“Admiral.” Lee’s glance was quicksilver and sharp.

“Would he now?” Farnley puffed beneath the compliment. Leaning heavily on the table, he stared directly at Lee, his deep-sunken eyes struggling to focus. "I've heard about this one. Awfully young to captain a submarine, isn’t he? Especially a boat like Seaview. I did a stint in the Navy once.”

“I’ll just bet you did,” Lee muttered under his breath.

“Still . . .” Farnley continued, oblivious to Lee’s grumbling. “I suppose there’s always room for young cubs to learn from old lions.”

“Well said. That's the problem with officers who move too quickly through the ranks.” Harry’s eyes sidled to his captain. “Despite appropriate training, they lack respect. Take Seaview for example. Our function is mainly research so the problem is worse.” He nodded pointedly toward Lee. “As I’ve already witnessed with Captain Crane.” 

Lee glared belligerently. “Perhaps that’s because respect should be earned, Admiral - - instead of automatically assuming it comes with three stars.” In the din of the room his precisely enunciated words carried across the table, drawing all conversation to halt.   

“Lee.” Appalled that he’d speak so boldly to a ranking officer, Chip half-rose from his chair.   

Harry's face darkened swiftly. Before he could utter a word, Farnley blundered into the fray.

“Perhaps you should take a stronger hand with your officers, Admiral.” Banishing the edge of inebriation, the congressman narrowed his eyes on Lee. “Your captain has clearly forgotten the meaning of respect, not to mention the admiration an officer should hold for his commander.”

“I think you’re right. On all counts.” Harry shot Lee a black glare.

Disgusted, Lee looked away. “I think I’ve had my fill of dinner.” He pushed back his chair and started to rise. 

“Sit down!” Harry gripped his arm before he could leave. It was one thing to let an upstart speak out of turn, another to let him act on it. The older man's face was white, his blue eyes dark with fury. 

“It’s a social function, Admiral. I’m not required to...” Lee never finished the words. 

Harry reacted instinctively, cracking Lee across the face. The younger man’s head rocked to the side, and he staggered a step, off balance. The silence in the room was deafening - - uncomfortably and acutely embarrassing. 

“Perhaps I have chosen the wrong captain,” Harry spat.

“Perhaps you have. Sir.” Lee clamped his teeth together, quietly seething. Without another word, he spun on his heel and left. 

This time Harry let him go.

**********

Lee never slowed as he strode down the stone corridor. He felt heat on his face, a nervous trickle of sweat on the back of his neck. His heart bumped against his ribs, sudden and furious as the aftereffects of the ugly scene flowed through his body. His cheek still stung where Nelson had struck him, the shock of the blow catching him completely off guard. He’d spoken out of turn, crossed lines he shouldn’t have, but the blow still came as a shock.

He knew he’d behaved wretchedly, broadcasting to everyone in the room that he and the admiral had reached a crossroads. Few knew him, but those who did already believed he was too young to command Seaview. They knew he’d been a fill-in commander, chosen after John Phillip’s tragic death, and that he and Nelson had already butted heads.

His reputation proceeded him - - insolent, aloof, outspoken. ‘Not the man you want calling the shots on Seaview, Harry,” he’d overheard Farnley’s aide, a man named George Rabell, tell the admiral only that morning. Apparently, Nelson was already rethinking his mistake. There could be no question everyone in the Great Hall knew the admiral and his captain had reached a crossroads.

Breath quickening, Lee passed from the manor into the outer courtyard. A spring breeze skimmed across his face, drying a stippling of sweat on his forehead. To the east, the sun melted against the horizon, washing the ground and trees with a veil of red and gold. 

Lee followed a short path to the gardens which sprawled behind a stone wall on the west side of the manor. He knew Quentin Warren had constructed the area just a few years ago for his younger daughter, Penelope, hoping to soften her rough edges amid an oasis of heather, daylilies, and jasmine. Lee had yet to see the results of his work but, knowing Penelope as he did, he doubted it would make any difference. The girl was as outspoken and headstrong as they came.

Entering through a wooden gate, he was surprised to find the garden in a state of disarray. Weeds sprouted among wilted flowers and crawling vines. Bowers were untended and overgrown, infested with dried leaves and broken twigs. It was as though a windstorm had ravaged the garden and no one had bothered to remove the debris. 

Surprised, Lee crossed to a stone bench. Once the focal point of the garden, it too had fallen victim to neglect. Crowded by weeds, its pitted surface fouled with lichen and mold, the bench was uninviting and old. As he bent to brush his hands over the cracked exterior, he caught a sharp tang of decay. Grimacing, he glanced at the ground, expecting to find the remains of some small animal in the final stages of decomposition. The soil was soft and spongy, sucking at the heels of his shoes, but there was no evidence of rot.

“Have you found my locket?”

Lee jerked at the unexpected voice. Startled, he realized a woman had slipped from the bower of vines and twining hedgerows behind him. Long, blonde hair hung unbound about her shoulders, her face sharp and inquisitive, like that of a bird. She was too thin to be beautiful, but the large pools of her eyes and the sheer, almost alabaster cast of her skin made her oddly intoxicating. Lee guessed she was in her mid-twenties, probably one of the wedding guests.

“I'm sorry.” He couldn't put his finger on it, but something about her sudden appearance left him flustered. “I didn't realize anyone was here.”

She stepped nearer, her eyes wide and engulfing. A strange sense of alarm skittered along the edge of his nerves. “I can't find my locket,” she repeated. “Will you help me look for it?”

Lee wet his lips. Up close he could see fine blue veins under the near-white cast of her pointed face. Her blonde hair was pale like milk and butter, her eyes black as midnight. Frail, almost insubstantial, she seemed like something the wind would blow away. For one strange, unbalanced moment he wanted to protect her - - to shelter her from a darkness that danced mockingly beyond his grasp. His throat tightened, his mouth suddenly dry. “What’s your name?”

The woman stroked gentle fingers across his cheek. Her touch was unnaturally cold, icy as morning air conjured from a high mountain lake. Like her gaze, the brush of her fingers was riveting, and Lee found he couldn’t move. Every muscle in his body tensed as she leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the lips. “I’m Nerina,” she whispered. “I need your help, Captain Lee Crane of Seaview.”

He didn't remember telling her his name. There was a sudden ache in his head, a twinge of pain that scuttled down his neck with the feather-light legs of a spider. “I...” But no words came to his tongue. Her arms slipped behind his neck, her fingers brushing through the short strands of his hair. A renewed infusion of cold spiked through Lee’s body. Then her lips were on his again and all he wanted to do was kiss her, to surrender his warmth in the shattering influx of sensation she stirred. Wrapping his arms about her, he drew her closer, crushing her lips beneath his as he took control of the kiss. 

She jerked away. “Someone's coming.”

Confused, he grappled with the sudden sensation of emptiness her departure kindled. “Nerina...”

Her fingers slipped from his. With a single glance over her shoulder, she vanished among the tangled trunks of interlocking trees.

Lee swallowed, his throat dry. The crunch of twigs and leaves echoed through the air as footsteps approached behind him. Whirling, he came face to face with Chip as his executive officer emerged around a hedgerow. 

“There you are.” Chip's voice was flat, his expression unforgiving. One glance at his set face, and Lee had little doubt as to his motive. After the scene in the Great Hall, it was expected his friend would have a word or two of unwelcome advice.

Sighing, surrendering to the inevitable, Lee laced a hand through his short, black hair. “I'm not in the mood for a lecture if that's why you're here.”

Frowning, Chip crossed his arms over his chest. 

Nettled by his stance, Lee began to pace, his own posture defensive. Muscles tightened across his shoulders and neck. “This doesn't concern you, Chip. It's between me and Nelson.”

“Are you crazy?” Chip shook his head. “Even before we got here, you’ve been pushing the envelope with the admiral. If I hadn’t witnessed that scene in the Great Hall personally, I would have said it was anyone but you in there. What the hell is wrong with you? You’ve only been captain of Nelson’s sub for two weeks and you’re already pushing his buttons. Don’t you want Seaview?” When the rebuff brought no response, Chip snagged his arm, wrenching him to a halt. “Lee, I’m not just your executive officer, I’m your friend. This isn’t like you. Have you lost all sanity?"

“Apparently.” Irked, Lee pulled free. Still disoriented over Nerina's sudden appearance and hasty departure, he found it difficult to concentrate on anything. Something unnamed gnawed at his insides, sending a prickle down his spine. Frigid, damp air wafted across the back of his neck, prompting the sudden, irrational urge to leave the garden. “Chip, I don't want to argue about this. Let's just go back inside.”

“You're not welcome inside, Lee.”

It was true. Most of the guests would shun him after the disparaging remarks he'd made to the admiral. It was a wonder Chip was even speaking to him, but then Chip was a perpetual diplomat, always trying to sow peace where there was discord. “I don't want to stay here, Chip.”

Chilled by the crisp air, Lee shivered. “I'll listen to what you have to say, if that's what you want. But not here.”

Unaffected, Chip studied his captain. He wanted to shout, to throttle him, to tell him his behavior had been nothing short of reprehensible, but the look on Lee's face stopped him. It was not the look of a man who only moments before had callously tossed around insults with little regard.

“Chip...”

Lee touched his arm and he jerked away, startled by the abnormally chill feel of his friend’s fingers. Troubled without understanding why, Chip gave a terse nod. “I think you know what I have to say. An apology is in order, a public one. For there to be peace between you and the admiral, you’re going to have to humble yourself. If you come to your senses, I’ll be inside.” Stiffly, he walked from the garden. 

Almost simultaneously, the anxiety Lee had been experiencing faded. He shot a glance in the direction Nerina had vanished. Now that the XO had left, his unnatural urge to depart had evaporated. He scoured the area, looking for the soulful blonde-haired woman, but found no trace. 

Eventually, he gave up and returned to the manor hall. The reception he received was notably frigid, even curt. Women snubbed their noses; men openly glared. There were whispers behind his back and long stares he did his best to ignore. Deciding it was safest in his room, Lee passed the time until nightfall, hoping to avoid confrontation. It was one matter slighting the admiral, another having every man in attendance wanting to take a swing at him.  

Slipping into the hallway, he moved quietly through the concealing shadows. Night clung to the stone walls in soft whorls of black, broken now and again by sputtering pools of lamplight. Wicklow Manor was quiet, draped in the folds of a star-dusted night. Reaching the lower level, Lee stepped into the yawning outdoor blackness, drawing the folds of a light coat closer for warmth. Once the sun set, the temperature had dropped quickly.

He crept along the edge of the brooding edifice, slipping through the gloaming into an oversized stable. Within, the air was warmer, thick with the odors of horse, leather and straw. As he stepped beneath the overhang, a hand gripped his shoulder.

Startled, Lee whirled. “Admiral.”

Nelson’s face broke into a craggy smile. “You're a little jumpy, aren't you, Lee?”

The younger man exhaled, visibly relaxing. “You would be too if everyone you crossed paths with thought you needed a lesson in respect.”

Nelson’s smile dimmed. “Yes. About that . . .” A crease appeared between his brows. Extending his hand, he touched Lee’s cheek briefly. “I'm sorry I hit you. It seemed like the thing to do at the time.”

“Given the remark I made, it was perfect.” Lee smiled in amusement. “You would have enjoyed the lecture Chip gave me. He says I have to apologize to you. Publicly.”

Nelson chuckled. “You’re lucky all you got was a lecture. Unfortunately, Chip doesn't realize an apology would ruin everything. I hate having to deceive him, but there's no other way to flush out Farnley. Chip’s outrage is legitimate, and that’s needed right now. The whole thing has to appear believable. After the incident we staged, Farnley should be contacting you shortly.”

Lee nodded. He'd known from the beginning when he and Nelson had been asked by ONI to flush out a suspected traitor, matters would grow difficult. The congressman was usually too well insulated to have a trail traced back to him. But in a social situation, with Nelson and Seaview dangled as bait and a corrupt captain willing to deal, they hoped to reveal the man’s true colors. 

The plan had been in motion from practically the moment Lee had accepted the captaincy of Seaview. Within days, he and Nelson had begun staging small blow-ups, hinting all was not well between them. He hadn’t exactly come aboard under the best circumstances, and most everyone considered him far too young for the position as it was. Because he tended to safe-guard his privacy, he allowed the crew to continue to think of him as arrogant and aloof. It would all be over in a few days at which point he could drop the charade. In the meantime, by publicly sparring with the admiral, he hoped it would send a message to Farnley that he could be bought for the right price. 

Sighing, Lee sagged against the stable wall. “Admiral, I really do hate when we argue. This is no different, even if it is staged. Having the chance to work with you again after the Nautilus is the best thing that could have happened to me. For the last two weeks I’ve been stuck pretending to disagree with most everything you say and do. It’s not how I hoped my career at N.I.M.R. would start.”

“I know. But it will be over soon. And in the meantime, look at the benefits.”

Lee raised a brow. “Benefits?”

“What else do you call having a free hand to spout off at me?”

Amused, Lee glanced sideways through slitted lashes. “I think I’d just as soon skip that part.”

“Wisely spoken, Captain.” Grinning, Nelson stepped away from the wall and glanced outside. The surroundings were dark and cloaked in shadow, but moonlight filtered through the cloud cover, illuminating traces of ground, tree and rock. Nelson glanced at his young commander. 

“I don't like having the whole manor ready to draw and quarter you, Lee. As soon as Farnley makes any overture remotely treasonous, we'll turn the matter over to government authorities. I'll wait each night at this time, but don't risk coming here unless you have something to report. Farnley’s no fool. He was drunk tonight, but he might not be so willing to buy our quarrel come morning. You're going to have to convince him you're without principle.”

“That shouldn't be too difficult.”

Disturbed, Nelson frowned. “Don't be so sure of yourself. If ONI is right about Farnley, he's far more dangerous than he appears. I didn't want you involved in the first place. It's your age coupled with your rank that made you the likely choice. Someone like Farnley will be convinced you’ve gotten where you are through deceit and bribery. I'd feel a hell of a lot better if our positions were reversed, and it was my neck on the line instead of yours.”

“You’re forgetting, Sir . . . ONI assignments aren’t new to me.” As the older man paused, Lee slipped a hand onto his shoulder. “I'll be fine. Besides, after today's performance, we shouldn't have to do this much longer. It should be over with fairly quickly.”

Grim-faced, Nelson nodded. “It has to end by the time the reception wraps. After that, any contact with Farnley would appear suspicious.”

“Agreed.” Lee nodded. Pausing, he bit his lip. “Admiral, about the reception . . . would you happen to know if Quentin has a guest named Nerina?”

Cautious, Nelson narrowed his eyes. “Lee, you can't afford the distraction of female companionship right now.”

“I didn't say...”

“You didn't have to. Get your mind back on Farnley.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Suddenly brusque, Nelson hiked the collar of his coat higher. “We've stayed here too long. I'll leave and enter the manor hall by the east gate. You wait a few minutes then go in the opposite direction. And Lee...” Nelson cast him a pointed glance. “...be careful.”

“Aye, Sir.” Lee watched him depart. Alone, he braced a hip against the nearest stall. It was empty, warm and heady with the scent of fresh straw. Further away a horse snorted, stamping restlessly in the darkness. Lee listened to the soft sound of its breath, the minute shuffling of its hooves. It had been difficult concentrating on much of anything since his encounter with Nerina. Something about the strange blonde-haired woman nipped at his subconscious, dancing just beyond the fringe of his thoughts. 

She'd been unusually forward while managing to project an aura of innocence and helplessness. Was it possible a woman who acted so boldly, could also be naive? She had obviously learned his name from one of the other guests at the manor. On another occasion he might have been flattered by her attention, but tonight it felt wrong. The admiral was right. He couldn't afford the distraction.

Shaken from his thoughts, Lee realized the air had abruptly soured. The smell of loam festered with moldy dampness. The very atmosphere felt weighted, trapped in a fragile prism without sound or motion. Lee tensed, the hair on his neck prickling as the scent of decay grew stronger. Ice bled into his veins

“Lee.”

He turned, finding Nerina standing just behind him. As in the garden, her abrupt appearance left him oddly unbalanced. She was dressed as she had been earlier in a skirt of soft blue with a foam-colored blouse. Her blonde hair, still unbound, flowed about her shoulders, the luxurious cascade of curls almost as pale as her milky flesh. Her eyes, large and black, appeared to have no pupils at all. 

Lee wet his lips. “Nerina. What are you doing here?”

She tilted her head, watching him quizzically as though the answer were obvious. “Looking for my locket. It must be in the garden. I'd rather be in the garden, Lee, wouldn't you?”

“I...” The words stuck in his throat as she stepped nearer. Her smile was winter-white with the promise of innocence and spring. When she raised a delicate hand, brushing icy fingers across his cheek, he closed his eyes. 

“Your skin is so warm,” she marveled, leaning closer. “You want to kiss me, don't you?”

“Yes.” He couldn't say the word quickly enough. Couldn't move fast enough to hold her in his arms, claiming her pale lips beneath his. He jerked as a startling burst of cold ripped through his body.

“Not here,” she whispered, drawing away, twining her fingers with his. Riveted by her compelling black eyes, Lee followed mutely as she led him to the garden. Buried deep in his mind, a nerve of warning screamed for him to leave. But one whispering touch of her icy fingertips, one lash-veiled glance of her eyes, and the shrill insistence was gone.

Draped with the bloated shadows of deepest night, the abandoned garden seemed the fantastical creation of a twisted mind. Trees and hedgerows twined in nightmarish contortions splattered with moonlight. The scent of decay was stronger than before, reeking of black earth, mold, and diseased flesh. Overcome by the stench, Lee gagged.

Nerina raised her hand, touching him lightly on the brow. “It will pass,” she assured. Her fingertips lingered as though she savored the contact. Her eyes glittered with yearning. “You're skin is so warm.”

Lee breathed easier, the stench fading to a vague distraction. The prickling along his neck traveled down his spine fanning alive every nerve of warning he possessed. “I . . .I should leave,” he said with difficulty. 

“I want you to stay.” She slid her hand behind his neck, feathering the black hair on the edge of his collar. Her eyes were engulfing as she gazed up at him. “I'm so cold, Lee. Lie with me and keep me warm.”

His throat was dry. He no longer questioned the otherworldliness of the situation or that every touch of her fingers depleted the limited warmth in his body. As wrong as he knew the circumstance to be, he didn’t have the will to refuse her. Whatever spell she'd woven, she’d ensnared him completely. Surrendering to the inevitable, he wrapped his arms around her, claiming her chill lips beneath the heat of his own.

In the garish, decaying garden, Lee gave her his warmth.

**********

Sunlight streamed across his face, bright and dazzling. Lee groaned, awakening to the sting of light beneath his eyes. Disoriented, he sat forward. The movement incited a surprising barrage of aches, coupled with the strain of protesting muscles. He felt as though he'd spent a day running a marathon, his strength sapped to near-exhaustion. In the back of his mind, an image flickered to life - - a woman with pale blonde hair and cold, bone-colored flesh. A woman who had allowed him to make love to her with a passion he hadn't thought he possessed. 

Half ashamed by his amoral actions, Lee bowed his head into his hands. A little belatedly, he realized he was still in the neglected garden, only half dressed. What the hell was he doing behaving like a rambunctious college kid on spring break? He was an officer in the Navy Reserves! From nowhere a string of memories awakened groggily, vying for attention.

Something deviant and unholy had touched him during the night. Something with fish-cold lips and skeletal fingers. The images in his mind blurred. One moment he recalled an intoxicating woman with sun-white hair and mesmerizing eyes of shadow. The next, an apparition draped in grave-clothes with cold, groping hands. As the impression surfaced, he sucked down a breath of revulsion.

“It was a dream. Just a dream.” Disturbed by the memory, Lee adjusted his clothing. The morning air was strung with the burgeoning warmth of early spring, yet he couldn’t stop shivering. Wanting to put the garden behind him, he headed for the manor hall. He’d only managed to take a few steps from the neglected bower of weeds and hedgerows, when an ill-tempered voice drew him up short. 

“Lee Crane! If you think sneaking into that wretched garden is going to keep you from crossing paths with me, you're sadly mistaken.”

Inwardly sighing, Lee drew to a halt. He knew without looking that Penelope Warren approached from the side. For a petite nineteen-year-old, the girl had the presence of a fleet admiral. 

“You've been avoiding me, Captain.”

Hell, yes, he’d been avoiding her. The last thing he needed was an infatuated college kid following him around like a lap dog. He hadn’t seen her in a good five years. The last they’d crossed paths prior to Bethany’s wedding, Penelope had been fifteen and he twenty-eight, on leave from the Navy. He’d always known she’d had a crush on him but lately her usually teasing banter had turned brassy. To make it worse, she was far from bashful, accustomed to getting her way.

“I've been avoiding the manor, Pen. In case you hadn't noticed, half of your father's guests want to take off my head.”

“They’ll have to get in line behind me.” She wedged her hands on her hips and looked up at him accusingly. “If anyone is going to tell you what an idiot you’ve been, I will.”

Lee ground his teeth. “It's no wonder your father hasn't had any luck marrying you off,” he muttered.

“I heard that.” She linked her arm through his, allowing herself a grumpy smile. “But you’re forgiven anyway. Father knows better than to try to set up a match for me like he did with Bethany. Besides . . . I’ve decided to wait for a certain Navy Reservist Commander to propose.”

Lee scowled. “Pen...”

“Who said it was you, you puffed-up egotist?"

Lee raked a hand through his rumpled curls, dislodging clinging bits of grass. “You sound like

Congressman Farnley.”

“Don’t insult me. I'm much prettier.”

“That's a matter of opinion.”

“Lee!”

Satisfied he'd gained the upper hand, Lee smiled. Although he'd been trying to avoid her, it was comforting falling into a familiar exchange with Penelope. The sight of her freckle-dusted nose crinkled in distaste dispelled the memory of Nerina's lips on his body. He’d hungered for her touch last night, but the recollection left him feeling nauseous.

“You shouldn't be seen with me. People will talk.”

“They're already talking. How could you be so disrespectful to the admiral?”

Lee frowned. She was harder to shake than he’d thought. “Because I'm arrogant and unscrupulous.” He started walking, hoping she would take the remark as a brush-off and leave. Instead, she followed on his heels, her shorter strides double-timed to match his long-legged ones.

“What a load of hogwash! You’re one of the most honorable men I know.”

“Penelope. Don't do this.”

“You're such an oaf, Lee Crane.” She gave a short huff of air when he wouldn't stop walking. They were laboring up an incline and the dew-soaked grass clung to his shoes. As they reached the inner courtyard a number of Quentin’s other guests, already up and milling outside, stopped to cast curious glances in their direction.

“You're determined to make a spectacle of yourself,” Penelope continued. “But I can't for the life of me fathom why. You'd be better off swallowing your pride and asking the admiral’s forgiveness.” She eyed him outright. “You look hung over, Lee.”

He halted abruptly. It probably wasn’t far from the truth. He had a splitting headache, and his eyes were slitted against the glare of sunlight. His mouth felt coated and dry, his body violated. “I had a rough night, Pen.”

She sent him a sideways glance. “That’s your own fault. Who were you with?"”

“What makes you think I was with someone?”

“Because you’re a man and that’s what men do.”

Annoyed, he started walking again. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Penelope made a face. “I wouldn't care if you slept with the whole castle.”

“Maybe I will.”

She was losing patience. “You're dreadful, Lee. You’re not the man I remember.”

“Maybe I’m just tired of having you tag after me.” His glance was sharp. “Why don’t you go annoy someone else for a change?” He hated being cruel, but he couldn’t afford to appear friendly when he wanted Farnley to think the worst of him. The last thing he wanted was Penelope hanging around. If not for his sanity, at the very least for her safety.

Penelope stopped short, his last remark doing the trick. Her face crumpled, then without a word she turned and fled up the hill toward the manor hall. Lee swore softly and continued at a slower pace. He hated how he was forced to deceive those closest to him, but it couldn’t be helped. In a short time it would be over and he could repair the damage he was causing. Farnley’s position made him far too critical to ignore. If he was trading secrets to the People’s Republic, as suspected, he needed to be stopped quickly.

Inside, Lee encountered two of Quentin's guests near the main stairwell, but both merely looked away contemptuously. Shrugging aside the reproof, Lee trudged up the steps to the second floor corridor and his bedroom. 

“If it isn't the young upstart from last night,” a snide voice intoned off to the side. Lee heard a soft patter of footsteps as the man who addressed him emerged from an alcove. Tall and slender with neatly trimmed red hair, he presented a refined image.

George Rabell. Farnley’s assistant. 

Lee paused outside his bedroom. “Is there something you wanted, Mr. Rabell?”

The older man eyed him coldly. “Just to see what a jackass looked like firsthand.”

Lee cocked a brow. He said nothing, but the insolence in his expression spoke volumes.

Bristling, Rabell stabbed a finger against his chest. “Quentin Warren is a friend of mine, you cocky S.O.B. When you insult a man’s guests, you insult the host.”

Unflustered, Lee leaned indolently against the door. “This has nothing to do with Quentin. It’s between me and Admiral Nelson. If, however, it’s a personal insult you’re looking for, it wouldn’t take much imagination to accommodate you.” Patience at an end, he stepped into the room and closed the door. 

Behind him, Rabell swore violently. Lee lowered the lock just as the older man's fist connected with the frame. Sighing, he rolled his back to the door, staring up at the ceiling. The masquerade was growing too comfortable, his insolence almost effortless. ONI had taught him to adapt to any role, but this one was starting to feel ugly.

Trudging into the room, he collapsed face down on the bed. He felt like he hadn't slept in a week. 

**********

Frank Farnley emerged from the shadowed alcove where he'd been sheltered throughout Crane’s exchange with Rabell. Walking unhurriedly down the corridor, he turned the corner, coming face-to-face with his assistant.

“Well?” Rabell prompted. “Did you catch that?”

Farnley nodded. “It looks like our young captain has no love for Nelson. He’s arrogant as hell, but arrogance isn’t treason. The question is - - is he unethical enough to betray Nelson and Seaview?”

“He didn’t get that rank through merit. He’s nothing more than a punk kid. I say we see how low he’s willing to sink.” 

Farnley was thoughtful. “Soon. I want to be certain of his motives before I ask Lee Crane to turn traitor.”

**********

Lee slept through most of the day, exhausted and chilled. When afternoon faded to dusk, he crawled into a scalding bath. There were no showers in Wicklow Manor, one of the many modern conveniences lacking in the manor hall. After years of showering in Navy heads, the spaciousness of the monstrous claw-footed tub seemed almost obscene. He was glad for the indulgently-heated water and sank gratefully into the warmth. Beyond the windows, the setting sun dipped low on the horizon, soaking the floor in jeweled bands of scarlet and gold. Below, Warren’s guests would be gathering, ready to eat, drink, and socialize. 

Steeling himself for an unpleasant evening, Lee dragged himself from the tub. The air felt chill, and he dried hurriedly, wrapping himself in a terry robe as he retreated to the bedroom. Steam from his bath had coaxed his hair into its usual tumultuous snarl of curls. He pawed at it absently, trying to finger-comb the wayward strands into place. As he did, the sleeve of his robe fell backward, drawing his eyes to the underside of his arm.

He hadn’t noticed in the tub, but his skin was paler than usual, the underlying veins dark blue by contrast. Concerned, he turned his arms over. His hands were fine, the rest of his skin unaffected. Deciding he didn’t have time to dwell on the abnormality, he gathered his clothing and dressed.

He’d chosen a custom-fitted black suit for the evening, pairing it with a light blue shirt and a silk tie. He ran a comb through his hair, trying a final time to tame the curls, then added a gold tie clasp and headed downstairs.

**********

Harry felt a hush fall over the room the moment Lee entered. Conversation stilled then dropped to whispers. Harry had to admire his young captain’s audacity as he sauntered through the crowd, unfazed by the bevy of bold stares. He wasn’t used to seeing Lee act so brazenly, but he played his role well. Claiming a glass of wine from one of the serving stations, the captain stopped to examine an artfully arranged platter of hot hors d’oeuvres. He fixed a small plate, then took a seat at the main table. Gradually the din of conversation resumed to a normal level.

Harry found he'd been unobtrusively holding his breath. He knew he needed to remain belligerent for appearance sake but, looking at Lee, he recognized subtle signs of fatigue. It was amazing that in such a short time he’d already begun to hone in on the younger man’s moods. Maybe that was because of the connection they’d formed at Annapolis when Lee had been a studious and eager plebe, or maybe it came from being on the Nautilus together. All Harry knew was that this young man had always been special to him, and now they finally had the chance to work closely. Unfortunately, at the moment, that work required him to treat his new captain like dirt.

Unaware he was scowling, he cleared his throat grumpily. At his side, Elizabeth Warren placed a comforting hand on his arm. “Don't make a scene, Harry,” she pleaded. Unlike the previous night when dinner had been a formal sit-down affair, tonight's repast invited the guests to mingle freely, visiting any number of serving stations scattered throughout the hall. Harry and

Elizabeth lingered near an open fireplace, sharing drinks with Quentin Warren and Chip.

“I'll ask him to leave, if that's your wish, Harry,” Quentin said directly. “You know how I feel about Lee. Elizabeth and I dote on him like a son, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or cause another scene.”

“No, Quentin. Everything’s fine.” Coming to his senses, Harry shook his head. Whatever his inner thoughts, he'd apparently managed to project a sufficient aura of belligerence. “Commander Crane and I can peacefully co-exist for the remainder of our stay.” He scowled and took a swallow of his Scotch. “Even if he is a disgrace.”

Elizabeth blanched. “Harry, you don't mean that.”

“Every word. You heard what he said the other night, seen how he’s acted.”

“But it isn’t like him,” Elizabeth protested. “Something must be wrong.”

“Or maybe we just never really knew Lee at all,” Harry countered. “Giving him command of Seaview has changed him. I hate to say it, but either the prestige has gone to his head or he’s too young to handle the attention.”

“Maybe this isn't the best time to discuss it,” Chip interjected with a dark glance. Elizabeth got the impression he didn’t share the admiral’s opinion. Understandable, considering she’d always heard Chip Morton and Lee Crane were as much brothers as friends.

“He's right,” Quentin agreed, hoping to maintain peace. “Ignore the boy, Harry. Have another drink. Enjoy the guests.” Smiling brightly, he fanned his arm to encompass the room.

“Excuse me.” Deciding to do her own snooping, Elizabeth left the three men to their conversation. Lee had once saved her husband’s life which was more than enough to tell her what kind of man he was. During his visits to Wicklow Manor, she’d always found him to be honorable and courteous. His current disposition was so glaringly out of skew, she wasn’t entirely convinced the whole thing was on the up-and-up. Something about Lee and Harry’s friction felt forced.   

She hesitated only a moment before joining Lee at the table. 

He glanced up from his plate, eying her suspiciously. As expected, the seats around him were empty. “I'd think twice about being seen with me, Elizabeth.”

“I rather fancy a scandal now and again,” she returned dryly. When Lee failed to comment, she sat across from him. Deliberately ignoring her, he continued to eat, avoiding her eyes. It occurred to her that he was being intentionally rude, something she'd never known him to do. “You're worse at play-acting than Harry,” she said quietly.

Startled, Lee raised his head. A brief, unguarded look passed through his eyes. “I don't know what you mean.”

“Really? Let’s just say you can do all the posturing and strutting you want, but I know you too well. You think far too highly of the admiral and have for a very long time. Whatever this little charade you've chosen to enact, I hope it's worth the discomfort it's causing.”

Lee stilled. His eyes darted to the side, seeking eavesdroppers. “You don't know what you're talking about,” he said tightly.

Elizabeth examined her fingernails, dismissing him. “And you are a poor liar.”

“Elizabeth...”

“I don't want to know what you're doing,” she said quickly, quietly. “But I can tell Harry’s concerned. He may have fooled my husband and Mr. Morton, but women are more intuitive. He's worried about you, Lee.”

“No. He's angry at me.”

Elizabeth frowned. “Have it your way.” Deciding the conversation was futile, she started to rise. 

“Wait a minute.” Lee lowered his head, pretending interest in his wine. To the casual observer, it looked simply that his rudeness extended to women. “There's something else,” he said in a subdued voice, keeping his eyes downcast. “A guest at the Manor. A woman named Nerina. Do you know her, Elizabeth? Anything about her?”

Disturbed by the query, Elizabeth tilted her head. She heard anxiety in Lee's voice, coupled with something she couldn't place. “I know all of the guests, Lee. I don't remember anyone by that name being on the list.” Pausing, she studied his lowered lashes, noting a smudge of shadow beneath his eyes. His features were drawn, far too sharply in her opinion. “Is it important?”

“Maybe.” His eyes flashed to her face, luminous and green-gold in the gilded glow of firelight. “She may have come with someone else. If you hear anything  . . . please . . . I need to get in touch with her.”

He looked away, then stood stiffly as if dismissing her. She was tempted to follow as he left the hall, but a woman - - particularly a woman of stature - - didn’t trail after a man.

She sighed and tapped a finger against her chin. It was a shame because right now, she had a strong suspicion Lee Crane needed someone looking out for him.

**********

Lee walked crisply down the corridor, wanting to put distance between himself and the Great Hall. He wondered if the show he’d made had been enough for the night or if he needed to clash openly with Nelson again. Turning a corner, he paused and stiff-armed the wall, bending his head as coiled tension flowed from his muscles. He needed the moment of release, the pretense of behaving so coldly and wretchedly already starting to take a toll on him. It bothered him that he couldn’t tell Chip, Elizabeth or Penelope the truth. The continued deception made him feel isolated. Not exactly a new emotion in his life, but it hurt to be closed off from people he cared about . . . people who’d once cared about him. The only one who knew the truth was Nelson, and he was the one person Lee couldn’t be seen talking to.

Caught ruminating, he was unprepared when a hand clamped roughly over his mouth. With a grunt of surprise, he tried to wrench free. Idiot! He’d let his guard down when he should have been on the alert. His captor pulled brusquely, tugging Lee backward against his own body. He felt muscle and sinew; the press of bone and flesh.

“Be still,” a muffled voice hissed in his ear. The man behind him was taller and broader, his words pitched in a low rumble. Lee stopped struggling. He knew he could have fought his way free but that would have defeated the purpose of what he and Nelson were trying to accomplish. Rough fingers knotted in his short hair. His head was jerked backward until his ear was inches from his captor’s lips. He caught a whiff of tobacco and spiced aftershave.

“Your admiral doesn’t think highly of you, does he, Crane? He set you up on Seaview as an interim captain, but he’ll take it away the minute he finds someone more mature. You’ll be left with nothing, branded as a failure in the eyes of your peers. Is that what you want, Crane - - to be cast aside like yesterday’s garbage?”

Permitted a measure of freedom, Lee shook his head. His captor chuckled, soft and low. The scent of sour alcohol wafted past Lee's nose. “Good.” The restrictive grip loosened, allowing Lee room to breathe. The man’s hand eased from his mouth, tightening behind his neck and warning him still. Allowed to speak, he still wasn't permitted to turn his head.

“What do you want?” he grated out.

“It's what you want,” the man countered. “Wealth and position in your own right.”

“That's impossible. Nelson controls Seaview.”

“Nothing’s impossible. There's vaulted status for a man with little conscience. Nelson and the U.S. government might not appreciate your unique talents, but I assure you there are organizations that would.” He paused. “I'm not sure you’re up for the challenge.”

Lee snorted, certain it was Farnley who restrained him. “What would you have me do to prove it?”

A lengthy silence followed. “There is something,” the man said at last. Leaning forward he whispered the directive in Lee's ear.

**********

Freed after the encounter in the hall, Lee headed to the upper level of the castle and his bedroom. Most of Quentin Warren's guests still lingered in the Great Hall, a fact easily confirmed by the mesh of voices and laughter drifting into the corridor. With his adrenalin level running high, Lee decided it was best to avoid further contact for the evening. Even the rendezvous he had planned with Nelson at the stable would have to wait. In all likelihood, Farnley would be watching - - especially as he’d given Lee a grisly task to fulfill.

The thought of carrying out that demand left him uncertain how to proceed. He’d have to find a way to work around the directive without appearing to fail. He no longer questioned the identity of the man in the hall. Even in the darkness he'd been observant enough to notice the three-inch scar on the back of the man's hand. Coupled with the smell of spiced aftershave, a scent Farnley was rarely ever without, Lee had no doubt his night-time visitor had been the unscrupulous congressman. 

He’d have to find a way to get a message to the admiral since he feared meeting with him. Distracted by the thoughts, it took him a moment to notice the unpleasant sensation in the air as he entered his bedroom. A faint reek of decay clung to the edges, prickling the hair on the back of his neck. Closing the door quickly, he crossed to the bed and switched on a light. His heart gave a small lurch as an insubstantial form moved from the shadows. 

“Nerina. How did you get in here?”

She was still wearing the same skirt and blouse from the day before but they looked faded and aged, ragged with years. Her hair was wild and tangled, snagged with bits of bracken. It flowed past her shoulders, pale as winter wheat, framing her oval face like a tattered veil. 

“What happened to you?” Alarmed, Lee raised his hand to touch her and immediately flinched away. Her flesh felt unnaturally warm. Too warm. Just as quickly, the abnormality faded and his fingers settled on cool, pale flesh. Disturbed, he wet his lips. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you.” Nerina brushed a snarl of hair from her eyes, then touched him lightly on the arm. Her fingers scraped upward until her hand settled on his shoulder. “I’ve missed you.”

Undone by the touch, Lee shuddered. He closed his eyes, wanting to deny the feelings she stirred, but she was too close. Too desirable. He took a step backward, fighting for rational thought. “I don't know what you've done to me, but this can't continue.” He felt his control slipping, his reaction to her purely baffling. It was as if he had no mind of his own.

“I haven’t done anything, Lee. I thought you liked being with me.”

Simple words, yet what he felt was far from simple. The desire to hold her and be with her, to kiss her grew stronger, burning nova-hot. The touch of her eyes made his mouth go dry. “I don’t know anything about you except your name.”

“What does it matter?” She stepped nearer. “We’re both adults, both willing. We want the same thing.” No woman in her right mind would give herself so freely to a virtual stranger, yet it was obvious she had no inhibitions. Was she connected to Farnley, part of his plan . . . a test or a set-up of some kind?

“Who sent you here?”

“No one sent me.”

He shook his head, convinced she had to be involved with Farnley. “Nerina...” Lee gripped her shoulders, holding her at arm’s length. But the feel of her skin beneath his fingertips sent his heart racing. In the span of a single pulse-beat his resistance crumbled, driven under by a fierce surge of desire. He tugged her forward, eager to kiss her . . . to feel her lips moving against his, her body soft and yielding beneath his own. 

What did it matter that he barely knew her? If she had been sent by Farnley, she could be a bribe or a plant to test his character. If he really was as unethical as he made himself out to be, he’d think nothing of sleeping with her.

He shoved the thoughts aside as Nerina arched into his embrace. Before he knew what he was doing, he scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed. In the back of his mind he wondered if he’d just surrendered the role of controller for controlled. And then he simply couldn’t think, rational thought driven from his mind by desire and need.

She was satin and ice. A sylph-like creature, disturbingly lecherous, rather than loving. When their lovemaking exhausted itself in the early hours before dawn, Lee rolled away from her, half-sick with what he'd done. He groped for the sheets, covering himself, shocked to realize he was trembling with cold. He closed his eyes and heard the bed creak as Nerina stood.

Go away.  

Something had gone wrong.

Behind his closed lids, he relived an image of diseased flesh and spider-webbed hair. The black ilk of decay lingered on his lips, the ice of winter in his veins.

Nerina walked around the foot of the bed and approached him from the side. He felt her hesitate and reluctantly opened his eyes. The disheveled apparition who’d first entered his room was gone, replaced by a young woman of vitality. Her clothing shimmered with newness, and her hair was immaculately groomed, a swirl of pale satin around her shoulders.

Lee swallowed with difficulty. “What have you done to me?”

“I gave you what you wanted. I took what I require.”

“I wanted nothing,” he spat, angry now. “At least not of my own will. What you took, you took unfairly.”

“Is that what you think?” Smiling softly, Nerina gazed down on him. “I need to be warm, Lee, and you have warmth to spare.” Extending her hand, she moved to touch him.

He jerked away and shoved from the bed. “Get out of my room.” Wrapping a blanket around his waist, he bent to gather his clothes. “It’s over, Nerina.” Cold sweat lingered on the back of his neck and trickled from under his bangs. He dragged a hand over his face. “This isn't natural. Nothing about it is natural. You’re not natural. I don't know why you’re here, or even what the hell you are. I just want you to leave.”

Completely unfazed by the harsh rebuff, she cocked her head like a bird. “Find my locket.”

“What?” 

“Find my locket,” she repeated. “My lover gave it to me, and I won’t leave this realm without it.”

Appalled, Lee sat on the bed. “Lover?” He dropped his head into his hands. “You're involved with someone else and you let me...” He raised his head, unable to finish.

The room was empty. 

Bewildered, he glanced behind him. “Nerina?” There hadn’t been enough time for her to leave, and he certainly would have heard the door open. “I won’t leave this realm,” she had said.

Realm.

Swallowing uneasily, he turned his arm over. The veins were more prominent now, starkly blue, his skin chalky, revoltingly cold.

 . . .  this realm . . .

What manner of a person would say such a thing? If she was even human.

The memory of a woman with spider-webbed hair and fish-gray lips came back to him . . . the feel of ice-cold hands on his body. Each time Nerina was with him there had always been an unexplainable taint of decay. Breathing unevenly, Lee dragged nervous fingers across the back of his neck. Matters of the supernatural were beyond his scope of understanding, but he was beginning to believe he had crossed some kind of barrier.

Agitated, he pushed from the bed. His stomach roiled dangerously as the events of the last few hours caught up with him. She'd needed warmth. She'd said as much. If he'd refused would she have withered into something insubstantial - - a spectral being native to the nether world? Hell, he had to be deranged to even consider the possibility.

Tossing the blanket aside, he dressed quickly. He needed to get out of the manor and walk in the night air to clear his head. It would help him put his thoughts in order . . . figure out how he was going to handle Farnley’s ‘task,’ and also reach some kind of a decision about Nerina. Why hadn’t he seen her anywhere else in the manor hall or at any of the receptions?     

Leaving the castle behind, he jogged down an adjacent slope toward a mid-sized pond bordering the grounds. Night-blackened and still, the water was unreflective, cut like a gaping hole in the darkness. The air was spring-crisp, helping clear his head. He picked up a footpath and started around the pond, hiking surefooted through the half-light of predawn. Behind him he heard a twig snap, setting him instantly on alert. Certain Farnley had sent someone to tail him, he slipped from the footpath and ducked into the shelter of the surrounding trees. Within seconds, a slim silhouette appeared moving steadily along the trail.

Lee launched himself from his hiding place, grappling the intruder around the waist and bearing the light burden to the ground. A startled squawk made him jerk unexpectedly as soft flesh gave beneath him. Before he could recover, a rolled fist pounded his shoulder.

“Get off of me you idiot!”

Lee blinked. “Penelope?”

“Well it’s certainly no one you're used to pawing.” Sprawled beneath him, his nineteen-year-old tormentor glared. “The next time you decide to go for a night time stroll, pick a different path.”

“What are you doing out here?”

“None of your business.” Squirming free, Penelope stood, brushing a hand over her clothing to fleck aside clinging bits of dirt and grass. “Look at this jacket,” she complained, turning to show him a dirtied sleeve. “Muddy!” Her short sun-gold hair bounced against her neck as she moved.

Lee swallowed dryly, thinking of Nerina. “Do have any idea what time it is?” 

“You're not my keeper, Lee Crane.”

“Well someone should be.”

She jutted her chin defiantly, making it clear she’d yet to forgive him for his rudeness the last time they’d parted. “Someone is.”

Lee stared, uncomprehending. When she smiled at him smugly, he abruptly understood what she was doing in the darkness so far from the castle. He felt his face flush with anger. “You were with someone last night.”

Rolling her eyes, Penelope started walking. Infuriated, he fell in at her side. 

“You make it sound dirty,” she told him, clearly enjoying his frustration. “I happen to be nineteen-years-old and don’t need a chaperon, Captain.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” Again he thought of Nerina and what they’d done just a short while ago. He’d been stupid enough to tumble into bed. God only knew what a naïve girl would do with a man who tried to sweet talk her. “Who is it?” he demanded.

“No one you know.”

He wrenched her to a halt. “All the worse. Do you parents know about this?”

“They’ll find out when I’m ready to tell them. I’m an adult, Lee.”

“You're a child.”

 “Your opinion is noted. It's also worthless.”

Protective rage spiked through him. The thought of someone kissing her, possibly touching her, made him bristle with fury. She played at being grown-up - - all her teasing talk and innuendo - - but she didn’t know the first thing about men. The damn girl was going to end up in trouble, sneaking off for a romantic rendezvous.

“You’re being stupid, Penelope.”

“Ha!” Tugging free, she whirled away and stalked up the path. Despite her elfin-like build she set a clipped pace.    

Lee sprinted to catch up, easily matching her stride. “What does that mean?”  

“It means you're jealous because I've decided you're no longer worth the effort.”

“Jealous?” The idea was ludicrous. Yet as annoying as her attention had been it was also flattering. He thought of her as a sister, nothing more, but it certainly hadn’t hurt his ego to know she’d had a crush on him. “Don't be stupid, Pen. I just don't want to see you get hurt.” 

“Fine.” Witch-light blazed in her eyes as she stared up at him. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder, but her presence was overpowering. “Then give me a little credit. Believe it or not, I’m not an idiot. I do know a thing or two about responsible sex.”

Lee blanched.

She laughed at his expression. “What’s the matter? Can’t stand the heat . . .?”

“It’s not something you say to your brother.”

“You’re not my brother.”

“I might as well be.” Frustrated, Lee sighed. Maybe she was right. He probably was acting like an over-protective fool, but he’d always held a soft spot for her. “Okay. I’m being a jerk. You’re absolutely right. It’s no one’s business but your own what you were doing.”

“Really?” She looked up at him surprised.

He let the defeat show on his face. “Yeah.”

Penelope giggled and looped her arm through his. “Well, in that case, I spent the night with my friend, Tanya. She lives just down the hill with her grandmother. We sat up all night and talked about movies, books and boys. And not necessarily in that order.”

Lee stared blankly, unable to comprehend how perfectly and how expertly she made him look like a fool. “You lying, scheming, little manipulative...”

She laughed out loud and ran from him, darting toward the manor.

Grinning, Lee gave chase. It felt good to laugh, good to run. It helped him forget he only had twelve hours left to fulfill Farnley’s task.

Twelve hours in which to commit murder. 

**********

Lee tumbled back into his rumpled bed for two hours of sleep before facing another day of deception. Awake, he felt worse than he had the night before. The chalky whiteness of his forearms had spread to his wrists. Concerned by the unhealthy pallor, he examined himself in the light. It was as though the pigmentation had been sucked from his skin, leaving his flesh with the unwholesome appearance of a cadaver. 

Nerina was responsible. 

He didn't understand how but was certain the enigmatic woman was at fault. Maybe she’d drugged him somehow. He only knew he had to end any further association with her, not only for his physical well-being, but also his sanity. 

Groaning at the protesting aches of his body, he dressed slowly, selecting black trousers and a crisp white shirt. He was just combing his hair into place when a knock at the door distracted him.

“Come in.” He wasn’t expecting visitors. The admiral wouldn’t take the risk, and Farnley had yet to own up to his role as the man who’d accosted him in the hallway. He turned from the dresser as the door opened, immediately plagued by a sinking sensation when Chip Morton stepped into the room. What he wouldn’t give to let his friend in on the ruse he was running, but Nelson felt it was imperative Chip’s reactions to his behavior be genuine. 

“Hello, Chip.” 

“Lee, we’ve got to talk.” With a dark glare, Seaview’s exec closed the door behind him. “It’s been two days, and Nelson is still stalking around like a bear. Do you want the man to fire you?”

Falling into the role he’d been playing for the last two weeks, Lee turned, bracing himself nonchalantly against the dresser. “He has no reason to.”

“Are you crazy?” Angry, Chip stepped nearer, confronting him face to face. “How about disrespect, a swelled head and an attitude that’s cocky enough to grate on my nerves?”

Lee looked away. It hurt to have Chip think of him so poorly, but he couldn’t break Nelson’s confidence. “I’m the best commander the Navy’s got and he knows it. The admiral’s no fool, Chip. My position as captain is secure.”

“I can’t believe you’re talking like this.” Chip spun on his heel, pacing a short distance away. Irked, he laced a hand through his hair. “What the hell’s happened to you, Lee? You pull that ridiculous stunt boarding Seaview, set the crew up to think the worst of you, then for the last two weeks you go around acting like an arrogant ass.”

Every word of it was true. Even the stunt he’d pulled boarding Seaview had been part of the plan. ONI had wasted no time in contacting him about Farnley once they knew he was lined up to captain Nelson’s boat. He hadn’t even shared the information with Nelson until after Seaview’s mission had been completed. Had they failed none of it would have mattered, and the mission itself was too critical to allow for distractions. Once they were back in port, after Nelson had offered him the position of Seaview’s permanent captain, he’d told the admiral about ONI’s proposal. After that, it had been a simple matter to carry on the charade of arrogance for another two weeks until he and Nelson arrived at Quentin Warren’s estate to set the final stages of the plan in motion.

Chip, of course, knew nothing. Lee had a feeling that when the whole thing finally came to light, his friend would take his head off for the deception.

“It’s early, Chip. I don’t need a lecture.”

“No. You need a swift kick in the rear and an attitude adjustment.”

Lee looked at him coldly. “I think you’re forgetting whom you’re addressing, Mister Morton.”

“Don’t pull that crap with me, Captain Crane. We’re not on the boat and you forget I’ve known you since you were skinny seventeen-year-old plebe. There are enough problems around this place without you adding to them.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I guess you haven’t heard.” Chip shot him a grudging glance. “Congressman Farnley’s assistant was trampled to death in the stable.”

“What?” Lee stared, shocked. “You mean Rabell?”

“Yeah. George Rabell. I guess he went out there early this morning or sometime late last night. One of the horses must have gotten spooked. I’m surprised you didn’t hear the ambulance earlier.”

“I . . . I must have been out.” He’d slept like a stone for those two hours when he’d returned to the manor hall with Penelope. It just didn’t seem possible that Rabell was dead. He’d walked by the stables on his way to the pond. Had the man been inside then? Another thought formed in the back of his mind:  had Rabell been following him? “What’s Farnley’s reaction?” he asked.

Chip frowned. “He’s accepting condolences, but he doesn’t seem all that broken up to me. He’s already grumbling about the work involved replacing Rabell and how it’s going to screw up his schedule. Needless to say, a lot of Quentin’s guests are uncomfortable hanging around and some have already packed up and left.”

“What about Farnley?”

“He’s staying for another day or two. Says he wants to hang around in case there are questions from the authorities about Rabell or arrangements that need to be made. Quentin’s already asked the admiral if we’ll remain too.”

Lee nodded. “I’d better go downstairs.”

“Why?” Chip challenged, argumentative all over again. “You’re not going to cause a scene with the admiral, are you? With everything else that’s going on, he doesn’t need you strutting around with a swelled head.”

“Drop it, Chip.” The deception was beginning to grate on his nerves, adding to the unnatural fatigue he felt and the slowly-building hammering in his head. He wanted a break, but it was still days away. In the meantime, the sharp rebuke helped feed the image he’d been projecting for the last two weeks. He was going to owe Chip one hell of an apology when the whole thing was over. “Excuse me,” he said crisply and brushed past his executive officer, heading for the door. He needed to get away from Chip before his friend continued to pick at his behavior and worm the truth from him. 

Chip followed him as far as the hallway then turned and headed to his own bedroom. Lee continued downstairs and meandered into the Great Hall. The moment he entered, he knew something was wrong. There were groups of people in tight little circles whispering among themselves. A brittle pall hung over the chamber, pudding-thick, nearly tangible. All hint of festivity was gone, replaced by a somberness so severe, Lee felt it slither over his skin with the cold-bellied caress of a snake. As he entered, guarded glances were cast in his direction. 

A short distance away, Nelson conversed quietly with Quentin Warren and his wife, Elizabeth. Just the sight of the admiral was strengthening. There was no one Lee longed to talk to more than Nelson, but contact was impossible. At least for now. The admiral cast him a brief glance then looked away. In the quicksilver second when their eyes met, Lee felt a bolstering flash of warmth. Hesitating inside the doorway, he bumped shoulders with Farnley.

The congressman glared as though offended, but he pitched his voice low, intimately pleased. “You're fast boy.” 

Lee blinked, confused. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t play coy. You knew it was me the other night in the hall. I ordered you to kill someone to prove your worth. When I said you could take your pick of Warren’s guests, I didn’t think you’d go after my own assistant.”

Lee wet his lips, silent. It was true Farnley had given him the order to kill and a time limit in which to do it. It had been one hurdle he wasn’t sure how he was going to work around.

“I saw you leave the castle last night,” Farnley continued, unconcerned by Lee’s silence. “I’m the one who sent Rabell after you to see what you were up to. When you came back, and he didn’t, I figured something had gone wrong. Using the stable and making it look like an accident was a stroke of genius. I take it you were making a point by picking him.”  

“He irritated me.” Lee looked straight ahead, playing along. “So do we have a deal?”

Farnley's lips curled. “We'll talk again,” he said and melted into the background.

The whole thing seemed a little too impossible to swallow. Lee was still trying to digest what had happened when Penelope appeared at his side. “Have you heard the awful news, Lee?”

He nodded.

“It’s positively dreadful,” Penelope continued. “Will you walk with me awhile? All these people . . .” She looked around anxiously, rubbing her arms as if too ward off a chill. “It’s almost like a wake. I need to get away from them.”

He did too. “Come on,” he said. Placing his hand on the small of her back, he guided her into the hallway. They walked toward the other end of the castle, past the drawing room and the conservatory. Penelope’s face was tight with tension, but after a while she breathed easier.

“That’s better. Thank goodness Bethany wasn’t here to have her wedding reception ruined by such a tragedy. I didn’t know Mr. Rabell very well but he used to visit every so often, along with the congressman. I don’t think Dad’s very fond of Mr. Farnley but, because of his position, he needs to be receptive to him.”

Lee nodded, distractedly rubbing his temple. He was only half-listening, concentrating more on muting the ache in his head. It seemed ever since he’d met Nerina his health had been affected in one way or another. He was almost certain she had drugged him, but still didn’t know why. 

“Pen, I have to ask you something. And it has nothing to do with what happened or George Rabell.” They had stopped before a large window overlooking the gardens. From his vantage point, Lee could see the crumbling outer wall and the blighted tangle of weeds and thistle within. 

Puzzled, Penelope glanced up at him, her fair hair haloed in the natural light. “What is it?”

“I need to know about one of your father's guests . . . a woman named Nerina. She would be a little older than you, with very pale blonde hair.”

An annoyed furrow drew Penelope's brows together. “I can’t believe it! A man just died, and you’re thinking about how you can score?”

“It’s not like that!” Lee snapped.

“Oh, sure it isn’t.” She started to turn away, but Lee caught her arm.

“Pen, this is serious. Do you know her?” He gave her a small shake. “Nerina?”

He saw a flash of anger in her eyes and knew she was readying to snap a retort. Then just that quickly her expression changed and a cloud of confusion passed over her face. “Did you say Nerina? Nerina Taylor?”

Lee loosened his grip. Finally, a reaction. Someone who knew who she was. “I don’t know her last name. Who is she?”

“How do you know about her?”

“I...” He didn’t know what to say, found that the words got stuck in his throat.

Penelope eased to a seat on the massive stone windowsill. “It’s kind of creepy you would mention her now with Mr. Rabell’s death.”

“What do you mean?”

Penelope shrugged uncomfortably. “Only that Nerina’s death was accidental too.”

Lee felt the floor shift beneath him. “Death?”

Penelope nodded. “Two years ago. In the garden. We don’t really know why she was there. No one at the house knew her, but the police were able to identify her. They found her car down on the main road with a flat tire. They think she might have hiked up to the house to ask for help and wandered into the garden. It was still in the early stages then and the landscapers used to leave their machinery and tools overnight when they weren’t working. We think she must have tripped over something and broken her neck. Her picture was in all of our local newspapers afterward.”

“She’s dead?” Dazed by the revelation, Lee sank onto the windowsill. He was aware of Penelope’s gaze on him, her face crinkled with concern.

“What’s the matter, Lee? You don’t look well.”

“Pen, you’ve got to be mistaken. This woman...”

“I’m not mistaken. Nerina Taylor died two years ago in our garden. Nothing’s grown there ever since. I think the whole thing is cursed, but Mom tells me I’m just being superstitious.”

Lee raked a hand through his hair. He could feel his heart thudding in his chest. Sweat broke out on the back of his neck and nausea bubbled up from his gut. How could the woman be dead? Only last night, he'd toyed with the thought of a supernatural visitation, but he hadn't really believed such a creature could exist. He'd made love to Nerina - - not once, but twice. Mindless, passionate love. A thoroughly reckless abandon that left him shuddering with memory. “There . . . there has to be a mistake,” he protested weakly.

Concerned by his sickly pallor, Penelope touched his arm. “Lee, you're trembling. What's wrong?”

“I... ” He couldn't breathe. The air grew hot and suffocating, burning his lungs with dragon-fire. He stood, pacing nervously in the cramped confines. “Pen, that's just not possible.” His voice was choked, desperate. As the awful truth sank deeper, he relived the fringe images buried in his mind - - ghastly perceptions of an apparition beyond the grave. 

A wraith.

Lee shuddered. Her hair wasn't blonde but spider-web white, sticky and tacky with grime. The lips he'd thought soft were in actuality, rotted and diseased. Lips that had covered his mouth and roamed intimately over his body. The cold of her flesh was the cold of the crypt. An eternal chill she could never banish without robbing the living of warmth. 

And he’d given freely.

“Damn it.” He sank onto the windowsill and buried his face in his hands.

“Lee?” Alarmed, Penelope bent over him.

“Go!” he said, his voice muffled by his hands. “I'll be fine, Pen. Please, just go.” He couldn't bear to look at her. She was innocence and sunlight, unsoiled by the ugly darkness he’d been courting daily.  

At the hesitant retreat of her footsteps, Lee raised his head, wondering when Nerina would come again.

**********

Darkness swaddled the hillsides in a thick pall. Moving stealthily through the inky blackness, Lee headed for the stable. A heavy cloud-cover kept the moonlight to a minimum, aiding him in his quest for secrecy. Night-blooming flowers and plump berries perfumed the air with a sweet bouquet, almost sickly for their honeyed aroma. As he neared the stable, the cloying odor faded beneath the redolence of horse and straw. All evidence of Rabell’s accident had been cleared away as though it had never happened.

Anxious, Lee moved beneath the overhang. “Admiral?”

“Here,” a blessedly familiar voice intoned at his ear.

Lee flinched, unprepared for the suddenness of Nelson’s appearance. Exhaling, he dragged nervous fingers over his face. 

Sensing his tightly-wound anxiety, Nelson scowled. “What's happened?”

“Farnley's approached me,” Lee said quickly. Desiring safety, he moved deeper into the stable, thankful for the thick shadows. Tonight he wasn't adept enough to mask the troubled emotion in his eyes.

“Are you sure it was Farnley?” 

“Positive.” Lee half-turned, glancing over his shoulder. “He's implied an opportunity for wealth and position. He wants you and Seaview, and he wants me to deliver both. He didn’t come right out and say it, but I think he’s in league with the People’s Republic.”

Nelson drew nearer. “I don’t like it. It still seems too easy.”

“It wasn't as easy as you think.” Lee rubbed his temple, trying to dislodge a splintering ache. The pain had been with him most of the day, hovering just off the corner of his eye. “He gave me a job to fulfill as a test of loyalty. Apparently, I’ve passed.”

“Well?” Nelson demanded.

Lee looked at him directly. “He wanted me to kill one of Quentin’s guests. My choice.”

“Your . . .”  Nelson’s voice trailed away as he studied his captain’s youthful face. There were times Lee's features were almost ethereal, but they had sharpened now, challenging rather than otherworldly. “And you passed this test how?”

Drawing a breath, Lee relaxed a fraction. “He thinks I killed Rabell.”

“His own assistant?”

Lee nodded. He propped a shoulder against the wall, once again rubbing his temple. With his head bent, it was impossible to judge his expression. “I . . . I went for a walk last night and he had Rabell tail me.”

“The man’s death was an accident.”  

“I’m not so sure. The timing is awfully coincidental.”

“So you think someone else . . . someone here killed him?”

Lee shrugged, not bothering to raise his head. To Nelson he seemed preoccupied. The change in his demeanor was subtle but noticeable. Two days ago Lee had played his role with little effort. Now he appeared reflective and troubled, lapsing into prickly silence. 

Nelson gripped his shoulder, forcing his eyes up. “If Farnley thinks you killed Rabell, work that angle. We need to force him into action. The longer we delay, the greater the chance of error." Pausing, he stared hard at the younger man. “Lee, you don't look well. As much as I might want to, I can't draw you out. Not now. Not when we’re this close.”

“You don't need to. I'm fine. I've just been . . . distracted.”

“With what?”

“It doesn't matter.” Straightening, Lee fell back on a façade of confidence. “I'll approach Farnley again tomorrow. With any luck, I can force his hand.” 

Nelson nodded. “Just be careful.” 

Later, when the older man had slipped into the darkness, Lee waited in the shadows, watching his departing silhouette. In a few moments, he'd leave as well. Absorbed by thoughts of Farnley, Nelson, Chip and Nerina, Lee was unaware of the man lurking nearby. 

Unseen, Congressman Frank Farnley melted into the shadows.

***********

Lee was uncertain why he visited the garden. It was the last place he wanted to be at night, knowing what he did about Nerina. Steeling himself for the reek of decay, he moved cautiously into the tangle of weeds. Trees and hedgerows huddled close on all sides, sketching contorted silhouettes against a soot-black sky. The wind was fickle and light, almost vocal as it faerie-danced among creeping vines and neglected bowers. Beneath his shoes, the earth was spongy and soft, yielding to his wary steps.

Uncertain what he hoped to find, Lee walked to the bench where he'd first encountered Nerina. The air was acrid and sharp, contaminated with the odor of leaf-mold and black earth. Crouching beside the wind-pitted bench, Lee ran his fingers lightly over the blistered surface. Encountering nothing of interest, he rummaged through the grass at his feet. Irregularities riddled the ground - - bumps and ragged edges where small stones and bulging roots protruded from the soil. Sitting back on his haunches, he stared at the bench. 

A crevasse had worn into one edge. A gaping recession where wind and wear had combined for damage. In the sheltering darkness, the narrow opening appeared as a sliver of gelatinous black.

Moving onto the bench Lee turned sideways, slipping his fingers into the hole. Jagged stone scraped his knuckles as he groped blindly in the limited space. He encountered bits of bracken and dried, crumbled leaves; particles of twigs and flesh-soft moss. The tight recession allowed his hand no further than the knuckles. Shifting, he twisted on the bench, striving for better leverage. Eventually he felt a cold brush of metal against his fingertips.

Sucking down a breath, Lee reached deeper, ignoring the torn skin on the back of his hand. His fingers closed on a foreign object, and he pulled it from the hole. In the limited light of stars and a sickle moon, he beheld a woman's locket.   

Nerina's locket.

Before he had time to consider the implication, he heard a rustle behind him. Stuffing the locket into his trouser pocket, Lee whirled. Expecting to find Nerina, he was drawn up short by the sight of Penelope Warren. She looked like she was out for a leisurely stroll, casually sipping a glass of water as though it were a prized wine.

“Pen!” Lee practically hissed the name. “What are you doing here?"

More poised than she'd been earlier that day, Penelope crinkled her pixie-like nose, irritated by his brusqueness. “I do live here, Lee. If I want to walk around this tangle of rock and weeds, I have every right to.” She stepped closer, her expression softening a bit as she took in the severity of his face. “If you must know, after you asked me about Nerina Taylor, I got to thinking about her. I guess I was feeling badly and thought I’d walk out here. For the most part, I’ve stayed away since her death.”

 

“This isn't a good place to linger, Penelope,” he said evenly. In the licorice-laced shadows, her brown eyes glimmered with the reflective glow of starlight. Raising a hand, she coiled a strand of loose hair behind her ear. Lee followed the movement, noting how graceful her actions had become. She could still rattle him with crass edges, but another part of her was slowly moving toward refinement.

“Why?” she challenged. “Am I interrupting a rendezvous?”

“Stop it, Pen.” Irritated, he strode forward, roughly gripping her arm. Towering over her, he gazed down on her face, his restlessness provoked. “I'm not here to meet anyone. I came to...”

“Well?” she demanded, when he found himself unable to finish. 

Swearing softly, Lee released her. “You wouldn't understand.”

“You don’t give me the credit to try. I remember when you used to be my friend.”

“I still am.” Damn, everything felt like it was falling apart. “It isn’t just you, Pen. No one would believe me if I told them what’s happened over the last few days. That woman. 

Nerina...”

“What about her?”

He wet his lips. He needed to tell someone for his own sanity, but he wasn’t certain Penelope was the right choice. How sympathetic could she possibly be considering he’d slept with Nerina? Yet that knowledge alone was taking him apart bit by slow bit. He felt like he was losing his mind. There had to be some other explanation. Maybe she really was working for Farnley and was simply playing on a local tragedy, pretending to be a woman who had died. 

Lee dragged a hand over his face, trying to pull himself together. If that was the case, it still didn’t explain the disturbing images that flashed through his head when they’d made love or the way he’d felt afterward. It was like being seduced by a vampire, but instead of taking blood she stolen the heat from his body.

“I’ve been with her,” he admitted at last, his eyes on Penelope’s face.

Her brow crinkled. “You mean you knew her before she died?”

“No, Penelope.” He suppressed a shudder. Around them the stench of decay grew stronger, polluting the air. “I . . . I was with her yesterday. In my room. Together. In bed.”

Penelope’s face contorted. “How could you say such an ugly, horrible thing? Isn’t it enough the poor girl’s dead? Why would you lie like that?”

“I’m not lying.”

“Stop it, Lee!” The mesh of anger and disappointment on her face was such that Lee thought she might strike him.

“You asked me to give you credit,” he said harshly, realizing he’d made a mistake. “To tell you what was bothering me.”

“But not to make a fool of me.”

“He isn’t,” a cold feminine voice said. 

Lee jerked at the intrusion, standing stiff and motionless as a white-haired woman moved from the shadows. Beside him, he heard Penelope gasp. Nerina's hair was disheveled, snagged with dried leaves and dark soil. Her clothing was faded, tattered in spots and frayed at the edges. All traces of softness had fled her jet-colored eyes, replaced by the cold edge of retribution. As the wind snaked across the dead grass, the reek of decay wafted from the soil.

Stunned, Penelope shook her head. “I saw your picture after your death. Nerina Taylor. It simply isn’t possible.”

Lee moved in front of her, physically shielding her. “What do you want, wraith?” he demanded harshly. The flush of cold from Nerina's body, coupled with her unkempt appearance, indicated she'd only recently risen from the grave. That would change once she’d taken warmth and passion from another.

Tilting her head, Nerina studied him with cool mockery. “You know what I want, Lee. You’ve already been with me twice.”  

He tensed. Her eyes were engulfing, effortlessly pulling him into a void crafted by the dark scent of her presence, the cold-chafed kiss of her lips. “I don’t want anything to do with you,” he said, but the words lacked conviction. 

She laughed softly. “Our lives are twined, Lee Crane. You should be thankful I did you a favor by taking the life of that louse, Rabell.”

Penelope balked, no longer afraid, but outraged. “You killed him?”

Nerina's eyes flicked over her, dismissing her as a thing of no significance. Focusing on

Lee, she took a step forward. “He followed you the night you walked to the pond, then hid in the stables waiting for you to return. Instead he found me.” She smiled with cold satisfaction. “He was terrified and tried to run. Stupid man. He spooked the horses and was trampled by his own foolishness.”

“Why was he terrified?” Lee persisted.

“Let’s just say I was the last person he expected to see face-to-face. If he hadn’t died, I would have made certain he never left there alive.”

“But why kill him?”

“Because Farnley instructed you to kill someone, and I want you to stay close to Farnley. And because I owed Mr. Rabell.”

Lee still didn’t understand the connection. “What does any of this have to do with Farnley or Rabell?”

Nerina's lips thinned. “You’ll figure it out eventually. So . . .” She tossed her hair over her shoulder and smiled silkily. “How does it feel knowing what I am, considering what we’ve done? If I wanted you Lee, I could command you. You remember what it was like . . . body to body ...”

“Don't.” Already, he could feel himself weakening, wanting to relive the bittersweet tang of controlling love. 

“You want to kiss me, to touch me...” Her eyes were black stones, beckoning, inviting, demanding. 

Alarmed, Penelope moved between them. “Stay away from him, you wretched hag. For two years I've heard rumors of visitations in this garden. It's why it's blighted and nothing grows here.” She raised the glass of water she’d been holding and took a threatening step forward. “Did you really think I would come here without holy water, demon?”

Nerina drew back, hissing. With a curse that would have made a black marketeer proud, Penelope flung the water directly into her face. Nerina stumbled backward, releasing an ear-shattering howl. In the next second she was gone, consumed by the lightning stench of sulfur and the heavy reek of decay.

“What the hell?” Lee glanced at the half-empty glass in Penelope’s hand. “What was that?”

“Regular water. I only said it was blessed.”

“So you tricked her? And she believed you?”

Penelope smiled. “She didn’t seem like the type that was going to reason.” Nervously, she glanced over her shoulder. “It’s creepy in here, Lee, and she probably won’t be fooled for long.”

He nodded, secretly pleased by Penelope’s resourcefulness. She was a complete contrast to her older sister, Bethany, who was respectful and demure, as introverted as Penelope was outgoing. Ever since he’d known her, Quentin Warren’s younger daughter had always been a bit of a wild card. But her recklessness wasn’t without appeal. Whoever she ended up with, Lee was sure her future husband was going to have his hands full.

“If Nerina wants to find me, she’s going to find me.” Lee withdrew the locket he’d taken from the crevasse of the stone bench. Absently, he traced his thumb over the surface. The size of a gold-piece, it was dull and tarnished, the initials N.T. etched on the cover. “There has to be more to the story of her death than you’re telling me, Penelope. She said she wanted me close to Farnley, and that she ‘owed’ Rabell. Why?”

“Who knows?” Penelope looked from the age-blackened piece of jewelry to his face. She turned and started walking from the garden.

After a second, Lee followed. “Think, Penelope,” he insisted. “When someone dies the way Nerina did - - no explanation, no reason why she would have been here - - there are always rumors floating around. Information and gossip that never makes it to the newspapers. You had to hear something.”

“I told you everything I know.”

“Well, everything you know doesn’t add up.”

“All right, wait.” Frowning, Penelope stopped just outside the wall of the garden, a look of concentration on her face. “I remember there was a rumor the tire on her car might have been slashed after she died. Like someone wanted to make it look like she was headed to Wicklow for help, but she wasn’t.”

“There has to be more to it than that.” In the half-glow of moonlight and starshine, Lee’s eyes were cat-green flecked with slivers of gold.

“Well, some of the women in town said things about her . . . hinted that maybe she was in the garden to meet someone. That she could have been having an affair with a married man.”

Her lover. The one who gave her the locket.

“He would have been staying here,” Lee said, putting the pieces together. “Visiting with your father. Maybe for the day, maybe for the weekend.” He felt a prickle of exhilaration as everything began to fall into place. “Penelope, who was here when Nerina died?”

“I don’t remember. It was so long ago.”

“Try.”

She drew a deep breath and thought for a moment. “Two of Mom’s friends. Sarah McCree and...” She looked up abruptly, her eyes growing wide. “... Dana Farnley.”

“The congressman’s wife?”

Penelope nodded.

“Was Rabell here?”

“Not that I remember. But . . . wait... yes. They came right before it happened. I remember that now. The congressman came to pick up his wife and Rabell was with him.”

“So it’s possible Farnley and Nerina could have been having an affair. She heard he was here and drove from town to meet him. They argued in the garden. He could have killed her - - I wouldn’t put it past him - - and made it look like an accident with Rabell’s help. One of them probably slashed her tire afterward.”

“Don’t you think that’s reaching a bit?”

“I’m not so sure.” Lee glanced down at the locket. Somewhere in the distance an owl hooted, breaking the stillness. Overhead, the moon blundered free of a string of clouds, bathing the ground with streamers of anemic light. Lee wet his lips, recalling Nerina's words:  I will not leave this realm without it. “Maybe the secret’s here. I think this locket belonged to Nerina. It has her initials on the cover.” Using his thumb to release the clasp, he fumbled it open. A tiny piece of paper was folded inside.

Penelope peered over his arm. “Open it,” she urged. When he hesitated too long, she plucked the paper free, quickly smoothing away creases and folds. Bold letters slanted across the page in a strictly masculine hand. In the limited light of stars and moon, they struggled to decipher a message two years old. Confused, Penelope looked at Lee. “I don’t understand. This is from Congressman Farnley to someone named Cobra. It’s part of a message, not the whole thing. What does it mean?”

Pay dirt.

Grimly, Lee pulled the paper from her hand. “Cobra is the code name for a known spy sympathetic to the People’s Republic. This is part of a communiqué between Farnley and an enemy agent. Nerina must have been having an affair with him, found it, and threatened to expose him. My guess is he killed her because of it.”

“And Rabell?”

“Like I said. He helped cover it up. Nerina must have lost the locket when she was attacked in the garden. I found it in a crevasse in the bench. She obviously wanted someone to discover it and chose me.”

“That still doesn’t explain what she did to you.” 

“It does. The last time she was with me, I told her I didn’t want anything more to do with her. She implied she’d leave me alone if I found her locket.”

Exasperated, Penelope rolled her eyes. “Lee, you really are an oaf when it comes to women. You may be utterly charming, but you know absolutely nothing about the ways a woman manipulates others. Particularly men.”

He gave a startled laugh. “And you do?”

“I’m not the one who ended up in bed with a...”

“Okay, enough of that. You’re forgetting Nerina isn't an ordinary woman. She’s some kind of phantom. She's driven by an insatiable need for warmth. And revenge. As long as she remains in this realm, she has to . . .” He rolled his shoulders, searching for the right words, “. . .feed on the living.”

“You mean score?”

He shot her an exasperated glance. “I’m serious, Pen. I think she wants to leave but can’t or won’t, until Farnley is brought to justice.”  

“Well, if you’re going to do anything with that piece of paper, you better tell someone first. Like Admiral Nelson.”

He paused, factoring it out. “No, you take it. And this. Hide it somewhere safe.” Catching her hand, he folded the locket into her palm. "I'm going to confront Farnley tomorrow, and it's probably best I don't have this with me."

Penelope's impertinence faded abruptly. “Lee, I'm worried.”

“Don’t be; it’ll all work out.” Smiling softly, he drew his thumb down her cheek. “In the meantime, I should probably explain why the admiral and I have been at each other’s throats. You need to know what’s going on if I’m entrusting the locket to you.”

Later, having told Penelope everything, Lee retired to his bedroom. He found a note from Farnley slipped under the door, instructing him to be at the rear gate of the castle at dawn. Realizing the congressman would likely betray himself, Lee took a chance and penned a hasty note to Nelson. He tossed restlessly most of the night, threw on the same clothes in the morning, then left for his pre-arranged meeting with Farnley. On the way to the rear gate, he slipped the note he’d written under Nelson’s door.

Farnley was nowhere in sight when he arrived, the surroundings cloaked in the pale milk of early morning. A suggestion of light lingered to the east, virginal and new as the sun struggled from the horizon. The air was crisp and damp, filtering beneath the collar of his white shirt. Blowing on his cold-stiffened fingers, Lee gazed across the meadow where a jagged perimeter of forest rose on the horizon. He knew just beyond the trees the Sterling River flowed swift and cold.

Minute slipped into minute. He was beginning to grow frustrated when he heard a crunch of grass behind him. Turning, he came face-to-face with Farnley. The older man's expression was grim, his black hair lending to the dark severity to his face. 

“You have something for me?” Lee prompted.

Farnley shook his head, a hostile glint in his close-set eyes. “Only to tell you what a fool you've been.” With a nod past Lee's shoulder, he smiled indulgently. Sensing the danger too late,

Lee half-turned, catching a blur of motion from the left. 

The world upended, exploding in a staggering conflagration as something heavy crashed against his skull. Dropping to his knees, he crumbled face down in the damp grass, light and sound banished to an abysmal, empty void.

**********

Penelope was up and dressed before dawn. She knew her father would be as well, likely Admiral Nelson too. Fortunately, they were all early risers because she didn’t think she could sleep any longer. Normally, she’d spend the morning in bed, but that was impossible after the events of the previous night and the conspiracy Lee had pieced together involving Farnley, Rabell, treason and Nerina’s death. She needed to tell the admiral about it before she burst!

She hurriedly finished brushing her hair then turned from the dresser. As she did, she caught a glimpse of the landscape outside her bedroom window. Lost in thought, it took her a moment to register what was happening below. From her vantage point on the second floor of the manor she watched as two men maneuvered an unconscious burden into the back seat of a car. The man's hands were tied in front of him, the white of his shirt almost luminescent in the early morning light. Even from the distance his features and the raven glint of his coal-black hair were unmistakable.

Penelope gasped. “Lee!”

The other two men climbed into the front of the car. She’d only needed a glimpse to identify them as Farnley and an unscrupulous sort she had seen loitering around town, named Spangler. Within seconds, the vehicle lurched into drive and headed in the direction of the bordering forest.

“Damn it, Lee!” Heart thumping wildly in her chest, Penelope raced from the room, intent on finding Admiral Nelson.

**********

Harry watched as Chip Morton picked his way through breakfast. Normally a man with a sizeable appetite, it was unusual to see Chip eating like a bird. He knew his own behavior and, most especially Lee’s, was at fault. The damn façade was taking a toll on all of them. Only that morning Harry had found a short note from his new captain, informing him of a meeting with Farnley. Judging by what Lee had written, he expected to force the issue, ending their charade by nightfall. He’d also told Harry that Penelope Warren had information she’d be sharing which pretty much delivered Farnley into their hands. 

Harry couldn’t imagine what it was or how Penelope was involved, but even in the short time Lee had been captain of Seaview, he’d learned to trust the younger man’s instincts. Distractedly, he returned his attention to his own breakfast, half-heartedly picking through a plate of scrambled eggs, pan-fried potatoes, bacon, and sugar-trimmed pastries.

The hour was still fairly early. Most of Warren’s guests had left yesterday after the tragedy with Rabell. Harry was seated between Chip and Elizabeth Warren, while Dr. Landry, a prominent local surgeon, and Captain Brookline of the naval carrier, Polaris, were across from him. Despite his best efforts, Harry could only manage vague interest in the conversation circling around him. His mind was too focused on Lee. Preoccupied, he thought of their encounter the previous night in the stables.

His young captain’s erratic emotions had run the gamut from distraction to poise. As far back as Annapolis, Harry had known Lee to be adept at effecting confidence, but that demeanor was often forced. A charade. Of all the people he’d ever known, Lee Crane had the most difficulty asking for help or admitting weakness. He still didn’t understand why, but suspected it had something to do with the younger man’s upbringing. He knew Lee had lost his father as a child, but that was pretty much all he knew. Lee’s stepfather was a research scientist by reputation, but Harry knew next to nothing of Mitchell Blake. As he recalled, the man hadn’t even attended Lee’s graduation.

Lee was stubborn, headstrong and just a trifle arrogant. If he encountered conflict with Farnley it was likely he'd try to resolve the issue alone before asking for assistance. It was that very aspect of his personality that often left Harry grimacing in frustration. Given their present circumstances, Lee’s unwillingness to ask for help could lead to disaster. 

“You're not listening, Harry,” Dr. Landry admonished, drawing him from his thoughts.

Harry flinched, realizing the gray-haired physician was watching him expectantly. “My apologies, Cliff. My mind was elsewhere.”

“So it would seem. Anything to do with that upstart captain of yours?” 

Across the table, Commander Brookline grew quiet and attentive. A good ten years older than Lee, Harry knew the two men were friendly and that Brookline was proud of Lee’s accomplishments at such a young age.

“We all sympathize with your situation, Harry,” Landry continued. “But isn’t it time you put your foot down? Your captain needs a public reprimand after his inexcusable behavior.”

Harry opened his mouth to agree but was stopped short by Penelope's breathless entry. Rushing to his side, she clutched his arm and attempted to pull him from his seat.

“Admiral Nelson, please! You must come quickly. It's Lee.”

Bewildered by her distress, Harry closed his fingers over hers, forcing her still. “Penelope, what's wrong?”

“It's Lee,” she said again, her words breathless and rapid-fire quick. Desperate, she pulled on his sleeve. “I saw Farnley and a man from town taking him into the forest.”

A ping of alarm streaked through Harry. Lee had indicated in his short note that he was meeting the congressman but would he have agreed to such a one-sided encounter? “What do you mean?”

Across the table, Landry chuckled. “Maybe your captain has made one too many derogatory comments, Harry.”

Harry shot him a black glare. He seethed inwardly, but knew he couldn't destroy the facade he and Lee had worked so hard to project. If he reacted with protective concern for his errant captain now, suspicion would surely follow. Possibly, Lee was enacting his own ploy. With effort, Harry refocused on Penelope. “Penelope, are you certain he wasn't just accompanying...”

“He was unconscious, Admiral Nelson, and his hands were tied.” Pulling Nerina's locket from the pocket of her jeans, Penelope fumbled it open, thrusting the hidden paper beneath his nose. “Read this quickly, and you'll realize what danger Lee is in.”

It took Harry only a moment to glance at the condemning words written over two years ago.

Shoving back his chair, he stalked toward the exit. “Chip,” he barked. He didn't have to look to know his executive officer was glued to his heels. Chip was still ignorant of Lee's true motives, but it didn’t matter. He was ready to go to his friend and captain’s defense. Ignoring the grumbling of the other guests who couldn't perceive his sudden concern, Harry strode determinably for his car. 

The charade was over.

For Lee's sake, Harry prayed it was not too late.

***********

Frank Farnley stopped the car on the edge of a steep embankment. Below, trees and serrated beds of stone jutted from the soil, sloping to the edge of the Sterling River. Swift and strong, the water surged over broken slabs of rock, white with foam. “This’ll do,” he said to his companion, a lackey he’d hired from town to help with the deed.   

Roy Spangler nodded. All that mattered to him was the amount of cash in his pocket when everything was said and done. It wasn’t like he’d never dumped a body before. So what if the guy was only unconscious and not toast? A few minutes in the water would fix that. 

He climbed from the car and dragged the limp form to the edge of the slope, huffing with the exertion. The guy was slender as a rail, no waist at all, but Spangler’s body was slowly turning to flab. Time to cut back on his nightly routine of burgers and beer if he couldn’t manage a simple ‘disposal’ job. 

He shot a quick glance at Farnley. He didn’t know why the corrupt congressman wanted to kill the guy but didn’t give a rat’s ass as long as the pay was good. Farnley added a hand and together they heaved the man over the embankment, sending him tumbling to the river. 

Good riddance. The guy was a little too pretty for Spangler’s taste, and pretty men irritated the hell out of him. He’d gotten drunk when he was sixteen and wrapped his car around a telephone pole, leaving him with permanent facial scars. Didn’t matter, though. With a wad of cash in his pocket, no one cared what he looked like. Even women came sniffing around, hoping for a hand-out.

Sneering, he watched the man’s body roll down the hillside, battered by protruding roots and rocks. By the time the Sterling got done with the poor sap, he’d be bloated beyond recognition. In the meantime, Spangler could sit back and count his pay for a quick and easy job. He hoped Farnley would remember him the next time he needed someone to carry out something problematic with no questions asked.

“If the fall doesn't kill him, the current will,” Farnley mumbled darkly. He stood a moment, craning his neck as he stared over the slope. In a few seconds it was all over, the man swallowed by the river. 

Farnley grinned in satisfaction and headed back to the car. Before he could open the door, the roar of a motor drew him up short. He shot a warning glance at Spangler, composing himself. They’d done nothing wrong. There were plenty of men who engaged in early morning excursions to clear their head of night-time excess. He forced a smile as a black sedan ground to a tire-screeching halt, spewing a cloud of dust over his black BMW. The front door flung wide and Harriman Nelson bolted from the vehicle.

“Harry!” Farnley kept the false smile plastered on his face. “You look upset. Mr. Spangler and I were just...”

“Drop the act, Farnley!” Nelson stalked forward, his face a mask of controlled rage. “What have you done with Lee Crane?”

“Crane?” Farnley did his best to look bewildered. Behind Nelson, Chip Morton, Quentin Warren and Captain Drew Brookline climbed from the vehicle. Bloody hell. A whole contingent of authority. “Has something happened to your captain?” His gaze shifted to Chip, watching as the fair-haired man narrowed his eyes on the embankment. Trying not to let his anxiety show, he refocused on Harry. “I thought you didn’t want anything to do with Commander Crane?”

“If you've harmed Lee, I'll kill you myself,” Harry snarled. “There won't be enough pieces left for a trial.”

At Farnley's side, Spangler paled. 

“Spit it out,” Morton snapped joining the admiral. “We’ve got a document tying you to Agent Cobra of the People’s Republic and a witness who saw you and this man...” He stabbed a finger at Spangler “...shove Lee into the back of your car when he was unconscious. If you don’t start talking soon, I’m going to take your freaking head off.”

Farnley paled, but he squared his shoulders indignantly. “How dare you accuse me!”

Nelson withdrew a slip of paper, raising it between two fingers. “We have the proof of your treason right here. This is part of a message you wrote to Cobra detailing the location of several key U.S. defense bases. You’ve betrayed your country, and now you’re trying to cover your tracks by killing Lee.” 

“Preposterous!

“Enough!” Harry grabbed a fistful of Farnley’s jacket and wrenched him close. “I’m through wasting time with you. I’ll ask you once more:  What have you done with Lee Crane, you miserable S.O.B?”

“Down the embankment,” Spangler sputtered quickly. Panicked, he pointed between the trees. “Farnley threw him down there, toward the river . . . said he wanted to kill him. I didn’t know what was goin’ on, and I don’t know nuthin’ about treason. I thought we were just gonna rough the guy up.”

“Lying bastard!” Farnley lurched toward Spangler but was quickly restrained by Quentin Warren and Captain Brookline. Realizing he’d run out of luck, he spouted a string of vulgarities. Spittle flew from his mouth as rage made him reckless. “He’s dead, Nelson. Do you hear me? Crane is dead!”

“Throw him in the car,” Harry ordered. He crossed to the top of the embankment and swiftly scanned the area below. Behind him he could hear Farnley cursing as Brookline shoved him into the car. Spangler’s voice droned on in the background, a plaintive whine, protesting his innocence. Blocking out the distractions, Harry flicked his gaze between the trees. Now that he looked closely, he could see a path of disturbed earth and broken, low-hanging branches. Chip was already sliding down the steep slope, heedlessly side-stepping his way to the river below.

Cupping his hands around his mouth, Harry pitched his voice above the angry roar of the river. “Lee!” Silence bounced back, mocking and thick. “Lee!” he called again, reckless now as he half-jogged, half-slid down the slope. “Chip, do you see him?”

The fair-haired man paused, glancing over his shoulder. “Nothing. If I do find him, I’m going to need help - - a rope. Is there anything in the trunk of the car, Sir?”

“To hell with it,” Harry muttered. “There's plenty of men to check.” Behind him, he knew Brookline had fanned out on the bank, aiding in the search now that Farnley and Spangler had been subdued. When Chip started moving again, veering to the right, Harry went left. If Lee had fallen into the river, he could have been swept hundreds of feet, even yards away. The thought made his heart beat faster and the breath slam hard in his throat.  

Damn! He should have kept a tighter leash on the young fool. The man had a mind of his own, doing whatever the hell he pleased, heedless of the danger involved. No doubt about it - - if he managed to get Lee out of this mess, they were going to end up butting heads on Seaview. He’d rarely clashed with John Phillips, but Lee was already writing his own script.

“Lee!” he yelled again. Further down the bank, Chip mimicked his call. 

The ground was soft and spongy and Harry’s shoes sank easily into the yielding earth. Closer to the river a carpet of leaves, fern and moss shimmered wetly, coated with mist. Twice he slipped, grabbing at roots or rocks as his feet threatened to slide out from under him. The pitch of the incline made it impossible to walk upright, and he could only guess what the fall would have done to an unconscious man. “Lee!” His voice was growing hoarse from the effort of shouting. “Lee!”

“Ad-Admiral!”

Harry stilled as the weak voice bounced back to him. At first he thought it was a trick of his own frantic mind. He was just a few feet above the river now, zigzagging down the embankment as he fought to maintain his footing. Below him, he spied a lean form clinging to a bulging rock on the edge of the river. Half-submerged, Lee struggled against the current as water lapped and sluiced around his waist. 

Even from the distance Harry could see Lee’s clothing was torn. A thick coil of rope bound his wrists together, inhibiting his grip on the rock. His hair had corkscrewed into a snarl of damp curls, and his shirt was splattered with blood and mud. Plastered to his body, it accentuated the sharp outline of his ribs and the straining muscles in his arms. 

“Lee .....” He pitched his voice louder. “Hold on, lad, I’m coming.” Then to Chip:  “Hurry, Chip! He's over here.”

Harry didn't wait to see if Morton responded. Scrambling down the slope, half running, half tripping, he charged hell-bent for the river.

**********

Lee’s strength was almost gone.

The fall down the embankment had left him bruised and battered. At some point a tree branch had ripped a deep gash into his arm, tearing his shirt from shoulder to elbow. Once crisp and white, the cotton was now a sickly shade of pink, stained by blood diluted with water. His head throbbed from the blow he’d taken, and his teeth were chattering. The river lapped over the rock, soaking him, carrying his blood away in thin red trails. He clung tightly, every muscle straining and trembling with exertion. Beneath him the rock was slick, his bound wrists making it difficult to get a good grip. He knew the moment he let go the icy current would pull him under.

“Admiral!” His breath came out in a short huff of air. Seconds ago he thought he’d heard the older man calling to him. “Admiral!” he yelled again, stronger this time. Raising his head, he spied the copper-haired man on the bank. Nelson swatted aside branches, frantically frog-clumping over rocks as he raced for the bottom. 

“Hurry,” Lee panted, barely audible, not sure how much longer he could hold on. 

**********

“Lee!” Almost to the bottom of the bank, Harry could see his young captain clearly. Lee’s shirt was torn and bloody, and there was a bruise to the right of his temple. Half covered by wet, curling hair, the wound trickled blood onto Lee's cheek and his jaw. 

Concussion, maybe worse. How much longer would he be able to hold on?

“I’m almost there, Lee!” 

As he neared, Harry realized the current was too strong to wade into the water without costing them both. Desperately, he scrabbled onto the rock, fighting to keep his feet anchored. He slipped and caught himself a hair's-breadth from tumbling into the river. From the corner of his eye he saw Lee push forward on his elbows, trying to gain height on the angled slab of stone. The younger man grappled for the edge but was too weak to fight the current. Slipping, he fell backward, sinking chest-deep into the water. 

“Dear God.” Harry wasn’t sure if it was a plea or a prayer. He jerked as Chip came up behind him, moving with sure-footed ease.

“Hang onto me,” Harry instructed, fear for Lee making him rash. He pitched forward across the protruding slab, blindly trusting the exec to catch him. Chip’s hands locked on his legs just as his own fingers encircled Lee's bound wrists. Inching forward, he used one hand to grip Lee behind the elbow, the other to snag his shirt above the shoulder. Up close he could see the bright splash of blood across Lee's cheek, the desperate light in his eyes as his strength readied to flee. “I’ve got you. Hold onto me.”  

Lee clutched frantically for his arms, his fingers slick with water and blood. Harry pulled. 

Behind him, Chip added his own strength, and Lee groped his way onto the stone surface. He gulped for air, helping as much as he could. With a strong heave Harry yanked and they tumbled backward onto the bank. Wet and exhausted, all three men crumpled to the ground. 

Lee sank gratefully, bowing his head between his knees, struggling to catch his breath. He couldn’t stop shivering, his wet clothes plastered to his body like a second skin. Something soft and warm dropped over his shoulders, and he glanced up to find Chip at his side. His friend had shrugged out of his jacket, draping it over Lee’s shoulders.

“The admiral told me everything on the way here,” he said evenly, but there was a hint of reprimand in his eyes. “The next time you decide to playact, I want to be forewarned and included. I’d take your head off Lee, but the river almost did it for me.”

The younger man was too weary to do anything but offer a heartfelt glance.

Chip ruffled his hair affectionately and hugged him around the neck. “You okay?”

Lee nodded. “Just cold. And  I . . . I need to catch my breath.” He sagged backward, pulling the jacket closer. Almost immediately, he jerked upright, realizing he’d been leaning against Nelson with the same level of familiarity he would have with Chip. Not a liberty a subordinate took with a superior officer. “I’m sorry, Sir.”

“It’s all right, lad.” Harry surprised himself by tightening his arm around Lee’s shoulders. He could feel the younger man trembling, exhausted by cold and fatigue. He’d already lost one captain. He wasn’t going to lose two. Especially not this one. “Just relax a minute. You need a hospital and some dry clothes.” 

“I cut my arm, Sir. That’s all.”

Harry eyed the bloody gash on his bicep. It was far more than a simple cut, but he didn’t bother belaboring the point. He expected his officers to do what he told them, including the captain of his submarine. Unfortunately, he had a feeling that routine was going to be put to the test with Lee Crane. Not just now, but on numerous occasions to come.

“Farnley?” Lee asked, looking up at him. His lashes were wet and clumped together, his eyes like sun-touched glass. A long streak of blood oozed from under his hairline, following the curve of his jaw.

Carefully, Harry wiped it aside. “Detained. Along with his accomplice. Penelope delivered the message as you intended. Between what happened today and that communiqué to Cobra, I’d say Farnley is going to be trading Capitol Hill for a jail cell.”

“Serves the bastard right,” Chip muttered.

“I’m just glad it’s over,” Lee said tiredly. He didn’t like showing how vulnerable he was to Nelson but didn’t think he could summon the strength to move on his own. A breeze scraped across his cheek, and he shivered in the chill air. “Admiral . . .” The older man was bent over his arm now, inspecting the cut to his bicep. Lee knew he was a bloody, filthy mess, his water-logged clothes plastered to his body. “Sir . . . did Penelope say anything about Nerina?”

“Who?” Nelson’s voice was distracted, his attention on the cut.

“Nerina Taylor.”

“No, I don’t remember that name. Chip, let’s see if we can get Lee up the bank.”

“I can walk on my own,” Lee protested quickly. He knew he was pushing it, but he’d only been with N.I.M.R. for two weeks and didn’t want Nelson thinking he couldn’t stand up to a little adversity. He winced as he got his legs under him, groaning with the effort. 

“Damn it, Lee!” Nelson hooked him beneath his good arm, holding him upright. “Stop being so confounded stubborn. You got knocked unconscious, thrown down a bank, and nearly drowned. There’s nothing wrong with accepting a little help.”

Chip gave a soft grunt. “I’ve been telling him that since he was seventeen.”

“I’m fine.” 

“Like I haven’t heard that one before.”

“What you are is exhausted,” Nelson countered. Squinting, he looked up the bank. Above, Quentin Warren called out, asking if everything was all right. 

Uncomfortable, Lee shot Nelson a guarded glance. “Quentin’s here?”

“Brookline too. There are a lot of people who care about you, Lee.” He motioned to Quentin then looked between Chip and Lee. “Well, gentlemen . . . are we ready to do some climbing?”

Lee steeled himself and nodded. His head was throbbing, and he was still shivering, but there was no way he was going to be hauled up the bank like an invalid. “Just take it slow, Sir. I’ll do my part.”  

Nelson smiled warmly. “That’s never been in question, lad.”

**********

Lee waited in the garden, uncertain what he expected to find. Three days had passed since the incident at the Sterling River. His arm had taken stitches, and he still courted bruises and abrasions, but most of the aches associated with his fall had subsided into memory. Farnley was taken into custody awaiting trial along with Spangler. Although the congressman couldn’t be indicted for Nerina’s death, his career was over, and he’d likely spend the rest of his life in jail. Lee hoped that would be enough to appease the restless ghost of the locket.

The images of their lovemaking had started to fade, and he found he could distance himself from the memories . . . at least block the darker ones. Having Penelope as a sounding board had helped. The little girl who’d once had a crush on him had grown into a woman he could talk to without fear of reprisal. He looked forward to the day when she found a man to claim her heart, and he could play the role of big brother.

As he considered the last few days, Lee glanced about the small box garden. With a jolt, he realized there were sprouts of greenery among the browned hedgerows. Tenuous flowers bloomed in bowers once barren and dry and new leaves sprouted on stately trees. The odor of decay was a memory, buried in the soft soil, now grown sweet with clover.

It was as though Nerina had found peace with Farnley’s capture, willingly relinquishing her hold on the garden. Reaching into his pocket, Lee withdrew her locket. Penelope had given it back to him when he’d returned to the manor. Unlike the garden which had begun to flourish, the necklace had grown darker with tarnish over the last few days. He rubbed his thumb across the surface, thinking of recent events.

After exposing Farnley, Lee’s ‘playacting’ was brought to light, and those who’d once thought him arrogant and smug now praised him for a job well done. His friction with Nelson was revealed as a cleverly-crafted facade, all part of the plan, with a few grumpy naysayers implying they'd suspected as much all along. Lee was glad to put the deception behind him.

For the first time since taking command of Seaview, he could be himself with Nelson. He’d longed to do that from day one, remembering the teacher then, later, the commanding officer who’d meant so much to him. There were few people in life who had made such a strong impact on him like Nelson. He’d hated being at odds with the man, even if only for the sake of a deception, and breathed easier knowing the sham was behind him.

“There you are.”

Lee smiled broadly as Nelson approached. “Good morning, Sir. What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you. Chip and I are ready to leave but Quentin, Elizabeth and Penelope would like to say good-bye to you.”

Lee nodded. “I feel badly we had to deceive them.”

“I do too, but they understand.” Nelson stuffed his hands in his pockets, taking a moment to glance at his surroundings. “Strange place, this garden. Quentin told me nothing would ever grow here before. It’s unusual how everything has started to bloom now.”

Lee lowered his eyes uncomfortably. He hadn’t told Nelson about Nerina.

“Are you all right, Lee?” Nelson tilted his head, eyeing him with concern. “For a while there, I was afraid you might be coming down with something. You didn’t look good even before Farnley abducted you.”

Lee recalled the unnatural pallor of his forearms and wrists, the warmth Nerina had sucked from his skin. The chalky pigmentation was gone now as he knew she was gone. “I’m fine, Sir. Just looking forward to returning to Santa Barbara and being myself for a change. The crew still thinks I’m an arrogant S.O.B.”

“We’ll fix that when we get back.” Harry stepped forward and clapped him on the shoulder. “Trust me, Lee. When they get to know you like I do, they’ll realize they couldn’t have a better commander. I’m sorry you’ve had to maintain such a deplorable façade, but you did a great service to your country, and I plan on making sure everyone on Seaview knows that.”

Embarrassed, Lee lowered his eyes. “You don’t have to do that, Sir.”

“Maybe I don’t have to, but I want to. It’s important to me the crew understands the kind of commander they have. For the last two weeks you’ve done what was asked of you and what was expected without complaint or objection. It’s my turn to share that with the men under your command. There’s a whole future ahead of you, Lee. I hope you realize that.” 

He did. It was an unusual thought, even a frightening one. For most of his life, he’d done what was asked and required. Now he had a chance to embark on a journey he desired. Commanding Seaview wasn’t just a stepping-stone in his career or another notch on his belt. It was something he wanted and wanted desperately. He’d be with Nelson and Chip, doing work that was important to him, that left him breathless with anticipation. The greatest submarine in the world. What commander wouldn’t give his career for a shot at her? He hadn’t had a chance to bond with the crew yet, but he hoped that would come in time . . . that as he learned from them, they would adjust to him.

“I do realize it, Sir,” he said sincerely. Unseen, he allowed Nerina’s locket to slip from his fingers, tumbling forgotten to the ground. 

Nerina, the garden, even Farnely - - nothing mattered but his future with Nelson and Seaview. He had a chance at a new life and a future with a man who’d been a mentor and friend. He had a feeling his relationship with Nelson was just beginning. 

“Let’s go,” the admiral said, steering him from the garden. 

Lee was unaware when the ground opened beneath the locket, drawing it into dark folds of welcoming soil, encasing it forever in the earth.

*****End*****

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