

Instead of answering her question, Jack pointed at the highest tower in the center. “That’s the keep.”

She examined the gray walls. “It looks like a tower to me.”

“The keep is much more important than a tower,” he said, smiling. “In the Middle Ages, if an enemy stormed a castle, the residents would either escape underneath it or they’d take refuge up there. Knights could win a battle from the keep.”

She studied it again. “And your employer needs one of these because—?”

He smiled again, dimples creasing in his ruddy cheeks. “A fine question to ask him.”

She sighed. “Could you tell me what time it is, or is that a secret as well?”

“Two o’clock, Pacific time.”

She calculated the hours in her head. “Ten o’clock in London. How long do you think they’ll meet?”

“It’s different every time,” he said, tossing her a white towel. “You have family in England?”

She shook her head as she dried her feet. “Not anymore. I always wanted to visit London, though, so I accepted an internship at a newspaper there during college.” She threw the towel into a hamper. “Spent most of my summer grinding coffee beans and running errands, but after graduation, my former boss offered me an editorial job.”

“I went to London once, on my honeymoon.” He looked back toward the sea. “My wife pretended we were royalty for a week.”

“Royalty seems much more glamorous on a TV screen.”

“It was the best week of my life,” he said, his voice cracking. “We visited Westminster Abbey and Buckingham Palace and got to see the great Hannah Dayne perform in Gone with the Wind.

“My Alice lost her battle with cancer two years later. Mr. Knight pulled me off my job and asked me how I was doing. When I told him I wasn’t doing that great, he asked me what I thought about moving to the San Juan Islands. It was exactly what I needed.”

“I’m sorry,” Quenby said, silently reprimanding herself for her gibe about the royal life. She needed to think before she spoke again.

“It’s been more than forty years, and I still miss her. She would have loved this island.”

“What is Mr. Knight’s business?”

The smile slowly returned to Jack’s face. “Farming.”

She tilted her head. “He must own one big farm.”

“It’s not your typical type of farming.”

Before she could ask another question, Lucas stepped onto the terrace with them, holding out her mobile. “He’s decided to trust you.”

She snatched it from his hand, afraid he might retract the offer. “Does that mean you trust me as well?”

“You’ll have to earn my trust, Miss Vaughn.”

Quenby glanced at Jack, at his shoulders trembling, the hand unsuccessfully covering the corners of his lips. The man was laughing at them. “I’m sorry, Lucas,” she said, “but you’re going to have to earn mine first.”





CHAPTER 9





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Early Tuesday morning, Quenby rode the District line west to the village of Kew. Then she walked three blocks through a neighborhood of terrace homes with wrought-iron gates and flowers blooming on their patches of lawn.