A Stroke of Midnight (Merry Gentry #4)(14)

Doyle took in a lot of air, and let it out slow. “And Galen knew of this?”
“Yes,” Galen said.
“And it never occurred to you to tell your captain that the princess was keeping in touch with a federal officer?”
“It made Merry feel better, and just after Essus died, I’d have done anything to help her feel better.”
“And after that?” Doyle asked.
“They exchanged cards twice a year, that was all.”
Doyle turned his dark gaze to me. I shrugged, then wished I hadn’t because it hurt. “He sent me a card every year around the anniversary of my father’s death. I sent him a Yule card.”
“How did no one notice this?” Doyle asked.
“The queen didn’t care enough about me to pay attention, and you paid attention where the queen told you to. You all did.”
He rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger. “How badly does your arm hurt?”“It aches.”
He took in air again, then let it out slow. “You need to rest, Princess.”
“You’re not mad at me or Galen,” I said. “You’re angry with yourself for not knowing this.”
“Yes,” he said with the tiniest edge of anger.
“When my father died, what other guard could I have trusted but Galen?”
“Did you not trust me?” Barinthus said.
I looked at him, my father’s closest friend. “You were almost as distraught over his death as I was, Barinthus. I needed someone who was touched by grief but not consumed by it. Galen was that person for me.” I reached out to Galen, and he took my hand, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“If you could marry where your heart lies,” Doyle said, “I fear what it would do to the court.”
I looked at him, trying to see behind his careful face. I squeezed Galen’s hand and drew him in against me. Once, Doyle would have been correct. Once it was Galen in my heart and no other, but that was before I grew up enough to understand what it would mean to be at my side. It was a dangerous place to be, a treacherous place to be.
I hugged him not because he was the only name written across my heart now, but because he no longer was. A part of me was saddened by that, and another part of me was almost relieved. I understood what my father had known decades ago: for Galen the title of king would be a death sentence. I needed someone hard and dangerous by my side, not gentle and placating.
I looked into Doyle’s face as I held Galen to me. Did Doyle not know that my heart’s list had grown larger, and that his name was on that list? The way he was acting, he seemed jealous, or envious, or angry. He was hiding his emotions so well that I couldn’t decide what emotion he was hiding, just that it was something strong that he didn’t want to share. Even being able to see that much meant the Darkness’s legendary control was slipping.
“I’m going to call Gillett.” I turned back to the phone, and since I had only one good hand, I had to let go of Galen. He kept himself touching the back of my body, his body insinuated against me. He fit against me as he always had, as if he’d been born to be there. If all I’d ever wanted in my bed was gentle lovemaking, then Galen would have been wonderful, but we’d had months in bed to discover that his idea of passion and mine did not match. He did not understand my desire for roughness, or pain, or just simply being a little more forceful. Galen gave me pale, uncomprehending eyes when I asked certain things.
I dialed Gillett’s number by heart, though his number had changed over the years. I’d always had to memorize it for fear of someone caring enough to look through any address book I might have. I could have saved my worry; Doyle’s reaction had shown plainly that no one had been paying me that close attention. It was a little sad, and a little frustrating. So much wasted effort in hiding from people who weren’t even looking. 
I waited for Gillette’s cell phone to ring. I’d promised him that if anyone else ever died in circumstances similar to my father’s, I’d let him know. These weren’t really that similar, but a promise is a promise. I felt half silly and half excited, as if somehow just being able to make this one call would change things. I was over thirty, but part of me was still seventeen and wanted justice. I should have known better by now.
He answered, “Gillett.”
“Hey,” I said.
“Merry?”
“Yes.”
“Are you all right?”
Over the years he’d become protective of me. As if he felt some debt to my dead father to keep me well. If he only knew, but I hadn’t shared all the attempts on my life. The endless duels that made me flee faerie for years and let everyone think I was gone for good.
This was the first time I had spoken to him since I’d resurfaced. “A little worse for wear, but I’m fine.”
“I thought they’d killed you, too, three years ago. Why didn’t you call?”
“Because if you’d spoken my real name near a darkened window the Queen of Air and Darkness would have known. The sound of our conversation would have traveled back to her. It would have endangered you. It would have endangered anyone.”
He sighed over the phone. “And now you’re ‘princess’ again, and looking for a husband. But you didn’t call up just to chat, did you?”
“Have you heard something?”
“A rumor that the reporters left the faerie mound, but are now all gathered in the parking lot. The press conference is over, so why are that many national and international media types hanging around in the middle of a cornfield in Illinois?”
I told him the broad outline of the problem.
“I can be there with a team in less than . . .”
“No, no team. I’ve already got a few police coming with a forensic unit. You can come, but you can’t bring dozens of agents with you. This happened inside the sithen, not on federal land this time.”
“We could help you.”
“Maybe, or maybe there would just be more humans to get injured. We’ve got a dead reporter, that’s bad enough. We can’t afford to have an FBI agent get killed by one of us.”
“We’ve talked about this for years, Merry. Don’t cut me out now.”
“My father’s murder is sixteen years old; it is secondary here, Raymond. The priority is the new deaths. Hearing your voice now, I’m not sure that would be the case for you.”
“You don’t trust me.” He sounded hurt.
“I’m in line to the throne now, Raymond. The good of the court outweighs personal vengeance.”
“And what would your father say to hear that from you, his daughter?”
“He’d say that I had grown wise. He’d agree with me.” I was wishing I hadn’t called him. I realized that Special Agent Raymond Gillett was part of a child’s wish. I couldn’t afford that kind of wishing, not anymore.
I was suddenly tired, and my arm ached from shoulder to wrist. I turned and leaned against the desk, half sitting on it. It forced Galen farther away from me, and that was fine. He kept his hand playing lightly on the edge of my thigh, moving the skirt back and forth as he petted me. It was comforting, and I needed the comfort.
Doyle was looking at me, and something in his eyes softened his face. I had to look away from the kindness I saw there. I wasn’t sure why such a look from him made my throat grow tight.“Don’t come, Gillett. I’m sorry I called.”
“Merry, don’t do this, not after almost twenty years.”
“When we’ve solved this one, if I’m still alive and still have the carte blanche in this area, I’ll call you, and we can talk about you coming down. But only if it’s about my father’s death.”
“You don’t think the FBI might be helpful on a double homicide?”
“I don’t know what we’ve got here, Gillett. If we need something fancier than the local lab can handle, I’ll let you know.”
“And maybe I’ll answer the phone, and maybe I won’t.”
“As you like,” I said, and I struggled not to let my voice show how tight my throat felt, how hot my eyes were. “But think on this, Gillett. Did you start all this with a seventeen-year-old child because you felt sorry for me, or because you were angry that the queen cut you out of the investigation? Was it pity that moved you, a desire for justice, or simply anger? You’d show her. You’d solve the case without the queen’s help. You’d use Essus’s daughter to help you.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“Then why are you angry with me now? I shouldn’t have called you, but I gave you a promise. A child’s promise to call you if ever a similar murder happened. It isn’t similar in detail, but whoever did it has similar magic at their call. If we solve this, it may get us closer to finding my father’s murderer. I thought you’d like to know.”
“Merry, I’m sorry, it’s . . .”
“That the murder has been eating at you all these years?” I said.
“Yes,” he said.
“I’ll call you if anything pertinent comes up.”
“Call me if you need better forensics than the locals can give you. I can get you DNA results that they can only dream of.”
I had to smile. “I’ll be sure to let Major Walters know that the FBI has such confidence in the locals.”