Protecting the Innocent

“Probably not.” He opened the wine and filled their glasses.

“Come on, Roman. Tell me about your mother and father.”

“My mother was a Gypsy,” he said, taking a sip.

“That’s why I’m named Roman, short for Romani. The Gypsy word for man.”

Very appropriate. Roman was the quintessential man. Utterly virile. “Go on.”

“Gypsies are supposed to be wanderers, and my mother was true to form. She took off for good when I was ten.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Don’t be. She was impossible and loud. Godawful loud. Always yelling about something. And my father wasn’t much better. He stuck around for me and my younger brother, but he never was much good at making a living.”

“Where is he now?”

“Don’t know,” Roman said. “Don’t care.”

“And your brother?”

“Lukas was killed in a motorcycle accident about ten years ago.” A shadow darkened his features. “I miss him.”

But he didn’t keep photos. Roman wasn’t a man who dwelled in the past. He took what life threw at him and moved on. Anya wished she could do the same. “My childhood was the opposite of yours. It was my father who left. In a way, we’re mirror images of each other.”

“Not really. Your mother was successful. You traveled the globe. My family never left Denver, and we barely scraped by.”

Having money made a difference. It was true. And Anya’s father hadn’t completely deserted her. He stayed in touch with birthday cards, phone calls and the occasional visit.

She’d always thought her life would have been easier if he’d completely abandoned her. That way, he’d be gone for good, and she’d be able to forget all about him.

“About your father,” Roman said. “I don’t remember seeing him at the funeral.”

“He telephoned.” And he had sounded truly, deeply sympathetic. His voice was at the edge of tears. But he told her he couldn’t be with her. His presence might bring danger.

This was the most perplexing aspect of her relationship with Wade Bouchard. He claimed to be part of an international cadre of scientists who were dedicated to bringing unethical practices and experiments to light. If she believed in his goals, her father was an admirable person. “Dad was always racing off to save the world. Like a superhero. Supposedly, he stayed away from me and my mother so we wouldn’t be attacked by his enemies.”

“He’s in SCAT, isn’t he? Scientists Concerned About Truth.”

“I never understood that nebulous organization. Occasionally, they issue statements to the press or on the Internet. And they have a dinky little office in Washington. But a worldwide organization?” She shook her head. “It seems more likely that my dad is a raging paranoid—fighting demons that don’t exist.”

“Those sound like your mother’s words.”

Anya nodded. “Mother doesn’t have many good things to say about Wade.”

“For what it’s worth,” Roman said. “I don’t think your father is delusional. There’s ample room for ethical concerns when it comes to the business of science and technology.”

“Of course. But there are also rational and legal methods for investigation.”

“And if those methods fail?”

What was he suggesting? “You can always tell what’s right from wrong.”

“Can you?”

He returned to the grill to tend the steaks, leaving her at the railing. She stared out into space, lulled by the rhythmic wash of waves against the rocks below. She should have been peaceful, but a small voice teased at the edge of her consciousness. What’s right? What’s wrong?

She remembered the Legate motto—For The Greater Good. It suggested that the needs of the many were more important than the needs of the few. Logical? Yes, but not always true. Legate’s policies had apparently resulted in enemies so dangerous that they needed armed security guards and high walls.

Amid all the bustling activity of genius at work, she had sensed the ominous undercurrents. Nothing she could precisely define. Just a feeling. A certain tension. She sipped her wine. On the grounds of Legate, her husband had died a violent death. Was the explosion at Building Fourteen really an accident?

A shudder went through her. Beneath her jacket, she felt a chill that had nothing to do with the weather. “When you referred to unethical practices, were you talking about Legate?”

“I’d rather not talk about Legate. It’s the weekend. Time to relax.”

But she couldn’t let this go. “Have I brought my son into a potentially dangerous situation?”

He met her gaze directly but didn’t speak. The fading sunlight cast intriguing shadows across his face, highlighting his high cheekbones. A man of Gypsy blood, he was exotic, and at the same time, strong and stable as a rock. Utterly unreadable. There were secrets locked inside him. That was all she could tell for sure.

Reaching toward her, he lightly brushed a lock of hair off her forehead. “You’ll be safe. I’ll take care of you and Charlie. I’ll be your personal good luck dragon.”