The Curiosity Killers (16 page)

~

Michael Lessep almost shut the door when he saw who stood on his front porch. “Oh, for Christ’s sake,” he muttered. Then, more loudly so the person outside would hear, “No, you bastard. Not letting you in, not after last time.”

“Mike! God, mate, you gotta help me.”

“Not your mate, Ambrose.”

Not anymore
.

“It’s freezin’ out ’ere and I got a fucking
baby.
”

Michael opened the door. Sure enough, Ambrose stood there with something the size of a loaf of bread in his arms. The blankets surrounding it stirred, revealing a milky-white arm and tiny mitten-clad fist.

Michael looked from the baby to Ambrose and back again. “What’d you do?” he demanded. “You left me and got some fucking stupid woman knocked up and now the both of you’ve gone on some bender or other and want me to watch it?”

Ambrose drew back. “God, no.”

“Then what?”

Ambrose seemed to be trying to smile, but it was all hesitant and sideways. “Can I come in? Thirty minutes tops, love.”

“
Don’t you dare
,” Michael growled.

“Mate. Mike. M-M-Michael, sorry. Michael. Mister Lessep. Sir.”

Michael stepped aside and opened the door wide enough for Ambrose to enter. “I’m not your father, Ambrose. Jesus. Just don’t call me ‘love.’ You lost that right when you decided you were a fucking heterosexual.” Once Ambrose was inside, Michael slammed the door shut. “You have thirty minutes. I’m timing you.”

“Right. So. This is the first white baby born on American soil and I time traveled to steal it from Jack the Ripper—who is my boss and a bloody racist who wants to exploit her for his cause—and now I want to see if you’d adopt her and hide her for…oh, until she grows up at least? Probably longer? Probably until my boss dies, at any rate.”

Ambrose sat down, still holding the infant, and cuddled her close to his chest. “I can…go into more detail, but yeah. That’s…yeah.” He looked up at Michael. “It sounded more complicated in my head. I thought it would take longer.”

Michael blinked. “That’s the
un
complicated, short version?” He glanced at the clock on his mantle. “All right, I’ll give you
forty
minutes.”

Friday, August 13, 2100, Avon, Vermont, NBE

“Kiddo, you already run around the world for the sake of truth, justice, and the Empiricist way. Can’t you just be happy with your FBI work? Why you gotta have adventures in your personal life, too, huh?” Adventure to Michael meant risk. Risk of getting caught, risk of getting found out, risk of someone discovering something, or—God forbid—Violet herself discovering something.

“Oh, Pop, you’re too damn practical.” Violet kissed his bald head and scampered out with the credits he’d loaned her, off on some vacation or business trip that made Michael’s jaw tense up.

She’ll be okay
.
She joined the FBI, after all, and you let her do that. If she were gonna find something out, she would have by now.

Oh, but that was a weird way to think of it. “Let her.” There was no “letting” Violet do anything, and besides she was an adult now. She could take care of herself. The heat was off.

When she returned from her vacation, she was listless and preoccupied, even less relaxed and at ease than she’d been when she left. She took him to lunch at his favorite restaurant to give him back some of the cash she’d borrowed, and her eyes seldom left her water glass.

“I thought the whole point of a vacation was to reboot yourself,” Michael said. “Honey, you seem more on edge than you were before you went away.”

“I don’t know why,” Violet admitted. She smiled and smoothed the napkin on her lap. “Why do you like this place, Dad? The service is terrible.”

“Where’d you go, anyhow?”

“A spa,” she replied, but her eyes seemed to lose focus and her voice came out robotic, almost an echo. “A spa in Maine. In the woods. There was a hiking path. I had a nutritional profile done.”

“Yeah?” Michael studied her. “You think I should do that?” He patted his ample waistline. “Been thinking I should shed a few pounds. I don’t seem to be getting as many dates as I used to.”

Violet brightened. “That’s because I came along.” She giggled. “The kind of guys you said you used to date before you adopted me probably weren’t into instant parenthood.”

Yeah, the guy I used to date is who dropped you off on my doorstep
.
What was that old song about irony?

“I’ve been wondering something, Pop.” Violet swept her long blond hair around to cover one shoulder and then twisted it into a coil, a nervous habit she’d been doing ever since childhood.

“Yeah?” Michael took a sip of his water. The waiter dropped off an endive salad in front of Violet and a plate of sausage and potatoes in front of Michael. “See, told you I could use that nutritional—”

“I want to find my birth parents,” Violet interrupted. She closed her eyes and sat back, exhaling. “Hoo, boy, I thought I was going to die waiting to say those words.” She fanned herself with one hand. “Okay, we survived it. It’s out there and nobody exploded.”

“Nobody’s gonna explode, baby, but…what brought this on?” Michael gripped his knife so hard he felt his fingernails dig into his palm.

Violet tugged at her hair again. “I don’t know. I got back from my vacation feeling kind of like…there were things…I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I don’t know,” she repeated.

She’s not acting right
.

He relaxed his grip on his knife and let go of it, reaching across the table for her hand. “Do you feel okay?”

Violet let go of her hair and gave Michael’s hand a squeeze. “I’m okay, Poppy. It’s my job, you know, digging for information. But I’ve just never dug into the most personal information of all, and I guess now it’s time.” She let go of Michael and picked up her fork. “But I want your blessing. If you don’t want me to, I won’t. You
know
you’re my dad. You’ll
always
be my dad. You’re the only parent I’ve ever known, and that won’t change. But it’s important to me. I want to know…more
roots
, you know?”

Oh, you don’t know the half of it.

“I don’t know that you’ll find much,” Michael said.

Ambrose
.
I’ll find Ambrose and see if it’s safe to tell her or not.

“Why not?” She stopped her fork in midair. “You always told me you didn’t know. But you
do
know, don’t you?”

He looked at her delicate features, her small frame looking vulnerable and young, even in her crisp, professional suit.

But she’s not a little girl. Under that jacket, she’s got a gun
.
I can’t lie anymore. I can’t keep protecting her.

He felt a vibration beneath his jacket. Just five words showed up on the screen, caller unknown, but he raised his head and looked around the restaurant.

“We have to go,” Michael said. He nodded to a door across the room. “We have to go, and we have to go with that man over there. Right now.”

Violet dropped her fork, her right hand fluttering over the left side of her jacket where Michael now noticed a subtle bulge. “Why? What’s going on?”

Michael stood up and took her arm. “You wanna find out where you come from?” he asked. “You’re about to find out.”

Violet stood and followed Michael to where a man with silver hair stood.

“What’s happened?” Michael asked.

“Told you this day might come,” the man replied. “We gotta get ’er into hidin’ an’ fast.”

“Where?”

“I know a place,” the man answered. He looked at Violet. “You won’t remember it, love, but you’ve been there before. An’ not too long ago, in fact.”

“Who are you? I’m not going anywhere with you,” Violet said. She took a phone from her pocket. “Pop, I’m calling this in. This man is trying to kidnap us.”

“No, I
know
him, baby.”

“Then I need answers or this place’ll be swarming with agents.”

“Miss Lessep,” the man said, “please accompany your father an’ me to a lovely little shop not a five minute walk from ’ere. As I said, I think you know the place. Jonson’s Exotic Travel.”

At the mention of the name, Michael saw Violet’s face harden even as her eyes brightened with an instant of recognition.

“That’s…what? Why there?”

“That’s where the answers are,” the man replied.

Violet quieted and allowed herself to be led outside to the sidewalk. Michael patted her on the shoulder once they were under the midday sun.

“Pop,” she whispered to him, “who is this guy?”

“I don’t know what’s safe to tell you yet,” Michael replied.

“’S all right, Mike,” the man said. “I’m on the run now m’self. Name’s Ambrose. Your dear old dad here’s not your first guardian. I’ve known ’em all.”

“
All
?” Violet asked. “Wait, so my parents didn’t give me up for adoption and then…”

“You weren’t half wrong about me kidnapping you,” Ambrose continued, “only it didn’t happen just now. It happened thirty years ago.”

~

Violet recognized the house. “This is my travel agency,” she said. “Why are you taking me here? Are we going on a kinda-boring vacation together?”

Ambrose shook his head and laughed. “God, those bloody stupid false memories. I have no idea what good they think they’re doin’, but one wrong twist o’ the dial and you’re o’ block of Swiss cheese.” He climbed the front stoop and turned the antique key that activated the doorbell inside.

“False memories?” Violet climbed to the top of the stoop. “Wait, what are you talking about?” She looked from him to her father. “What the hell? Is
anything
I think real?”

Ambrose nodded at the building. “What do you remember about this place?”

Violent glared at him. “I remember a guy at work recommending it. I remember coming here to consult with the owner about a vacation package. I’d be going to…” She paused. “The owner. I know I met him, but it’s…” She shook her head. “I don’t know. It must not have been important.”

“You borrowed money from me,” Michael said. “Just how expensive was this trip? You said you went to Maine? To a spa?”

Ambrose turned back to Violet. “How much did it run you? All told?”

Violet rattled off a figure.

“Oh, baby, no,” Michael said. “God, no, no. You only borrowed half that.”

Violet could feel herself blush. “I only needed half. It really was that much, Pop.”

The door opened, and a young woman with glossy dark hair stood in the entryway. “I’m sorry, we’re not open to new clients on Friday afternoons,” she said. “Can I help—oh. Oh! Agent Lessep. Did you have a special appointment?”

“How much is a
real
trip to Maine, Miss Moto?” Ambrose asked. He swept past her, despite the young woman’s protests, and made his way deeper into the house. “Vere, get out ’ere, and bring young moneybags, too.”

“I’m so sorry,” Violet said to the receptionist, scrambling inside after Ambrose. “Mister Richards, what did you mean a real trip to Maine?”

“I meant,” Ambrose said, “that you were never in Maine. You were never at a spa. You were somewhere else entirely. And this young lady an’ ’er employers did some…” He gestured at his head. “They scrambled up your brains right good to make you forget what you learned on your trip.”

“Oh, my God.” Miss Moto scurried past the group to her desk and dialed the telephone. “Ben, you gotta get up here yesterday. There’s this guy here and this other guy, and Agent Lessep, and I have no idea but—yes…” She listened and nodded and then hung up. “You people can’t just barge in here, and—”

A door opened and shut from somewhere deeper in the house. Ambrose took a step back closer to the foyer.

The man who entered was only a little older than Ambrose and Michael, but his air was far graver, far more intimidating. “Did you call Benoy, Kris?” His voice was all gravel and smoke.

“Yes, he’s coming.”

“Good.” He turned to Ambrose. “So why were you calling my name? Should I know you?”

“You know my employer,” Ambrose replied. “You know of me by reputation, I suppose. Least a little.” His shoulders sagged. “But I’m done with ’im, doctor. I threw in with the wrong sort, and I can’t get out of it.” He sank into the nearest chair and pointed at Violet. “You have to protect her. From
him
.”

Doctor Vere looked from Violet to Michael. “I have to protect a client from…I don’t even know this gentleman.” He peered down at Ambrose. “And I don’t know you, no matter that you think I ought to.”

Ambrose looked up at Vere through tears. “You helped someone else look for her once.” He took a wrinkled sheet of paper from his jacket pocket and held it out. “Recognize that?”

Vere took the paper. “Woodcut. Native Americans at Roanoke.”

“But you know that woman.”

Vere raised a bushy gray eyebrow. “That isn’t Agent Lessep,” he said.

“No, it’s one of my associates.”

Vere was quiet for a moment. “You work for Florence,” he finally said.

His tone was so cold that Violet felt her heart quicken.

“Florence?” she asked. “Not
Governor
Florence, from the RAA?”

Another man entered the room. “Miss Lessep, it’s good to—”

“Benoy,” Vere interrupted. “I know we’ve met with Agent Lessep before, when she booked a trip with us, but have you ever noticed her appearance?”

Ben rubbed the back of his neck. “Um, what now? Eddy, I don’t…” He exhaled a nervous laugh.

Vere tossed the woodcut back to Ambrose. “Oh, no one cares if you have a crush on the poor girl, you idiot. Just
literally
her appearance. Anything interesting about it.”

Ben stammered again.

“Beyond its obvious appeal. Stop, boy, and just
think
for me for a moment,” Vere said. “You’re the historian. Tell me what you see.”

Violet felt as if she might sink into a hole in the floor as the younger man scrutinized her. “Stop it! I’m a person,” she said. “What the hell is going
on
here?”

“I’m sorry, Miss Lessep,” Ben said. “I’m not trying to make you feel awkward here…” He looked back at Vere. “I see a lot of people, Eddy,” he admitted. “I’m not really getting it.”

“I think she’s been pulled out of time,” Vere said. He pointed across the room at Ambrose. “Isn’t that so? Your employer’s been behind the appropriation of one of our clients, hasn’t he? He’s gotten some of my designs.”

Ambrose shrugged. “I swiped ’em for ’im. Back when you were developin’ the whole thing.”

“Security was too lax in those days,” Vere said.

“Yeah, well, I was right good at lockpickin’ in me youth, and—”

“I’m still not seeing who she’s supposed to look—”

“
Hey!
”

Violet’s shriek made all the men’s chatter stop. She climbed on top of the coffee table in the center of the room and pulled her sidearm from its holster. The room quieted.

“My name is Agent Violet Lessep of the North American branch of the New British Empire Federal Bureau of Investigations. I am
not
coming down until someone tells me what the
fuck
is going on.” She held her gun in the air, pointed at the ceiling. “First person who says something that doesn’t give me an answer is getting…” She realized now that everyone looked wide-eyed and terrified.