Chapter Sixteen
The next morning Roger Smith again woke up before his lady. He reclined quietly on the soft bed, caressing the supine Rowan with his dark eyes. She had thrown off the the blanket at some point during the night. The thin black silk pajama top she'd borrowed from him was the only thing preserving her modesty. Roger watched the slow rise and fall of her breath as she slept, and wondered if she was dreaming.
She was such a study in contrasts, the extremes of ebon hair and pearly skin, the mix of strength and vulnerability. Roger remembered the pathetic handprint in the cave. Looking at his lover's tranquil features, he could almost imagine the face of the child she had been, a child who believed she had no future. He wondered what that child would have thought if she could have somehow overheard their discussion last night, of their plans for marriage, for family, for sharing the path ahead no matter what.
Unable to resist touching her, he lightly traced the lines on the palm of one outstretched hand. Head, heart, life, fate; idly he wondered if the marks really held some arcane meaning. It was another question whose answer was lost in the past. Perhaps it was just as well. He covered her square palm with his own large one, flattening her hand against the mattress.
The sensation must have filtered into Rowan's slumber. She turned onto her side, facing him, and opened her emerald eyes. The first thing she focused on was Roger's handsome face smiling at her. She smiled back sleepily, then raised her free hand to pat his messy hair. Roger cuddled her against him, so that her face rested against his bare chest.
"Mmm," she murmured, "what time is it?" Roger glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand. "It's 8 o'clock," he said, stroking her dark head like a kitten. He smirked to himself, wondering how long it would take for his words to sink in.
It didn't take long - she sat up wide awake in less than a minute. "8 o'clock?! How could you let me sleep so late? Why didn't the alarm go off?" She climbed over him to get to the clock. "It's turned off? Roger," she turned towards him, plainly irritated, "did you do this?"
Roger lay on the bed, his arms behind his head, propped up by the pillows. He was smirking broadly at her, trying unsuccessfully not to laugh at her indignation.
"You find this funny? I've got meetings, errands, clients and you think this is funny? Oooh, you..." Rowan grabbed a pillow and started hitting Roger with it. He ducked, then seized the other pillow and started swinging at Rowan.
They both started laughing during the battle, got tangled in the blanket and ended falling off the bed in a heap onto the floor. They lay there for a few moments, stunned. Roger couldn't stop laughing. Ro had the hiccups.
"I'm sorry about the alarm," Roger finally managed to say. "I turned it off because you've looked so worn since Ilseberry. I thought you could use the extra sleep. I know you have appointments, I wouldn't have let you miss them."
All forgiven, the pair got ready for the day. They both had full schedules in separate parts of the city. While comparing itineraries, Roger noticed his last meeting would be near the school, which was Ro's last stop. He suggested they meet there around 3 PM and have a late lunch after she finished.
As they descended to the garage, they gave each other one last look-over. Roger looked splendid as usual, in a black suit this time. Rowan gave his tie a slight tug to straighten the knot. "Now you're perfect," she said, smiling at him. "Only now?" he smirked. He smoothed back a few loose strands of hair from her face, tucking them behind her ear. Ro was wearing a close-fitting grey pantsuit he especially liked on her. He smiled approvingly, then lifted her left hand to his lips. He kissed it just above the opal ring. The elevator door opened. "It's showtime," he sighed, and they went their separate ways.
Rowan decided she had time to make a quick detour to Military Police HQ before getting bogged down with clients.
Major Dastun was having his first cup of coffee for the day when Rowan breezed in. Dan was delighted to see her. Their schedules rarely coincided enough to allow more than an occasional lunch or dinnerdate. He immediately noticed the beautiful ring on her finger, but played dumb until she happily brought up the subject herself.
He gave her a bear hug, lifting her clear off her feet. "I couldn't be happier for you than if you were my own daughter," Dastun said. "I'm only sorry your parents couldn't be here too." He patted her shoulder.
"Dan," said Rowan, "Roger and I were wondering if you'd be willing to do somethng for us?" She smiled shyly, reminding Dastun vividly of the little girl he's rescued so long ago.
"What is it, Ro? You know I'd do anything I can for you."
She glanced down, her dark lashes shadowing her seaish eyes. "I know this probably sounds silly, But...would you be willing to pull double-duty for us? You're the only person Roger wanted as his best man, and I can't imagine anyone else walking me down the aisle...if it isn't too much trouble?"
Dastun put his hands on her shoulders. "Ro, honey, I would be honored. I'll be sure to get the day off. Have you picked a date yet?"
Rowan shrugged. "Sometime in the winter. Roger thinks Heaven's Day would be good, since it's the day we met." She smiled. "It would certainly be a hard anniversery to forget."
Dan chuckled. "I would never have taken Smith to be the sentimental type. That shouldn't be a problem. There's plenty of time to manage the day off." He kissed her cheek in a fatherly fashion, and she turned to go, smiling gloriously. Dan pushed his cap back and rubbed his head, watching her leave. Who would have thought a blind date could turn out so well?
Rowan's day sped by quickly. She stopped by the print shop to drop off more manuscripts before heading out to the school. The typographer greeted her familiarly, spending about twenty minutes discussing typesettigs and other minutiae. Daestar paid him and was halfway out the door when he called her back in: "Hey, Dr. Daestar, I almost forgot to tell you...there was a guy here the other day asking about you."
"Oh?" Rowan wrinkled her nose. She didn't like strangers gettng curious about her. "Did he say who he was or what he wanted?"
The printsetter shook his head no. "All he said was he had to talk to you. Didn't give a name or a reason. I thought you might want to know. He seemed sort of creepy."
Great, thought Rowan. I don't need this now too. "What did he look like?" she asked.
"About your height, maybe a little taller," he said. "Black beard and curly hair, kind of piled up on his head. Funny eyes, very light brown, almost yellow. He was in pretty good shape, not fat, not thin. Had a rough voice too, like he smokes a lot. Weird looking fella."
Ro nodded. "Thanks for the warning. I'll be exra careful." She smiled grimly and went on to the school.
Despite the area's bad reputation, Daestar had never before felt afraid to be there. This afternoon was different. She was spooked. Every darkened doorway, every shadowy corner, seemed full of menace.
Rowan pulled into the quiet allyway, parking as close to the barred door as she could. She hesitated before leaving the safety of her little car, carefully scanning her surroundings for any threat. Feeling foolish, she quickly got out, locked the car door, and entered the building.
She scolded herself for her imaginings as she went to meet with Norman Berg. He was in the center of the building, administrating the controlled chaos like a general. He waved when he spotted the tall beauty emerge from the sheet-covered doorway.
She waved back and went over to him. "Good afternoon, Norman. How are things going so far?" He always made her feel so formal. His many talents intrigued her...she often wondered what secrets his past held. She knew better than to ask - like Roger, he had no interest in his personal background, despite his fascination with whatever she dug up.
"Most things are going quite well, Miss Rowan. The new parts we needed for the hydroponics class have arrived intact this time, so we can start scheduling for that again. Also...oh my!"
Norman took hold of Rowan's left hand, moving it to make the ring glitter on her finger. "Congratulations, Miss Rowan. Is Mr. Smith the lucky gentleman?"
She nodded happily, a faint blush rising to her cheeks.
"Well done! I must say I always liked your young man. There was something about him that struck me, as if I'd known him before. Can't quite put my finger on it. It doesn't really matter though, does it? You are both happy and that's all that counts. Very best luck to you both.!"
Rowan smiled with pleasure. "Thank you Norman. That's very sweet of you. By the way, Roger wants to talk to you about some things when you have the time...something to do with a car he just bought. There's somethng else as well. We are buying another place to live and we were hoping you'd help supervise any work that needed to be done. You'd be paid very well, of course."
"It would be my pleasure, Miss Rowan. Now, before I forget, a gentleman arrived here shortly before you did. He wishes to speak to you about the school. He insisted on waiting for you."
Rowan grimaced. "Did he identify himself? What does he look like?" she asked. Norman's response closely matched the printsetter's description. She sighed, realizing she would have to meet the mysterious stranger. Since the school officially did not exist, calling the Military Police to remove him would only cause trouble for herself and Dastun. "Where is he?"
The older man pointed to one of the small teaching labs off the main room. All the walls were glass, allowing everyone a clear view of the visitor. He was sitting on a stool, his back towards them. "I thought it best to put him where I could keep an eye on him," said Norman. "Don't worry - we'll all be watching when you go in there."
"You're the best, Norman, thanks!" As Daestar approached the lab's door, the man turned to face her. The printsetter was right. There was something creepy about him. Well, she thought, better to face him here than outside.
Sitting quietly nearby, Angie had eavesdropped on the conversation between Berg and Daestar. She laughed quietly to herself. The annoying brunette didn't have a clue about what was going to happen, she thought. This was going to be fun. Angie turned her attention to the lab, smiling coldly.
The tall dark stranger stood up when Rowan entered the room. The intensity of his gaze was disturbing; Ro felt as if he was trying to swallow her with his yellow eyes. She shook the sensation off. He couldn't be any worse than Alex Rosewater, could he?
"I understand you have been looking for me?" She spoke with deliberate casualness, her hands in her pockets.
"Yes I have, Dr. Daestar, for quite a while now," he rasped (Rowan could smell the stale tobacco on him - it made her want to gag.) "You know, doc, the press photogs don't do you any justice." He whistled. (Angie snarled outside at that comment. What did these men see in this thin brunette anyway?)
"If you have a problem with the society page's choice of photographers, I suggest you bring it up with them, not me," Ro snapped. "Who are you? What do you want?" Angry, she glared at him, her green eyes meeting his coldly.
The stranger blinked, then chuckled. "You live up to your reputation as a straight-shooter, I see. That's good. I'm tired of games..." Rowan interrupted him: "...'tired of games?' Then what is this?" She seriously considered throwing him out bodily herself.
"Now, now...I am being rude. Let me introduce myself. I am Michael Seebach. I am an investigative reporter for the Paradigm Press. I want to do a story on this endeavor of yours." He stretched one arm out, gesturing towards the classrooms beyond the glass walls.
"No,' said Daestar.
"How can you say that? you are the only person willing to look clear-eyed into the past, and you refuse to help me expose the truth of it?" He stepped towards her.
"What are you talking about?" She kept her distance from him. If he really worked for Paradigm Press, then he would be linked to Rosewater.
"I've heard you roam the underground tunnels freely. Take me with you."
Rowan felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. As far as she knew, only Roger was aware of her forays into the subways beneath Paradigm. They argued about it frequently.
"Mr. Seebach, you are wasting your time and mine. I can't help you. What you are searching for will lead you to madness or death. Let it go."
The writer shook his head. "I am surprised at your reaction, doc. I know Paradigm holds no place in your loyalties. I thought you were a seeker of truth."
"My concern," responded Daestar, "is not for Paradigm, but for its citizens. What you want to do could unleash another disaster. That IS the truth. Some things can only be done slowly. Leave it alone! Go investigate loan sharks or shady businessmen. You'll do a lot more good."
Seebach looked at her, puzzled, his head cocked to one side like a bird. "You really mean that, don't you?" he asked quietly. He seemed oddly deflated, as if all the fight in him had evaporated (Angie smiled. The scene was playing perfectly.)
Rowan looked at him coldly. "Please leave now, Mr. Seebach. You know the way out." She opened the door and stepped out. She had had enough.
After the reporter left, Daestar waited almost twenty minutes before leaving the building. She did not want to bump into him outside, and she needed to run one last quick errand before Roger met her.
As she exited, she carefully looked about. Assuring herself that all was clear, she got halfway to her car when she heard Michael Seebach call her name. She started running to her car when two young thugs stepped out from behind it.
She stopped, and took a quick glance behind herself. The reporter was blocking her way back to the school. A third kid, tall and skinny with curly blond hair and a nasty smile, was beside him.
"Did you really think I would give up so easily, doc?" sneered Seebach, grinning toothily. His teeth were yellow from smoking. "You don't get to be an investigative reporter if you're not persistant."
"You're making a big mistake, Seebach!" yelled Rowan. "All you're going to get from me is a lawsuit!" She prepared to defend herself, waiting to see who would make the first move.
The larger of the two punks by her car approached her. "C'mon, baby, don't make it hard on yourself," he said, reaching out to grab her. She grabbed his arm instead and flipped him hard onto the sandy ground, knocking him out.
"What the?..." muttered Seebach. He hadn't expected this. The second kid pulled a switchblade from his pocket. "No girl messes with my buddies," he growled. "You need to learn some respect, bitch." He slashed the air with his blade.
"NO!" yelled Seebach. "Don't hurt her! I need her alive!" The skinny kid next to him pulled out a stungun and zapped the reporter unconscious. "You shoulda thought about that earlier, press-boy," the kid sneered. "You didn't pay me enough."
Ro kept her distance from the moving knife, watching for an opening. She kicked the blade from his hands, then reached out to throw him as well. Just as she grabbed him, the first kid got back on his feet and charged her from behind.
Rowan flipped the second tough onto the first, knocking them both down, but she lost her footing on the sandy dirt and fell. The larger thug flung himself on top of her upper body. She struggled fiercely, biting his arms as hard as she could. The second kid hung onto her flailing legs.
"Beck, help, she's a #*&$%@! wildcat!" yelled the punk getting bitten. The skinny kid strolled over and jolted her with the stungun. The punk on top of her yelped from the shock. "Hey man, you nearly got me too!" He stood up, looking at his bloody arms. "Jeez, look what she did to me." He kicked her still form in the side. "Bitch."
"Don't worry about it," said Beck. "Just dump press-boy over the fence. I bet Angie's right, she's worth a lot more than what he paid us." He snickered, then pulled a roll of duct tape from his pocket. He rolled her on her side, taping her wrists behind her back, then her ankles. Rolling her on her back, he paused a moment to look at her. "She's a pretty thing, ain't she. Even if we don't get more money, we can have some fun with her." He put tape across her mouth. Beck then started checking her pockets. "Let's see, car keys gotta be here somewhere...ah!" He pulled them out triumphantly.
Beck then got up and went over to her car. He unlocked the trunk. "Will you look at all that storage for such a little car...how convenient." He turned to his companions. "Dump her in here."
As they closed the trunk lid, they heard the sound of another car at the allyway entrance. They glanced around. "Stay calm, boys," said Beck. "He didn't see nothing."
Roger's last appointment had finished sooner than expected, and he had decided to surprise Rowan by showing up early. He knew something was very wrong when he pulled into the entrance and saw the three young hoods closing the trunk of Rowan's car. He angled the Griffon so that it blocked the entrance completely.
Roger got out of his car, holding a remote control in his right hand. "What are you boys doing to that car?" he asked calmly.
The trio turned to face the tall black-clad man. His dark sunglasses gave him a menacing appearance.
"Hey man, it's our car! Mind your own business," yelled the kid with the bloody arms.
Smith smirked coldly at the words. "That's the wrong answer, punk." He flipped a switch on the remote. A pair of machine guns smoothly clicked into place on the sides of the Griffon. "I don't like liars," said Smith.
"He's bluffing, guys," said Beck. "That stuff's all for show."
"Oh, you think so?" Roger pressed a button, letting loose a hail of gunfire into the ground, stopping just short of their feet. Beck dropped the car keys.
"What do we do now?" whispered the bleeding tough.
"RUN!" shrieked Beck. The three dashed to the fence and scrambled over it, disappearing into the maze of narrow streets.
Roger ran towards Rowan's car. He grabbed the keys and unlocked the trunk. Oh god, he thought, looking at his sweetheart's limp body. He put his fingers against her neck,searching for a pulse. To his relief, he found it. "Those bastards," he muttered to himself. Carefully, he lifted her out of the trunk and carried her to the school's door, which he began to kick. "Let us in," he yelled, "Rowan's been hurt!"
The door flew open. A table was cleared and Roger laid her down on her side. He carefully pulled the tape from her dirt-streaked face. Someone produced a knife and Smith cut the tape binding her ankles and wrists. Rowan started to come to at at that point; she began to thrash wildly. Roger grabbed her wrists, pulled her into a sitting position and hugged her, rocking her like a child as he spoke soothingly. He noticed the twin burns on the side of her neck, typical of a stungun.
Roger could feel Rowan calm down as he cradled her. He pressed his face into her hair. Why was this happening? he wondered. He wished he could take her away, but there was no place to go. Paradigm was the whole world.
He kissed the top of her head, then lifted her face towards his. "Ro, are you okay?" She nodded yes. Someone offered her a glass of water. Daestar drank some, poured the rest in her hand and splashed her face. Clearing her throat, she spoke with quiet ferocity: "I want a restraining order on that damn reporter. I want to sue him and Paradigm Press. I don't care what it costs. I will NOT be treated this way!"
"I don't understand," said Roger. "Who are you talking about? What reporter? Who were those punks?"
Norman pushed his way through the circle of onlookers. "She means Michael Seebach."
Roger's eyes widened in surprise. "Seebach? He's got a great reputation. Why would he go after you?"
"Because of this." The young woman gestured towards the books. "He thinks I'm his key to unlocking the past. My name isn't on any of them - why he would decide to pick on me makes no sense. Someone must have said something."
(Angie, eavesdropping in the shadows, grimaced. Nothing had gone as planned. Those idiots had screwed up royally.)
Ro put her hand to her forehead. "I have a terrible headache! What did they hit me with?"
"A stungun. You've got burn marks on yur neck." Roger touched the angry red marks lightly. She winced, then looked up at Smith. "You know, I think I remember the skinny kid stunning Seebach. The little creep double-crossed him. He might still be out there."
"I'll take a look," said Roger. "Maybe I can talk some sense into him if he's there." He ground his gloved fist into his palm as he walked out. He would talk with more than words if he found Seebach out there; Roger had never been so angry before in his life.
The negotiator carefully inspected the ground. It was one of those times when his police training came in handy. He could recreate the scene in his mind. His sweetheart must have put up quite a battle, judging by the way the soil was torn up. He found blood stains on the sand, and recalled the bloody bite marks on the larger kid's arms. Smiling grimly to himself, he bet they'd match Rowan's teeth. She was not someone to push around.
Roger then noticed an object partially buried near the blood stains. He brushed the sand off it. It was an open switchblade. There was no blood on it. Roger closed it and put it in his pocket. Perhaps there were fingerprints on it; he would bring it over to Dastun if Rowan didn't object.
Roger continued scanning the area. There were drag marks leading to the fence. They looked like they were made by something fairly large and heavy, definitely man-sized.
Smith re-traced the marks, looking carefully for more clues. At the base of the fence he spotted a small piece of white cardboard caught between the wooden slats. He pulled it out. The name "Daestar" was handwritten on it. He flipped it over - it was a business card. It read: "Paradigm Press, Michael Seebach. Investigative Reporter," and had his office telephone number on it.
Well, thought Roger, it might not be enough to sue Seebach with (and nobody sued Paradigm Press, that was simply impossible) but it will give me some leverage to keep him away. He pocketed that too.
The next morning Roger Smith again woke up before his lady. He reclined quietly on the soft bed, caressing the supine Rowan with his dark eyes. She had thrown off the the blanket at some point during the night. The thin black silk pajama top she'd borrowed from him was the only thing preserving her modesty. Roger watched the slow rise and fall of her breath as she slept, and wondered if she was dreaming.
She was such a study in contrasts, the extremes of ebon hair and pearly skin, the mix of strength and vulnerability. Roger remembered the pathetic handprint in the cave. Looking at his lover's tranquil features, he could almost imagine the face of the child she had been, a child who believed she had no future. He wondered what that child would have thought if she could have somehow overheard their discussion last night, of their plans for marriage, for family, for sharing the path ahead no matter what.
Unable to resist touching her, he lightly traced the lines on the palm of one outstretched hand. Head, heart, life, fate; idly he wondered if the marks really held some arcane meaning. It was another question whose answer was lost in the past. Perhaps it was just as well. He covered her square palm with his own large one, flattening her hand against the mattress.
The sensation must have filtered into Rowan's slumber. She turned onto her side, facing him, and opened her emerald eyes. The first thing she focused on was Roger's handsome face smiling at her. She smiled back sleepily, then raised her free hand to pat his messy hair. Roger cuddled her against him, so that her face rested against his bare chest.
"Mmm," she murmured, "what time is it?" Roger glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand. "It's 8 o'clock," he said, stroking her dark head like a kitten. He smirked to himself, wondering how long it would take for his words to sink in.
It didn't take long - she sat up wide awake in less than a minute. "8 o'clock?! How could you let me sleep so late? Why didn't the alarm go off?" She climbed over him to get to the clock. "It's turned off? Roger," she turned towards him, plainly irritated, "did you do this?"
Roger lay on the bed, his arms behind his head, propped up by the pillows. He was smirking broadly at her, trying unsuccessfully not to laugh at her indignation.
"You find this funny? I've got meetings, errands, clients and you think this is funny? Oooh, you..." Rowan grabbed a pillow and started hitting Roger with it. He ducked, then seized the other pillow and started swinging at Rowan.
They both started laughing during the battle, got tangled in the blanket and ended falling off the bed in a heap onto the floor. They lay there for a few moments, stunned. Roger couldn't stop laughing. Ro had the hiccups.
"I'm sorry about the alarm," Roger finally managed to say. "I turned it off because you've looked so worn since Ilseberry. I thought you could use the extra sleep. I know you have appointments, I wouldn't have let you miss them."
All forgiven, the pair got ready for the day. They both had full schedules in separate parts of the city. While comparing itineraries, Roger noticed his last meeting would be near the school, which was Ro's last stop. He suggested they meet there around 3 PM and have a late lunch after she finished.
As they descended to the garage, they gave each other one last look-over. Roger looked splendid as usual, in a black suit this time. Rowan gave his tie a slight tug to straighten the knot. "Now you're perfect," she said, smiling at him. "Only now?" he smirked. He smoothed back a few loose strands of hair from her face, tucking them behind her ear. Ro was wearing a close-fitting grey pantsuit he especially liked on her. He smiled approvingly, then lifted her left hand to his lips. He kissed it just above the opal ring. The elevator door opened. "It's showtime," he sighed, and they went their separate ways.
Rowan decided she had time to make a quick detour to Military Police HQ before getting bogged down with clients.
Major Dastun was having his first cup of coffee for the day when Rowan breezed in. Dan was delighted to see her. Their schedules rarely coincided enough to allow more than an occasional lunch or dinnerdate. He immediately noticed the beautiful ring on her finger, but played dumb until she happily brought up the subject herself.
He gave her a bear hug, lifting her clear off her feet. "I couldn't be happier for you than if you were my own daughter," Dastun said. "I'm only sorry your parents couldn't be here too." He patted her shoulder.
"Dan," said Rowan, "Roger and I were wondering if you'd be willing to do somethng for us?" She smiled shyly, reminding Dastun vividly of the little girl he's rescued so long ago.
"What is it, Ro? You know I'd do anything I can for you."
She glanced down, her dark lashes shadowing her seaish eyes. "I know this probably sounds silly, But...would you be willing to pull double-duty for us? You're the only person Roger wanted as his best man, and I can't imagine anyone else walking me down the aisle...if it isn't too much trouble?"
Dastun put his hands on her shoulders. "Ro, honey, I would be honored. I'll be sure to get the day off. Have you picked a date yet?"
Rowan shrugged. "Sometime in the winter. Roger thinks Heaven's Day would be good, since it's the day we met." She smiled. "It would certainly be a hard anniversery to forget."
Dan chuckled. "I would never have taken Smith to be the sentimental type. That shouldn't be a problem. There's plenty of time to manage the day off." He kissed her cheek in a fatherly fashion, and she turned to go, smiling gloriously. Dan pushed his cap back and rubbed his head, watching her leave. Who would have thought a blind date could turn out so well?
Rowan's day sped by quickly. She stopped by the print shop to drop off more manuscripts before heading out to the school. The typographer greeted her familiarly, spending about twenty minutes discussing typesettigs and other minutiae. Daestar paid him and was halfway out the door when he called her back in: "Hey, Dr. Daestar, I almost forgot to tell you...there was a guy here the other day asking about you."
"Oh?" Rowan wrinkled her nose. She didn't like strangers gettng curious about her. "Did he say who he was or what he wanted?"
The printsetter shook his head no. "All he said was he had to talk to you. Didn't give a name or a reason. I thought you might want to know. He seemed sort of creepy."
Great, thought Rowan. I don't need this now too. "What did he look like?" she asked.
"About your height, maybe a little taller," he said. "Black beard and curly hair, kind of piled up on his head. Funny eyes, very light brown, almost yellow. He was in pretty good shape, not fat, not thin. Had a rough voice too, like he smokes a lot. Weird looking fella."
Ro nodded. "Thanks for the warning. I'll be exra careful." She smiled grimly and went on to the school.
Despite the area's bad reputation, Daestar had never before felt afraid to be there. This afternoon was different. She was spooked. Every darkened doorway, every shadowy corner, seemed full of menace.
Rowan pulled into the quiet allyway, parking as close to the barred door as she could. She hesitated before leaving the safety of her little car, carefully scanning her surroundings for any threat. Feeling foolish, she quickly got out, locked the car door, and entered the building.
She scolded herself for her imaginings as she went to meet with Norman Berg. He was in the center of the building, administrating the controlled chaos like a general. He waved when he spotted the tall beauty emerge from the sheet-covered doorway.
She waved back and went over to him. "Good afternoon, Norman. How are things going so far?" He always made her feel so formal. His many talents intrigued her...she often wondered what secrets his past held. She knew better than to ask - like Roger, he had no interest in his personal background, despite his fascination with whatever she dug up.
"Most things are going quite well, Miss Rowan. The new parts we needed for the hydroponics class have arrived intact this time, so we can start scheduling for that again. Also...oh my!"
Norman took hold of Rowan's left hand, moving it to make the ring glitter on her finger. "Congratulations, Miss Rowan. Is Mr. Smith the lucky gentleman?"
She nodded happily, a faint blush rising to her cheeks.
"Well done! I must say I always liked your young man. There was something about him that struck me, as if I'd known him before. Can't quite put my finger on it. It doesn't really matter though, does it? You are both happy and that's all that counts. Very best luck to you both.!"
Rowan smiled with pleasure. "Thank you Norman. That's very sweet of you. By the way, Roger wants to talk to you about some things when you have the time...something to do with a car he just bought. There's somethng else as well. We are buying another place to live and we were hoping you'd help supervise any work that needed to be done. You'd be paid very well, of course."
"It would be my pleasure, Miss Rowan. Now, before I forget, a gentleman arrived here shortly before you did. He wishes to speak to you about the school. He insisted on waiting for you."
Rowan grimaced. "Did he identify himself? What does he look like?" she asked. Norman's response closely matched the printsetter's description. She sighed, realizing she would have to meet the mysterious stranger. Since the school officially did not exist, calling the Military Police to remove him would only cause trouble for herself and Dastun. "Where is he?"
The older man pointed to one of the small teaching labs off the main room. All the walls were glass, allowing everyone a clear view of the visitor. He was sitting on a stool, his back towards them. "I thought it best to put him where I could keep an eye on him," said Norman. "Don't worry - we'll all be watching when you go in there."
"You're the best, Norman, thanks!" As Daestar approached the lab's door, the man turned to face her. The printsetter was right. There was something creepy about him. Well, she thought, better to face him here than outside.
Sitting quietly nearby, Angie had eavesdropped on the conversation between Berg and Daestar. She laughed quietly to herself. The annoying brunette didn't have a clue about what was going to happen, she thought. This was going to be fun. Angie turned her attention to the lab, smiling coldly.
The tall dark stranger stood up when Rowan entered the room. The intensity of his gaze was disturbing; Ro felt as if he was trying to swallow her with his yellow eyes. She shook the sensation off. He couldn't be any worse than Alex Rosewater, could he?
"I understand you have been looking for me?" She spoke with deliberate casualness, her hands in her pockets.
"Yes I have, Dr. Daestar, for quite a while now," he rasped (Rowan could smell the stale tobacco on him - it made her want to gag.) "You know, doc, the press photogs don't do you any justice." He whistled. (Angie snarled outside at that comment. What did these men see in this thin brunette anyway?)
"If you have a problem with the society page's choice of photographers, I suggest you bring it up with them, not me," Ro snapped. "Who are you? What do you want?" Angry, she glared at him, her green eyes meeting his coldly.
The stranger blinked, then chuckled. "You live up to your reputation as a straight-shooter, I see. That's good. I'm tired of games..." Rowan interrupted him: "...'tired of games?' Then what is this?" She seriously considered throwing him out bodily herself.
"Now, now...I am being rude. Let me introduce myself. I am Michael Seebach. I am an investigative reporter for the Paradigm Press. I want to do a story on this endeavor of yours." He stretched one arm out, gesturing towards the classrooms beyond the glass walls.
"No,' said Daestar.
"How can you say that? you are the only person willing to look clear-eyed into the past, and you refuse to help me expose the truth of it?" He stepped towards her.
"What are you talking about?" She kept her distance from him. If he really worked for Paradigm Press, then he would be linked to Rosewater.
"I've heard you roam the underground tunnels freely. Take me with you."
Rowan felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. As far as she knew, only Roger was aware of her forays into the subways beneath Paradigm. They argued about it frequently.
"Mr. Seebach, you are wasting your time and mine. I can't help you. What you are searching for will lead you to madness or death. Let it go."
The writer shook his head. "I am surprised at your reaction, doc. I know Paradigm holds no place in your loyalties. I thought you were a seeker of truth."
"My concern," responded Daestar, "is not for Paradigm, but for its citizens. What you want to do could unleash another disaster. That IS the truth. Some things can only be done slowly. Leave it alone! Go investigate loan sharks or shady businessmen. You'll do a lot more good."
Seebach looked at her, puzzled, his head cocked to one side like a bird. "You really mean that, don't you?" he asked quietly. He seemed oddly deflated, as if all the fight in him had evaporated (Angie smiled. The scene was playing perfectly.)
Rowan looked at him coldly. "Please leave now, Mr. Seebach. You know the way out." She opened the door and stepped out. She had had enough.
After the reporter left, Daestar waited almost twenty minutes before leaving the building. She did not want to bump into him outside, and she needed to run one last quick errand before Roger met her.
As she exited, she carefully looked about. Assuring herself that all was clear, she got halfway to her car when she heard Michael Seebach call her name. She started running to her car when two young thugs stepped out from behind it.
She stopped, and took a quick glance behind herself. The reporter was blocking her way back to the school. A third kid, tall and skinny with curly blond hair and a nasty smile, was beside him.
"Did you really think I would give up so easily, doc?" sneered Seebach, grinning toothily. His teeth were yellow from smoking. "You don't get to be an investigative reporter if you're not persistant."
"You're making a big mistake, Seebach!" yelled Rowan. "All you're going to get from me is a lawsuit!" She prepared to defend herself, waiting to see who would make the first move.
The larger of the two punks by her car approached her. "C'mon, baby, don't make it hard on yourself," he said, reaching out to grab her. She grabbed his arm instead and flipped him hard onto the sandy ground, knocking him out.
"What the?..." muttered Seebach. He hadn't expected this. The second kid pulled a switchblade from his pocket. "No girl messes with my buddies," he growled. "You need to learn some respect, bitch." He slashed the air with his blade.
"NO!" yelled Seebach. "Don't hurt her! I need her alive!" The skinny kid next to him pulled out a stungun and zapped the reporter unconscious. "You shoulda thought about that earlier, press-boy," the kid sneered. "You didn't pay me enough."
Ro kept her distance from the moving knife, watching for an opening. She kicked the blade from his hands, then reached out to throw him as well. Just as she grabbed him, the first kid got back on his feet and charged her from behind.
Rowan flipped the second tough onto the first, knocking them both down, but she lost her footing on the sandy dirt and fell. The larger thug flung himself on top of her upper body. She struggled fiercely, biting his arms as hard as she could. The second kid hung onto her flailing legs.
"Beck, help, she's a #*&$%@! wildcat!" yelled the punk getting bitten. The skinny kid strolled over and jolted her with the stungun. The punk on top of her yelped from the shock. "Hey man, you nearly got me too!" He stood up, looking at his bloody arms. "Jeez, look what she did to me." He kicked her still form in the side. "Bitch."
"Don't worry about it," said Beck. "Just dump press-boy over the fence. I bet Angie's right, she's worth a lot more than what he paid us." He snickered, then pulled a roll of duct tape from his pocket. He rolled her on her side, taping her wrists behind her back, then her ankles. Rolling her on her back, he paused a moment to look at her. "She's a pretty thing, ain't she. Even if we don't get more money, we can have some fun with her." He put tape across her mouth. Beck then started checking her pockets. "Let's see, car keys gotta be here somewhere...ah!" He pulled them out triumphantly.
Beck then got up and went over to her car. He unlocked the trunk. "Will you look at all that storage for such a little car...how convenient." He turned to his companions. "Dump her in here."
As they closed the trunk lid, they heard the sound of another car at the allyway entrance. They glanced around. "Stay calm, boys," said Beck. "He didn't see nothing."
Roger's last appointment had finished sooner than expected, and he had decided to surprise Rowan by showing up early. He knew something was very wrong when he pulled into the entrance and saw the three young hoods closing the trunk of Rowan's car. He angled the Griffon so that it blocked the entrance completely.
Roger got out of his car, holding a remote control in his right hand. "What are you boys doing to that car?" he asked calmly.
The trio turned to face the tall black-clad man. His dark sunglasses gave him a menacing appearance.
"Hey man, it's our car! Mind your own business," yelled the kid with the bloody arms.
Smith smirked coldly at the words. "That's the wrong answer, punk." He flipped a switch on the remote. A pair of machine guns smoothly clicked into place on the sides of the Griffon. "I don't like liars," said Smith.
"He's bluffing, guys," said Beck. "That stuff's all for show."
"Oh, you think so?" Roger pressed a button, letting loose a hail of gunfire into the ground, stopping just short of their feet. Beck dropped the car keys.
"What do we do now?" whispered the bleeding tough.
"RUN!" shrieked Beck. The three dashed to the fence and scrambled over it, disappearing into the maze of narrow streets.
Roger ran towards Rowan's car. He grabbed the keys and unlocked the trunk. Oh god, he thought, looking at his sweetheart's limp body. He put his fingers against her neck,searching for a pulse. To his relief, he found it. "Those bastards," he muttered to himself. Carefully, he lifted her out of the trunk and carried her to the school's door, which he began to kick. "Let us in," he yelled, "Rowan's been hurt!"
The door flew open. A table was cleared and Roger laid her down on her side. He carefully pulled the tape from her dirt-streaked face. Someone produced a knife and Smith cut the tape binding her ankles and wrists. Rowan started to come to at at that point; she began to thrash wildly. Roger grabbed her wrists, pulled her into a sitting position and hugged her, rocking her like a child as he spoke soothingly. He noticed the twin burns on the side of her neck, typical of a stungun.
Roger could feel Rowan calm down as he cradled her. He pressed his face into her hair. Why was this happening? he wondered. He wished he could take her away, but there was no place to go. Paradigm was the whole world.
He kissed the top of her head, then lifted her face towards his. "Ro, are you okay?" She nodded yes. Someone offered her a glass of water. Daestar drank some, poured the rest in her hand and splashed her face. Clearing her throat, she spoke with quiet ferocity: "I want a restraining order on that damn reporter. I want to sue him and Paradigm Press. I don't care what it costs. I will NOT be treated this way!"
"I don't understand," said Roger. "Who are you talking about? What reporter? Who were those punks?"
Norman pushed his way through the circle of onlookers. "She means Michael Seebach."
Roger's eyes widened in surprise. "Seebach? He's got a great reputation. Why would he go after you?"
"Because of this." The young woman gestured towards the books. "He thinks I'm his key to unlocking the past. My name isn't on any of them - why he would decide to pick on me makes no sense. Someone must have said something."
(Angie, eavesdropping in the shadows, grimaced. Nothing had gone as planned. Those idiots had screwed up royally.)
Ro put her hand to her forehead. "I have a terrible headache! What did they hit me with?"
"A stungun. You've got burn marks on yur neck." Roger touched the angry red marks lightly. She winced, then looked up at Smith. "You know, I think I remember the skinny kid stunning Seebach. The little creep double-crossed him. He might still be out there."
"I'll take a look," said Roger. "Maybe I can talk some sense into him if he's there." He ground his gloved fist into his palm as he walked out. He would talk with more than words if he found Seebach out there; Roger had never been so angry before in his life.
The negotiator carefully inspected the ground. It was one of those times when his police training came in handy. He could recreate the scene in his mind. His sweetheart must have put up quite a battle, judging by the way the soil was torn up. He found blood stains on the sand, and recalled the bloody bite marks on the larger kid's arms. Smiling grimly to himself, he bet they'd match Rowan's teeth. She was not someone to push around.
Roger then noticed an object partially buried near the blood stains. He brushed the sand off it. It was an open switchblade. There was no blood on it. Roger closed it and put it in his pocket. Perhaps there were fingerprints on it; he would bring it over to Dastun if Rowan didn't object.
Roger continued scanning the area. There were drag marks leading to the fence. They looked like they were made by something fairly large and heavy, definitely man-sized.
Smith re-traced the marks, looking carefully for more clues. At the base of the fence he spotted a small piece of white cardboard caught between the wooden slats. He pulled it out. The name "Daestar" was handwritten on it. He flipped it over - it was a business card. It read: "Paradigm Press, Michael Seebach. Investigative Reporter," and had his office telephone number on it.
Well, thought Roger, it might not be enough to sue Seebach with (and nobody sued Paradigm Press, that was simply impossible) but it will give me some leverage to keep him away. He pocketed that too.