Elizabeth stood on the balcony of her room the next morning, drinking in the glorious tropical scenery and trying to make sense of her fight with Virgil the night before. It had been a very odd conversation, to put it mildly…what on earth had he meant by all that stuff about "it's not you, it's us," and "I can't tell you why I can't tell them"?
Last night, his words had had her really worried, and she had lain awake for a long time, wondering what the hell was going on. In the sober light of day, however, she was much more inclined to dismiss the stranger elements of what he had said and put it down to one thing…fear of commitment. After all, all things being equal, the simplest explanation was usually the right one. Virgil didn't want to tell his family because he didn't want to commit.
But what should she do? She grinned, briefly considering outing him in front of his father and brothers by doing something that would make it clear to all of them where they stood…like kissing him at the breakfast table. The look on his face would be worth it, she thought… But then she reluctantly decided it would be a mistake. If there was anything she had learned about men, it was that a relationship needed to be their idea, or it wasn't going to work. Forcing him into admitting something he wasn't ready to deal with would only backfire on her, and maybe damage their chances permanently.
There was nothing else for it…she had to get him alone and talk to him, get him to admit where he really stood. Then she would know what to do.
She turned back into her room and headed toward the door. Time to beard the lion…
In the kitchen, the chaos that was breakfast time on Tracy Island was already underway. Tin-Tin and Gordon were squabbling over who actually owned the toast that had just popped up; Grandma Ruth was starting a huge pot of coffee; Kyrano was at the industrial-sized stainless steel range top, expertly juggling several pans of various breakfast food, ignoring the well-meaning input of Parker, who was standing by with a tray that was obviously for Lady Penelope; and Jeff was maneuvering skillfully around and through everything like a battleship in the middle of a firefight. He had somehow managed to assemble a full plate of eggs and bacon, and he leaned right in between Tin-Tin and Gordon as they argued, deftly snatching the piece of toast they were fighting over. "Actually," he said, "It was mine."
They both stared at him. Jeff grinned – reminding Elizabeth once again of Scott – and said to Grandma, "Mother, let me know when the coffee's ready."
He passed Elizabeth as he left the kitchen. "Good luck in there," he said. "And watch those two by the toaster…they're sneaky."
She laughed. "Good morning, Dr. Grant," Kyrano greeted her as she entered. "May I prepare breakfast for you?"
Elizabeth watched what he was doing with something approaching awe. "You look like you have your hands full already," she pointed out. "I can wait."
"This?" Kyrano smiled. "This is nothing. It is not even busy this morning."
"Blimey. Could 'ave fooled me," Parker said. "'Ere, watch 'er Ladyship's h'eggs. She likes h'em soft."
"Yes, Mr. Parker," Kyrano said, and Elizabeth couldn't help but smile at the twinkle in the patient Malaysian's eyes. "I am well familiar with Lady Penelope's breakfast requirements. She has come to visit us before, once or twice."
Parker opened his mouth to respond, then caught Kyrano's gentle sarcasm and shut it again.
Elizabeth glanced around as Scott came into the kitchen, yawning and scratching his head. He had dark smudges under his eyes, she noticed, and he was wincing a little at the bright light. "Morning," she said.
He mumbled something vaguely appropriate, shaking his head at Kyrano's offer of breakfast. He headed straight for the coffee, earning himself a disapproving stare from Grandma by pulling out the still filling pot and shoving a mug under the drip. "Scott," she said, "One of these days you're going to burn yourself doing that."
Scott flashed her a grin, filling the rest of his mug from the pot and deftly slipping it back under the drip without spilling a single drop. "One day, Grandma," he said. "Just not today."
He leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek as he swung back out of the kitchen, following Parker with Lady Penelope's tray. He's hung over, Elizabeth suddenly realized, putting together the signs. Her hunch was confirmed a moment later, when Virgil shuffled in.
He was in a lot worse shape than his brother, squinting visibly in the light, his chestnut hair sticking up on end. He was still in his pajamas, the top buttoned up all wrong. He paused in the doorway, the smell of eggs and bacon obviously making him feel too ill to enter the room. He looked longingly at the coffee, all the way across the other side.
Despite their argument, Elizabeth's heart melted at the sight of him, standing there looking so miserable and helpless. She crossed to the coffee, which had now finished its cycle, and poured a mug. She brought it to him.
He looked down at her, confusion evident through the pain of the hangover, as she handed him the coffee. "We'll talk later," she said softly, resisting the urge to rebutton his top for him. "When you're feeling better."
Oh, God, he thought, suddenly remembering why he had gotten so drunk.
He turned back out of the kitchen and shuffled toward the lounge, where Scott was standing on the balcony drinking his own coffee. On the way, he passed his father and Penelope, sitting at the table eating their breakfast. Virgil cringed at the sight of the eggs. "Dad," he said, "Do people still join the Foreign Legion?"
Jeff looked up at him. "What?"
"Never mind," Virgil said miserably, heading for the balcony. Maybe Scott would help him jump off.
Jeff called a security conference right after breakfast. As soon as Elizabeth was safely headed downstairs to the Infirmary, he dispatched Virgil to get Brains, telling everyone to convene in his office. Tin-Tin, Gordon and Scott were still filing in and taking their seats when a much happier looking Virgil reappeared with Brains in tow.
Virgil caught Scott's quizzical stare and took a seat beside him in the corner. "Here, take one of these," he whispered.
He surreptitiously slipped a small capsule into Scott's hand. Scott looked at it for a moment, hesitating. "What is it?"
"Just take it," Virgil insisted, trying to swallow the smile that was playing at the corners of his mouth. "You'll see."
Scott shrugged and tossed it back with a swallow of coffee. Literally seconds later he felt his hangover lifting, the headache and tension dissolving away. "Wow," he whispered. "This is great!"
"Told you," Virgil grinned.
"A…uh…recent…uh…discovery of mine," Brains murmured as he passed them, taking the seat on the other side of Scott.
Scott turned, looking at him with new respect. "Brains, you dog, you were researching hangover cures?"
"Well, no, actually, uh, Scott… I was looking for an a-antidote to the new, uh, NS71 nerve gas… But the, uh, principle is the same…"
"Nerve gas?" Scott and Virgil whispered together. They looked at him, then at each other, wondering if they should be worried about what it was they had just swallowed so willingly.
Penelope entered the office, followed by Parker. "Elizabeth is with Alan and they have begun his breathing exercises," she said. "We should be safe for at least half an hour."
"Thanks, Penny," Jeff nodded. He turned to the room. "Well, everyone, Brains and I have been talking since we returned with Alan yesterday about the security problems we had on the Southern Oceans Cup rescue. I don't need to tell you that we can't afford another attack like the one Scott experienced, where a man actually got on board Thunderbird One despite a heavy military guard and almost succeeded in hijacking him and the ship. It was a miracle he managed to turn the situation around."
Virgil glanced at Scott, realizing that he hadn't told their father about the almost fatal game of chicken he had played to turn the tables on the Hood. Scott carefully avoided his stare.
"We have come up with a couple of solutions. Brains?"
"Ah, yes, Mr. Tracy," Brains took the floor. "The challenge, first of all, was to, uh, come up with a new security system for a-all the Thunderbirds. Now, the, uh, main problem of any security system is that once the, uh-uh, potential infiltrator has figured out what the key is, then the system is rendered useless. For instance, live fingerprint scanning was real, uh, popular for a-a while, until people realized that they could be made to, uh, provide their fingerprints, whether they were, er, there or not…"
"Ew," Tin-Tin wrinkled up her nose, voicing the feelings of the room.
"What about a less easily removable body part?" Scott asked.
"Yeah," Gordon said. "How about a retina scan?"
"Uh, a retina scan is better than most of the a-alternatives," admitted Brains, "But you have to remember, uh, Gordon, that your retina will scan whether you are a-alive or not…"
"And that's not so good," Gordon agreed readily.
"Like I was saying e-earlier," Brains continued, "We need to find a-alternatives that are less immediately, uh, obvious. One is an a-addition to the chip e-embedded in your uniforms that prevents you from being, uh, photographed. If anyone sees you e-entering one of our, uh, ships, they won't see you ostensibly scanning, uh, anything, and so will not be i-immediately aware of what is granting you a-access."
Scott nodded slowly. "And if they can't figure out what we're doing, it's a lot harder to come up with a way to beat it."
"Exactly, uh, Scott," Brains smiled. "The, ah, other part of the system is an emergency fail safe e-entry code. Under extreme, uh, security conditions, you will be a-able to abdicate entry control."
"Abdicate entry control?" Virgil asked. "What does that mean?"
"I-it means, Virgil, that you cannot be made to, uh, reveal your entry code, because you won't, ah, know it."
"So who will?" Scott asked. "John or Alan in Thunderbird Five? And father?"
"Precisely," Jeff chimed in from the desk. "If you're in a situation where you know that your security is likely to be compromised, and you could be forced to give up the entry code, then that's where base can take over. Once that fail safe has been triggered, then you won't be able to gain access without our help."
"So we lock up the car and leave the keys with you," Gordon said. "That way if one of us is in danger of being forced to give up the ride…we can't get back in the driver's seat – or let anyone else in – without your help."
"But, Mr. Tracy," Tin-Tin said, "Couldn't that put the boys in a lot of danger? What if they can't reach John or Alan, or you, and they need to leave the area right away?"
"Tin-Tin, we're talking an extreme emergency situation here," Jeff said. "It's a thousand to one chance this would ever be needed. But with that Hood guy running around loose, we need to make sure we're prepared for all eventualities."
"There is, uh, one other thing," Brains said, his voice quieter now. "We are installing a self-destruct device in a-all the Thunderbirds."
"No," Scott frowned. "Father, we've had this discussion before."
"I know, Scott, and we've always decided that the risks outweighed the advantages. But you were hijacked and nearly killed out there a few days ago, and that man almost got hold of Thunderbird One."
The look on Scott's face promised a fight. "And I dealt with the problem before any of that became a reality," he said.
"Yes, Scott, but what if you hadn't been able to?" Penelope asked.
"That's not the point, Penny," Scott said, an exasperated edge to his voice. "It makes the solution too easy. If the Hood had gotten away with Thunderbird One, we would have figured out a way to get her back."
"But what on earth could be wrong with an easier solution?" she asked.
Scott flicked a glance at his father before looking back at Penelope. He controlled his rising temper with an effort. "I am not going to press a button and wipe out one of my family," he said. "And that's final."
He met his father's stare evenly. "You know how I feel about this. I'm in command out there, for Christ's sake."
"Yes, I know," Jeff said quietly. "You're the field commander. But ultimately, I'm still in charge, Scott."
"So, what…you're going to order me to kill one of my own brothers?"
"Scott, I'm not going to argue about this any more. I've made the decision. Installation starts tomorrow. You know the rules – security must be maintained at any cost."
Scott's jaw set like stone. "I want my objection on the record."
"Already done," Jeff said.
"Thank you," Scott said, standing up, voice stiff with suppressed anger. "Sir."
No one spoke for a long moment after he left the room.
By the time Virgil got down to the hangar, it was too late – Scott had already opened the recessed door and was taxiing the Tracy jet out into the sunlight. He waved, yelling, trying to get his attention, but Scott either didn't see him or didn't want to. Seconds later the jet shot down the runway and roared into the sky, headed straight up.
Virgil shaded his eyes against the eye-watering brightness of the tropical sky, watching Scott take the plane into a full vertical stall, feeling the weightlessness in his own stomach as the plane hung for a split second in midair like a swimmer going off a high board, before arching gracefully down again. Recovering from the stall, she streaked straight toward the water at terrifying speed. Just as Virgil's nerves began to scream that it was too late, that Scott wasn't going to be able to pull her out in time, the jet corkscrewed violently to the right and snap-rolled out of the dive, flying upside down as she started the long arcing climb back toward the top of another loop.
Dammit, Scott, Virgil thought, knowing that his brother would likely do this until he ran out of fuel. I really need to talk to you…
He gave up. Shoulders slumping, he turned back into the hangar.
On the balcony of the villa, Jeff also stood watching his eldest son try to rip the wings off their jet, his expression unreadable. Penelope came up beside him and watched with him for a long moment. "He has a point, you know," she said at last.
"Stay out of this, Penny," Jeff said, never taking his eyes off the jet. "You're not…"
"No," she said, deliberately keeping her voice neutral, despite the momentary flash of anger in her eyes. "Neither have I ever asked to be."
He looked at her then, seeing the set of her jaw, reading beyond the studied indifference in her words. Very slowly, the stony look in his eyes thawed. His voice was quieter, warmer, when he spoke again. "I know he does," he said, staring back up at his son.
"Okay, Alan, we're going to try coughing again," Elizabeth said. "Ready?"
"No," he said, only half-joking. He was fifteen minutes away from his next dose of morphine, and the pain was growing unbearable.
Elizabeth touched his shoulder sympathetically. "I know. Listen, take a couple of minutes…I've got to use the bathroom anyway. I'll be right back, okay?"
Alan sagged back against his propped-up pillows the second she was gone, face white, a line of cold sweat across his forehead. It was only just starting to dawn on him that this rehab was going to be a lot tougher than he had ever imagined. He couldn't move, breathe, or talk without this excruciating pain, and the breathing exercises, which included coughing to help prevent pneumonia, were the closest thing to hell he had ever experienced. He lived for the moment he could hit that morphine pump and exist for a little while without the agony, but he was also well aware that he couldn't hide behind that forever.
Oh, God, he was going to sneeze. Knowing how bad it was going to be, he tried frantically to stop it, but it was too late. He doubled over as the sneeze hit him, the agony ripping through his body with a force that made it impossible not to cry out. The pain threw him into a paroxysm of coughing, tearing his chest apart. Unable to get any oxygen into his lungs, he could feel himself beginning to gray out – but suddenly strong hands were steadying him and there was a pillow in front of him, pressed against his ribs, and miracle of miracles, the pain was easing. "Al, here, hold it like this," Gordon said, his voice calming and reassuring. "That's it. Now just breathe. See?"
Alan slowly got his spasming body back under control. He sagged back against the pillows. "Thanks," he whispered, wiped out.
Gordon smiled. "I can see you and I are gonna have to have a long talk about pain management, or you're not going to make it through the first week."
"That was very impressive," Elizabeth said from behind him. She had come running from the bathroom when she had heard Alan cry out, stopping only when she saw that Gordon had the situation well under control. "The pillow splint was going to be today's lesson. Where did you learn how to do that?"
Gordon looked around at her. "I have a little experience dealing with pain. I know what works and what doesn't."
"You do? How?"
Gordon shrugged. "Show her, Gordo," Alan said, his voice still sounding weak and watery.
"No," Gordon said, smiling and shaking his head. "That's really not necessary. He's all yours, Elizabeth."
He headed toward the door. Elizabeth said, "Gordon, wait. What did Alan mean?"
He hesitated, hand on the door switch. He looked back at her, and for the first time since she had met him, she saw a guarded expression come into his amber eyes. "Alan's just making a big deal out of everything, as usual."
"Gordo, she's a doctor, she'll get it," Alan said. "Just show her."
Gordon exhaled. He turned his back to Elizabeth and took off his shirt.
She couldn't help the intake of breath. Either side of the spine, his lower back was a mess of criss-crossed, rope-like scars. "Oh, Gordon," she said softly. "What happened to you?"
His tone was almost artificially light. "I was in a WASP hydrofoil prototype on a test run," he said. "We were doing four hundred knots when the stabilizers failed."
"Oh, my God," she said. "How did you survive?"
"I almost didn't. The first call my family got was to tell them that there were no survivors. The wreckage field was five miles long."
"But they did find you." The doctor in her was surfacing and she approached him. "May I?"
He nodded, his expression turning unreadable as she examined the scars. "I was the only one, out of a crew of six. They found me floating on a piece of what was left of the bridge control panel. They didn't recover enough of anybody else to even identify them." He paused for a moment, the memory still hard for him. "They called my father back and told him he should come…but that I probably wouldn't live long enough for him to get there."
"This looks like the damage was pretty extensive," she said. "Was there initial paralysis?"
He nodded, turning around. "The doctors told me they were eighty percent sure I wouldn't walk again. The tests said I wasn't a very good candidate for cord regeneration therapy."
"But it worked, obviously," she said, seeing the horror of that memory reflected clearly in his eyes. "How many operations have you had to stabilize your spine?"
"Nine." She could hear the shadows in his voice now. What a terrible ordeal it must all have been for him, she thought.
"I'm not surprised you know a lot about pain management, considering this," she said. "Does it still give you trouble?"
He shrugged, becoming increasingly uncomfortable now, wanting to bring the show and tell to a close. "Now and then."
"Gordo," Alan said, shaking his head.
Elizabeth looked at him. "I take it he's being a Tracy."
Despite the pain, Alan managed a smile. "Oh, yeah. It's a lot more than now and then. Sometimes he can't sleep at all."
"That's what you think," Gordon said, trying to make light of it. "I just like all-night Godzilla marathons. Without seventeen other people all fighting to change the channel."
There was compassion in Elizabeth's eyes. "Do you have the x-rays here? Can I see them? I'd like to…"
Gordon held up his hands. "Oh, no," he smiled. "I see that 'we have an operation that can help you' look. No more cutting."
"But Gordon, listen to me, you don't have to live with…"
But he shook his head, the uncharacteristically dark expression in his eyes warning her to stop. "It is what it is, Elizabeth. I'm done."
He slipped his shirt back on. Elizabeth looked at him for a long moment. Then she slowly relaxed, telling herself she might have lost the first battle, but she wasn't finished with this subject. She would find a way to revisit this with him later. "Well," she said, "You're certainly the most qualified person on Tracy Island to be Alan's coach in my absence. You want the job?"
He smiled. "That's why I'm here."
"Hey, Tally, welcome back. How's the big story coming?"
Tally glanced up from the laptop screen, seeing the tall, rangy form of senior WNN sports reporter Sandy Christiansen standing in front of her. "Oh, hey, Sandy." She leaned back, rubbing her eyes. "What big story?"
"I just had lunch with Dan," Sandy said. "He said you were working on some big piece about rescue organizations."
"Oh, yeah," she said, relaxing a little. "It's going okay. Just a lot of ground to cover."
He nodded toward the desktop computer sitting unused on the other side of her desk. "Something wrong with your computer?"
She shrugged. "Oh, you know…creature of habit. I'm on the road so much…I just get used to using the laptop." She couldn't tell him the real reason – that she didn't want to store anything at all on the WNN servers. This way when she left the office, her research went with her.
"So how was lunch?" she asked.
"Well, you know Dan," Sandy said, smiling. "It's not a good day unless he starts at least one fight."
She shook her head. "What was this one about?"
"Actually it was about you."
Tally frowned. "Me?"
"Well, sort of. Dan got all wired up thinking you'd missed a big story while you were down there in Sydney."
"What big story? Sandy, I have no idea what…"
He laughed at her expression. "Oh, don't look so worried. I just happened to mention to him that we'd heard over in sports that they brought a former American race car driver into the same hospital you and Michael were at. Gotta admit, I wish I'd known while you were still there. I would have had you track him down."
"I didn't hear anything," Tally said.
"He broke his ribs in some accident, that's what we heard," Sandy said. "I'm surprised you didn't get wind of it, though. Especially since they said International Rescue brought him in."
The whole room receded around her. Tally paused for a long moment, making sure she had control over her expression before she spoke up. "International Rescue?" she repeated, carefully keeping her voice neutral.
"Oh, yeah, the hospital cleared the parking lot for them, apparently. Wish we'd got that on film…but you know how it is with them. No pictures."
"So I hear," Tally said. "I'm sorry, Sandy, I was so busy with Mike… What was the guy's name?"
"Alan Tracy. Not that it'll mean anything to you, probably."
She kept her reaction out of her expression with a rigid effort of will, shaking her head with just the right touch of apology. "Sorry." Inside, she was swearing furiously at herself. Tracy! Goddammit, his whole family was there…right under my nose. That old woman who was so worried about the food being delivered was his grandmother…
Sandy shrugged, unaware of her inner turmoil. "It's just one of those stories that doesn't have an ending. A few years back, he was going to be the next big thing on the racing circuit. He was just a kid, but really good – he was winning everything for a while there. Then he just all of a sudden retired. Nobody could figure out why, and he wasn't giving any interviews. Then a couple of years ago he showed back up with this new car and won the Parola Sands Grand Prix…and then he vanished again. I've been dying to get an exclusive with him for a long time, but nobody knows where he is."
"Well, I'm sorry I didn't hear anything, Sandy."
"I just couldn't help wondering if maybe he was racing again, and that was how he broke his ribs…" Sandy shook his head, smiling ruefully. "You know how it is when you get obsessed with a mystery you can't solve..."
"Oh, yes," she said. "I know."
The second he was gone she swung into action, logging on to WNN's online clipping service. She typed "Alan Tracy" into the search field and hit "enter."
The first story to pop up had a picture of a good-looking young blond man in racing attire, brandishing a very large trophy. The caption read, "Alan Tracy wins Parola Sands Grand Prix." She fished out her camera and looked again at the picture she had taken in the hospital room.
Yes, she said to herself, pumping air with her fist. It was definitely the same man.
Excitement raced through her nerves. She was closing in.
Virgil was avoiding her.
Elizabeth had no choice but to arrive at that conclusion, after a whole day of the same thing happening. Every time she entered an area he was in, he immediately left. It had happened down in the infirmary, then in the lounge, then at the pool – and now again, when she had come up from checking on Alan and had stopped by the kitchen for some iced tea before going back down to the pool. As she came out on to the balcony, she saw Virgil at the bottom of the curving stairway. He had obviously planned to head up toward the villa…but when he saw her he abruptly reversed direction and disappeared down the path that ran alongside the house.
So this was his new tactic, she thought, shaking her head. Stay away from her until she left the Island, and hope everything would just magically go back to the way it was.
Men. It was a wonder the species ever managed to reproduce itself.
She sat beside the pool, only half listening to Tin-Tin and Penelope talking, trying to come up with a plan. Now what, she thought, would make it impossible for him to stay away from her?
A movement caught her eye and she saw Scott descending the stairs from the villa. And then she smiled.
Virgil had seen Scott come out of the villa and waited, hoping to catch his brother's eye and wave him over. He watched from the shadows beside the house as Elizabeth greeted him and invited him to sit beside her at the poolside. He gritted his teeth as she laughed and joked and sipped her tea, sending all those subtle little flirting signals that he knew so well. And he watched as Scott began to respond. Scott, who when they had been in high school had cut a swath through the girls so wide that he had his own fan club. Scott, who didn't know Elizabeth was his girl.
He couldn't leave…and he couldn't just stand there like an idiot, letting it happen. After fifteen minutes of agony he couldn't take it any more. He marched forward, seething.
Elizabeth, who had been watching his reflection the whole time in Scott's sunglasses, waited until he was only a few yards away. Then she stood up, telling Scott that she was going to refill her glass, and asking if he wanted anything. He said, sure, iced tea.
She smiled, bending down from the waist to retrieve the napkin she had "accidentally" dropped on the tiles, giving Virgil a perfect view of her ass. Knowing exactly what his reaction would be, she straightened back up gracefully and headed for the stairs.
Virgil arrived at the pool seconds later, fuming. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded.
Scott stood up, totally confused. "What?"
Virgil pushed him into the pool.
"Kyrano, you've outdone yourself," Jeff declared, surveying the dessert bar. "There must be fourteen flavors of ice cream here, not to mention the whipped cream and all the different kinds of syrup..."
"Well, Mr. Scott is making the dinner tonight," Kyrano smiled. "So I had a little free time on my hands."
"A little?" Jeff shook his head. He glanced out to the balcony, where Scott was barbecuing steaks, hamburgers and hot dogs on the big outdoor grill. Gordon, Tin-Tin and Parker were out there with him, and as he watched, Scott swatted his brother's hand away from a hot dog. For a moment he was vividly reminded of when his sons had all been little kids, and it had been him at the grill, back on his parents' farm.
A movement caught his eye and he saw his mother looking at him. He smiled, realizing that they had both been thinking the same thing.
"An ice cream bar!" Elizabeth grinned as she came into the room. "Kyrano, it looks delicious."
"Thank you, Dr. Grant," he said. His voice was soft as always, but she could see in his eyes that he was pleased.
She headed for the balcony. "Save some steak for me, Scott!"
He grinned over his shoulder. "I don't know if I can. The wolves are circling here."
Jeff was about to join them when he heard Penelope's voice. "Jeff, can I have a word with you?"
He followed her to his desk. "What is it?" he asked, studying her face.
"I've received a phone call from our correspondence service," she said. "Someone has been making inquiries."
Jeff frowned. "About us?"
"I'm afraid so," she said. "I'll leave for London in the morning."
He nodded. "I suppose that's best."
"Just keep me informed as to your progress with the Hood," she reminded him.
He smiled. "You know I will."
She looked past him toward the balcony, where Scott was now defending the grill against all comers, brandishing the tongs like a sword. "Try to work things out with him, Jeff," she said.
He turned, following her eyes. "I'll try, Penny," he promised.
After pushing Scott into the pool earlier that afternoon, Virgil had made a quick escape to the maintenance bay in search of something mechanical to tear apart. Taking out his frustrations on a poor unsuspecting recovery vehicle for the last couple of hours had helped unwind some of the tension, but eventually his growling stomach got the better of him. Realizing it was dinnertime, he cleaned up and headed in search of food.
The smell of barbecuing meat assailed his nose as he emerged from the elevator. By the time he reached the lounge, the informal dinner was already underway. Tin-Tin had helped her father bring out salad, corn on the cob and baked potatoes, and everyone was stacking their plates high. Elizabeth was now in the living room sitting with Jeff and Lady Penelope, and Virgil gave her a wide berth as he headed for the balcony.
"Uh, hey, Virg," Scott said, suddenly realizing how close he was standing to the balcony railings. He took a step back towards the house, gesturing at the grill. "Help yourself."
"Oh, shut up," Virgil growled.
"Okay," Scott said uncertainly, backing away a little further. It was a long way down, after all, and he had absolutely no idea what was wrong with his brother lately.
Ignoring the others looking at them both quizzically, Virgil grabbed the tongs and piled steak on to his plate. He turned back into the lounge…and paused.
Elizabeth was holding a corn cob upright on her plate and spreading butter on it. Slowly.
Penelope and his father, deep in conversation, weren't paying attention. Virgil, on the other hand, was completely unable to look away as Elizabeth speared the corn cob with her fork and lifted it to her mouth. She looked right at him and smiled as she licked butter off the tip.
Virgil made a tiny whimpering sound in his throat. He swung back around. The balcony suddenly looked like a really good place to eat.
"Virgil?" Tin-Tin asked. "Don't you want any salad?"
"Oh, shut up," he grunted, scowling at her as he stomped past.
It was dessert before he dared venture back inside. By now everyone had scattered across the lounge, talking, watching the televid screen, playing games. Virgil joined his father and Penelope at the ice cream bar. "Looks good, huh?" he asked.
Jeff glanced at him, grimacing slightly. "Don't tell Kyrano," he said, "But I've got a touch of indigestion. I don't think I'll be having any ice cream tonight."
"Well, I'm not surprised, Jeff," Penelope said, "Considering that plate of eggs and bacon you had for breakfast. If you eat like that all the time…"
He smiled at her. "Now don't you start nagging me, too," he said. "I get quite enough of that from mother and Kyrano."
He and Penelope headed back toward their table, leaving Virgil alone at the ice cream bar. He was contemplating his choices when he heard Elizabeth's voice from behind him. "Hi, Virgil," she said. "You know, I just realized I haven't talked to you all day."
Virgil backed up nervously, reacting to her slightly predatory tone. "Well, ah…I, ah…"
"Look at all this ice cream," she interrupted him. "Doesn't it look delicious? I think I'm going to make something yummy."
Not quite sure what to do, he stood there watching her as she selected a boat-shaped dish and carefully placed two rounded scoops of strawberry ice cream in it. Then she picked up a banana and peeled it, very slowly, flipping the peel into the trash with a flick of her wrist. He stared as she stood the banana upright between the two scoops of ice cream, pushing them together to hold it in place. Then she took the can of whipped cream and shook it. "Oooh, whipped cream."
Hardly breathing, he watched, mesmerized, as she squirted the white foamy confection in a slow spiral up around the banana. She looked up at him, eyes smoldering. "What do you think, Virgie? Chocolate syrup?"
"Ah…ah…I gotta go…" Virgil bolted from the lounge, suddenly needing to be somewhere, anywhere else.
Elizabeth grinned after him. "Lightweight," she murmured.
Virgil lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, sleep a very long way away. He wanted her. God, how he wanted her. His body had him on a rack, torturing him endlessly with images of how she felt beneath him and around him, the sounds she made, how the scent of her hair filled his senses.
He had a feeling it was going to be a very long week.
In his own bedroom next door, Scott stirred in his sleep, an incongruous knocking sound disturbing him. He rolled over in bed, squinting at the clock, then glanced, puzzled, toward the wall that separated his quarters from Virgil's. As awareness dawned he realized that the sound that had awakened him was the water pipes banging – a tie had broken loose somewhere in there a few days ago, and he kept forgetting to put in an order to get it fixed.
He did wonder, briefly, as he drifted back to sleep, what on earth his brother was doing taking a shower at three o'clock in the morning…