“Your dad is rich,” Busch said with raised eyebrows.
Michael smiled and nodded. “That reminds me.” Michael opened his dresser, reached in, and pulled out a small pouch. “Put out your hand,” Michael said.
Busch looked questioningly at his friend as he put his beer down and held out his open palm. Michael unlaced the pouch and poured the contents into Busch’s giant hand.
Busch’s eyes went wide as he stared at the ruby necklace that Michael took from the Liberia; its red precious gems alive in the evening sun that poured in the window. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Tonight’s lotto drawing…courtesy of Ivan the Terrible.”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t match my eyes.” Busch smiled. He pondered the elegant piece in his hand a moment, thumbing it, feeling its beauty. “How much is it worth?”
“Honestly, it’s priceless. I could fence it and you would be set for life, for ten lives, if you want.”
“I don’t know, I appreciate the gesture and all,” Busch said as he looked at it. “But as I look at this thing, I think of the old adage: the anticipation far outweighs the realization. After everything we’ve been through, I’m no longer one for shortcuts. It’s a karma thing. Maybe I’ll just give it to Jeannie, tell her it’s a knockoff. Maybe she’ll start talking to me again.”
It was well past nine; everyone had left long ago with smiles on their faces, even Paul and Jeannie, who had finally started talking at dessert. The house was quiet, Hawk and Raven asleep in front of the fireplace.
Michael sat on the sofa in his great room, the map of the Kremlin underground laid out before him. He pondered its worth as he looked at the small fire he had lit on this cool summer night. The map led to a long-hidden world of riches and history and now that lives did not hang in the balance, he thought maybe, someday…
Dawn. Michael stood in the Banksville Cemetery, surrounded by the graves of those who had left him behind. Mary, his adoptive parents, the St. Pierres. He stood alone, allowing the grief to wash over him. The loss that had hollowed his heart.
He had awoken suddenly, his bedroom still dark at four a.m. He saw her sitting quietly in Mary’s favorite chair. She did not startle him in the least, as if he was expecting her.
“She said to say thank you,” Genevieve said softly.
Michael smiled but was lost for words.
“She said she could finally rest and stop worrying about you.” Genevieve’s voice was like a gentle breeze. “Mary did say the laundry is piling a little too high and to clean the fridge once in a while, but you can worry about that when you wake up.”
Michael rolled over, the morning sun poured through the windows, the chair was vacant, covered in a large pile of laundry, Hawk and Raven were still asleep at the foot of the bed. Michael quickly got up and dressed. As he walked through the great room, the two dogs at his feet, he glanced at the painting that newly hung above the mantel, the angel with outstretched arms glowing in the early morning light.
As his pickup truck rolled to a stop along the gravel of the graveyard drive, he looked at his hands clutching the wheel. His eyes drawn to his ring finger, the tan line and circular indentation looking so unnatural.
And now, as he stood graveside in the morning light of dawn, he felt the weight of the wedding band hanging from the chain around his neck, dangling against his chest. His mind was still in a fog, the haze of sleep still lingering in his mind. He didn’t consciously resolve to come here, he had just felt compelled. He missed her, he missed her company and needed to feel her presence. The solitude had taken hold again, it was suffocating. Michael knew he was alone.
And then, Michael glanced across the cemetery to see her standing there, her face radiant, her smile warm. He thought of her letter, of her heartfelt word…
Family has a way of making us whole, filling the emptiness that pervades our hearts, restoring the hope that we think is forever lost.
I love you, Michael. I will always love you, I will always be with you, eternally within your heart.
Mary gently nodded to him and, as Michael’s smile broke, as the haze of sleep drifted away, her illusion simply dissolved in the morning mist.
Michael heard the car drive up, the wheels crunching the gravel, the door quietly closing. He heard the footsteps approach. It was a moment before the hand fell upon his shoulder; it was strong, comforting, filling Michael with a feeling he hadn’t known for far too long. And as Michael turned and looked at Stephen, as he looked at his father, his heart began to warm, to fill with something he thought he had lost.
Hope.
About the Author
RICHARD DOETSCH is the president of a commercial real estate and investment firm based in Greenwich, Connecticut.
Also by Richard Doetsch
The Thieves of Heaven
THE THIEVES OF FAITH
A Dell Book / January 2008
Published by
Bantam Dell
A Division of Random House, Inc.
New York, New York
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved
Copyright © 2008 by Richard Doetsch
* * *
Dell is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc., and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.
* * *
eISBN: 978-0-440-33732-4
www.bantamdell.com
v1.0
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
The Italian Dolomites
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
About the Author
Also by Richard Doetsch
Copyright
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
The Italian Dolomites
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
About the Author
Also by Richard Doetsch
Copyright