Legacy of Danger

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Dkany Home Evanston, Illinois

The afternoon after the funeral turned out as miserable as Alex’s mood. Who’d want to run down an old woman like Magda? One witness account convinced him this had been a carefully planned attack.

Someone murdered her, but why? Had the old woman known a secret that would prove dangerous to someone? Was she eliminated? Again, the nagging question. Why?

Then there was Magda’s granddaughter. Ten years was too long to brood over any girl. But from the moment he’d caught her in the cemetery, he’d found his heart just as vulnerable. He had to be careful. She didn’t appear to give a damn about him. Especially when Gregory Balogh suggested marriage.

The fog was like pea soup—so dense he nearly walked into one of the pine trees bordering the sidewalk to Elena’s front porch. Waves crashed against the rocks of Lake Michigan’s shoreline, and the lonely moan of a nearby foghorn became his acoustic landmark. Something about its plaintive requiem forced the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end. A premonition? Crazy. He didn’t believe in them. He sighed, turned away from the tree, and used the gift box he carried as a shield to press their piney branches back.

Alex finally reached for the doorbell. He hoped the box Magda left with him might help soothe Elena’s pain.

Marina opened the door. She gave up a yawn. Bloodshot eyes almost matched a ringlet of her red hair. “Hey.” She might as well have hung a sign around her neck that read ‘just got out of bed.’ He grinned. His sister was hung over—a first.

Marina frowned. “What’s so damned funny?”

“Drink too much?”

“Yeah. You look like hell yourself. What time did you get up?”

“About eleven,” Alex answered. “And I always look like hell.”

“We’re just having coffee. Come on in before you melt into this fog.”

He stomped the dampness from his shoes and followed his sister inside.

Elena sat at the kitchen table, drinking coffee.

His gaze rested on her black silk Chinese robe, violet lace peeking out from under the opening. Her hair disappeared into the collar, except for stray tendrils that escaped from her clip.

His heart thumped, and a residue of old heartache washed over him like the fog outside. He needed to make it perfectly clear—he would not go to Romania with her.

“I just wanted you to know, I can’t go to Romania. My schedule . . .”

She raised her eyebrows and stared at him.

Alex redirected his sentiments to Marina. “In case there was any misunderstanding.”

Elena waved his comment away and sipped her coffee. “This isn’t a sightseeing tour, and I don’t need a translator.” The word jerk was there in her mind. “I didn’t expect this would be a vacation.”

Marina’s eyes shifted, and she gave her brother a half-smile. “You mean you wouldn’t help a friend in need? That’s very unlike you.”

Elena lifted her coffee cup to her mouth, then put it back on the table. “Listen.” An edge crept into her voice. “I appreciate your concern, Mari. Really. However, I don’t think either of you knows my reason for wanting to go. I don’t need—or want—company.” A strand of hair fell into her coffee cup. She removed it and pushed the stray lock behind her ears.

Alex watched, fascinated.

“Magda wanted to convert the castle into a school,” Marina said. She eyed her brother. “A college prep for poor children.”

Elena tapped her finger on her coffee mug, a shadow of annoyance crossing her face.

Strange girl—the one he’d let slip from his grasp. He scrutinized the blue eyes that broke his heart whenever he thought of them.

“Why?” Alex sat on a kitchen chair, leaned back, and folded his arms. Magda had mentioned one day she thought the castle might make a good school. Had that been her intent?

Was that contempt in Elena’s eyes? It appeared and vanished quickly.

“Why not? My ancestors, including my brother, enjoyed years of luxurious living at that castle. Why not give something back?” She shrugged. “I’ll be back to attend Briar Hill in the fall.”

Alex nodded. The new Briar Hill, PhD student. Magda told him she’d come. “You expect to do all that in the next two months?”

“I’d like to think it’s possible.”

Her desire to go back to Romania surprised him. She had a lost look in her eyes—haunted even. The sweet innocence that defined the girl he’d loved was gone. Replaced were hints of sorrow and a strong sense of determination for something—but, for what? Her grandmother’s school?

He changed the subject. “Here,” he pulled out the box from behind his chair and sat next to her. “I brought you something.”

Her eyes brightened with surprise. “Thank you. I didn’t expect . . .” She tilted her head and looked puzzled.

Alex finished her sentence for her. “It’s not from me. Magda wanted me to keep it for you until the time was right.” He sat back waiting for her to open the box.

Elena crossed her arms. “So, this isn’t a gift from you.”

Alex sighed. “No. But, I thought it might cheer you up.”

“What is it?”

“Don’t know.” Whatever it was, he’d hidden it in his closet for years, with the promise he wouldn’t look inside.

A smile crossed her face. “Okay, Alex.” She held out her hand.

“Friends?”

“Friends.” He pushed his mug out of the way and took her hand. Her touch sprouted images of fresh sheets and warm bodies, and he didn’t want to let go. That worried him, and he pulled back a little too abruptly.

Elena looked at her hand, then at him, and bit down on her lip.

“Okay.” Her tone implied it wasn’t.

She blew out a deep breath, then opened the box and pulled out a Romanian peasant wedding outfit.

“Oh my God,” Marina’s mouth fell open as her eyes narrowed at her brother.

“What?” he asked. An authentic Transylvanian wedding costume. So? What was causing all the looks? A white blouse decorated with rose-colored stripes surrounded by flowers. She pulled up another layer of tissue paper. Hidden in the wrappings lay a matching skirt with an eyelet hem and a border of blue, green, and red flowers.

“Where on earth . . . ?” The color washed from her face.

Tears flowed down her cheeks. The bright flowers on the skirt hem mocked the misery in her face.

“What’s the matter?” Alex got up for more coffee. Distracted, he missed the edge of his cup and spilled hot liquid over his hand. The carafe slipped and slid onto the counter.

“Damn!” He jumped back and leaped two steps to the sink, allowing cold water to douse the burn.

“Alex?” The two women started to get up, looking ready to pounce with first aid remedies.

Damn. Damn, damn. “Don’t get up. I’m okay.” Sure he was. His hand ached.

He mopped the spill with a dishrag, poured another cup, and came back to the table.

“Will someone please explain the significance of that costume?” Alex asked.

Marina shot him a ‘shut up’ look, the kind siblings cultivate with each other. Some things shouldn’t be discussed.

“It’s okay.” Elena’s glance moved between them. “This was my wedding dress. Maybe Uncle Gregory or Freddy sent it to Magda after they flew me back to the states. They probably didn’t think I needed to see it.”

This he didn’t need. Alex’s stomach lurched, thinking this was the wedding dress she’d worn when she’d wedded—and bedded—another man. Just great.

He settled back in his seat and took a sip of coffee, refusing to let her emotions get to him. He wasn’t prepared for the wallop his stomach took.

A dog-eared leather-bound album lay in the bottom of the box. Photos Alex didn’t think he wanted to see. Please, just put it back into the box.

But Elena didn’t appear to be reading minds this morning. She opened the yellowed pages, dropped it as though stung, pushed back, and knocked over the chair.

Alex looked down at the album. Staring back at him was the pretty seventeen-year-old he’d taken to the senior prom standing beside a blond youth, their fingers entwined. A priest stood behind them. Curled up on the tissue was a silver cross with the chip of a red ruby.

“Oh no.” Elena doubled over. Marina tried to catch her, but she pulled out of her arm, grabbed the box, and ran from the room.

Alex heard her footsteps running up the stairs.

How could he have been so stupid? Or—

Marina’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry, Alex. You couldn’t have known. Maybe that’s why Magda didn’t want this in her house until the time was right.”

“The time wasn’t right,” Alex whispered, still numb.

“The time may never be right.” Marina’s voice came from far away, and the temperature dropped.

“What the . . . ?” Alex glanced at the kitchen thermometer that read forty deg rees. A few minutes ago, seventy-five.

Why the sudden change?

Elena sat on her bed. The sobs from shock and sadness subsided, but she still shook from the memories.

Almost ten years ago, a d**g-crazed student from the University of Bucharest broke into her apartment and murdered her family. She managed to kill him but almost succumbed to her own wounds. Her brother and Mr. Balogh stayed at the hospital every day until she recovered. Freddy must have sent Magda the package after he’d cleared out her things and moved them to his cottage on the castle grounds. Her heart slowed with bereavement. If she felt this way now, how would she react when those ghosts confronted her in Romania? Maybe going back was a mistake.

No matter. Her life had gone up in smoke, knifed in its very heart. And, when she returned home, Magda whisked her off to the University of Indiana. There had been no discussion of getting back with Alex. He’d gone to study in Washington, and she hadn’t seen him since—until yesterday.

The years hadn’t been entirely kind to Alex, and his reputation preceded him. He could make a woman tremble with desire and then send her spiraling into a deep depression when he’d finished with her. Marina had warned her. Be careful. Look, but don’t touch. Touch, but don’t get hooked. Alex would not marry you. But just this morning, he’d said—No, forget it.

Elena pulled her robe closer to her, not exactly cold but chilled from the shock. This wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t known what was in that box. Magda was secretive in her ways, but she’d never have hurt Alex by showing him the wedding costume. Still, she needed to blame someone.

The temperature was hot and oppressively humid. The ceiling fan struggled to circulate the air.

Marina peeked inside; her hair was wet beneath a towel. “Are you all right?”

“No,” Elena replied softly. “I’m not all right. But I will be. It was just the shock of seeing my life jump out at me. It wasn’t your brother’s fault. It’s something I have to deal with.”

“He felt terrible about it. You know he didn’t . . .”

Elena smiled. “He didn’t know. I’m not blaming him.”

“Do you want me to put this costume on the top shelf in your closet?”

“No. Leave it here. I’ll put it away later. I need to hold it for a minute.”

“That may not be so healthy for you, but okay.”

Marina turned to go and hesitated. “Alex is going to stay until after Mr. Balogh leaves tonight. Is that okay with you?”

“Yes, it is.” She suddenly realized his friendship was important to her.

The dress lay on the bed, smelling of mothballs and lemon-scented detergent stored in—ice? Strange. The inside of the box had been warm when first opened. Now, a frost vapor trail materialized as if the package had emerged from cold storage.

Apprehension turned into shivers, and a loud thumping resonated in her chest. She shot up and stared down at the garment. How had this dress caused such a panic attack?

The presence of someone in the room filled the air. A miserable someone.

Another ghost? She’d never even seen one, and now two? Magda again? Or . . .

Slowly, she backed out of the room, avoiding the onslaught of any specters that might reside inside the folds of the skirt.

“What’s wrong?”

Startled by the new voice at her side, Elena let the breath go she’d been holding.

Marina looked at Elena, then into the room. “What in the world is wrong?”

Nothing. She couldn’t squeak out a response.

“Elena!” Not a ghost, but a friend.

“Something’s wrong. I can feel it.”

Marina gripped her arms and turned her around. “You’re white as your bedspread. What’s in there?”

Keep control. “I could have sworn . . . I’m just on edge. I . . .” Elena stepped back. “I’m not prone to hallucinations.”

Marina shook her head. “No. You’re one of the most practical women I know. So?”

Elena frowned. “It must have been the strain of the past week.”

“What must have—?”

She cut off Marina’s question, disallowing any more phantoms. “Let’s go back and check out the costume again.”

The garment lay innocently on the bed. The blouse felt warm again. No signs of ghostly specters. Was she nuts?

“I’m not sure why I . . .” Her brows drew together from shock. The album she’d slammed shut lay open. A photo of Jan with his broad, handsome smile no longer rested in the collection. It had flipped onto the bed.

Marina grabbed her arm. “Honey, I believe the album’s unleashed Jan’s ghost. He’s here.”

“You believe, then?”

“Of course. You know I do.”

Searching for a plausible explanation, Elena came up with nothing but uneasiness. “I’m putting this away.” She boxed the album and costume and pushed them onto the top shelf of her closet. The cross she clasped around her neck.

The fog lifted, and blue patches slowly emerged from behind gunmetal gray clouds. Alex stood with his back against the patio railing, checked to see if anyone was in the immediate vicinity, and pulled out his cell phone. He dialed a number in Romania.

A gravelly voice answered, “Alex?”

“It’s me.”

“Good. Alone?”

“Yeah. You wanted to talk to me.”

Alex Brancusi had a secret he kept even from his sister. He worked undercover for the Federal Bureau of Investigation, assigned to Tony Donatelli’s special operations field team, Operation h****n Sucks, who worked with the Romanian government. A trail led h****n exportation from Afghanistan to Romania, where it remained until transported to the United States.

Tony had been handpicked to lead the United States Department of Justice team because of his success in eradicating a cartel in South America. Tony was merciless in tracking down criminals, yet he could be one of the nicest guys Alex had ever known.

“So?” Tony asked.

“No question. Magda was murdered. Guy planned it to the second. Nighttime . . . headlights were off. Ran her down.”

“How do we know the headlights were off? Witnesses?”

“Yeah. A couple walking home from the park, not far behind Magda. They saw the whole thing but couldn’t give a description. The driver sped away. They were more concerned about Magda.”

“Suspects?”

“None.”

“Funeral?”

“Mostly Briar Hill faculty and staff. No one I haven’t seen almost every day.”

“Dead end, you think?”

“Look, I’ve wormed my way into the lives of the entire Briar Hill community. I’ve kept my ear to the ground through the student and staff grapevine. Some w**d—no h****n. However, drugs are coming into Chicago, it isn’t through Briar Hill.”

“You seem pretty sure. Your judgment isn’t being clouded by your proximity to home, is it?”

“s**t. Would you really have sent me here if you thought I’d be prejudiced?”

“No.”

In fact, he’d done some despicable things. “Look, my reputation in town is shot. The women think I’m a first-class louse. I’ve wined, dined, and some other things I’m not proud of, all in the name of patriotism.”

“Sometimes playing hard to get is a good thing.” Tony chuckled. “Look, there are a few interesting developments. Magda’s Romanian solicitor, Gregory Balogh, arrived from Dkany. As sole heir, Elena inherits the castle.”

“Yeah, so?”

“She wants to go to Dkany this summer. Alone.”

He heard Tony take a deep breath into the phone. “She does? She give a reason?”

“She hates me. Outside of that, I think she’s exerting her independence. Magda wanted to convert the castle into a school.”

“So she said.”

“Elena is determined to continue in her footsteps. I’ll say that for her. Also, Gregory Balogh will be coming again tonight.”

Static shot out from the other end of the phone before it quieted down. “Gregory Balogh’s a heavy in Dkany. You might find out something we don’t already know.”

The fog was lifting, and although the sun peaked out from behind the clouds, the atmosphere still felt heavy. A storm was brewing.

“Tony, do you know anything about an earthquake that hit Dkany last week?”

“I heard about it. Shook buildings. Some peasant shacks toppled. Most of the stronger structures held. Not horrible, why?”

“Balogh mentioned the castle had some damage.”

“I didn’t hear much. Seems okay. Why?”

“Checking out what Gregory told us. Just curious.”

Tony’s tone changed. “I found something you ought to know. I’m looking at the Dkany Hall of Recoord’s site on the Internet.”

“Dkany. Why?”

“Cross-referencing a list of names. But that’s not what I’m looking at,” Tony paused. “What was Elena Dkany’s husband’s last name, again?”

Alex sighed. He felt the familiar tug of emptiness whenever someone mentioned the name. He sighed. “Ivanov.”

“Okay, listen to this.”

Alex didn’t want to listen.

“Janek Ivanov was born in December of 1986 and died November 2005 . . .”

“Why are you rehashing this? We know when he died.”

Even though Elena’s mentioned as his wife, a child is noted as being born in ‘05, with no record of the baby’s death. Listen. This is from an article written by an American correspondent in Bucharest.

‘Political activist Janek Ivanov died early this morning from injuries sustained in an attack in his home. Mr. Ivanov appeared to be defending his wife when he managed to subdue and kill an unidentified attacker. Both Mr. Ivanov and his wife expired shortly after police arrived.’”

The news hit Alex like a bucket of ice-cold water. “What? No,” he almost whispered. He cleared his throat. “Can’t be. Must have been a mix-up of some kind?”

“That’s what I thought until I read the obituary. It says Janek and Elena Ivanov died in the attack. No mention of a child.”

Suddenly Alex had a hard time breathing. Why the hell had the report stated Elena had been killed?

“What did it say about the suspect?” Alex asked.

“A student from the university. No criminal background. Good student. Nothing outstanding. Maybe some kind of vendetta. Look, what have you found at Briar Hill?”

“Nothing.”

“Maybe there’s nothing to be found. But, Alex, face the facts, there’s a lot of weird s**t concerning the Dkany’s. Their ownership of a castle that might be inhabited by a g**g of d**g dealers—”

“Or not.”

“As you say. We still have other suspects. But think about this. Elena married her brother’s best friend, who lives in Bucharest, and he’s murdered. Then, nine months ago, Freddy Dkany dies of a h****n overdose. Next, Magda Dkany’s killed. Now, Elena’s going to the castle. Coincidence?” Tony’s tone made Alex nervous. He was hitting hard on his family’s best friends.

“Do you believe in coincidences?” Alex asked. He started pacing, nearly slipping on a wet spot. “And you think Dkany Castle stores the h****n? That’s why you thought Briar Hill was the point of entry into Chicago? Elena’s grandfather was on the board of directors for two decades. We’re not investigating the college, we’re investigating the Dkany’s.”

“Very good, Alex.”

“Bullshit.” Alex pressed down the ‘End Call’ button.

If this was true and Elena was unaware, she might be in grave danger.