The Belial Stone (The Belial Series #1)(5)

Laney hopped into the driver’s seat and hit the speakerphone button on the cell. “Not a problem. I have some papers to grade tonight. I can look at it tomorrow, though, and get some comments back to you by around lunch. Will that work?”

She could practically feel Drew's relief pour through the phone. “That would be incredible.”

Putting the truck into reverse, she started to back out of the drive. “What's the paper on, anyway?”

Drew was silent. She waited for a slow-moving Honda to pass and maneuvered out, onto the street. “Drew?”

The sigh was barely audible, but she caught it. “Promise me you’ll be open-minded?”

“Of course.”

“It’s on an ancient technologically-advanced society that existed prior to written history.”

Laney slammed on the brakes and stared at her phone, knowing exactly what Drew was trying to avoid saying. “Drew, are you talking about what I think you’re talking about?”

“Yes. It’s about Atlantis.”





CHAPTER 2



Saint Paul, MN



A few stray beer bottles rattled along the street, blown by the wind. Gideon curled his lip in distaste. Neighborhoods like this disgusted him. It was populated almost solely by undergrads, with a smattering of graduate students and a few young professors who had not yet made enough money to move to better accommodations.

The houses weren’t rundown because of economic shortcomings, but because of neglect. The residents didn’t take pride in where they lived.

Although it was late morning, the neighborhood remained quiet. Given the hours traditionally kept by this population, that was not surprising. In fact, Gideon had been counting on it.

He’d watched the couple on the first floor of the prewar-era colonial drive away a few minutes ago. Like most of the houses on the block, this one was broken into two apartments. His target lived on the second floor. He watched the street for another few minutes, noting little activity.

Easing himself out of his car, he straightened his trench coat, pulling up the collar against the slight rain. He crossed the street and tried the front door. Unlocked. He sighed. This was simply too easy. He passed the entrance to the first floor apartment and headed up the stairs.

At the landing, he followed the hallway back to the front of the house. Pausing before the only door, he listened for any sounds from inside. A chair scraped along the floor and someone crossed the room.

He rapped on the door three times, tapping his foot as he waited for the occupant to answer. He heard the locks being undone and restrained the urge to roll his eyes. No asking who it was, simple trust that nothing of harm could be on the other side of the door.

The man who opened his doors was in his late twenties, of medium height, with a mop of curly brown hair, jeans in need of a good wash, and a rumpled Henley.

“Can I help you?”

Gideon smiled. “Drew Masters?”

Drew nodded.

Gideon took a step forward, crowding Drew back into the apartment. “We need to have a little chat.”





CHAPTER 3



Dewitt, NY



Muscles aching, Laney settled into the bath with a contented sigh. After the self-defense class, she’d stopped by the Kung Fu school for a little sparring.

The plan had been to stay for a half hour, tops, and then get right back to her papers. But Sifu had decided to run a bracket. Everyone paired up and the winners fought the winners of the other pairings until only one remained.

She’d tried to beg off, knowing if she didn’t, she’d be up all night grading. But then one of the new guys made a snarky comment about women getting black belts due to affirmative action, and she was in. She smiled. The victory was good, but man, it hurt.

The house phone rang just as she started to doze off. She opened her eyes with a groan. I’m not getting it. There is nothing short of fire that can get me out of this tub right now.

Kati and Max had left an hour ago to spend the week with Kati’s parents in Ohio. Quiet in this house was a rare and wonderful thing. She wasn’t giving it up, short of an emergency. A really desperate emergency.

But then thoughts of her ungraded papers replicating like rabbits in the kitchen seeped into her brain. With a muttered curse, she pulled herself from the tub and dried off. Throwing on some sweats, she did a quick run-through with the hair dryer and headed back down the stairs. Pouring a giant mug of coffee, she settled down once again in front of her papers with a sigh.

Twenty minutes later, she was deep into a paper on the role of neuropsychological deficits in violent crime when the front bell rang. She looked at the clock. Six o’clock. She couldn’t think who it could be.

Walking to the door, still holding her paper in her hand, she peeped through the transom glass next to the door. Smiling, she undid the locks and flung open the door. “Uncle Patrick. I didn’t know you were coming by.”

“I called. I guess you didn't hear me.

His strong Scottish brogue seemed more pronounced in the quiet. She’d overheard one of his parishioners describe him as a redheaded Paul Newman. She couldn’t disagree. With his strong cheekbones, bright blue eyes, and just the smallest hint of grey around the temples, he did bear an uncanny resemblance to the actor.

She stepped back to let him in. “I was in the bath. We ran a bracket at the school.”