Chapter 14

San Francisco

"I'm sorry, Dr. Rayne," said the manager of the St. Francis Hotel, one of San Francisco's most venerable institutions. "We weren't prepared for quite so much press attention. Shall I have your car brought round to the service entrance?"

"It must have been a slow news day," observed Derek. "Are you up to it, honey?" he asked Kym.

"Of course," she replied, adjusting her velvet evening wrap. "It wouldn't look very good if the prize winner bugged out by the garbage chute, now would it?" She made use of the reflection offered by the glass elevator to smooth her hair and center the small, gold cross at her throat. She wasn't sure she cared for the forest green gown... it made her hair seem all the redder, but Derek liked it and that's what counted. Kym glanced out at the city's lights, fuzzy through a light fog, then turned to straighten her husband's bow tie. She grinned as she reached up to brush aside a perpetually unruly lock of dark hair.

The precept smiled down at his wife and took her hand to place it through his arm. "Have our car brought around to the front, Mr. Fong. We'll run the gauntlet," he said with bravado. "I wish I'd had the sense to use the limo tonight," he whispered to Kym. "It makes for a cleaner escape."

"Who knew that the Vice-president would cancel out of that fund raiser over at the Hyatt at the last minute...."

"...sending the lemmings scampering en masse across Union Square. At least we were convenient for them," he chuckled.

Kym clutched her husband's arm as they exited the elevator and walked through the elegant lobby toward the doors. Once outside, Derek was peppered with questions. Reporters and photographers jostled for position. Cameras flashed.

"Dr. Rayne," one shouted, "congratulations on your award!"

Glowing with pride, Kym looked up at the man beside her. Receiving the city's highest humanitarian award at such a young age was no small thing. As their black Jaguar sedan idled at the curb, Derek smiled and ushered her through the crush. Kym was impressed by his calmness. Here she was, a New York City girl used to Times Square on New Year's Eve, feeling a bit claustrophobic. But then, Derek, with his six-foot height, wasn't looking at everyone's chests.

"Do you intend to support the mayor's initiative?"

Derek smiled, "No comment."

"Rumor has it that you'll testify before Congress on the pending stolen antiquities legislation."

Slipping his hand around his wife's waist, he smiled again and guided her the last few steps to the car. As the valet opened the door for Kym another reporter called out.

"Dr. Rayne! Don't you think your considerable donation to the university's parapsychology department is something of a waste? Money that might better be spent elsewhere?"

Derek turned to face the crowd. Kym knew, without a doubt, that that eyebrow, which always rose during piques of stubbornness, was on its way up. "Investigation of the unknown is never a waste," he commented. His slight Dutch accent tended to thin when annoyance demanded explicitness.

The newswoman continued, "But with so many other things in need of funding, surely common sense dictates...."

The precept stood firm. "Common sense dictated that man would never walk on the moon... to use a tired example. Common sense dictates that a bumble bee cannot possibly fly." With that, he strode around the car, tipped the waiting valet, slid into his seat, and they were off.

"I'm sorry about that, Liefje," Derek said, once they had slipped into the city's traffic. "Do you mind if we take the long way home?" he asked, turning west onto Geary. "I promised Professor McNeil that we'd examine a parchment that one of his grad students found. He has it at his home in Sausalito."

"I don't mind... I'll just enjoy the ride,"said Kym, snuggling into her seat... just as she had enjoyed his little speech. Kym had noticed that whenever her husband was pushed the way that reporter had pushed, the Derek Rayne who emerged, ready for battle, seemed taller, stronger, more cunning, and definitely more debonnaire. He reveled in the challenge.

"I'm sorry," Derek said. "I should have sent one of the interns to pick it up today, but it completely slipped my mind." He gave his bow tie a tug and unbuttoned his shirt's stiff wing collar.

"It's OK," she said, "Really." She had to smile... Derek's youth was showing. Though she knew that her husband had grown up in a shirt and tie, he, nonetheless, like her brothers, detested his "monkey suit." She chuckled at the thought of Quentin, the youngest of her brothers, who had always gone out of his way to have "homework" on the night of any charity gala or Legacy function.

They drove in silence for a few minutes, then Derek asked, "It wasn't much of a birthday, was it?"

Kym gave his hand a pat. "It's been a wonderful birthday. Seeing you get the rewards you deserve is a perfect birthday, as far as I'm concerned. But," she continued, "is life in the limelight always like that?"

"Sometimes," her husband replied, making a right onto Van Ness Avenue. "Does it bother you?"

"No," Kym answered thoughtfully. "I just don't think I'll ever get used to it."

"That's good," said Derek. "They're always waiting for that photo or comment that can make a splash in the tabloids. The foundation walks a fine line... science and academia versus the Legacy and the paranormal. Many illustrious careers could be ruined if it became known that they were associated with the stigma of paranormal investigation... scientific and academic credibility would be lost... the Legacy could be crippled... and 'Old Scratch' would lose his itch. The money I dispense through philanthropy does a lot to counterbalance curiosity, but the Luna Foundation is... what should I say? Vulnerable?"

Traffic was light. They had already passed the baroque plasterwork Palace of Fine Arts and were entering the Golden Gate Bridge Freeway. Ahead, Kym could see the great orange pylons, spotlighted in the fog.

"Yes... so many things are vulnerable," she said quietly.

With a quick half-smile, Derek glanced at her. Though he couldn't see her face, he could tell from her body language and tone that she had slipped into a pensive mood. Not certain that this was a good thing, he chose to proceed with caution. "Most things are," he commented, "in one way or another... if one knows where to look."

"Especially people," Kym added.

Approaching the toll gate, Derek's mind focused on his driving. "Ummm... ummm," he murmured, fishing in his trouser pocket for the fee. When he rolled down the window, Kym could hear the deep bellow of the fog horn just beyond the harbor's mouth. The woman stretched from the tollbooth to hand Derek his change and on they drove.

As they neared the crest of the span, Kym repeated, "People are so fragile, aren't they?"

It took a moment for Derek to realize that his wife had spoken. "Um... ummm," he agreed, absently. "Fragile... yes... but, so complex... so many weaknesses, yet sometimes such amazing strength that seems to come from nowhere."

Unbidden, Kym's mind had flashed on that night when she had searched for, and found, the scar under her husband's arm. "The flesh is weak," she said, "...so easily tempted... or pierced."

Derek chuckled, "You're not turning biblical on me, are you? The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak?"

Kym grinned. "No... but if you want a philosophical discussion, I'm your girl."

"Philosophy?" he said with surprise. "I'm game."

Kym smiled again. One had to maneuver Derek so carefully. "I recall you and my father talking for hours on the subject."

"Yes,"he admitted. "We did go in circles on occasion... circular logic... your dad's quite good."

"What was it like then?" Kym asked. "Cassie and I always had to listen from the outskirts."

Derek made the exit onto the dark, winding, two lane road that lead to the quaint, bayside town of Sausalito. "What was what like?" he asked, momentarily distracted.

"I don't know," Kym replied. "Everything... I vaguely know about his Legacy cases, but I don't know much about yours... except that Dad once said that your cases tended to be intellectual... and more dangerous than most."

Derek laughed again. "Sometimes not so intellectual... and mostly not very dangerous... just boring, dusty old research.... Here we are," he said, turning into a dockside parking lot and stopping. "I'll run down to McNeil's boat... I'll just be a minute."

As he hopped out, Derek left the engine running. Kym watched him trot down the line of tethered houseboats. She wasn't going to let the conversation drop. She had tried a couple of times to bring her husband around to the subject of the bullet wound under his arm, but had never succeeded in finding the right approach. She feared that if she tried a direct question without laying preliminary groundwork, he would simply raise the barriers and that would be the end of it. Kym thanked her stars for all those years spent with her own secretive people. She had good timing and knew how to broach the most sensitive topics at the best possible moment.

A couple of minutes later, he was back. He tossed the cardboard tube containing the document, in the back seat, climbed in, and fastened his seatbelt. Kym sensed her opening. As soon as they were on their way up the inlet, she continued, her tone incredulous, "So... your cases were dusty and boring? What about San Juan Bautista?"

Derek felt quicksand ahead, but could get no inkling of where it might lie. "San Juan Bautista was a rarity. You should know from the cases Bruce had you research... most are bogus... ghosts that are really an active imagination... or a desire to see a loved one... poltergeists that are an adolescent boy's overactive hormones...."

Kym gazed out the window at the darkness. "I wasn't really talking about that."

"Liefje, what are you getting at?" Derek decided that he might as well step into the bog now, rather than later. "I know you have something on your mind that you are working your way around to... I see it coming."

"I found something of yours," Kym said flatly. She glanced at him as the headlights of a passing car illuminated his face. She could read nothing.

"Yes?"The precept was losing patience. "Do enlighten me. We'll be home soon."

"I found one of your journals."

"Which one?" he asked. "There are quite a few."

Kym twisted her wedding ring and took a deep breath. This was it. "One that maybe I shouldn't have found... in the double bookcase on the mezzanine... the bookcases you didn't show me."

"Honey... I've been keeping journals since I was old enough to write... a new one each year," Derek explained. "When I joined the Legacy, they became Legacy Journals. You are free to read any and all of them."

"Derek," said Kym, "please, don't lie to me. Why didn't you tell me you were shot?"

"Shot? You know I prefer swords," he stated in a voice completely devoid of emotion. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Of course, you do," she countered. She had quickly learned that her husband resorted to that tone when there was something he didn't wish to discuss. "I just asked you not to lie to me."

Derek understood neither the why nor wherefore of Kym's mood. "Honey... spit it out," he demanded. His own humor was rapidly disintegrating. "I'm getting bored with this 'philosophical' discussion," he said with sarcasm.

"I'm sorry if I bore you," Kym retorted. How dare he challenge me on sarcasm! "You, William, Rome, five years ago... you shoved him aside and took a bullet yourself... you neglected to tell him, then proceeded to pass out. How bad was it?"

"I never wrote that in my journal," Derek protested, "and I'm sure that, since it never happened, neither did William."

"I don't believe this," Kym said quietly as she buried her head in her hand. "You two never told the Legacy either, did you?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"I don't care," Kym declared. She had had enough of this... these little Derek-games!

Derek gripped the steering wheel with both hands and stared with single mindedness at the road ahead. Phase number two, thought Kym, "the stone wall." "Fine, Derek," she said. "We don't have to talk about it... maybe I'll just call William tonight."

Derek laughed. "Go right ahead, if it'll make you feel better." He knew he could trust Sloan. After all they had trusted each other with their lives often enough.

Kym was fuming and near tears. She hadn't expected this to be easy, but somehow she had hoped for more. "What would make me feel better is if, just for once, you would treat me as an equal!" Her temper flared.

"Honey... I don't know where this is coming from," Derek said. "You are an equal. You are my wife and I love you," he continued, "but there are some things concerning the Legacy that I cannot discuss... nor is it for everyone and their brother, in or out of the Legacy, to know."

How dare he attack my family! Kym thought. I don't care who he thinks he is... this has gone far enough! Bitterly, she fired back, "In the Legacy spouse means lesser.... We all know that. Just tell me what happened... that's all I ask... as your wife and someone who loves you very much," she pleaded.

"Did you 'see' something?" he asked suddenly.

"Christ! Derek... just for once forget the Legacy... forget all the psychic mumbo jumbo.... Just tell me what happened... the way a normal husband would tell his normal wife about an important incident in his life." Kym waited.

Derek slowed to make a right turn onto the road to Tiburon and the ferry. As he stopped at the light, he rubbed his forehead, then drove on in taut silence. Once they were on the ferry, he continued in a tone of utter exasperation, "OK... I give up... but this is something that William and I did not record... the Legacy knows nothing... we promised each other."

"I am not the Legacy," Kym spat. "I will never be the Legacy. I detest the Legacy."

Derek sighed. "I was twenty-three. London was not pleased that William took me on that case, but he needed my 'Sight' and my anthropological expertise to identify the bones of a young girl, a Roman aristocrat. It was supposed to be easy... but when we got to Rome, we discovered that a witches' coven was also after the bones. It became a treasure hunt plus hide-and-go-seek in the catacombs. William and I got the ossuary and ran for it. That's all there was to it," he firmly concluded. Neither he nor Kym spoke during the remainder of the ferry's passage.

At last, as they turned onto the narrow road leading to the mansion's eucalyptus lined drive, Kym asked evenly,"What about the scar?"

"What scar?"

"The one under your arm," she replied softly.

"There were some shots fired," Derek conceded. "A rock fragment hit me there... no damage... just a scratch. It was dark and we were all lousy shots."

"That's it!" shouted Kym in complete vexation, and like every wife at some point in her married life has done, she said, "Stop the car!"

Derek slowed. "Liefje," he said.

"Derek Rayne," she said indignantly, "do not lie to me. I won't take it."

Nearing the end of his stamina, the precept said, "All right. You want the truth, Kym?... I did a stupid thing, but I was lucky, and I'd probably do it again. I saw someone aim a pistol at William. He didn't see... if I had shouted, it would have been too late. I pushed William out of the way just as they fired off a clip... bullets bounced everywhere. I caught a ricochet in the armpit. We got away from them in the tunnels...we managed to save the bones... and we came home," He looked straight through the darkness at his wife and demanded, "Is that enough for you?"

It was not enough, because Kym knew there was more, but she also knew that she was not going to get it. "Of course," she said coldly, "if that's all the great Derek Rayne, San Francisco's precept, wishes to say, then who am I to question it?"

"Schatje, honey," he said, "I don't know what more you want of me. It was a long time ago."

"Only five years," Kym whispered. "Derek, you almost died... I know it."

"But I didn't... I'm here."

"True," Kym admitted, "but what about next time... what won't you tell me then?"

"I'll always tell you what I can," he promised. "I just don't want to worry you when there's no reason."

"Why is everyone always trying to decide what's good for me? I'm all grown up, Derek. I can handle it."

"Kym... you have a chip on your shoulder that I think comes from being the youngest in a large family. Everyone has decisions made for them... by employers... by Fate... by the law... whatever," Derek said in aggravation. "...and from the way you talk, I'm not sure you can handle it."

"Excuse me?" said Kym. Her voice was soaked in a quiet fury that her husband had never before heard.

Derek parked the car in the mansion's porte-cochere and turned off the ignition. He turned to face his wife. A buried anger colored his words with a tone of absolute, brutal honesty. "Kymberlee... grow up. You married me knowing who and what I was. At first, I admit, it wasn't really our decision, but last June you chose to walk down that aisle to me... alone."

Stunned and hurt beyond all expression, Kym could only murmur, "Yes, I did."

Derek reached into the backseat for the parchment. "I have work to do in the control room. Don't expect me," he said, knowing that sharing a bed with him was the last thing Kym would want that night.

CHAPTER 15

E-mail: Dubricus

CONTENTS

E-mail: Selena

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