Damsel Under Stress
Page 40

“I appreciate that,” Owen said. “It wasn’t anything important, though, just a passing thought.”
“Some of the greatest innovations come from passing thoughts.”
With great fascination, I watched the two of them talk. They might not have been blood relatives, but they were very much alike. It was a good argument for the “nurture” side of the nature vs. nurture debate. Still, there was something odd about their interaction. James was certainly friendly enough to Owen, but he regarded him more the way he might a work colleague he was on good terms with than he would someone who was the closest thing he had to a son. It was a miracle Owen was as sane as he was, having grown up in a home where he was treated like a guest, even if he was a welcome guest.
James glanced at the clock on the mantel and said, “Lunchtime. Let’s not be late.” He appeared to struggle a little to get out of his chair, but he shook his head firmly when Owen moved to help him.
Arawn followed us to the dining room, then sat in the doorway without entering the room. “He’s not allowed inside,” Owen explained. “He used to beg at the table, so he was banished.”
“And who taught him that habit?” James muttered with a hint of a smile. I had to bite my lip to hold back a giggle as I recalled the way Owen was always giving his cat food off the table. He apparently hadn’t learned his lesson.
The dining room almost took my breath away. It looked like a room on display in one of those historical homes, preserved the way the famous family had once lived there, complete with antique period furnishings and museum-quality china. The china wasn’t just in a display case, either. It was set on the table in place settings right out of an Emily Post book. I got the feeling this wasn’t going to be a soup-and-sandwich lunch. Rod had warned me that the Eatons were formal, but this was more than I expected. My mom certainly had nice china, but it came out of the china cabinet only on major holidays. I wondered if they ate like this all the time.
“You didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” Owen said. I could see the struggle in his face as he tried not to sound critical.
“Nonsense,” Gloria replied in a tone just short of snappish. “You’re company, and you’ve even brought a guest. I don’t get to entertain often these days, so I may as well take advantage of the opportunity.” Then she turned to me and I caught myself popping to attention. “Sit wherever you like, Katie. We don’t have assigned seats in this house.”
I noticed James edging toward a particular chair, so I hesitated and dawdled long enough to get a sense of where the others wanted to sit before I chose a chair. As I looked at the array of dishes, glasses, and silverware, I was glad my mom had taught me all the table rules. Once we were all situated, James said a quick grace, and then Gloria began passing serving dishes around the table.
Before I took my first bite of roasted chicken, I steeled myself for the interrogation I was sure was about to begin. There was a tense atmosphere in the room. In spite of the formal antiques, I had a sense of cold, bare cement, one of those harsh spotlights, and an inquisitor pacing the room in jackboots while slapping a riding crop against her palm. I tried to remain calm and remember the answers I’d mentally prepared about my background, my family, and my plans for the future.
But when the interrogation started, it wasn’t directed at me. “Work is going well?” Gloria asked Owen.
“Well enough,” he replied evenly.
“So Idris and his ally getting away isn’t causing you too many problems?”
Owen exchanged a glance with me. “You know about that?”
“We’re still in the loop, even out here.”
“Then, yes, it is causing us some problems. We’re working to track them down or figure out what they’re up to, but leads are scarce at this time.” He looked down at his plate and picked up a forkful of food.
As soon as Owen turned his attention from her, Gloria’s face softened. There was real concern in her eyes. “I’m sure you’ll catch him soon enough,” she said. “When you do, will you be up to dealing with him?”
Still looking at his plate, he answered, “I believe so. I did the last time.”
“As I recall, you nearly got yourself killed the last time. Didn’t you say it was only because of Katie that you weren’t hurt more seriously?”
I could feel my face growing warm at her mention, but none of them were looking at me. “Katie’s still around,” James said as he served himself another helping of green beans. “It’s her job to notice things like that. That’s why we recruit immunes.”