CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Peter Madsen stretched back in his chair, staring at the paper thin computer screen absently. He was tired. The boys had been up half the night playing video games, and he’d been the only one kept awake.

Genevieve had welcomed a new lost boy into her heart immediately, and little Isobel was as enchanted with Dylan as she was with Mahmoud. His house, once so big and empty, was now bursting at the seams, and he was going to have to put an addition and at least one more bathroom in at this rate.

Sooner or later MacGowan and Beth were going to return from their honeymoon, though he wasn’t in any hurry to have them back. The only true love he was interested in was the light shining from Genevieve’s eyes, even as she tore a strip off his hide for taking off. Her rage had been a joyous relief, rather than the cold rejection he’d been afraid of. And making up had been such delicious fun, even if it meant sneaking around so they wouldn’t be caught by teenage boys or demanding toddlers.

No one had ever asked about Barringer. He’d checked his resources – the CIA had taken his disappearance with unflattering haste, the file closed. Agent presumed dead.

He wasn’t the only closed file. Killian had been declared dead as well. Officially, he had never existed in the first place, but that case was terminated as well. People might still search for Serafin the Butcher, the paunchy, balding terrorist with the bad teeth and a record of ineptness. No one would be looking for Killian.

He was about to switch off his computer and get his car for the long drive home. He liked commuting – it was an hour of peace and quiet where no one could reach him. It was pizza tonight, Genevieve had announced, and even though she made her own crust and sauce he was getting a little tired of the boys insatiable appetite for the stuff. Maybe he’d take Genevieve out to eat while they shoveled pizza in their mouths. Maybe they’d take a detour to his favorite hotel.

He reached forward to switch off the screen when a photo came up out of nowhere, a newspaper clipping. Dr. and Mrs. Thomas Kelly of the University of New South Wales, where Dr. Kelly lectured in political science and Mrs. Kelly served on the Board of Overseers attended a fundraiser in Brisbane. Killian looked very much as he’d last seen him, tall, thin, a little tanner, a little older.

Isobel was the revelation. For the first time she looked her age, years younger than the perfect dragon she’d always presented to the world. Her hair was long, loose and curly, streaked by the sun, and her smile was blazingly bright.

And in her arms was a sleeping baby. Dr. and Mrs. Thomas Kelly and family.

The phosphors died away, and Peter Madsen stared at the blank screen for a moment with a bemused smile. And then he switched it off and went home to his loving wife and his menagerie, at peace with the world.