Murray Hill || A Superhuman Tale - 1

Chapter Sixty-Eight

Over the next two days, Tommy visited the Bern Hills Country Club three times. The first was on the very night he spoke with Max, to get an undisturbed look at the facility and its surroundings, and then twice more on successive days, under the guise of applying for membership.

It was a large facility, with two 18-hole golf courses, stables, riding trails, a boat house, and various swimming pools, tennis courts, and the other amenities one would expect from such a grand place. The clubhouse was mammoth and beautifully designed, with an enormous lobby area and a variety of ballrooms, smoking rooms, and meeting rooms.

And Valhalla had the entire club for four solid days, starting the day Tommy first visited. Looking around on the second day, he saw nothing but the solid shoulders, clean shaven faces, and tightly trimmed hair of what anyone who knew such things would know were military men.

What someone can buy for a few rounds of golf, ruminated Tommy cynically.

He thought of Amy and had to stop and calm himself.

The reception for the navy secretary would be held in an area the club staff called the Atrium, which was an enormous area of glass walls with high arching ceilings the architect had made to look like a European cathedral. Whoever that person was had done a splendid job. The Atrium was a delight to the eyes.

Walking down the lofted hallway between the Atrium and the lobby area, Tommy saw that several large, wood-paneled rooms lined the way. The décor was a subdued opulence that had been popular in the United States in the early 20th century, though the building itself was not nearly so old. Out of curiosity, he inquired about their availability and was informed that Valhalla would be using the rooms for special meetings throughout the duration of the event.

It was a lovely place, and as Tommy went to leave, he decided to take one last circuit of the clubhouse before going, if for no other reason than it was such a striking building and was worth another look.

Rounding the corner from the lobby, he nearly bumped into an oncoming party. He recognized several Valhalla board members from their photos and, as he politely begged pardon, fought the urge to scruff and throttle the lot of them.

He'd nearly gotten clear of the group when he found himself in the path of a beautiful woman of middling height, whose faultless form, lovely face, and delightfully manicured appearance were the perfect complement to those magnificent surroundings. It was as if she were a living and sensual extension of the artistry around him.

The woman, who was about 30 years old, stopped and met his gaze.

"Why, hello," she said, in a voice that was enchanting and deep. There was just a hint of an aristocratic southern lilt, the kind one almost never heard anymore. "Aren't you just something ...." Her words, slow and drawn out, hadn't been a question.

Tommy couldn't help but stop as well. "Why, hello. Praise from Caesar—or, in this case, Calpurnia." Her smile was a spray of perfect pearls. It was only then that he recognized her.

"And clever ...." She extended her hand. "Mindy Morse-Meeker."

"The alliterative woman," Tommy observed languidly. When he shook her hand, the woman let out a slight gasp that Tommy honestly couldn't tell was real or feigned.

"The man of my dreams," she said, her voice now even more sultry. "And he knows the difference between rhyme and alliteration. You need to be careful. I might just follow you home, mister ...?"

"Wigand, Kyle Wigand." He selected that name as a provocation, but immediately realized he shouldn't have. It wasn't the one he'd given the country club, and, more important, it was a handle that had been far too much kicked around of late. Still, if she recognized it, she didn't tip her hand. He reached down and touched her ring finger. "I wonder how your husband would feel about you following a strange man home."