Quinn - Iris Johansen [64]
Joe was opening his eyes. Did he see her?
Yes, he was smiling at her.
She blew him a kiss.
He smiled again and closed his eyes.
Yes, rest, my friend. Get well. I’ll stand guard over Eve. You can trust me.
She turned and moved down the hall toward the elevator. But first she had her own decks to clear before she went on the hunt.
She took out her phone as soon as she was in the car. She dialed her number at the house she rented in Louisville. It was after midnight, but her son, Luke, probably would still be awake. He read till all hours of the night and still managed to be up early in the morning. She’d tried to tell him it wasn’t healthy, but Luke would only look at her and not say a word. It was hard trying to convince him such an act would affect him in any adverse way when it brought him pleasure. Luke had not had much pleasure in his life. He had been kidnapped at the age of two from her home in Boston by Rakovac, a Russian criminal, as an act of vengeance against Catherine for undermining his mafia operation. She tried not to think of the torture and deprivation he had suffered until she and Eve and Joe had managed to free him. Nine long years. He had been two when he’d been kidnapped and eleven when they’d managed to free him.
It was no wonder that, now that he was safe and free, he was gobbling up experiences as if they would be snatched away from him in a heartbeat. He still didn’t totally trust her, but he was coming close. She had to handle Luke with the most delicate touch imaginable, so that he wouldn’t walk away from her.
She tried to make her tone light when he picked up the phone. “Luke, what the heck are you doing? Didn’t that tutor I hired give you a curfew?”
“Yes, Mr. O’Neill said that I had to get to bed before three. I’m in bed.”
Thank heaven that Sam O’Neill didn’t keep Luke to an ordinary child’s schedule. But Sam was too savvy to do that. That was why Catherine had chosen Sam as Luke’s tutor. He was not only ex-CIA and fully capable of protecting her son, but he was a wonderful teacher. After what Luke had gone through during his captivity, strictness would have been absurd. He had been stunted in many ways by his isolation, but his childhood had been stolen from him. His independence had to be respected. “But you’re reading. What’s the book tonight?”
“ Midsummer Night’s Dream. I’m trying to understand it. But it’s very odd.”
“Yes, it is. But don’t give up on it. You might learn something.”
“I never give up.”
No, he had boundless stamina and determination, or he would never have survived those nine years. “What else are you and Sam doing?”
“Swimming. Tennis. Golf. I don’t like golf. It’s too slow,” he said quickly. “You’re going to tell me that golf is like Midsummer’s Night Dream. I might learn something.”
“You might. There are a lot of golf pros out there who don’t think it’s slow.”
He was silent. “Why did you call me in the middle of the night? Are you in trouble?”
“No.” She paused. “Can’t I call you without being in trouble?”
“Maybe I said it wrong.” He didn’t speak again, and she could almost hear the cogs turning. “I meant you think that I might worry about you being in trouble.”
“And would you worry, Luke?”
“You’re very strong and smart. It wouldn’t be reasonable for me to worry. Everyone says that you’re very good at what you do.”
“I didn’t ask if it was reasonable. I asked if you’d worry.”
He was silent, then said slowly, “I’d worry.”
She felt a warm rush of love and joy. Every admission from him of a growing affection between them was a triumph. When she had rescued him, she’d had to start at the beginning in earning his love. After his emotional deprivation, she could not push him, but slowly he was learning that there was a bond between them.
“I don’t mean to insult you,” Luke said. “But I’d be willing to come and help you if you need me. I’ve been taught very well.”
Taught the skills of weapons and guerrilla fighting, taught violence and cruelty,