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A feel-good, small-town romance for fans of Robyn Carr, Leeanna Morgan, and Debra Clopton.
Hailey Waters steps off a bus with no memory of why she came to Forgotten or what she’s running from. And maybe it doesn’t matter. She’s determined to make a new life in this small town where strangers are friendly and helpful—especially veterinarian Dylan Morgan. But Dylan keeps prying for answers she doesn’t have. He’s a hero, always saving animals and people, and maybe she doesn’t need one of those right now. He’s more likely to break her heart than to solve the riddle of her past.
Dylan has returned to the small town he never should have left. He’s tired of women with secrets, the kind of women who always leave. When he finds Hailey in his friend’s barn, his training makes him uniquely qualified to be what she needs most—if he can keep the way he’s beginning to feel about her out of it. Because more and more he’s sure her secrets will tear him apart. But he can’t walk away or let her go. So maybe it’s time to take matters—and love—into his own hands.
Welcome to the small town of Forgotten, where people are more concerned about who you are now than what you might have left behind. Each of the novels in this series are stand-alone books, and you can read them in any order. However, the characters are like one big, extended family and often appear in many of the books, so by reading all of them, you can catch up with what your favorite characters are doing now.
What readers are saying about Rachel Branton
“Once I started reading I couldn’t put it down . . . I can’t wait for the next book in this series because Rachel is a great writer.”
“Excellent read! Truthful and honest, written to inspire and entertain!”
“Clean romance with mature topics.”
“What can I say she writes great stories . . . and now Lily’s House which reminds of Robyn Carr’s series, wholesome but still dealing in real life situations and challenges. Rachel’s characters just grab you and you want to stay in their world to see what happens next.”
Read sample chapterA fiery revelation has Autumn rethinking everything.
When Autumn Rain’s friend Detective Paige Duncan begs for help in clearing her doctor boyfriend of negligent homicide, Autumn dives willingly into the case—right along with her fiancé, Detective Shannon Martin.
Autumn’s ability to see scenes and read emotions imprinted on physical objects soon uncovers a list of suspects. She will go to any length to find the truth, even if that means calling a screeching halt to her own wedding plans.
Meanwhile, a talented young music prodigy is accused of vandalism that will ruin his chance at a future if Autumn doesn’t find the real culprit. But the boy isn’t talking, and Autumn must figure out why. Who is he protecting?
Someone wants to stop Autumn from her search, and she’ll need all her abilities—and maybe even a new one—to fight back.
“For fans of Medium and Ghost Whisperer.”
What secrets lurk behind the innocent smiles?
When a lady biker vanishes two days before her planned wedding anniversary ride, Autumn Rain dons her leather jacket and goes undercover to investigate. Police are sure the husband is responsible, but Autumn’s ability to read emotions and experiences imprinted on certain objects gives her a different take.
Meanwhile Autumn’s fiancé, homicide Detective Shannon Martin, is investigating a series of murders, and he also needs Autumn’s unusual talent. Soon Autumn is heading down a path no one else can see, where secrets and jealousies drive insanity, and where minutes mean the difference between life and death.
Join Autumn in a case that’s her most dangerous yet.
Read sample chapterIt’s time for sixers to fight back.
Lyssa Sloan is a sixer, one of the lucky few who escaped Colony 6 before the extermination began. Lyssa has long been forced to hide the truth of her daughter’s birth and her own unusual ability, even from the man she loves, or risk exile to a colony. Now with tightening control throughout the CORE and a new Elite plot to enslave more of the population, she and her reunited sixer crew are all that stand in the way of a corrupt government bent on total control.
The crew braves radiation-crazed beasts to seek help outside the CORE Territories. But will the leaders of Newcali become their allies or lead to their downfall? Whatever the answer, the betrayals they must make mean there is no going back. It’s now or never
Read sample chapterWelcome to the CORE:
Commonwealth Objective for Reform and Efficiency
Detective Reese Parker is a survivor. Having left behind a violent past in Welfare Colony 6, she is now a sketch artist and detective with the New York Enforcer Division. Her entire focus is maintaining peace and order among the CORE’s remaining two million residents, to make certain their society never faces another economic and nuclear Breakdown.
She must also keep her secret. Because she never wants to be sent back to Colony 6.
With constant Teev surveillance and rigid control in the CORE’s most heavily populated state, Reese’s job mostly consists of tracing small-time juke pushers or sending rebellious students to reconditioning. She doesn’t have to face demented fringers that encroach upon the Core like her counterparts in Dallastar do, or patrol the northern borders where radiation-crazed animals attack unwary travelers. She’s content with being the most accurate sketch artist in the CORE.
But when one of her sketches puts her up against a human monster bigger than anything else that threatens the CORE, it’s a fight she might not survive.
Note from the author
This novella is part of my Colony Six futuristic dystopian sci-fi series. After finishing the first two books, I decided I wanted to write about the catalyst that took Reese, one of my important characters, back to Dallastar near where she grew up and where the series really begins. This is the case that almost got her killed and eventually led to events that in subsequent books reunites her with her childhood crew from Welfare Colony 6, otherwise known as the Coop (after the cramped conditions and chickens they raised there for extra food).
You can read this story either before or after the other books in the series—it doesn’t have spoilers. If you are new to my series, keep in mind that this short piece won’t contain the intricacies of the much longer novels, but I hope it’ll give you a taste of my post-apocalyptic world. Enjoy!
Read sample chapterSometimes Love Needs a Little Help
Everything about Crew is different than she expected. But there’s a secret in his past that is driving them apart, and if he won’t share it with her, she’ll take matters into her own hands.
Because maybe, just maybe, this cowboy might be the one who’s strong enough to stay.
Rylee Williams didn’t want to be a bridesmaid at her estranged sister’s wedding, the sister who’d grown up with the family she was supposed to have. So why does she find herself in a dress two sizes too big and with no date for the wedding? Maybe it’s time to give up on her family once and for all. But a greased pig contest and handsome cowboy Beck Seeger might just change her mind—both about sticking it out and taking a chance at love.
Tara and Rylee have been best friends since they met as teens at Lily’s House. Now the foster sisters discover that sometimes love with a cowboy needs a little help from a horse and a pig.
A Search for Answers Reveals a Surprise
Ten years ago Halla Jenkins climbed out a window at her parents’ house, fell in a mangled heap to the ground, and fled. Eventually, she found Lily’s House and a real family. Now as a successful online reporter and a blogger with a quarter million followers, she doesn’t think much about her roots. But the man she’s fallen for online and dreams of making a future with has questions, and how can she tell him the answers when she doesn’t know them herself? She never planned to confront her parents, but she is desperate to know what really happened. The chance of meeting Oliver in person for first time makes it all worth the risk.
Elsie Reynolds has had the same best guy friend for ten years. Sure there were a few times when he forgot they were only friends, but setting him up with one of her foster sisters always fixed that problem. For the most part, being friends was all either of them ever needed. But now Payden is moving on, and Elsie isn’t quite sure how she feels about losing him. Especially if it’s to the sweet-looking new teacher at the school where he works. Maybe kissing him is just what she needs to get them back into the friend zone.
Kendall Brenwood was already an adult when she found Lily’s House, but it changed the direction of her life, and she is finally living her dream, helping others as a nurse. Only sometimes does she grieve what she lost, even though she knows she made the right choice. When a new resident at the hospital catches her eye, she isn’t sure she’s ready to find love. Why won’t he take no for an answer? Would he still want her if he knew her secret? She’s about to find out.
Join these three roommates from Lily’s House as they take the road less traveled and find . . . love.
Read sample chapterWelcome to the CORE:
Commonwealth Objective for Reform and Efficiency
His visions can save them—if he defeats the madness that waits for them all . . .
Enforcer Jaxon Tennant and his former Colony 6 crew are the last hope for a post-Breakdown society, where CORE Elite experiment on and enslave those they profess to aid. Jaxon’s gift of premonitions, his visions of what will be, are growing stronger and more frequent—and equally more terrifying. But he sees nothing of the vision he needs most, and if he doesn’t find a way to change that, there may not be a future for one of his crew.
When they attempt to save a potential ally, the man turns out to be more than what he seems, and the crew must make a hard choice. Either way, people will die.
When their plan goes sideways, they start down a path that might get them all killed before they have the chance to save the CORE’s two million residents. Before Jaxon has a chance to win the woman he will always love.
What more they uncover about their past and Jaxon’s parentage might be the most startling revelation of all.
Read sample chapterSometimes clear sight comes only after you’re blinded
When a rash of elderly deaths occur in Portland, Autumn Rain is called upon to use her ability to read emotions imprinted on physical objects in an attempt to track down the killer. The antiques shop owner and part-time police consultant is more than willing to go undercover with Shannon Martin, the infuriating detective she might be falling for.
Crime boss Nicholas Russo is also back in town to claim the favor Autumn owes him. If she doesn’t pay, her life and those of her family will be at risk, but helping Russo might mean the deaths of other innocent people.
A chilling repeat imprint of a murder and a fiery near-death has Autumn rethinking everything she’s learned about her ability and what it has made her become.
And then things really get crazy.
Read sample chapterSome secrets are best left alone
Autumn Rain is back to work, along with Detective Shannon Martin, but this time her investigation is personal. Autumn must prove whether or not her biological father, is responsible for the disappearance of a young girl. Cody Beckett’s past record makes him the main suspect, even if there’s not enough evidence to arrest him, and Autumn’s extraordinary ability to receive impressions from objects that have special meaning to their owners might be the only way she can uncover the truth.
What Autumn discovers is far bigger than either she or Shannon expected. Secrets, lies, lost evidence, and more than one missing girl all point to a conclusion they don’t want to accept. But while Autumn struggles with her own volatile emotions regarding her family, time is running out.
Read sample chapterIn a world of make-believe, only imprints can uncover the truth
Autumn Rain’s unique ability to read imprints is put to the test as she attempts to find a missing actress—and ends up discovering a murder. When her investigation leads to an eight-year-old mystery that involves more missing actors, Autumn becomes embroiled in a make-believe world where it’s difficult to tell fake imprints from real, and where everyone appears to have something to hide.
To learn the truth, Autumn must team up again with the handsome Detective Shannon Martin, complicating their uncertain relationship and testing her loyalty to her best friend Jake Ryan.
Life takes another unexpected turn when Autumn discovers a clue to her own past that may explain her unusual abilities. But her mixed feelings about this discovery are put on hold as she finds herself in a deadly struggle to keep from being upstaged permanently.
Read sample chapterAutumn Rain didn’t always possess the ability to read emotions imprinted on objects. If you’ve enjoyed the Imprints series or are just beginning the adventure, you don’t want to miss this new prequel about her first case as a consultant to the Portland Police Bureau. See how Autumn came into her ability, and how Detective Shannon Martin reacts when he realizes this crazy so-called psychic might just be telling the truth.
Can they put aside their differences and find a missing girl before it’s too late? How many rules will they have to break?
Read sample chapterWhy would a contented husband who has it all simply disappear?
Police believe Dennis Briggs left home voluntarily, but his wife is convinced something sinister has happened. In desperation, she turns to Autumn Rain for help. Autumn has the extraordinary ability to read imprints—emotions left on objects that have special meaning to their owners, but what she discovers about the victim only leads to more questions. Autumn is equally confused by her conflicting feelings for the detective who treats her like a suspect and the supportive boyfriend she has always depended on.
Autumn’s investigation takes on new urgency when Dennis’s young son is also targeted, presumably taken from the backyard of the family’s home. What will she risk to save the boy? Sometimes what you can’t see means everything.
Read sample chapterSometimes what you can’t see means everything
When a young woman vanishes without a trace, her heartbroken parents turn to the last prospect they can find for hope: Autumn Rain. Autumn reads imprints—emotions left behind on certain objects. Only she can shed light on their daughter’s last thoughts.
But Autumn’s gift makes her life difficult. Everyday activities like opening a door or holding a friend’s keys can send her into turmoil. It doesn’t help that the infuriating Detective Shannon Martin, who Autumn has helped on cases, usually treats her more like a suspect than a consultant. Too often Autumn finds herself retreating to her antiques shop and the company of her best friend, Jake Ryan, to avoid notice.
Private detective Ethan McConnell, whose widowed sister has gone missing under similar circumstances, also comes to Autumn for help, but her involvement sets in motion a series of events that risk not only her own life, but the lives of those she cares about most.
Read sample chapterOne glimpse into the eyes of a stranger changes everything.
On the first day of her new life, Tawnia McKnight finds herself in Oregon, her fifth state in ten years. Another new job, new friends, a heartache left far behind. Maybe in Portland she can at last find what she is looking for. Maybe she can even forget Bret Winn.
But when a tragic bridge collapse rocks the city, Tawnia is thrust back into the life of the man she thought she’d never see again. And with him is a stranger, a stranger with inexplicably familiar eyes. Soon Tawnia finds herself drawn into a web of confusion and deceit. Where did the eccentric Autumn Rain come from and why does she look so much like Tawnia? Though Autumn’s agony over her missing father seems real, there is much in her past that cannot be explained. Even more troubling for Tawnia is Bret’s interest in Autumn, despite Tawnia’s own attraction to the mysterious firefighter who once saved Autumn’s life.
Danger looms as Tawnia tries to unravel clues to both the past and the current tragedy in Portland. Will she find what she is looking for, or will everything she cares about slip once again from her grasp?
Read sample chapterWill Facing the Past Allow Her to Create a Future?
True love never dies, but sometimes it needs a nudge—and a willingness to take a risk.
Saffron Brenwood is a survivor. Having endured great tragedy at a young age, she’s arisen from the flames stronger than ever. She’s built her own business, her former foster sisters are her best friends, and she has a great boyfriend. That her relationships never last more than two months hasn’t really bothered her. There’s always the next attentive date—when keeping a man at arm’s length no longer works.
But now her friends are getting married and her current boyfriend wants more. Only Saffron stands still in time, and she realizes the truth: deep inside, her heart is still broken.
So she’s going back to where it all began, to face those who hurt her and find a way to fix her life once and for all. What she discovers surprises everyone. Because true love, though always changing, never dies. Sometimes it just needs a nudge—and a willingness to take a risk.
In this fifth novel of the Lily’s House series, Saffron, the oldest and first runaway teen from Lily’s House, finally tells her story.
Read sample chapterOne decision frozen in time. A choice that can never be altered.
After fighting her way through a bitter and hurtful past, Mercedes Johnson has painstakingly carved out a life of quiet contentment on a Wyoming farm with her husband, Wayne, and their three sons. Together she and Wayne have survived the worst trials a couple can face, and their relationship has grown as solid and lasting as the farmland beneath their feet. If their relationship is not everything Mercedes might have hoped for, it is enough.
All that changes when the birth father of Mercedes’ oldest child returns to Riverton. Dr. Brandon Rhodes, a renowned heart surgeon, has plans for the son he has never met. Resentful at the secret Mercedes has kept for thirteen years, he threatens the carefully balanced life she and Wayne have created. Just how far is he willing to go to gain what he feels is rightfully his?
As Mercedes uncovers the truth of Brandon’s intentions regarding their son and the lies surrounding the past, she is torn between what is and what might have been. One choice, one decision, has led her to this place. How can she live with the consequences?
Read sample chapterWhat if everything you ever thought was true about your past, wasn’t true at all?
Liana Winn has always felt like an outsider in her family. As a child she was adopted by relatives after her parents’ plane accident in India, but now that she is as an adult, her disjointed memories—and nightmares—of the past continue to make it impossible for her to bridge the wide gulf she still feels with her adoptive family. She is plagued by questions about her parents’ deaths and wonders if that event is the reason for her inability to form deep personal relationships. Although her adoptive brother Christian has become her greatest friend and supporter, she even has difficulty bonding with him. Needing someone means love, and losing those you love hurts too much.
When Liana meets successful businessman, Austin Walker, who has risen above his own difficult childhood on a Wyoming farm, she’s certain their business will not extend to friendship. Yet she cannot deny their powerful connection and the feeling of hope he offers.
But the ghosts of the past will not rest for Liana, and while searching for answers, she makes a shocking discovery that just might mean the end of everything she’s ever believed.
Read sample chapterWelcome to the CORE:
Commonwealth Objective for Reform and Efficiency
Someone will do anything to stop them from learning the truth . . .
Eighty years after Breakdown, Detective Reese Parker has pulled herself up from the dregs of society in Welfare Colony 6 to become a sketch artist and enforcer for the CORE (Commonwealth Objective for Reform and Efficiency). She works hard with other enforcers to maintain peace and order among the CORE’s 2 million residents, especially against the radiation-crazed outsiders called fringers.
But Reese hides a secret she can never share with anyone, a secret that killed her father and ruined the life of the person she once loved more than anyone.
When a new assignment sends Reese to Amarillo City, near where she grew up, she’s partnered with Jaxon Tennant on the Violent Crimes Investigation Unit, and she knows her secret won’t stay secret long. Somehow their past is connected to missing scientists and programmers, but all leads go nowhere: evidence disappears, witnesses change testimony, and names vanish from the CORE database.
Someone is willing to do anything to stop Reese and her former Colony 6 crew from discovering the truth behind what is has been done to them—and thousands of others. To learn what they have become, Reese and her friends must go against the very foundations of the society they serve. There is no going back.
Read sample chapterLisbon is hot!
Lisbon is hot, from her head to her toes. Luckily she has her animal friends to help her find ways to cool off. When their solutions don’t exactly work out for her, Lisbon has to discover her own way to stay cool. We invite you to join Lisbon on her funny misadventures.
Each beautiful illustration is designed to inspire the imaginations of children. An activity page at the end of the book allows for more fun as they search for special items in the illustrations.
This version of I Don’t Want to Have Hot Toes has been designed specifically for ebook with a fixed layout and larger text for easy reading. While this is a great read-aloud book for parents, teachers, and other adults to share with children, we have chosen fonts that are similar to the way children form letters for easy recognition as they begin to read on their own. The print book is also available in 8.5” x 11” format.
Author’s Note:
I Don’t Want to Have Hot Toes is the second book in the Lisbon’s Misadventures series. The first book, I Don’t Want to Eat Bugs is also available in print and ebook. I’ve written two additional books in the series, and Tim Petersen is hard at work creating the illustrations. Tim is obviously a fabulous artist, and I’m excited to be working with him. You can sign up on my website to learn when the next book comes out (https://teylarachelbranton.com/). Thank you and enjoy!
Read sample chapterBugs are for the birds!
Lisbon is hungry and it’s hard to wait for dinner. When her animal friends try to help her find something tasty to eat, the real the problems begin! Join Lisbon on her funny misadventures.
Each beautiful illustration is designed to inspire the imaginations of children. An activity page at the end of the book allows for more fun as they search for special items in the illustrations.
This version of I Don’t Want to Eat Bugs has been designed specifically for ebook with a fixed layout and larger text for easy reading. While this is a great read-aloud book for parents, teachers, and other adults to share with children, we have chosen fonts that are similar to the way children form letters for easy recognition as they begin to read on their own. The print book is also available in 8.5” x 11” format.
Author’s Note:
I Don’t Want to Eat Bugs was written for my daughter, who was two when I wrote this story and didn’t like salad, but now she’s four and a half and loves it—if I give her plenty of salad dressing! (But don’t worry—this isn’t a book about eating salad.) Of course birds, cats, and dogs have a very different idea of what’s good to eat, but through this fun adventure, Lisbon learns there is also food meant just for her—and it’s good, especially compared with all the offerings from her animal friends.
My daughter and I privately call this book the “Ice Cream Story” (she LOVES ice cream so there had to be ice cream involved), and now whenever something funny happens, she says, “We should write a new ice cream story about that.”
And we have! I Don’t Want to Eat Bugs is the first book in a planned series called Lisbon’s Misadventures. The second book, I Don’t Want to Have Hot Toes, is already available, and Tim Petersen is hard at work creating the illustrations. Tim is obviously a fabulous artist, and I’m excited to be working with him. You can sign up on my website to learn when the next book comes out. Thank you and enjoy!
Read sample chapterSome Secrets are Meant to be Shared
Caring for the animals at Safe Haven Exotic Wildlife Sanctuary has filled the holes in Zoey Morgan’s life and soothed the memories that haunt her. It helps that she works with Stephen Carey, whose uncle owns the sanctuary, and Declan Walker, who is as wild and untouchable as the animals they help. When a storm hits, flattening buildings and flooding roads, the sanctuary goes into lockdown. Zoey learns that her younger sister is lost in the storm, and she will risk anything to find her. So will the man who loves her—if she’d let him. Can he slip past the walls Zoey has built to hide her secrets?
All Ruth Truman wanted was to open a little cafe and do what she does best, but the price tag is years out of reach. Then a not-so-chance meeting with a gorgeous photographer and help from her hodgepodge family might just put the goal in reach. Except now both her future and her heart are at risk—will the cost be too high?
You loved them as teenagers in House Without Lies, now see some of the runaway girls from Lily’s House all grown up. This sweet contemporary romance can be read alone or part of the series.
Read sample chapterHer Dream Didn’t Include Falling In Love
Lily has a dream, a dream of a big house without lies, a place of refuge for runaway girls. She knows what it’s like to grow up feeling unloved, and she now fills every space in her tiny apartment with endangered teens. They don’t have everything they need, but together they have enough. Or so she thinks—until she meets Jameson and glimpses the mysterious something between them that just might mean real love. Jameson, who works as a teen counselor, believes the only way Lily can really help the girls is by certifying as a foster parent and going through the system. But becoming legitimate may mean losing some of the girls to the families who threw them away, and Lily hasn’t worked hard to save the teens only to abandon them now. It seems Jameson will be one more entry on the very long list of things Lily has given up for the girls. What other choice is there when she is all they have? When two of the teens’ fathers come looking for them, and another one’s mother plans to put her daughter in danger, Lily’s life spins out of control. They need a new home—and fast. A safe place. A house without lies.
Read sample chapterNonomine might give Maddy everything she wants, but at what price?
Maddy knows she can’t give her scientist husband the one thing he really wants—an heir with his genes and genius. Or can she? Nonomine offers them the chance they’ve both been waiting for, even if it means living at nine times the normal human rate. But when things start to go wrong, the price they must pay is more than either of them ever dreamed.
Please note: This is a complete science fictional short story with an “aha” ending. There is no sequel to buy to discover the rest. It’s not a romance or a saga, but a short story that we hope will get you thinking and wondering what YOU would do in Maddy’s place. The scenario she faces might not be too far away in our own future. We have included a sample chapter of one of the author’s full-length books for your added enjoyment.
Read sample chapterTakeover—One Last Chance for Humanity
Since the announcement of Unbounded existence, the mortal world has quickly polarized. One faction wants all Unbounded—Renegade and Emporium—dead. Others worship them as gods who have come to save the world and bring it immortality. The tension between these groups is ready to explode.
Meanwhile, the Emporium has a new player, one who has upped the stakes in the battle for humanity. Many innocent mortals are sacrificed as the Emporium Triad grabs for control.
As Erin Radkey, Ritter Langton, and their Renegade allies struggle to stay one step ahead of the enemy, their increasing abilities are tested to the limit—as is their trust in each other. They have only one chance to change the game, to save humanity. A desperate plan that requires an ultimate price no one can bear to pay.
But everything is not always what it seems, especially in the world of the Unbounded.
“The Takeover amazingly pulls in threads from all the previous novels for a richly satisfying series conclusion. From Jace’s parentage and Stella’s baby, to Keene’s ability and Cort’s past, it all comes together. The Unbounded series is one that will always stand out in my mind.” Jody Babcock
Read sample chapterLiving With No Regrets Is Harder Than It Seems
Finley isn’t exactly sure when her life began to feel unfamiliar. She suspects the transformation started long before she caught her husband and fellow garden club member doing the white-trash-two-step on her new Bernhardt sofa. Now free from the shackles of a loveless marriage, and with her children off to college, she’s finally able to go searching for the missing pieces of her heart.
Finley’s best friend, Cathyanne, is already working hard to ensure that Finley finds true love this time around. But when Finley is unwittingly tossed into the arms of two men—their sexy trainer and her neighbor, a popular country star—Cathyanne fears finding the right guy will be more complicated than she ever could have imagined.
For Finley, building a new life feels as impossible as flying a paper airplane to the moon. But maybe, just maybe, with the right help, she will find her whole heart—even if it’s in the very last place she thinks to look.
Read sample chapterWhen Duty To Your Country Is All You Have To Live For, How Do You Go On Living?
Ericha is a woman with nothing—not even her father’s name. Following her mother’s death she is guided to Horstberg in search of answers and contentment. When her path repeatedly crosses with the brooding Stefan Heinrich, she is drawn to him by feelings too profound to ignore. The love they share is intense and undeniable, but Ericha’s ignorance of Stefan’s circumstances puts her on a scale in his life opposite to the country he rules, and the wife he loathes.
While Stefan questions daily what kind of madness drove him to marry the deceptive and tawdry Johanna Von Bindorf, a princess from the neighboring country of Kohenswald, he is torn between his commitment to do what is right, and his love for a woman that he cannot have; a woman who fills his aching soul. Years of spiraling downward in hopelessness finally drive him to make Ericha a part of his life as far as it is possible, while deep inside he knows that eventually a price for his happiness will have to be paid.
As Ericha develops a deep bond with the legendary Abbi du Woernig, she unknowingly breathes life back into the heart and soul of Horstberg. But happiness and peace for the entire family are fleeting and fragile. Both Stefan and Ericha quickly realize the price for their choices is higher than either of them ever could have imagined. When Horstberg’s freedom is bargained for with the life of its ruler, Stefan knows that he must sacrifice everything to once again prove himself worthy to serve the people of his country with dignity and to live his life with the woman he loves.
Read sample chapterGuard, Protect, and Above All, Stay Alive
Two months after the announcement that rocked the entire world, Mari Jorgenson is going undercover to protect the man who has become the face of the Unbounded. What’s not to like? Expensive clothes, a great disguise, a chance to play with knives—and all with a Renegade partner she might just be falling for.
Mari can’t think of a better assignment for practicing her shifting ability. But when everything goes horribly wrong on the first day, it will take everything she has—and more—if she and her friends are to keep humanity’s best hope for peace alive long enough to unite the world. Along the way, Mari glimpses within herself a darkness that threatens to turn her into the very evil she is fighting.
Join Mari, Keene, Jace, Cort, and other Renegades from the main Unbounded series as Mari shifts through an adventure that will ultimately set the stage for the greatest and final battle with the Emporium.
Please note that Lethal Engagement is a novella, but it is 50% longer than the other two Unbounded novellas, the same size as many short novels. While it is separate from the main Unbounded series, the events take place in the Unbounded timeline after The Reckoning (Unbounded Book 4). As some of the events in book 4 are referenced, readers will better appreciate Lethal Engagement after reading The Reckoning.
Read sample chapterHe Was Born To Inherit A Country, But The Crown He Is Destined To Wear Is The Very Threat Against His Life
Erich du Woernig grew up knowing he would someday inherit his father’s position as the Duke of Horstberg. He also grew up observing the powerful and tender love shared by his parents. Determined to find that same kind of love in his own life, he is holding out for a woman who can see more in him than a marriage that will give his future wife prestige and great wealth.
After more than a decade of searching for the right woman, Erich may have finally found a love beyond anything he’d imagined. But his happiness and the stability of the country is at risk when a long-dormant evil comes to the surface in Horstberg, threatening his life and that of his young nephew, who is Erich’s heir. While Erich tries to remain confident that he will live long enough to claim his right to serve his country, he is haunted by premonitory dreams that imply his life will come to a tragic end.
As a force of extremist revolutionaries force Horstberg to the brink of war, the entire du Woernig family must flee into hiding for the sake of their own survival. Only when everything is on the line does Erich come to fully understand what truly matters.
Read sample chapterAn Intense, Emotional Journey
Charlene believes she’s an ordinary housewife and mother with ordinary challenges. Gradually, she comes to realize her marriage isn’t healthy and that her husband’s treatment isn’t normal. Relying only on her own courage and the help of a few friends, she struggles to free herself and her children from a relationship that has turned their lives into a living nightmare.
Charlene soon discovers that altering her relationship is only half the battle and finding what she really needs takes just as much courage as recognizing the problem in the first place. Trusting again—and making love work—may be the biggest challenge of all.
Read sample chapterNo Second Chances. Death, Life, or Love—Unbounded Always Play for Keeps.
There are only two ways to kill Unbounded, and fire isn’t one of them—as law school dropout Erin Radkey learns the hard way. By fluke of a recessive gene, she has become Unbounded, a nearly immortal being with paranormal abilities.
Erin’s Change separates her from her loved ones and alters everything she believes to be true. A week earlier she was considering a marriage proposal; now she contemplates the best way to stay alive. Caught in a battle between two Unbounded groups, the Emporium and the Renegades, she is also hunted by a secret mortal society sworn to eradicate the Unbounded gene.
As Erin plunges into this dangerous new life, she must carve out her own place in the madness, protect her mortal family, and decide which group she should join. Her unique ability is vital to both groups in the race to secure an identification software that spells death for all Unbounded—or enslavement for the entire mortal world. Some will stop at nothing to use Erin as one more pawn in a battle that has spanned centuries. Erin’s undeniable attraction to Ritter Langton, whose family was massacred by opposing Unbounded two hundred and forty years ago, complicates her choices. There are no second chances. Death, life, or love—Unbounded always play for keeps.
Non-stop action, terrifying consequences, and powerful romance make The Change an exciting addition to the world of romantic urban fantasy.
Read sample chapterEven When You CHANGE, Some Things Remain the Same . . .
Erin Radkey’s life has altered completely since her Change made her one of the Unbounded. Yet she has learned the hard way that some things never change.
Greed. Over the centuries the long-lived Unbounded have divided into two groups, the Emporium who craves money and power and will do anything to achieve its ends, including experimenting on its own people, and the Renegades who protect humanity.
Power. Now the Renegades are close to discovering a cure that will save many dying mortals, and the husband of Erin’s closest friend is first in line to receive the formula. But Emporium agents will stop at nothing to destroy the cure—until they realize the research might be exactly the weapon they’ve been searching for.
Love. Erin’s new abilities are tested as she and fellow Renegades fight the Emporium in a struggle that soon becomes all too personal, and where lines of loyalty are blurred by relationships of the past. Everything is at risk, including the lives of her friends—and the love of Ritter Langton, the Renegade Unbounded who both infuriates and excites her.
From the busy streets of Portland to the jungles of Mexico, The Cure is a page-turning urban fantasy that will keep you riveted until the end.
Read sample chapterThey Have Become the Guardians of Humanity.
Renegade Unbounded are the last line of defense between the ruthless Emporium and unsuspecting humanity, but how long can they continue the struggle alone?
Three weeks of waiting to free their allies from an Emporium compound in New York City have Erin Radkey and her Renegade friends on edge. Frustrations run even higher when they uncover a new Emporium plot involving the nation’s highest leaders, a plan full of more deceit than Erin imagined possible. With each passing day, the pendulum swings closer to world-wide Emporium rule and mortal servitude.
Making sense of her personal life is every bit as challenging as being a guardian of humanity. Erin fears that her increasing abilities will alienate everyone around her, including those who love her most. Her relationship with Ritter Langton has been on hold these past anxious weeks, and though their connection runs undeniably deep, the constant presence of the mortal Keene McIntyre adds to the tension between them. Choices loom before Erin that affect not only her personal life but how she does her job.
With political intrigue and non-stop action, the Escape adds satisfying dimension to the Unbounded world, whose characters and storyline have captured the imaginations of thousands of readers.
Read sample chapterOnly One Can Survive The Reckoning
Erin Radkey has always known the day would come when she would have to personally confront the Triad leader of the power-hungry Emporium. But she never thought it would be with a snake in her head that feeds on her energy. Or that she’d be in the company of an uncertain ally who might turn on her at any moment.
The stakes are high as new intel uncovers a startling Emporium plot that will catapult the entire world into war. Erin is determined to save not only the mortals but also her friends—even if it means sacrificing herself and her newfound love for Ritter Langton.
Ritter is just as determined to save Erin and prevent what would usher in the most bloody century the world has ever known, but even he might not recognize the person she becomes.
Every day the enemy grows stronger. There will be no second chance.
Read sample chapterTessa Needs a Husband—and Fast!
With her trust fund in jeopardy, Tessa Crawford enters into a relationship with a mysterious neighbor that soon turns into something more dangerous than either of them could have imagined.
Two days before her wedding, Tessa Crawford’s world crumbles, leaving her hurt and betrayed. Worse, if Tessa doesn’t marry and receive her trust fund, her sister Lily will lose her house and the homeless girls she helps will have nowhere to go.
But Tessa can’t marry just anyone, can she?
Gage Braxton, the guy from next door, is willing to help her out, but rumors hint that he’s an ex-con. Tessa quickly finds herself attracted to a man who has no intention of ever falling in love or of passing on his terrible legacy.
When Tessa stumbles across evidence that may be proof of Gage’s innocence, suspects begin to line up. Someone is willing to kill again to see that the truth remains buried, and if Tessa doesn’t hurry and solve the old murder, she will lose not only her chance at love but may become the murderer’s next victim.
Rachel Branton has created an exciting, romantic story with a new take on a theme that never gets old.
Sometimes Survival Isn’t Enough . . .
Years of living on the street and fending for herself have made Makay Greyson tough and resourceful, if a bit disillusioned. She’s come a long way from sleeping in parks and scavenging for food. Her entire focus is on providing a better life for her young brother, one without fear of loss and neglect.
That certainly doesn’t leave time for Harrison Matthews, who from their first meeting sends fire through her veins and upsets all her carefully laid plans.
Makay has done things she isn’t proud of to survive, and those choices now threaten the small amount of security she’s created—and any chance of a future with Harrison. They’ve been raised in two very different worlds, and the secrets they both hide can only lead to disaster.
There is only one chance to make it right, and one misstep could be fatal.
Your Eyes Don’t Lie is a story about facing fears, sacrificing for those you love, and about a girl who thinks she isn’t worth loving and a guy who knows she is.
Read sample chapterWhen You’re Hiding For Your Life, What Do You Live For?
Abbi has the gift of dreams. But her uncanny ability to see glimpses of the future has no apparent purpose or meaning until a dream leads her to a man on the brink of despair and destruction.
Cameron is a man without a name and without a country, framed for a crime he didn’t commit. Long ago forced into exile and believed dead, the passing of years have defaced him of all hope.
The country of Horstberg suffers beneath the weight of tyranny, and only Cameron holds the secret that could see her ruler undone and restore the people to peace and prosperity. While revolution brews and whispers of treason threaten all that is dear to Abbi, she remains unaware of her own ability to answer a nation’s prayers.
Trusting only her heart and the power of her dreams, Abbi gives all that she has to lead Cameron back into a civilized world, where love is real and freedom comes only in facing what hides behind the mask.
Please note that this book contains the entire Volume One of the Horstberg Saga, over 1,080 manuscript pages! Ebook (retail $7.99) has a fully linked table of contents.
Read sample chapterWhen Honor Means More Than Anything To A Man, Can He Sacrifice His Honor For Love?
Captain Lance Dukerk has no doubt that the only woman he ever loved married the right man—even though that man wasn’t him. Yet he longs to have that kind of love in his life and is growing weary of being known as the most eligible bachelor in Horstberg’s military force.
When poverty-stricken Nadine Rader arrives at Castle Horstberg, insisting that her young daughter is the legitimate child of the duke, it becomes increasingly evident that the deceased ruler Nikolaus du Woernig left a torrent of disillusionment and heartache in his wake. Inexplicably drawn to Nadine, Lance takes personal charge of seeing that her needs are met as she attempts to piece her life back together. Their mutual attraction quickly merges into something profound, until Nadine discovers that Lance’s connections to Nikolaus go far deeper than she’d ever imagined, and her budding trust in Lance shatters.
Nadine’s life becomes more troubling as women who fit her description are brutally murdered, and neither she nor Lance are prepared to face startling evidence that widens the chasm of mistrust between them. While Nadine fights to stay alive, Lance relentlessly tracks the monster responsible for these horrendous crimes, hoping he’ll be in time to protect the one woman he knows he can never live without.Show more Show less
Read sample chapterWhen A Man Is Torn Between Honoring His Country And The Woman He Loves, The Best Option Might Be To Choose Both
When Maggie du Woernig willfully ignores her parents’ admonitions and entangles herself with Nik Koenig, she is certain he’s the only man who will make her happy. Blind to Nik’s real intentions, she throws herself recklessly into a situation that could not only destroy her life but compromise the safety of her country.
Han Heinrich has resigned himself to working in the castle stables, mostly as an excuse to have contact each day with Maggie. His aspirations for a more fulfilling career seem fruitless, in spite of his father’s position as the duke’s highest advisor. But when Han learns about Maggie’s precarious situation, he is willing to sacrifice everything to protect the woman he loves, and to save the country he would die for. He only hopes that someday Maggie will forgive him.
Read sample chapterCHAPTER 1
The bus shook as it clattered over a rusty bridge that spanned a dry stream. A green and white sign rose up, clearly visible through the left window: Forgotten 30 miles. There were other cities on the sign as well, but she ignored them. She’d loved the name Forgotten from the moment she’d heard it, and seeing the destination on her ticket this morning at the bus station had made her feel safe. The small town was in Kansas, some few miles over the Nebraska border, far away from her old life. Forgotten sounded like a good place to start over, a place where she could leave behind the person she had been and become the woman she knew inside, the one who spoke her mind, wasn’t afraid, and would never stay in an unhealthy situation because of that negligible thing called fear.
She’d cried for nearly the entire ride so far. Mostly because she knew that if she had found her courage earlier, her entire future would be different than it could ever be now. But there was no going back, only forward. That was what she was doing. She’d go to Forgotten and remake her life.
Maybe then she could forgive herself.
Pain washed over her at the thought, fresh and raw, biting deep like a wound that would never, ever heal.
And it wouldn’t, of course. She knew that. But she had to survive . . . somehow. Happiness was optional. When her old life caught up to her—and of course it eventually would—she would be in control.
Or could she hide forever? It might be possible in a town called Forgotten. She gently rubbed at her right wrist, which ached badly, the skin tender and bruised. One more scar that would hopefully fade into the past, along with the bigger one cracking her heart. Her despair was enough—almost—to wish the fogginess she’d briefly found comfort in hadn’t lifted. But the awareness had gotten her this far, and she was grateful. Soon she’d be able to rest. Maybe in Forgotten she could forget, if only for a while.
Her head pounded, which was partly because of the accident, and her aching body screamed for relief. So dizzy, she thought, gripping the armrests. She leaned back in the comfortable, high-backed seat and shut her eyes . . . and let it all go—the past, the betrayals, and most of all the heartache.
“Miss?” came the voice of the bus driver sometime later. “This is your stop.”
She blinked her eyes open. “My stop?” She felt confused as she looked around. What was she doing on a bus?
“Forgotten,” he clarified. “I’m sure that’s what your ticket said. The stop is on the outskirts of the city, and it’s not much of a station, but there’s a bathroom and a place to sit. You can wait out of the sun until your ride arrives to take you into town.”
She had no idea what he was talking about, but she did remember she had been heading to Forgotten. From where she’d come, she didn’t know. She rose, clutching the backpack on the seat beside her that seemed to be her only luggage. She was sitting near the front of the bus, so she walked toward that exit.
She could see herself in the huge mirror over the driver’s head that allowed him to observe the passengers at will, though there were only a handful of people still on the bus. Her long blond hair, pulled up in a messy ponytail, looked odd somehow, not from the escaping hairs but by the fact that she didn’t recognize the hair style . . . or really her entire person, yet she knew it was her. She had blue eyes with deep shadows under them and a slender figure except for her middle where her yellow summer dress seemed to hide a few extra pounds. The long, flowy, shapeless dress didn’t stir a single memory, but she liked it.
The grizzled bus driver cleared his throat. “Someone’s coming to pick you up, ain’t they?”
Did she looked so helpless that he had to ask? She didn’t feel helpless. She was strong and ready to face the world. She tossed her head as if her hair were loose and flowing around her. “How far is the town?”
“Sixteen or so miles straight ahead. Shorter if you cut across the fields.” He eyed her sandals doubtfully, as if implying they were impractical for cross country, though they barely had two-inch heels.
“I’ll be fine. Thank you.”
“Don’t have much call for people going to Forgotten.” He shrugged. “That’s why we don’t drive all the way into town.”
She nodded as if she knew what he was talking about and exited the bus. The late-morning sun shone brightly down on her, but it was May and not that hot. The air smelled fresh and new. She glanced back to find the bus driver staring at her uncertainly, as if afraid to leave her here alone. She waved at him and turned her back to the bus. The door squeaked shut, and the engine sounded loud as it pulled away. Turning right on the adjoining road, the bus soon disappeared from sight.
She studied the ribbon of road stretching out before her as far as she could see. It appeared a lot longer than sixteen miles. Better to face that after a bathroom break.
The man hadn’t been joking about the station being small. It was little more than a wooden hut with a big gap where a window might have once been. A short bench took up the back wall, and there was a heater, which seemed to be broken. The bathroom connected to the other side of the structure but had only one stall and no soap in the sink. At least the water worked. Searching her backpack, she found an empty plastic bottle wedged next to a box of feminine hygiene pads. Too bad there wasn’t an extra pair of shoes.
After filling the water bottle up at the bathroom sink, she started down the road.
*
A sweet smell pierced her unconscious dream. She wanted to lie in the sweetness forever, her body cradled in warmth. But the clump-clump of footsteps dragged her closer to consciousness. With that awareness came the sensation of itching—her arms and legs, mostly—and an odd dryness caught at her throat. She moved slightly, and something sharp poked her back.
“What are you doing here?” demanded a voice she didn’t recognize. Definitely a man. She felt more than saw him bend over, sweeping off her covering.
An unreasoning fear rose in her chest, threatening to choke her. She opened her eyes and saw the man’s face above her, peering down curiously. The fear receded, as if belonging to another life. Above the man, bare rafters crisscrossed the ceiling. She appeared to be lying in a pile of hay.
Hay?
“It’s okay.” His voice was softer now, less demanding. He brushed more of the hay away and extended a hand to help her up.
Ignoring the hand, she pushed herself to a seated position, away from the offensive object poking her in the back—a pitchfork apparently. More hay streamed from her body.
With a calculated move, she reached for the pitchfork under the hay. Aiming it at the man, she jabbed it once in his direction. “Back off,” she warned, pleased to see him back up a couple steps.
“What? Are you kidding?” he demanded, his face more puzzled than angry. “I’m not here to hurt you. I was offering you a hand.” He had a nice face with a clean-shaven, square jaw that spoke of strength, and brown eyes that didn’t make her feel like running. He was lean and handsome, though, and this she didn’t quite trust.
“But I do need to know what you’re doing here,” he added.
“Here” was in a barn or a loft of sorts. Bright sunlight streamed through slats at the far end of the loft that covered a large window but still let in enough light to illuminate the area. Behind her rose a tall pile of hay—a veritable mountain of it. All in neatly stacked bales, except the mound that made up her bed. A vague memory of tugging hay from the bales danced in the back of her mind. With the memory came an ache from her finger.
She brought the hurt finger to her lips, sucking gently. Her lip was cracked, and the motion hurt more than soothed her finger, so she drew it away.
The man’s gaze didn’t leave her face. “You’re not from around here, are you? Did your car break down or something? Are you hurt?” He spoke as if talking to a frightened animal. She didn’t know whether to applaud his efforts or feel offended.
When she didn’t answer, he asked, “Where are your shoes?”
She looked down to see that she wore only a yellow summer dress. Her bare feet were swollen and itchy like her arms where the hay had rubbed against her skin.
“They got wet,” she said, her throat hurting from dryness as she spoke. They’d also been muddy and completely useless, but he didn’t have to know about that. Trying to get to town, especially after she’d cut across a field and attempted to wade through a river, hadn’t worked out as well as she’d thought.
She kept her hands firmly on the pitchfork and tried to stand. Now that the sweet-smelling hay was off her body, she was cold.
“Can you please put that thing down?” he asked in the same steady voice. “I’m not going to hurt you. And if I were, I’d use this.” He opened his denim jacket, revealing a handgun in a shoulder holster.
In her mind she envisioned pinning him against the wall with the pitchfork and taking his gun, but her limbs wouldn’t obey her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten. With an internal sigh, she carefully laid the pitchfork to the side, still within reach.
The man took two steps toward her and squatted down, studying her. He wore khaki pants, work boots, and a snug green T-shirt under his jacket, which he filled out nicely. That made sense if this was his barn, though he didn’t seem like a cowboy. His brown hair was short in the back and sides but longer in front, looping over a bit messily to one side. If they’d met under different circumstances, she might have tried flirting with him.
“I’m Dylan Morgan,” he said. “What’s your name?”
She’d opened her mouth to respond when she realized she didn’t know. But how could anyone not know their name? She remembered nothing except stepping off the bus, walking for miles, and a swift-moving river.
He smiled now, rocking back on his heels. “You do have a name, don’t you?”
“Hay,” she said, her voice coming louder, sounding hoarse. She’d meant to ask him why she was in the hay, but that was stupid. She already knew he didn’t know.
“Hay?” Dylan asked doubtfully.
“Hailey,” she improvised. It felt right.
“Hi, Hailey. Can you tell me what you’re doing here?” His eyes never left her face. They felt warm, and she was so very cold.
“I don’t remember.” She couldn’t hold back the shiver now.
He shrugged off his jacket, moving forward to drape it around her shoulders. So warm, she thought. Like his eyes. She wanted to trust him, but that was probably a terrible idea, and she’d go with her feelings over a handsome face any day.
“What’s your last name?”
She shook her head and didn’t respond.
His brow furrowed as his eyes searched the hay around her, his eyes landing on her backpack. “You might have hit your head,” he said, more to himself than to her. “Or maybe you were wandering in the sun too long. Forgotten’s weather has been hotter this May than most other parts of the Midwest.”
For a moment, she felt adrift, as if even the words eluded her comprehension. She shook her head to throw off the sensation. “I’m fine.” She pulled her backpack over one shoulder. It felt heavier than she remembered.
Dylan offered her his hand again, and this time she accepted it. He tugged her up gently, and a rush of something dribbled down the back of her left calf. He let her go as soon as she was on her feet, and her legs nearly collapsed.
“Woah,” he said, grabbing her elbow. “Easy now. Are you dizzy? We’d better get you into town. You probably need something to eat and drink.”
She wanted water more than anything, but she simply nodded. “Thank you. I’d appreciate it.”
He led her to an opening tucked in between the hay mountain and the wall. She was relieved to see it was a real staircase leading down from the loft and not a ladder. She wouldn’t be able to manage one of those now with the dizziness. She swallowed hard, and it felt like she’d gulped a mouthful of glass.
“If you want, go on down,” he said. “Or you can wait if you need help. I have to throw down some hay while I’m here. I won’t have time to come back until evening, and the horses can’t wait that long.”
She watched him open a trap door, grab the pitchfork, and start throwing the hay she’d slept in through the opening. Taking an awkward step, she clung to the single banister near the wall. Something more dribbled down her leg. She was dizzy, her cheeks felt hot, and her stomach ached. The backpack seemed to weigh a hundred pounds. No way was she going to make it down those stairs by herself. What was wrong with her? She was sure she hadn’t felt this way yesterday. Maybe.
Dylan repeated the hay throwing twice more through other trapdoors. He didn’t take long, but by the time he finished, her legs were threatening collapse. She wanted nothing more than to curl back up in the hay and return to her dream.
Somehow, he made it to her side before she toppled over. “I’ve got you,” he murmured as his strong arms went around her. She had no choice but to lean on him as he half dragged, half carried her down the stairs.
Stalls made up the bulk of the lower portion of the barn, only three of which were currently occupied, and these held beautiful horses, whose coats shone as if they’d recently been combed. One whinnied as she and Dylan moved over the concrete floor, but Dylan only called, “You’re welcome, Lady,” and didn’t pause.
They did stop at the door of the barn, where, besides a short farmhouse situated across a large back yard, a whole lot of nothing met her gaze. She saw only acres of land, growing green stalks about a foot above the ground, and the ribbon of road winding through them. No wonder she’d stopped here. In fact, if Dylan hadn’t come along, she might not have found her way into town today.
The sun wasn’t directly overhead, but she could feel its warmth on her face. She didn’t know if it was morning or afternoon but guessed it was morning if he was feeding the animals.
“It’s only a little further.” He motioned to a dark gray vehicle that seemed vaguely familiar. Not a truck but an SUV.
Instant terror rolled through her at the sight of the vehicle, but with the nearly the same speed, the emotion was gone. She didn’t know this vehicle. It wasn’t after her.
After her? The thought didn’t make sense. Even so, she was relieved that no one was inside.
“You’re hurt,” Dylan said, his gaze directed toward the ground near her foot where a few drops of blood had pooled. She followed his gaze as he looked back into the barn where more blood spotted the concrete.
That’s when she remembered the stick from the river. “Oh, yeah. It’s a cut.” She lifted her dress a little to examine the cut on the back of her left calf. It looked worse than she remembered, covered in both dried and fresh blood. Blood caked on the back of her dress as well. “If you have a little tissue, that might help.”
He bent over to take a brief look. “That’s a nasty cut. Needs more than tissue. There’s a first aid kit up at the house.” His gaze flicked in the direction of the farmhouse. “Can you walk that far on it?”
She wanted to say no way, but if she did, he’d probably carry her—or take her in the car, where she’d leave even more blood. She let her dress fall back into place.
“Sure.” The word came out as strongly as she’d intended, and it irritated her that his left brow crooked doubtfully. That brow was missing a slash of hair at an angle near the end, she noticed, as if a scar prevented growth, though from this far away, she couldn’t be sure that was the reason.
They started for the house, with her wobbling more than she could prevent until he steadied her again with his arm. The hard-packed dirt path wasn’t too hard on her feet, for which she was grateful.
“I can take your backpack,” he offered.
She shook her head, unwilling to let it go from her hands. As far as she knew, it was all she owned.
“Let me know if you change your mind.”
She peeked at his profile. He didn’t look angry, only intent on the house. Better yet, he hadn’t repeated his question about where she was from, for which she was grateful. She didn’t have an answer, not yet. But she would, because until she remembered exactly why she was here, she didn’t want to appear like someone who should be in a mental hospital.
They hadn’t gone far when a dog came running to meet them, not from the house but from the fields, where it had likely been chasing a rabbit or a field mouse, or whatever they had in this town. What had the man called the town? She couldn’t remember, though she was quite sure she’d known yesterday. She couldn’t remember the man’s name either.
The dog was a large golden one with furry ears, a Golden Retriever, she guessed, and though its face was sleek, its belly was hugely distended, as if it had eaten far too many fat-laden dinners. It gave a low woof and sniffed at her with great interest.
“No.” The man leaned over to shoo the dog away. “Leave her alone. And if you’re looking for petting, you should have thought of that when I tried to feed you instead of running off after some jackrabbit.”
Dylan, she remembered. The man’s name was Dylan. It was a nice, strong name. But why couldn’t she remember hers? Maybe she really had hit her head yesterday. Or maybe her name really was Hailey.
Yes, she decided. It was as good a name as any until she searched her backpack for ID.
The dog barked again and angled around to the man’s side. Or waddled because of its ungainly weight. She found herself smiling.
The house was old but well-kept, from the short and very green grass in the back yard to the fresh paint on the clapboards. Not a weed dared to grow in the modest flowerbed next to the cement patio, where a wooden picnic table beckoned to them. She wanted nothing more than to lie down on one of the benches and fall asleep in the sun.
A disoriented flash came to her of lying down in a field. Yesterday, she thought. Must have been before the barn. Nothing more came to mind, though.
Dylan let go of her to open the door with a key. No one else must be home, so maybe he’d been heading out to his fields or something. The dog, growing impatient, pushed past Dylan as the door opened and was waiting for them when they entered into a short hallway instead of the kitchen she’d been expecting.
“Go get your food,” Dylan told the dog, who remained standing near him, wagging its tail and staring up with eager eyes. Dylan sighed and moved onward.
Hailey walked carefully over the vinyl flooring that was cool on her feet. The hallway was lined with black and white photos, and she scanned them as they passed. One of the larger photos, a vintage black and white, featured an old man with white hair and old-fashioned clothes standing by a street sign that read Forgotten, population 1400.
Forgotten. She remembered the name of the town now. The knowledge brought her relief, even though she couldn’t remember anything before the bus. Whatever had happened to make her forget her own life, she’d meant to come to this town.
Ridiculous laughter bubbled up inside her. She’d forgotten coming to the town called Forgotten. The word seemed to describe everything about her. Maybe the town was where she finally belonged.
Finally? She had no idea what that might mean.
Dylan stopped at the end of the hallway and bent over, petting the dog despite his earlier comment about the animal losing out. He appeared to be enjoying it as much as the animal, and a strange longing crept up inside her. For a stark instant, she wished this was her house and her dog and her man. Her life.
Was Dylan wearing a wedding ring? She strained to see and found him watching her. Her stomach at once felt fluttery inside.
“The first aid kit is this way, in the kitchen.” He thumbed over his shoulder. He must think her a complete idiot.
“I’d like to use the bathroom first, if that’s okay.” She lifted her chin a little, getting ready to insist if he protested about the dribbles of blood she was leaving on the cheap flooring, never mind that sections of it seemed to be missing or peeling up.
“Sure. Bathroom’s that way, first door on the right.” He pointed down the intersecting hallway. “Let me know if you need anything else. I’ll be in the kitchen so this picky dog will eat.”
Hailey didn’t know what to make of that. Dogs ate when they were hungry, didn’t they? It wasn’t as if they were children who sometimes needed coaxing. Warmth filled her chest at the thought, but no accompanying memories hinted at why she might feel that way.
She edged slowly over the few steps to the bathroom, determined to make it without any more help from this stranger. As she stepped inside, she caught sight of Dylan still standing in the hallway, his eyes locked on her. He tipped his head, and she felt a rush of gratitude that he hadn’t pushed her for answers she didn’t know. She nodded back and shut the door.
Inside the bathroom, she let his jacket slip to the floor and practically collapsed on the sink, pushing her mouth close to the tap and sucking eagerly at the water. It tasted warm at first but cooled quickly. Her throat burned and she choked a bit, but the coolness was a balm to the dryness. It tasted wonderful, so definitely not the softened water many people had in their bathrooms these days. Or at least she thought they did. Maybe she didn’t know anything anymore.
She didn’t stop drinking until her stomach felt full and a bit nauseated. Even then, she stood there, hunched over the still-running water. When her stomach calmed, she let another mouthful ooze down her throat before splashing water over her face. It wasn’t to hide the tears because she wouldn’t admit to crying. For long moments she stayed that way, splashing her face and drinking again when she could.
Between sips, she examined the small bathroom. Next to the single sink was a holder with a blue toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste. Below the sink was a cabinet with a main cupboard and three drawers running down the right side. After briefly eying the clean but age-yellowed bathtub, she rejected the idea of filling it with delicious hot water to soak her scratched limbs and dirty feet. This wasn’t her house, and she wasn’t an invited guest. Besides, now that she was feeling stronger, she needed to get into town and learn why she was here.
She met her own gaze in the mirror. Her face was bare of makeup and reddened from the sun. More hair had escaped the messy ponytail than remained in it, and pieces of hay still clung to the strands. By any standards, even her forgetful ones, she looked a mess.
Another urge reminded her to use the toilet. She did so, retrieving one of the pads from her backpack. Just her rotten luck that it was her time of the month. Her body aches apparently weren’t only from walking and falling into the river.
As she stood to flush, she noticed the thick bulge of something that sat at her belly under her dress. She’d assumed the pressure there had been from the ruched part of her dress’s waistline, but now she wasn’t so sure. Tucking her dress up under her chin, she discovered a tan money belt. Gingerly, she unzipped the main pocket to find that the thickness of the belt had nothing to do with the material, which was so thin as to be almost nonexistent. Instead, it was the contents that made the bulge—a stack of hundred-dollar bills. She counted one hundred of them, which meant she had ten thousand dollars.
For a moment, she stared at the money, a sick feeling growing in the pit of her stomach. Maybe she didn’t belong in the psych ward of a hospital but in a prison. Who walked around with that kind of money? She’d certainly have to keep her memory loss a secret now, at least until she figured out what was going on.
Why couldn’t she remember?
Replacing the money and letting the dress cover the belt once more, she methodically explored her skull, finding no telling lumps. Her body ached all over, but that wouldn’t make her memory vanish. Unless maybe the cut on her leg had become infected to the point where it was affecting her brain. But she remembered getting off the bus, the river, and pulling hay from the bales in the barn, so that didn’t make sense.
Enough, she thought. This wasn’t getting her anywhere. She’d meant to come here, and she had to trust that knowledge. Maybe this was her life’s savings, not something she’d stolen. At least she’d be able to pay for new shoes and a place to stay in town until she found a job. Though without ID, a job might not be possible.
Shutting the toilet lid, she sat on it and delved into her backpack to search for ID. If she’d hit her head, knowing her name might jog her memories. She found three hundred and twelve more dollars in the small pocket, plus a bit of change. There was no wallet, no ID, no cell phone, and no used bus ticket, either, though she vaguely remembered having one.
Next, she pulled out an empty plastic water bottle, a pair of shiny red gym shorts, and a black, impossibly large T-shirt with a lion on the front. A little plastic holder contained a hairbrush, a tube of lip balm, a tiny bottle of lotion, a toothbrush, and trial-sized toothpaste. She felt no connection to any of the items.
She returned everything to the backpack. Then, on second thought, she pulled out the personal supplies and set them on the sink counter. She brushed her hair and put it back up in a ponytail, looping the hair through again halfway to keep it off her neck. Then she brushed her teeth, spread balm over her cracked lip, and patted lotion on her burned face. Her arms were also burned, and she used the edge of the hand towel she found hanging on a hook to dab cold water on her arms and neck before spreading on more lotion. Her skin felt much better already, though she’d be peeling soon.
She cleaned up the stray pieces of hay and put them in the garbage next to the toilet. Grabbing Dylan’s jacket, she pulled it on again, relishing its warmth. Finally, she hefted her backpack, which felt lighter now that she knew its contents.
So little to start a new life. But she was going to do just that.
Chapter 1
I was in my rusty red Toyota, heading toward my new client Luna Medina’s house, when Paige’s call came in.
I hit the speaker button on my phone, secured in the dash holder. “Hey, Paige,” I said. “Good to hear from you. What’s up?”
Paige Duncan was a homicide detective with the Portland Police Bureau, and also my fiancé’s partner. She often called me in to consult, which was a fancy word for asking me to read scenes or emotions her perps might have imprinted on objects near the victims. It was a dubious honor, but today I was happy she’d called, even if it involved me in another murder case. I had a wedding to plan in less than three weeks, and I’d need both her and my sister’s help if it was going to be anything other than a trip to city hall.
“You have to come to the hospital,” Paige choked out. “Providence Portland Medical.”
Immediately, my mind jumped to the worst-case scenario. “Did something happen to Shannon?” Homicide detectives had enemies, I knew. There was always a chance he could be hurt by a vindictive criminal.
“No, it’s not that. He’s fine. He’s here with me, but I need you too. Can you come? Can you get someone to watch the store?”
I contemplated for less than two seconds. Luna Medina’s seventeen-year-old son was being investigated by the police for vandalism in the high school football equipment room, and his future was at risk, but the damage had taken place weeks ago, and a few hours’ delay shouldn’t make a difference.
“Thera’s at the shop already,” I said. “I have an appointment, but I’ll postpone it. What’s wrong?”
“Not over the phone.” Her voice was a near whisper. “Just come as fast as you can. I’ll be in the lobby of the main entrance.”
“Okay. Sit tight. I’m coming.” I pulled over to the curb on and grabbed my phone from the holder to double-check directions. The Providence Portland Medical Center was on the east side of the Willamette and north of the Hawthorn District where my antiques shop was located. I’d been heading south on Cesar E Chavez Boulevard toward Franklin High School, so I’d need to make a quick U-turn on the four-lane road.
As I waited for traffic to clear, I called Elliot Stone, aka Eli Stone, a local private investigator and computer guru who was working the Medina case with me. He’d helped me save a family from death by poisoning, but this time his main goal was convincing me to partner with him on an ongoing basis. He felt his tech skills and my psychometry ability would make us unstoppable. I had to admit it was tempting, especially when any information I asked from the police department was scrutinized by Shannon Martin, my detective fiancé.
“Hey, Autumn,” Elliot said. “You almost here? I’m sitting outside their house now.”
“Sorry. Change of plans. The police called, and I’m not going to be able to make it until later. Can you do an initial interview and maybe reschedule for this afternoon? I’ll let you know what time I can make it if they’re available.”
“I guess.” He sounded anything but happy at the suggestion. “But I’d rather reschedule it altogether. You know I don’t like meeting at clients’ houses. I only agreed to meet here because of your ability.”
“Fine. Whatever works.” Truthfully, he shouldn’t even be on the case. Luna Medina had used him to contact me after I’d rescued a biker from a serial killer, and it was me she wanted. I was guessing she hoped for that kind of miracle for her son. She didn’t even know I could read imprints, unless Elliot had filled her in.
“What about checking out the vandalized equipment room at the school?” he asked. “Will you still make that appointment? It’s at noon.”
“I remember. Don’t cancel yet. I don’t know how long I’ll be with the police.”
“Please try to make it,” Elliot said. “If Pax Medina is convicted, he’ll lose everything. He’s already lost his father.”
As if I needed reminding. My own father’s death was always in the back of my mind, and I felt for this boy. “I’m not giving up on the case. I just have to check in with the police.”
“Okay. I’ll do what I can.”
Having lived and worked in the Hawthorne District all my life, finding the nearby Providence Portland wasn’t hard once I got my bearings. Before going in, I pulled on a pair of wrist-length cotton gloves that I now bought in bulk. The ones I had today were skin-colored, which I hoped would make them less noticeable during the summer. Hospitals held more horrific imprints than I was willing to risk without a good reason.
I hurried quickly into the main entrance of the hospital, glad to be wearing one of my favorite summer dresses. If Paige wanted me in an official capacity, this was as dressed up as I ever got. As usual, I was sans shoes, and the cement was slightly cold on my bare feet, which hadn’t yet absorbed significant heat from the morning sun.
Paige was pacing inside the main entrance, her shoulder-length, iron-straight blond hair poking oddly out on one side. Her normally crisp navy suit was rumpled in the front and stained with coffee. Not even after a shooting had I ever seen her anything but her usual calm and contained self. Maybe something had happened to her father or brother, who worked as detectives in another precinct. Or maybe her retired police chief grandfather had experienced a sudden heart attack.
“Autumn!” She threw herself into my arms, her strong, lean body propelling me backward. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
I could see Shannon farther inside the lobby, his dark blond hair curling at the ends as it always did when it got a tad too long for police bureau regulations. He was talking urgently with a burly, brown-haired man that I immediately pegged as another detective, even in his civilian clothes, so I quickly revised my earlier guess about a medical emergency. Whatever happened was being investigated.
I hugged Paige, and she slumped against me. “What’s going on?” I asked, pulling back to see her face. “What can I do to help?”
“It’s Matthew,” she said, her pale blue eyes filling with tears. “He might be arrested for negligent homicide. He says he didn’t do anything wrong, but he worked a double shift, and they don’t believe him. I need you to read the syringes and everything else in the patient’s room to see if you can learn anything.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Matthew Kellogg was a doctor Paige had been dating for eight months. With all that had been going on between our cases and Matthew’s crazy schedule, we’d only gone out a few times as couples this past month, but I liked him immensely. He’d also passed all of Shannon’s non-official, probably slightly illegal background checks—and apparently her father’s as well, since he hadn’t ordered her to quit dating him.
“He didn’t do it.” Paige’s voice was shrill and bordering on panic. “Give the man too much drugs, I mean. Matthew’s a great cardiologist, and he knew the patient was on a daily nitroglycerin pill. He didn’t give him more than he should have.”
“Of course not.” I stood back and gripped her shoulders. “Look, take a deep breath. I need you to explain it to me. Like it’s a case.”
She stared at me as if wanting to punch me, so I widened my stance and prepared to block. I still sported a black half-moon under my left eye, a remnant from my biker case two weeks earlier, and I didn’t need another one before my wedding ceremony.
Abruptly, her shoulders sagged, and she nodded once, sharply. “Right, sorry. I just . . . I care about him.”
“Then let me help. That’s why I’m here.”
“Okay.” She took a deep breath. “I can do that.”
“Let’s go sit down.”
I led her across the tile that was cool to my bare feet, over to the carpeted area where chairs lined the far wall of the lobby. Shannon glanced our way, and for a moment our eyes locked. He looked strong, sure of himself, and determined, but I could see the concern in his strangely blue-green eyes that were unlike any I’d ever seen. Those eyes told me this was serious.
Paige settled into the padded brown chair and half turned to face me, her back toward Shannon and the burly detective. The man was vaguely familiar, but he stood sideways, and I didn’t have a clear glimpse of his face. I didn’t think he was an officer from Shannon and Paige’s precinct.
“A man named Peter Griffin came in two days ago because of kidney stones,” Paige started again, this time sounding calm, but her hands clenched tightly in her lap. “The non-evasive procedures either didn’t work or he wasn’t a candidate, so his doctor opted for a not very serious surgery that requires only one or two days in the hospital afterward. Matthew wasn’t his doctor for that, of course, since he works in cardiology, but Griffin was on nitroglycerin for heart pain—angina, I guess it’s called. Anyway, Griffin had been in such pain with the kidney stones that he hadn’t brought his heart medicine, so cardiology was called in to make sure he had his normal dose and that it was safe with the surgery. Matthew cleared him. Everything went well, and yesterday he was taken off the monitors. The nurses, of course, came in every four hours to take his vitals or give him medication. Griffin was supposed to go home this morning, but when the night nurse went to check on him shortly after four AM, he was flushed and unresponsive. She acted quickly, but he had a massive heart attack.”
I didn’t have to ask if he’d died. “The nurses only came around every four hours?”
“Well, for vitals. Because he wasn’t at risk or in any danger. The last time his blood pressure was taken was sometime around midnight, and the nurse said it was a little low, but nothing dangerous. But someone saw him at three to take blood for the night panel, and they didn’t report anything odd. When the results came back, though, they discovered that he had four times the normal level of nitrates in his blood. They won’t know for sure until the autopsy, but they think it lowered his blood pressure so much that his organs starved—and failed.”
“And he’d shown no signs of stress before that? Did anyone check on him between midnight and three?”
“I don’t know.” Paige glanced backward again at Shannon and the other detective. “I’ve been here since six, after Matthew finally called me. They questioned him for hours, and he’s still here somewhere with the hospital attorney and the administrator.” She stopped talking, placing her hand over her mouth as if to hold back sobs. She stayed that way for a full minute while I gazed at her helplessly.
When she eventually pulled her hand away and continued, she had regained her calm. “Everyone is looking for someone to blame. The family is claiming that Matthew must have given him too much heart medication—or told the nurses to—or that he didn’t understand how it would interact with his other drugs. I understand they’re heartbroken, but Matthew’s a good doctor. He wouldn’t make this kind of mistake. But the hospital put him on leave until the autopsy results.”
“The truth will come out,” I said, squeezing her arm. “The patient must have had numerous blood tests, and those will back him up and clear Matthew.”
“Unless it’s one of those strange, freaky things and no one ever uncovers a reason. Something like that could still destroy his career.” She bit her lip, her breath coming faster. “Oh, I know that’s terrible to think about when a man is dead, but Matthew doesn’t deserve this. He’s a good man. What if someone hurt his patient on purpose, or if someone else messed up? How will we ever know? By the time we have anything to go on, the room will be cleaned out and all the evidence gone.”
Maybe Paige had been working homicide too long and now saw murder everywhere. Or maybe she simply wanted to save the man she loved from more heartache. Either way, she was my friend and Shannon’s partner. She’d supported me when other officers had decried my ability as fake, and she’d been the first to offer support when Shannon had finally come to his senses and asked me out. The least I could do was use my ability to check for abnormalities.
“Of course,” I said, lifting up my glove-covered hands. “Where do I start?”
She twisted in her seat to study the detective with Shannon. “Ask my brother. It’s his case since he works in the East Precinct. I called him right after I called Shannon, because I knew we’d never be allowed to work the case. Quincy doesn’t believe it was murder, but he does want to make sure no one else made a mistake. It’s possible someone didn’t record the meds and gave Griffin a double dose or something. But you might find clues that indicate someone else may be involved.”
The men became aware of our attention and motioned to us. “Maybe you should go home,” I said to Paige as I stood. “I promise I’ll be thorough.”
She shook her head. “I’m going to wait here for Matthew. He texted me that he’ll be out in a while. This is ripping him in two. I’m taking a few personal days to be with him.”
At any other time, that would have made me tease her. Coming from a police career family, “personal days” weren’t words I’d thought were in her vocabulary.
“Okay,” I said. “If you need anything, let me know.”
I left her there staring at her phone, probably waiting for a text. Shannon took a few steps to meet me, his strong arm slipping around my waist, his movements taut and graceful. He was only a few inches taller than I was, his hair a color between brown and blond, slightly bleached by the sun. He kissed my cheek, and I caught the scent of his aftershave.
“My fiancé, Autumn Rain,” he said, introducing me to the other detective.
“Yes, I think we met briefly once before. I’m Paige’s brother, Quincy Duncan.” Quincy extended a hand with an engaging smile. He was taller than Shannon by an inch but was half again as wide, his muscles hinting at a love of lifting weights. “I’m glad to have a chance to work with you, though I’m sorry it has to be like this.” He flashed me another friendly, open smile. Though he was an attractive man, the only feature that resembled his sister were the pale blue eyes.
“Yeah, that’s why you look familiar.” I shook his hand. I remembered now that Shannon, Paige, Matthew, and I had run into him once at a movie theater. “Have you been assigned the case?” I wanted to make sure. On my last case, I’d been at odds with the detective, and though he’d come through for me in the end, it hadn’t been a comfortable working environment.
He nodded. “I’ve made sure of it for Paige, but I have to tell you, my chief isn’t happy. We’ve never seen a case like this that’s an actual homicide, so he’d rather assign one of the newbies. It’s probably a mistake, and one not large enough to be negligent homicide. Someone forgot to write down something they gave him, is my guess.”
“Four times the nitrates is a little more than one mistake,” Shannon said.
Quincy inclined his head. “Maybe, unless there were other interactions or conditions we’re not aware of yet. Ordinarily, I’d wait for the autopsy before investigating further, but the medical examiner is backed up, and we may not get the results until late tomorrow, if we’re lucky. And if I can do anything to help Matthew in the meantime, I’m glad to do it.” His smile was tighter now. “Paige really loves this guy, and she hasn’t had it easy in that department. She’s too driven for the average Joe, and she has to maintain distance with her colleagues to avoid rumors. You didn’t hear it from me, but more than a few of my fellow officers are, well, pigs. Too many are still prejudiced about female officers, especially one as smart as my sister.”
Shannon’s lips twitched at that, but when he spoke it was only to say, “Your sister’s smarts are exactly why I think we need to make sure we cover all our bases. Matthew’s a good doctor, and this is an excellent hospital. Something isn’t right.”
A shudder passed through me as if a wind had blown an icy current into the lobby. Shannon’s gaze went to my hands, his shoulders tensed, but he relaxed when he saw nothing amiss. No, I wasn’t reading imprints. I’d just felt cold all of a sudden. I crossed my arms to rub my hands up and down over the goose bumps.
“You have a sweater in the car?” Shannon asked.
But the cold feeling vanished as quickly as it had come. “I’m okay. Sometimes hospitals get to me, even without touching anything. There’s a lot of emotion imprinted everywhere here.”
Quincy grinned at me, and his eager expression reminded me of the first time I’d met Paige. She’d been hungry to see me at work, and so was he.
“Let’s get to it,” I said.
Ten minutes later, we were in a surprisingly large hospital room blocked not by yellow crime tape but with a Do Not Enter sign. I hadn’t expected the body to be there, but the bed wasn’t either.
“Where’s the bed?” I asked. “He could have imprinted on that before he died. I need to see it.”
Quincy nodded. “We’ll have to ask the nurse. The medical examiner’s office came to collect the body once the hospital reported the suspicious death, but I would have assumed the bed would have come back here afterward.”
“Maybe they disinfect the bed before returning it,” Shannon said.
They stared at each other for a moment before Shannon added, “Since it’s your case, I guess you’ll have to ask the nurses. And sooner rather than later so the bed doesn’t get lost. I’ll make sure we don’t disturb anything in case Autumn uncovers something criminal.”
What Shannon wasn’t saying was that there was no way he’d leave me alone. I was getting better at extracting myself from nasty recurring imprints, but he remembered too vividly how an overdose of imprints less than two months ago had robbed me of my ability altogether. It was why I’d taken to wearing gloves when I wasn’t reading imprints.
Quincy glanced my way. “Don’t finish before I get back. I want to see this imprint thing at work.”
“After we’re finished, we should probably block off the room until we have the autopsy results,” Shannon added. “Just in case CSI ends up needing to go over it.”
“I still say the death was probably due to a clerical error.” Quincy started for the door. “But we can do that.”
“I’ll also need to check with a nurse before looking at the empty syringes,” I said, motioning to the red disposal unit.
“Okay, I’ll be right back with someone.” Quincy gave me a final, reluctant glance before leaving the room.
When he was gone, I pulled off the gloves and tucked them into my purse before hanging it on the door hook. Next, I removed my three antique rings that gave off comforting imprints. My engagement ring was locked in the safe at my shop so I wouldn’t accidentally leave negative emotions on it while chasing imprints, but these would help me settle down afterward. For now, I put them in my dress pocket.
“So far, no imprints on the floor,” I said, looking down at my toes. “But that might have as much to do with the shoes required sign on the door downstairs as it does with those funny, blue non-slip socks they make patients wear.”
“Good to know you at least saw the sign.” Smiling, Shannon lowered himself to a chair to watch me work.
“Oh, I saw it.” Since it was a private hospital, they could enforce the policy, but going without shoes wasn’t against the law, not even in government buildings, though officers had threatened to ticket me before. Because most shoes threw out my back, I’d done without them for most of my flower-child upbringing, and now it was part of who I was.
Shannon laughed. “Right. Anyway, I already went over this room with Paige earlier, and nothing seems out of place.”
“Poor Matthew if this does turn out to be some sort of freak mistake.” This would haunt him, especially if the death remained unexplained.
I held my hands over the sink and computer area. The tingling of my fingers told me there were imprints everywhere. “There’s a lot here,” I told Shannon. My stomach twisted at the thought of reading so many scenes and emotions. I’d eaten a double breakfast knowing I was investigating today at the high school, but I was going to need more sustenance by the time this was over.
Shannon leaned forward in his chair. “Maybe they’re not recent imprints. Unless it turns out they’ve had other questionable deaths on this floor, you only need to go back two days.” He sighed. “Great, speaking of that, I guess we’ll have to research if there were other questionable deaths, won’t we?”
I nodded. “Yep, but for now, I’ll limit it to last Saturday.”
As I read imprints, I always see the most recent one first, and my mind pulls up an imaginary calendar narrowed to the date and time of the event. Imprints older than a few months were more difficult to pinpoint exact times, but general dates were accurate enough for most investigations.
I checked the sink in several places with the knuckle of my right hand, finding nothing earlier than a week ago—and that was from the sister of a patient as she refilled her water bottle. The computer keyboard, the monitors, and the walls also showed nothing recent except vague hurry. In contrast, the medicine drawer held a vivid imprint from a month earlier when a nurse clumsily opened it as her patient screamed in pain.
I’d been lucky that so far the most recent imprints from the patients or their families had been hopeful or positive. It seemed most people placed in this room had recovered.
“I’m guessing the gloves the staff wear cut down on imprints,” I said, moving to a small couch against the wall. “So even though there are a lot of imprints, the ones from the hospital staff are older. Most of what I’m finding is from patients’ families, some dating back to last week but some also from months ago. It helps not to have to read more than the first one or two.”
The couch tingled with a strong imprint. I touched it gingerly, finding a happy imprint from last Saturday. I let it play out.
He was going to be all right! Yes, they’d told me it was only minor surgery, but I’d worried that his previous bouts of bleeding ulcers might cause complications.
“Peter,” I told him, “this is proof that you’re still working too hard.”
He tilted his head back and laughed, looking every bit as handsome as when we’d married thirty-two years ago, despite his now salt and pepper hair. “I don’t think kidney stones are caused by stress. Anyway, you’ll be glad to know that I’ve been listening. I was going to wait to surprise you, but now’s as good a time as any.” His smile grew wide. “I bought tickets last Thursday for that trip to Venice you always wanted. We leave in four weeks.”
Excitement flooded me. “Really? But what about the product launch? You still have two months left.”
“Now that we’re in production, it’s all up to marketing and shipping, and I have good people over those. I can leave for two weeks. Then I’ll be back for the launch.”
“Good,” I said, leaning forward to push myself to my feet. “Until Venice, then. I’m holding you to it.”
The imprint cut off abruptly as whoever had made it—presumably Peter’s wife—stood and her hand lost contact with the couch cushion.
The hopeful scene was quickly replaced by a resentful imprint from a man wishing he were at work instead of his mother’s bedside after her gall bladder surgery last Wednesday. I withdrew my hands quickly, glad when the blatant self-concern of the imprint was covered by a rush of pity for the old woman. My pity, not the spoiled son’s. Sometimes it was hard to compartmentalize.
Peter Griffin’s wife had left another brief imprint on the bedside table that had been moved to the side, but it didn’t seem important. Nothing radiated from the two portable shelves that stood against the wall.
Shannon popped to his feet. “Here’s the chair.”
I touched it with the tip of a finger, and instantly my breath was ripped from my chest.
I gripped the armrests as I collapsed into the chair, unable to remain on my feet a second longer. Peter couldn’t be dead. His handsome face looked peaceful, as if sleeping, but his cheeks were beginning to swell. That threw everything off. He didn’t look like my Peter. But one thing was certain: the man in the bed wouldn’t be going with me to Venice.
Grief flooded me at the thought. I’d found the flight reservations in his office at home, in a manila envelope with hotel information. On the outside, he’d written, Until we meet in Venice. It was a silly thing I’d started saying to him this past year whenever he worked late, and he’d joked right back.
There’d be no more joking now.
Tears leaked down my face. “I don’t understand,” I said to his cardiologist, the kind-eyed Dr. Kellogg. “They said he was fine. He was supposed to go home this morning. How could his heart just stop?”
It seemed more unreal now that I’d said the words aloud. My husband was strong. He had always been strong. He had never needed me or anyone else. How could he be dead?
“We don’t know exactly what happened,” Dr. Kellogg said, his voice wavering slightly. “We tried to resuscitate him. We shocked his heart. We did everything we could. I’ve double-checked his meds, and there is nothing that indicates why his blood pressure dipped so low. We won’t know more until we get the results of the autopsy.”
They were going to cut Peter open. More tears escaped my eyes and slid down my face. I didn’t bother to wipe them away.
Dr. Kellogg retreated a step, then two. “You take as long as you want with him. Let the nurse know when you’re ready, and we’ll take care of the rest. We’ll need to know what mortuary you’ll be using.”
“How do we know your doctors will even report what they find in the autopsy?” said a male voice behind me.
I turned to look up at my son Niklas, who had spoken. He stood next to his brother, Stevan. I was glad to have both my strong sons at my side. Niklas gave me a tight smile and put a comforting hand on my shoulder.
Dr. Kellogg paused at the door. “The hospital has already called the medical examiner. That’s protocol in a situation like this. They’ll be thorough. We all want answers.”
At least the man didn’t talk about closure, although he probably wanted to. He looked exhausted, and for the first time I wondered how long he’d been at work. At least since Peter died during the night—and probably longer.
No, Peter couldn’t be dead. This couldn’t be happening. It was all a terrifying dream.
A weight seemed to crush my chest. “I need a breath of air,” I said. “Please help me up.”
Niklas bent down and put an arm around me. “You don’t have to worry, Mom,” he whispered in my ear. “He’ll never hurt any of us again.”
The heartbreaking imprint vanished, leaving me bereft and more than a little confused. It seemed Peter Griffin wasn’t the perfect husband or father the casual observer might believe him to be. It was clear that at least one of his sons didn’t seem to be mourning his death.
“You okay?” Shannon’s hand gently massaged my neck.
I nodded but didn’t speak because another imprint was beginning, also from someone visiting Peter Griffin, this time while the man was still alive.
“You just get well,” I told Peter. “I’ll make sure the finances are ready for Futura’s release.” I needed to hold him off until the launch. Then I could replace the money, and he’d never know.
“I still want to see the books,” Peter insisted, his square jaw lifting slightly.
Dread filled me. I had to prevent that at any cost. Good thing I had an alternate plan. “Of course. Any time. Well, I’d better get going and let you rest.”
“I am a little tired. I appreciate the visit, Robby. Good night, and thanks for the card.”
I lifted my hand from the chair with a sigh.
“What is it?” Shannon asked.
“Peter Griffin’s family might not be all that sad about his death. And a man named Robby from his work came to visit at nine-thirty last night. He definitely had a secret he was trying to keep from Peter.”
“A secret important enough to kill for?”
I couldn’t deny that the mysterious Robby’s alternate plan might involve murder. “I don’t know, but we owe it to Paige and Matthew—and Peter Griffin—to find out.”
Chapter 1
With gloved fingers, I put the final Little People wooden character in the merry-go-round next to the schoolhouse and stood back to admire my handiwork before closing the case. I bought the black tea gloves off eBay by the dozens these days, a buck a pair. Their function was twofold—they kept body oils off my antiques, and they protected me from reliving the often-incapacitating emotions imprinted on their surfaces.
After temporarily losing my psychometry ability in early May, a little over a month ago, I was careful to avoid as many casual imprints as I could. I still checked everything I put in my store to make sure any imprints they contained were positive, or at least neutral, but after that I limited contact, even with the good ones that usually made me feel revitalized. I was still healing from my mental blindness, and according to Dr. Easton Godfrey, a self-proclaimed expert in psychometry, reading any imprint was effort and could delay my progress.
Not that I’d been called on to read much of anything this past month since taking down the mobster Frank O’Donald. Truthfully, those events still had me looking over my shoulder, even though he was dead and all of his top people were in jail. I wasn’t too upset that most people coming into my antiques shop carrying objects for me to read only wanted to know if their husbands were cheating or if their bosses were thinking of giving them a promotion.
Friday afternoons at Autumn’s Antiques were always slow, and today only two customers, a blond-haired woman and a young boy, were browsing the shelves that held the music boxes. As I moved away from the Fisher-Price case, the woman left her son and approached me.
“May I help you?” I asked.
“Yes.” She leaned toward me confidentially, lowering her voice. “I’m here with my little boy. He insisted on coming. It’s my birthday soon, and I think he wants to buy me something special. I’ve tried to show him a few things, but . . .” She glanced at the child, who had moved from the music boxes and now had his nose pressed up against a case containing antique metal cars. “He doesn’t want me around while he chooses, but if you could please steer him to something that isn’t expensive? He’s been working so hard the past year doing odd jobs for my father-in-law. We’re living with my in-laws, you see, while my husband and I finish school.” A frown marred her perfect heart-shaped face, and the bleakness of her tone made me wonder if there was trouble at home. “Anyway, he’s a generous kid, but I’d like him to save for something he wants, not spend it all on me.”
“I’m glad to help,” I said. “Is there a certain limit you had in mind?”
Red stained the woman’s pale cheeks. “I don’t really know how much he has, but maybe around ten or twenty dollars?” She gave a self-deprecating chuckle. “Not much in here for that, I know. But there’s a little pewter jewelry box that I like. My wedding ring would fit in it nicely.”
I knew the piece immediately. It had belonged to an old woman before her death, given to her by a long-dead beau. The tender imprinted memories from both of them, though fading, had made me tear up the first time I’d held it.
“I’ll do my best,” I said. “Are you going to wait outside or in another part of the store?”
She smiled. “I think I’ll go next door to that herb shop. Since they have the adjoining door, I can peek in on him, and they have some black licorice Kylan really loves.” For the first time, her gaze went to my bare feet and then away again as quickly. If she thought it strange that a full-grown woman chose to go around barefoot, she was polite enough not to comment.
“I love that licorice too,” I said, giving her a smile. “Go ahead. I’ll help Kylan.”
“Thank you. I’m sure that right now he’s nowhere near what he intends to buy.” She glanced around at the boy, who was staring hard at her. “See? He’s waiting for me to leave.”
“Then you’d better go,” I said with a laugh.
After another glance at my feet, she disappeared through the double doors connecting my store with the Herb Shoppe that had once belonged to my father, Winter Rain, but now belonged to my best friend, Jake Ryan. Or my formerly-best-friend-turned-boyfriend-then-turned-friend-again Jake. We were finding our way back to friendship since my engagement to a local homicide detective and Jake’s subsequent meeting of his current girlfriend, but it was sometimes awkward. I missed the old days of being regular best friends.
Since my store was dead, our shared full-time employee, Thera Brinker, was selling herbs in Jake’s shop, and our part-time helper, Jazzy Storm, aka Jessica Sandstrom, who I’d recently put over my online sales, was off today. That left just Kylan and me.
The minute his mother vanished, the boy rushed over. He was a pretty child, with his mother’s blond hair and an appealing round face. His expression was somber, though, and he didn’t smile as he approached. He wore a T-shirt, faded jeans, and worn tennis shoes. A black backpack with frayed trim hung over one shoulder.
“I need your help,” he said, his gaze flicking past me to the Little People display with unveiled disinterest. Not even the nineteen seventy-four castle with the turquoise flag caught his attention, and it was everyone’s favorite.
“Would you like to see something?” I asked the boy, reaching in my dress pocket for the keys. “You were looking at the cars, right?” Recently, I’d taken to locking small items in cases, an action my adoptive parents, diehard flower children, would have decried.
“I don’t want to buy anything right now,” he said, which surprised me.
“Oh, okay. How can I help you then?”
He glanced toward the doors leading into the Herb Shoppe and then around my store. When he was sure no one was watching, the boy shrugged off his backpack, unzipped it, and pulled out a decidedly wrinkled white sheet of paper.
“It’s about this,” he said, shoving it at me. “I need your help.”
I knew the article the moment I saw it—the one that talked about me solving a murder at a local theatrical company. While I’d been careful to keep my connection to the recent mobster incident from the paper, this was out on the Internet for anyone to see. But Kylan couldn’t be more than nine or ten. What was he doing reading online newspapers? Kids were supposed to be addicted to games these days, not keeping up on current events.
“You need me to read something for you?” I guessed.
He nodded solemnly. “Is it free like it says?”
I removed my gloves, tucking them into my pocket. “Yes.” I usually encouraged people to buy something they loved from my store after using my special services, but he didn’t need to know that. “Come on over to the counter.”
He followed me to the back of my store, where I slipped behind the counter and sat on my tall stool. Sitting when reading imprints was always the best idea, just in case, though what he’d brought couldn’t be all that serious.
“How come your eyes are different colors?” he asked, studying me. He pointed to my left eye. That’s one’s blue, but the other is, uh . . .”
“Hazel. I was born that way. It’s called heterochromia.” In my case, it was hereditary, a condition I shared with my biological father and my twin sister.
“Oh.” Setting his backpack on the floor, Kylan bent over, nearly disappearing from my sight. Seconds later, he brought out an old chest about eight inches long, holding it carefully with both hands. He hefted it onto the counter. “This is my treasure chest. I put all my money in here. I was saving for something special—for my mom’s birthday.” His gaze again strayed briefly toward the Herb Shoppe before coming back to me.
“That’s great,” I said. The cherry-stained wood chest wasn’t anything special, antique-wise, but I could see why the boy liked it. The rounded top and the black hasp reminded me of pirates and hidden treasure. There was a place for a padlock, though he didn’t seem to have one.
“No, it’s not great.” He frowned, and moisture glinted in his eyes. Brown eyes, I noted. Deep brown, though I was sure his mother’s eyes were blue. He opened the chest and turned it around so I could see into it. “Because it’s gone. All of it except some coins.”
Inside the chest were a few folded pieces of paper, a dirty string, a crystal-shaped object that had likely been a pull to a set of blinds, a small ball, and a handful of change. Not one bill of any denomination in sight.
“I had seventy-six dollars,” Kylan said, blinking back tears. “I’ve been mowing my grandpa’s lawn and cleaning out my neighbor’s birdcage for a year and a half to get that money. Whoever took it also took my silver dollars.” He paused and added hurriedly, “They weren’t real silver, but sometimes my neighbor pays me that way. I like the big coins. They’re cool. So can you tell me who took my money? I gotta get it back, and I can’t tell my mom because she already has too much stress.”
I wanted to assure him that I could find his culprit, but if whoever had taken his money hadn’t left an imprint on the chest, I wouldn’t be able to help him at all.
“I’ll certainly try,” I said.
Not even that brought a hint of a smile to the child’s cherubic face. Instead, he nodded solemnly. “Thank you.”
“A few questions first,” I said. Getting background would help me understand any imprints I’d read. “Where do you normally keep the chest?”
“Under my bed. But everyone knows I have it.”
“Everyone?”
He bent back over until I could only see the top of his head. The next minute, he showed me a tiny notebook and a pencil covered with little cars. He stretched his arms out over the counter and opened the notebook to a page, tapping it with his pencil. “I wrote it all down—all the suspects. But I don’t think any of them would take it.”
I bent over to read the column of words that had been printed in surprisingly good penmanship: “mom, dad, aunt, cousin, grandma, grandpa.”
“My cousin is too small to get it out,” Kylan said. “She’s only one, and she’s afraid of going under the bed.”
“What about friends?”
He shook his head. “They spend all their money on candy, and they’d want to spend mine, so I don’t tell them anything. I think it must be a robber.”
“Is anything else in the house missing?”
“I don’t think so. But it’s a lot of money, so maybe that’s all they wanted.”
His innocence was endearing. “Maybe. Why don’t I give it a try?” I removed the ring Shannon had given me a month ago to mark our engagement. It was set with small stones of two alternating colors, our birthstones, and so far the only imprints on it were positive ones from Shannon. I didn’t usually imprint on most items, but removing the ring would prevent any chance of that happening.
As I reached for the sides of the chest, I could feel the tingling that indicated a strong imprint. Not at all surprising. Imprints are almost always left on objects people treasure or commonly use. I let my hands touch the wood, exactly where I imagined someone might grab and pull it out from under the bed. As always, the boy’s most recent imprint came first. Emotion took over, filling me as if I had lived the moment with Kylan. As if I were Kylan.
I clenched my teeth with determination. I was going to find who took my money. The lady at the old-things store would help. She had to.
When reading imprints, I always envisioned an imaginary calendar that highlighted the day and time of the event. If the imprint was older than a couple months, exact times were harder to pinpoint, but an approximate date was usually enough. This imprint had been left on the chest earlier today.
A second imprint followed the first, coming from only two days ago, an imprint that made me feel as if my heart had been ripped from my body.
Tears wet my face. I couldn’t breathe except in tiny gasps. It was all gone! Who had taken it? Who was so mean? I wanted to scream and yell and kick the door. I could never earn that much again. Not in time.
“Now I can’t get Mom something nice,” I whispered between sobs. It was all gone.
The part of me that remembered I was Autumn Rain sympathized with the child. I remembered too well the days that seventy-six dollars might have stood between me and foreclosure on my shop.
Then came the imprint I’d been hoping for, left on the chest just under two weeks ago.
I peered into the chest. As expected, the bills were there, all neatly stacked inside a rubber band, except for the last few scattered on top. I’d borrow the money for a few weeks like the last time. I’d get paid the Saturday before his mother’s birthday—that was plenty of time in case he decided to buy her something. The kid probably wouldn’t notice. The bills on top had to mean that the last time he’d slipped money inside, he hadn’t even taken the chest from under the bed. No one would ever know I borrowed it or what I bought.
The imprint vanished as whoever was holding the chest set it down to take the small stack of bills that must have seemed like a fortune to this little boy standing in front of my counter. Kylan was right; someone had stolen his money. Someone who knew him.
Next came a more faded emotion. Satisfaction as one chubby hand opened the rounded chest top and placed a wrinkled bill on top of the others.
There were more similar faded imprints, but when the first imprint began to repeat, I knew I’d seen all there was.
“Good news,” I said, removing my hands. “I can’t tell you who took your money because I didn’t see them or even their hands, but I can tell you it was someone you know. They borrowed your money and planned to return it before your mother’s birthday.”
It was a mean thing to do, but adults didn’t always treat children with the same respect they afforded others.
Kylan’s eyes widened. “Really? That’s great!” A line appeared between his brow. “I mean, they shouldn’t take it without asking, but I’m glad they’re going to put it back.” He sounded hopeful now.
I hesitated before saying, “You might consider getting a lock for your chest.” If the person had taken his money before, it was likely he or she would do it again.
“That’s a good idea. But I should wait until they put it back.”
I grinned. “I think that’s best.”
Setting his notebook and pencil on the counter near my cash register, he shut the chest and stowed it in his backpack. Then he grabbed his notebook and turned in the direction of the connecting doors to the Herb Shoppe.
“It wasn’t your mother,” I called after him as I slid my ring back onto my finger.
He stopped and turned around. “I knew that,” he said with the first smile I’d seen. “My mom would never do that. She knows how hard it is to earn money because she works and goes to school. She’s so tired at night that sometimes she falls asleep before she can read her half of our story. That’s why I want to get her something special.”
“What are you going to get her?” After all that, I was curious.
He glanced toward my section of jewelry boxes. “It’s over there. Do you want to see? I’m not sure how I’ll get her to bring me back here, but maybe dad will, or my grandma.”
I joined the boy from behind the counter, and together we walked over to the music boxes. These were on shelves instead of in cases. Currently, I had twenty jewelry boxes, eleven of which played music. Three of those had little ballerinas.
To my surprise, he continued past the jewelry boxes to the handheld mirrors in the case beyond that. He pointed at an ornate, silver-plated Victorian mirror. The piece was lovely, but at eighty-five dollars, it was the most expensive of all my handheld mirrors.
“I’m sure I can earn nine more dollars before my mother’s birthday,” he said. “Do you think it will still be here?”
“What if I save it for you? If you decide to get her something else, go ahead and get it, though. I can always sell it later to someone else.”
“Oh, I want it,” he assured me. “She says it reminds her of the mirror in Beauty and the Beast.”
I laughed. “That’s what I thought when I found it.” The piece had beckoned to me at an estate sale of a woman who had passed away after a very long and apparently satisfying life. She’d looked in the mirror each day, but instead of being upset at the passing years, she’d taken joy in her memories.
I put on my gloves, opened the case with my keys, and removed the mirror. “It’s a deal,” I said. “I’ll keep it in the back for you.”
He started walking away but hadn’t gone far when he stopped to say, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I didn’t think Kylan would be back, but if he did return any time in the next two weeks, the mirror would be waiting for him. And for that show of politeness, I’d even give him a discount.
It bothered me that someone, probably a member of his family, would steal his money when the child would have most likely been willing to lend it to them. Why take it without permission? Or why not borrow the funds from an adult instead? Maybe whoever had stolen the money had something more to hide than simply taking the cash. Had I missed something important?
Well, the situation was out of my hands now. A glance at the clock told me it was almost lunchtime. My fiancé, Detective Shannon Martin, would be here soon to take me out for a late lunch. Our relationship was new and a little nerve-racking, but as long as we could figure out a way to let each other be who we really were, I was hopeful it would work out.
Both my fiancé, Shannon, and my friend Jake were charter members in the Autumn Needs to be More Careful Club, but at a time when I’d decided to quit reading imprints altogether, it had been Shannon who made me see that I wouldn’t be happy if I didn’t use my gift to help others—even if that put me in danger. Maybe he understood because his job as a homicide detective was also dangerous at times, but being a detective was who he was.
Jake, on the other hand, had gone from supportive to actively wishing I wouldn’t try to solve anything more serious than a misplaced set of keys. He would applaud using my gift for Kylan.
I had barely stowed the mirror and locked my day’s receipts into the safe under my counter when the electronic bells above my outer door rang, a deeper sound than the real jingle bells Jake kept above his door in the Herb Shoppe. Shannon was coming through my single outer door, and behind him I caught a glimpse of Kylan and his mother out on the sidewalk, probably heading home after leaving Jake’s with the licorice.
“Hey,” Shannon. He was thirty-six, only a few inches taller than I was, and broad-shouldered, his compact movements undeniably graceful. His hair was that color between brown and blond, streaked with lighter blond from his time in the sun at work and on the acre of land he owned on the outskirts of Portland. His hair was slightly curling at the ends as it always did when it grew longer than police bureau regulations. As a detective, he usually wore a suit to work, sans tie, but he must have left his jacket in the car, and probably his under-the-arm holster and gun as well.
“I’m just about ready.” I let him come to me at the counter as I put away a few items, removed my gloves, and retrieved my purse. I’d worn a floor-length sleeveless summer dress today so my going barefoot wouldn’t be too noticeable wherever Shannon would end up taking me. He was man enough to endure my eccentricities, but I didn’t feel the need to flaunt them.
Shannon’s arms came around me, and I turned into him, breathing in the faint aroma of aftershave and coffee. His eyes captured mine. There was something in the green-blue color and the heavy frame of light brown lashes that made them compelling and the most beautiful I’d ever seen. I especially liked the way his skin prematurely crinkled at the edges. He kissed me for a long, satisfying moment before drawing away with a little sigh. His face was clean-shaven today, and while I preferred the rougher look of a few days’ beard growth, kissing him freshly shaven was a lot kinder on my skin.
“I’m thinking pasta,” he said, releasing me.
“You’re always thinking pasta.”
He leaned over and nibbled my ear. “Not always.”
I laughed. “We can have pasta, but they’d better have something on the organic side.” I leaned over to dig through an organizer I kept on one of the under-counter shelves, looking for a pen. “Let me just write a note to Jazzy and Thera. I need to see if they can work more hours next week. My sister is a nervous wreck with her parents coming from Kansas, and I’ll have to be on hand occasionally to run interference.”
Shannon groaned. “Does this mean I’ll have to endure dinners and endless polite conversation?”
“Only if you still want to be my fiancé,” I said with a laugh. “Tawnia’s my sister, and that means her adoptive parents are going to be in the picture for most of our lives, even at a distance.” I’d met the couple once before at their own home soon after learning I had a sister, and they’d been kind and welcoming. I wasn’t sure why Tawnia was so nervous. “Now, where did my pen go?” Apparently, it was time to order new ones.
“Will this do?” Shannon said, holding up a pencil with a grin. The pencil was covered with little cars.
“Oh,” I said, frowning. “He left it.”
“Who?”
“A little boy. He wanted to see if I could find out who took his money. He was using the pencil to write down suspects.”
Shannon laughed. “Smart little kid.”
“Yeah. I’ll keep it for him in case he comes back.” Before I could reach for the pencil, my electronic bells jangled again.
Shannon and I both looked toward the outer door as a muscled man pushed into the shop. The first thing I noticed about him was the myriad of colorful tattoos covering the exposed parts of his chest, neck, and huge arms, which were set off perfectly by his sleeveless black biker vest. The second thing that popped out at me was that everything about him—except the vibrant tattoos—looked sad and dragging. His greasy, dishwater-blond hair was cut short, but his mustache drooped to cover his mouth, and his gray-streaked beard sagged limply to his chest. His eyebrows were so long that they looked like caterpillars over his sad, stricken eyes. Ignoring my antiques, he strode directly to the counter, a paper in his hands.
“Hello,” I said. “Can I help you?”
He set the paper on my counter, and I saw it was the same Internet article little Kylan had shown me. “Are you Autumn Rain, the psychic lady?”
I stifled a sigh. I didn’t like being called a psychic because I couldn’t see the future or things that were happening at the moment. I could only read emotions that other people left on certain objects. But people persisted in using the psychic moniker no matter what I said, so I bit back a protest.
“I’m Autumn Rain. How can I help?”
“My wife’s gone missing,” he said urgently. “I looked for her all night and all morning. Everywhere I can think of. She’s nowhere, and it ain’t like her.” He patted a black leather bag strapped to his upper thigh over his jeans. “I brought some of her stuff. Will you take a look?” A world of despair radiated in his tone, as if at any moment, this tough man might break down into tears.
“Sure.” I sent an apologetic glance at Shannon. Maybe this would teach him not to be late for our lunch dates.
“Have you gone to the police?” Shannon asked, setting Kylan’s car pencil down next to my cash register.
The biker’s gaze flicked over Shannon, taking in his dress pants and shirt. Could he tell Shannon was a cop? “I went this morning. They took my report, and I gave them a list of friends and relatives. But they haven’t called me back or come out to the house yet. They told me she’d probably come home on her own and to call all her friends to see if they’ve heard from her. No one has.” The sound of laughter came from Jake’s store as if in counterpoint to the biker’s despair.
“How long has she been gone?” I put my heel on the metal support ring of my stool and lifted myself onto it.
“Only since last night,” he said. “But we’re supposed to go on a trip tomorrow for our seventh anniversary. Today’s when we were gonna finalize our route. We’re heading to California like we did for our honeymoon. It ain’t like her to disappear.”
Shannon started to speak, but I gave him a hard stare. This was my case, not his. “Tell me when you first realized she was gone,” I said.
The biker’s expression wilted. “I was late getting off work last night and stopped to have a beer with my work buddies. When I came home, she wasn’t there. I wasn’t even more than an hour and a half late, maybe two tops.”
“Was she okay with you going out with your friends?”
He shrugged. “She don’t mind if I go out and have a beer. Long as I don’t come home drunk.”
Silence fell over us as I considered what to ask next. I was aware of Shannon watching and waiting, not impatiently but intently. Before working homicide, he’d been in missing persons, and we’d discussed his past cases enough that I knew he was thinking the same thing I was—that the woman might have more against the biker’s co-workers than he knew. Maybe she’d been angry and had gone somewhere to cool off. If that was the case, it shouldn’t take long to discover where she was, as long as he’d brought the right objects.
“Is anything missing?” I asked. “Clothes, suitcases, purse, car?”
“No. That’s just it. Nothing is gone except her bike—her Harley—though how that’s gone when I have both sets of keys, mine and hers, I don’t know. She just disappeared.”
“No money missing from your accounts?” I asked next, knowing Shannon was burning to voice the question. He believed money was the root of most marital problems, and maybe he was right.
“No. Uh, I don’t know.” The biker’s brow creased. “I can check. We set up our phones for electronic banking.” He pulled out a phone and began to punch numbers with large, clumsy fingers. “Nope. It all looks the same as when I made sure my check was put in.”
“There haven’t been any charges since yesterday?”
He looked again. “Just gas for my bike.”
“Okay, let me see what you brought.” I patted the countertop.
“Oh, right.” He unzipped the bag on his leg and withdrew a cell phone, a set of keys, a deck of face cards, and a tube of lip cream. “Sariah never goes anywhere without this stuff.”
“She didn’t take her phone?” That seemed unusual, to say the least, and for the first time, a twinge of apprehension filled me. Even I always took my phone with me, despite my adoptive father’s insistence that the emissions caused cancer.
I pushed back that thought before it could overwhelm me. Winter was gone now, and his death had nothing to do with any kind of emissions.
“No,” the biker said. “And she loves playing one game or another at stops while we’re on the road, so that makes me more worried. If she went to a friend’s house—and none of them admit that she has—she wouldn’t have left her phone or her lip stuff.” He gave me a completely serious look and added, “Sariah kind of has dry lips, especially on the road, so she don’t want to get a cold sore.”
That was the moment I knew I had a serious case. Not because of the phone, the keys, or the mysteriously missing motorbike. But because of the lip cream. In an abusive situation, a woman might leave behind her clothes, her phone, and her vehicle, but if she was prone to cold sores, she’d slip that tiny tube of lip cream into her pocket.
Wherever this man’s wife was, I didn’t believe she’d left willingly.
Prologue
IN THE YEAR 2198, nuclear war and economic failure devastated the population in a horrific event later known as Breakdown. Twenty years later, the CORE (Commonwealth Objective for Reform and Efficiency) was born, and six welfare colonies were created to help the poor and displaced. The formation of these colonies was first hailed as the best and most compassionate act of humankind, but what they eventually became was enslavement.
For sixty years, three hundred thousand people were kept behind the walls. They, their children, and their grandchildren believed the lies about eventual integration with society, not knowing that the system created by the Elite depended on their continued slavery.
When a secret experiment carried out upon the unwitting citizens of Colony 6 resulted in amazing abilities that always ended in violent madness, ten thousand people were exterminated. Only a few gifted—sixers—survived. Six of these were childhood friends. As a young crew, they protected each other in their struggle to live. Now reunited as adults, their unusual abilities and their unfailing loyalty is the CORE’s last hope for freedom.
Chapter 1
Location: Amarillo City, Dallastar
Year: 2278, 80 years after Breakdown
LYSSA SLOAN PEEKED into the alleyway next to the sauce bar that was already doing a steady business, even this early in the day. The December air was mild compared to past years, but she felt cold inside. Dead. Following Ty Bissett was not something she’d planned to do on this day off, but here she was trailing him.
Again.
And hoping today wasn’t the day he was destined to die.
She’d met Ty for lunch, as they sometimes did during her days away from division. He’d been complaining about not seeing her enough, and she’d put him off because as much as she was beginning to like him, she couldn’t tell him the truth. Not about her ability, her underground activities, and certainly not about the illegal existence of her daughter. She understood that her secrets required her to draw the line, and if they couldn’t have truth between them, she didn’t have much hope that they could overcome something as important as his impending death.
Still, she’d followed him, because she did care about him. Enough to regret that she couldn’t move in with him away from her twin and her brother-in-law, Kansas, the only father her child would ever know. Lyssa wished she’d never have to see Kansas again, but even if she could admit to being Tamsin’s mother, she wouldn’t take her from her beloved father.
Instead of returning to the enforcer division where they both worked, her in dispatch and him in personnel, Ty had hopped a sky train and come to this northwest part of town. Not exactly a rundown part of Amarillo City but definitely not the nicest. Not a place they’d ever gone together.
Teev surveillance was apparent in the cameras mounted on the building next to her, but none faced the alleyway where Ty had disappeared. Which meant whatever he was doing, he didn’t want a record of it. This wasn’t just handing a few cash credits to a sauced man outside a bar, as she’d witnessed him doing on other times she’d followed him. Ty had to know this alley didn’t connect to the feed that watched everyone in the CORE, and she’d worked in the darkness far too long to believe the choice in location was an accident.
Fear shot through her, tingling to her toes and making it hard to breathe. What if this was it? What if this was the moment Jaxon had seen in his visions, the moment Ty died? Those visions were the reason she’d started following Ty in the first place, worrying that her work with the underground had put him in danger. But her secrets weren’t why he was here today.
Another emotion crowded in on the first. Anger that he hadn’t shared his own secrets with her. He had no right to want more from her when he wasn’t willing to tell her why he had been skulking all around town.
Squelching her reaction, Lyssa moved closer to the tall building where she wouldn’t be as visible to the camera. There, she removed her iTeev from her bag, unfolded the screen, and pretended to study the display, which was currently off. Her back was against the wall now, the solid feel of it comforting. She wished she’d taken a camera disrupter from the underground conference room, but she would have needed permission, and she hadn’t told any of the others about Ty’s mysterious movements, or how he’d sometimes vanish when she was following him.
Almost as if he knew he was being followed.
Glancing up and down the street, she saw nothing out of the ordinary. Several groups of people headed toward the sky train station at the end of the block, a pair of men were getting into two different public shuttles, and a woman came from the bar and went into the readymeal store next door. It appeared to be an ordinary Tuesday afternoon in Amarillo City.
Lyssa peeked casually around the corner of the building, every muscle tensed as she anticipated having to draw back quickly. Instead, a huge recycling bin blocked most of the space in the alleyway. If Ty was there, it hid him completely.
Grimacing, Lyssa slipped her iTeev into her bag, made a show of fastening her long coat against a nonexistent breeze, and turned into the alleyway. Once there, she sprinted to the end of the bin. A rotten smell wafted out at her, and her stomach clenched. Their pre-Breakdown ancestors hadn’t been able to get rid of the need for trash bins, and in the sixty years since its formation, the CORE hadn’t either.
Taking a shallow breath through her nose, she touched the bin and peered around the side. She was rewarded by a side view of Ty’s narrow face, his black hair reaching halfway down his neck, grown longer just for her. He was talking animatedly to someone out of Lyssa’s view behind the metal bin. His excitement alone was unusual, as he was generally more reserved.
Cold bit into her fingers, and she pulled them back from the metal and tucked them under her arms without moving her head. Ty had turned a bit, and now she could partially see his companion. The stranger was a good head taller than Ty, and his dark brown hair was longer. He didn’t look like one of the punks Ty usually passed cash credits to, and the longer hair meant he wasn’t Special Forces.
Lyssa didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried at this knowledge. Special Forces were enforcers under the direct order of the Controller, and he was after the sixers—those born in Colony 6 with unusual abilities—so it was good Ty wasn’t meeting with them. But an unknown could be just as dangerous.
Maybe Ty was helping people who had refused to be implanted with the new CivIDs. The underground had seen a lot of those people in the five weeks since the implants became mandatory in Dallastar—as they had been in Estlantic for years. Most of those people hadn’t been ready to drop their lives, however, and go into hiding, so El Cerebro, leader of the underground, had turned them away. It was just as well. As Special Forces cleaned out the empty zones in Estlantic and refugees fled to Dallastar, the underground was experiencing a severe overcrowding in the pre-Breakdown subway tunnels.
This vein of thought was getting her nowhere. She couldn’t hear what they were saying unless she exposed herself, and she couldn’t save Ty if the man turned violent—if it was even possible for anyone to save him from his destiny. She and the rest of her Colony 6 crew had theorized that millions of choices could affect the outcome in any situation, and what Jaxon experienced in each of his visions was the most likely occurrence, the most likely average of every possible outcome. Which meant there might be a lesser number of other possible alternatives. But so far his visions always came true, or with a slight variation, and no one marked with such certain death had ever been saved.
Despair threatened to fill Lyssa’s chest, but she pushed it back with the skill of long practice. Tamsin, her daughter, was the most important thing in her life. The loss of anything else could—and would—be endured.
Lyssa considered her options. Short of sneaking down the side of the bin, or climbing on top of it, which wasn’t possible without equipment, she couldn’t hear the conversation. Her ability of projecting her conscious thoughts to another location allowed her to travel incorporeally, but to date she’d only been able to travel to where her twin sister Lyra was physically. Lyra could do the same with Lyssa. That meant one of them already had to be present, and if the situation was dangerous, as it could be today, that wasn’t a good thing.
The underground doctor they worked with couldn’t find any reason for the limit, or even why they could only visit each other. He thought it would be possible to eventually “travel” to anyone they were close to—and that should include Ty. Clenching her jaw, Lyssa concentrated on the side of his face. She remembered his kisses and the way his warm hands felt on her skin. How for those moments he made her forget the other man she wished she didn’t love.
The air around Lyssa seemed to convulse. She felt a surge of triumph. She could feel herself starting to travel. She crouched down to make sure she wouldn’t become disoriented and fall.
The next minute, Lyssa was standing in school next to her daughter. Ten-year-old Tamsin sat at a table with three other children in her technology class, examining a holographic representation of a building the children were putting together like a puzzle. Tamsin’s small face was eager, her forehead wrinkling in concentration as she dragged each of the pieces across the holo screen with a finger.
Lyssa gasped at the impossibility. She’d never been able to visit her daughter unless Lyra was with the child—and not for lack of trying. Lyssa craned her neck, scanning the room, but Lyra was nowhere in sight.
Tamsin’s gaze on the holograph faltered as she glanced in the direction where Lyssa stood. Her eyes squinted as if trying to focus on something just beyond her sight. Lyssa swallowed, wavering in indecision. This was a huge breakthrough in her ability, and she longed to speak to her daughter, to see if she could hear her as Lyra could, but even being there put Tamsin in danger, especially if she started talking about people who weren’t there.
The girl shook her head and went back to her schoolwork, removing a piece that a classmate had placed during her distraction. “No,” she said firmly. “We tried that last time and it fell in the earthquake. Remember?”
Lyssa came back to her body with a start, her hand automatically going to the Enforce .380 she carried in a waistband holster. Working for division, she had clearance for it, even if she wasn’t an enforcer like most of her crew. But Ty hadn’t moved, and she anticipated that her trip had taken mere seconds.
Even as she watched, Ty’s body language changed. He edged away from his companion in clear indication their meeting was concluding. Lyssa pulled her head back behind the bin, jumped to her feet, and hurried back to the main street. There wasn’t time to call the private shuttle that her brother-in-law’s job at the transportation department allowed her, or to get far enough down the road that Ty wouldn’t recognize her, so she ducked inside the bar.
Seconds later, through the glass at the top part of the door, she saw Ty pass, his head bent as he hurried down the street in the direction of the sky train. He’d be on his way back to division now, already late. It wasn’t likely he’d be in danger on the sky train, not with all the cameras and people around. She could relax. Maybe she’d give him a call and tell him she’d changed her mind about not seeing him tonight.
She was about to leave the bar when the door swung open and a man filled the doorway. He reminded Lyssa of El Cerebro’s underground guards—not big, but definitely strong. It took only a heartbeat to recognize the man Ty had been with moments before. She started toward the counter, barely flicking a glance at him.
“Chotks,” she told the bartender, slipping onto one of the transparent seats that instantly molded to her backside.
The heavyset man behind the bar gave her a real smile, a testament that chotks was a lot more expensive compared to the synthesized sauce that most came here to drink in this part of town. Asking for it made her stand out, but not enough to endure the sauce.
He poured her a glass as she pulled out her iTeev to transfer the credits with a couple taps of her finger on the screen. She pretended to focus on her glass as the strange man sat on another stool.
“Double chotks,” he said, not glancing at her or any of the other customers and barely acknowledging the bartender. His voice held a hint of a New York accent.
She let her eyes wander in his direction. He wore a long black coat that covered all of his clothing except his black boots, which glistened as if they’d been shined recently. The coat and boats looked like rare leather rather than synthetic, and the way he downed his chotks told her he was accustomed to the good stuff. He was tall, with a powerful neck and a broad face. His hands were big, useful. His eyes held intelligence, but he was definitely not a man who called the shots. Rather, he was a trusted underling. She’d worked at the Amarillo Enforcer Division and with the underground long enough to recognize the type. Whatever information this man had received or given to Ty Bissett, it hadn’t been initiated by him.
Did that mean he worked for Ty? Lyssa was unable to wrap her mind around that. Ty was intelligent, to be sure, and shyly witty and doggedly determined. If he was capable of owning a man like this, what was he doing in a relatively low-level job like personnel?
Before Lyssa had time to consider, the man finished his drink and headed for the door. Lyssa drank the rest of her chotks, welcoming the pleasant buzz that gave her courage, and followed him to the door. He didn’t go toward the sky train station, and she hesitated only a minute before falling in after him. If she couldn’t get answers from Ty, she’d get answers from him.
Maybe.
She’d only gone a block when the man turned a corner and disappeared. The only place he could have gone into was a restaurant, but when she went inside, he was nowhere to be seen. Obviously, he suspected something, or maybe he routinely practiced ditching people behind him. She was nearly back to the door when an arm snaked around her neck, and she was dragged into a large dark alcove off the entryway. She tried to scream, but the arm around her neck was too tight. Her toes barely skimmed the floor as he pulled her along.
“What do you want?” her attacker growled in her ear. “Who are you?”
“Let me go,” she managed to gasp. Black dots began to pepper her vision. Her lungs screamed for oxygen. She had to do something—and fast. There was no way to reach the gun in her back holster, or even the iTeev in her bag.
She willed herself to her sister. It was as easy as a step, as if the thirty kilometers between them didn’t exist. Lyssa appeared in dispatch, near Lyra, whose fingers played with menus on the TAD-Alert’s holoscreen that made up the entire walls of dispatch. The Teev Aided Dispatch Alert System was a super Teev that aided them in sending the right enforcers for each emergency call. The system was also linked to other TADs in various dispatch offices across the CORE. Lyra looked up and saw her, a smile beginning on her face.
“Activate my iTeev with the TAD,” Lyssa ordered, surprised that her mental voice showed none of the strain she’d felt when her physical body tried to talk. She wondered fleetingly what would happen if she died while out of her body. “Hurry! There’s a guy. He’s choking me.”
“What?” Lyra blurted, drawing the attention of the other employee who was working dispatch.
“Activate my iTeev!” Lyssa shouted, but her sister was already pulling up the correct menu.
Despite community belief that CORE authorities could only monitor personal iTeevs or Teevs that were connected to the feed, the TAD could also activate any device unless it was disconnected from the feed completely. How often citizens were monitored without their knowledge, Lyssa could only guess, but given what she’d learned in the past few months, her iTeev spent more and more time off the feed.
She jumped back to her body as her iTeev, still in her bag, squawked a warning sound. “This is the TAD-Alert,” boomed an authoritative voice that had been patterned from the CORE’s first Controller. “What is the nature of your emergency?”
Lyssa felt the man’s grip relax slightly, and she sucked in desperately needed air. As she did, a Teev built into the alcove where they were standing activated a holoscreen in the middle of the space, depicting Lyra’s face framed by long ebony hair. Which meant her sister had not only tracked her down but also searched for onsite Teevs to get eyes on the situation.
“What is the nature of your emergency?” Lyra echoed the original question from the iTeev. Her voice was calm but her face radiated fury.
“Saca!” cursed the man. He reached for something in his pocket and the image of Lyra vanished, the holoscreen showing only a brilliant light that made Lyssa squint.
“Don’t follow me,” the man snarled. Then Lyssa was falling to the hard floor, made of some kind of pre-Breakdown rock substitute. She hit hard, rolling to mitigate the impact. By the time she recovered, Lyra’s face hovered over her again on the holoscreen.
“You okay?” Lyra asked, the corners of her slanted eyes creased with worry.
Lyssa nodded.
“What happened?” This husky question came from their co-worker Gemma Drexel, whose round face appeared in the holo behind Lyra. The woman’s curvy figure belied the masculine sound of her voice.
Lyssa shook her head, knowing Lyra would understand that she couldn’t explain, not over the feed and not in front of Gemma. “Must have wanted my credits,” she said. “Or my iTeev. Can you track him?”
Lyra consulted a display Lyssa couldn’t see. “The TAD’s lost him,” she said. “I’ll track his CivID. We got a glimpse of that. It’s probably counterfeit, though.”
Gemma nodded, her medium brown hair falling over her shoulder. “Maybe he’s one of those fringers like the ones they’ve been catching in Estlantic.” She shivered. “In my opinion, Special Forces can’t get here fast enough to clear out our empty zones. They’re getting too bold.”
Lyra exchanged a meaningful glance with Lyssa. The sisters were fighting to protect fringers—and to free the three hundred thousand people imprisoned in the six welfare colonies. But admitting to that over the feed was as good as asking for medical enhancement.
“Thanks for your help,” Lyra said pointedly to Gemma. “I can take it from here.” The other woman smiled and backed away until she vanished from the holo. When she was gone, Lyra asked, “Are you sure you’re all right?” Worry remained apparent in her brown eyes. Lyssa knew because it was the same expression she saw in her own every morning when she looked in the mirror.
“Yeah. I’m good.” Lyssa climbed to her feet. She’d expected that the restaurant personnel would have heard the commotion, but so far no one had ventured in.
“I’m sending Eagle to your location,” Lyra continued. “Meanwhile, you’d better check your messages. There’s a meeting, and he’s been trying to reach you.”
A meeting meant she was supposed to go to the underground conference room where there was no chance of being overheard by someone who could report to the Elite. Lyssa nodded. “Okay, thanks.”
Lyra studied her, obviously alert to some subtle nuance in her face. “Is there something else?”
There was something, of course. Lyra needed to know that she’d traveled to Tamsin today and also the rest Lyssa hadn’t yet told her about her daughter. Lyra was Tamsin’s registered mother, just as Kansas, Lyra’s husband, was Tamsin’s registered father—a fact that indebted Lyssa to them forever. They were the only reason Tamsin had legal status and Lyssa hadn’t been condemned to a colony for an illegal birth. Even more than that, they’d helped raise Tamsin, and were as much her parents as Lyssa herself. As such, they deserved to know. But not over the feed.
“We’ll talk tonight,” Lyssa said.
“Tonight then. Eagle’s almost there. Look for the enforcer shuttle.”
As Lyssa left the alcove, a restaurant employee came into the entry from a back room. She wore her dark hair in an impossibly high bun, covered with a net of rainbow lights that matched the lights on her very short white dress.
“Only one for lunch?” she trilled.
“I’ve changed my mind.”
“Very well. Have a nice day.” Shrugging, the employee removed her iTeev from her pocket, unfolding it to fit over her eyes. The plastic molded comfortably onto her face. “Resume program,” she said, unlatching the built-in earbuds and pushing them into her ears.
No wonder the woman had heard nothing of the man’s attack. Shaking her head, Lyssa went into the street, grateful that the man who’d attacked her was nowhere to be seen. Would he report the incident to Ty—or to whoever else might employ him?
Minutes later, a silver, tetrahedron-shaped enforcer shuttle raced down the street, the black and red stripes on the side flashing emergency. For once, Lyssa didn’t mind the resentful stares that followed her as the panel doors slid opened and she dived into the passenger seat.
“There you are,” Eagle said from the other front seat, his mouth twisting into a hint of a grin on his narrow face. His registered name was Randal Jensen, but he’d been Eagle Eyes Jensen to her all their growing up years in Colony 6. As usual, he wore his special dark glasses that contained iTeev tech, but also so much more. Without them, he was nearly blind. With them, he saw more than she could ever dream to see, as they enhanced his special sixer ability. Instead of enforcer blues, the division weapons expert sported black linen pants and a thick matching jacket without a collar.
“When you didn’t answer your iTeev, we started worrying,” he added.
“Sorry. It was silenced.”
“What happened?” The shuttle started forward on automatic drive as he spoke, and Lyssa knew he’d used eye movements to communicate with the onboard Teev.
Lyssa didn’t answer, debating how much she should say. “We’ll need to track him down,” she said finally. “Did my sister get a good visual?”
“No. He must have been wearing an identity blocker, though it was apparently programmed to let his fake Civ-ID be recorded by cameras so the warning program wasn’t alerted.”
“Of course he did. I’ll have to ask Reese to draw him.”
“Why don’t you tell me what happened?” Eagle prompted. “He didn’t just attack you out of the blue. And tell me the truth.” He leaned his lanky form back in the driver’s seat. “You’re better than most at lying, but not even you can hide changes in your body temperature from me.”
She sighed. “I was following him, and he got the jump on me.”
“And why were you following him?” Eagle cupped a hand between them, wiggling his fingers in encouragement for her to spill more details.
“I was following Ty first, and they had a meeting in an alleyway. It was the first meeting I’ve witnessed that I can’t write off to helping derelicts and punks.”
Eagle frowned. “That doesn’t sound good. Maybe we should put him under official surveillance.”
Lyssa felt happier at that. “You think Captain Brogan would go for it?”
“The man attacked you, so that endangers everyone.” Eagle paused for a moment, raising his hands and swiping invisible screens in a way that told her he’d activated the iTeev holo features built into his glasses and was searching for something. He didn’t need to use his hands, as initiating the shuttle had proven, but it was easier as well as polite to give her warning that his attention was elsewhere. Otherwise, it was impossible to tell what he was doing under those dark glasses.
“Well, Ty’s back at division now, safe and sound,” he said after a moment.
“Yes, but for how long?” Lyssa couldn’t help the bitter words. “I shouldn’t have gotten involved with him. Jaxon warned me.” She’d just been so lonely, living with Kansas and Lyra. Lonely in knowing that even if Kansas had wanted her, Lyssa would never cross that line with him. He was her sister’s husband and the best father a child could have. That is where it started and ended. Period. Unfortunately, her heart hadn’t seemed to get the message.
Eagle’s hands dropped to his lap. “Even if you weren’t involved, he’d still die. So from his point-of-view, it’s good you got involved. You’ve made him happy, and maybe finding out who that man is will help.” But they both knew it was a long shot. Ty Bissett would die of a broken neck, and given the usual timeline of Jaxon’s visions, Ty was already on borrowed time.
“Speaking of Brogan,” Eagle said. “He’s called a meeting in the underground. That’s why I’ve been trying to contact you. He sounds worried.”
Lyssa pulled out her iTeev, turned on the screen, and disconnected her link from the feed. There were signal blockers in the ancient subway tunnels that were home to the underground, and those were always activated during their meetings, but all of them were extra careful when approaching or while in the tunnels. Especially these days when so many fringers were fleeing Special Forces in the eastern empty zones. Eagle would even take the shuttle off feed before they arrived at their destination.
Like the others in her crew, Lyssa had fought to survive her youth in Colony 6 and had grown into a responsible citizen—but the Elite who ruled the CORE still wanted her dead. She was a sixer, a person who had developed a special ability from the experimental viribus drug placed in their water. Now only Captain Brogan’s rewriting of her past prevented her capture by Special Forces. If they knew she was working with the underground, she’d be doubly wanted. It paid to be careful—and to suspect everyone.
“It’s got to be about Nova,” she said. “Maybe she’s back from Newcali.”
Eagle gave his customary uneven shrug, his right shoulder lifting slightly before the left. “I guess we’re about to find out.”
“If you ask me, using Brogan’s niece as a security deposit for use of Newcali’s hovercraft was a mistake, even if it did save Jaxon’s life. They’ve had the shuttle back for more than a month now, and we still don’t have Nova.”
The edge of Eagle’s mouth twitched as if he found her response amusing. “Hopefully, she’s just been gathering information.”
Lyssa knew what he wasn’t saying—that every day Newcali didn’t return the child was one day closer to trouble. Nova’s father had died from radiation exposure sustained while retrieving tech from the desolation zones in exchange for his daughter’s release from the colony where she’d been born. Brogan had taken care of Nova in the four years since, and he wouldn’t sit idly by if he discovered she was in danger.
They left the shuttle in a public parking lot near the edge of town and made their way down a blind alley to a derelict apartment building in the adjoining empty zone. In the basement, they found a well-hidden staircase that led into the subway.
Before she’d started working for the underground—first by coercion and then under her own will—Lyssa hadn’t known of the existence of an ancient underground train system, much less heard rumors of tunnels still existing. The solar-powered sky train had crisscrossed the territory before Breakdown, and one of the CORE’s first activities after its formation had been to restore as many main lines as possible. With the addition of the blue public shuttles, nothing else had been needed. The centuries-old tunnels were now home to hundreds of undergrounders, who had fled CORE society for one reason or another.
Lyssa knew her way to the underground conference room, but she was glad to have Eagle with her. His ability to recreate a mental 3D rendition of anything he experienced or could imagine made it impossible for him to lose his way from any of the several entrances, even without his glasses that transmitted all kinds of information directly to his brain. If the tunnels had new cave-ins, he’d simply circumvent and find a new path that would get them where they needed to go.
“Here.” Eagle pressed something into her hand, and she realized it was a light. She put the strap over her head, adjusting its position until it hung heavy and reassuring on her upper chest, bathing the tunnels with illumination. She knew he didn’t need the light, so he’d brought it for her.
“Thanks.” She adjusted her coat under the light, making sure the magnetic fasteners were locked tightly. Since it was December, the tunnels would be frigid until they arrived at the inhabited stations.
“We’d better hurry. Reese and Jaxon left division before I did.” Eagle grinned before adding, “And if you aren’t there, Lyra can’t fly over. She’s too busy to leave division physically.”
“Traveling isn’t flying,” she said, but the comment lightened her spirits. Truth be told, sometimes it was a little like flying.
They had gone a half kilometer when Eagle raised his hand in a signal for her to stop, his head turned attentively toward a tunnel they were passing. Lyssa was about to ask if he’d detected a cave-in when he motioned her forward past the intersection. Then he stopped again, unzipped his jacket, and drew a gun from his shoulder holster.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“About a dozen people are down that tunnel, and they can’t be undergrounders. No one sets up this side of the guards. It’s too dangerous.”
The underground had an elaborate warning system that Lyssa hadn’t bothered to research, but Eagle would know what he was talking about. “Okay,” she said. “But be careful.”
“They won’t turn on their lights for a while. I’ll get the drop on them. I’ll shout when I need you.”
He retraced their steps, quickly disappearing from view as Lyssa watched, careful to aim her light forward and not back at him. Minutes ticked by as she waited. Her body felt hot despite the cold in the tunnels. She should have gone with Eagle. She was trained in marksmanship and hand-to-hand combat—Captain Brogan had insisted on that for both her and Lyra. Reese and Jaxon would never have let Eagle face a dozen people alone. If her ability worked properly, she could have at least traveled mentally with Eagle, but here she remained, useless. She didn’t know if he needed backup. He could die, and she’d still be waiting here like a target with this light on her chest.
She waited a minute more. Still nothing. What if he’d run into Special Forces? Or fringers who weren’t numbered among their allies? Worse, the heat signatures he’d seen could belong to a group of radiation-crazed monsters that typically roamed the desolation zones.
Taking a deep breath, she whisked the light from her chest and put it down on the rocky floor of the tunnel. She started back the way they’d come. She’d only gone a few steps when she changed her mind and went back for the light.
Switching it off, she began to feel her way along the wall. Hold on, Eagle, she thought. I’m coming.
Prologue
Location: Welfare Colony 6, Dallastar
Year: 2258, 60 years after Breakdown
THE BOYS CAME running, laughing as they sped through the hallway on the way to lunch. Ten-year-old Reese Parker couldn’t see them yet from her spot near the back door of their school wing, where she sat with her jean-covered legs stretched out in the sunlight that filtered through the glass, but she could hear their pounding footsteps as they came to meet her.
Here in this isolated place, they would never attract the attention of a more powerful crew, because doing so was only asking for trouble, even if most of the older kids were in a different wing and had other lunch periods. In a year or two, they might be strong enough to hold their own anywhere, especially with Dani around. For now, they were comparatively strong on their own in level ten.
Reese heard one of the boys trip—probably Jaxon, though it was Eagle who was practically blind. Eagle Eyes Jenson could remember each turn and navigated the hallways and classrooms at their school better than any of their crew. She set aside her precious sketchbook and looked up expectantly.
More laughter and an urgent shout. “Get up! Before he finds us!” Eagle’s voice, not Jaxon’s.
Sure enough, it was Eagle who turned the corner first and slid in beside her. His thin, freckled face held a wide smile, and his brown eyes under the heavy glasses were huge, magnified impossibly by the thick lenses. His brown hair was damp from exertion and hung limply in his eyes.
“What happened?” Reese asked, tossing him one of the readymeals she’d already snagged from the dispenser using his code. There were rumors about implanted codes that would force each child to collect their own meal, but adults talked about a lot of things that never happened. Reese figured by the time they got around to implanting IDs, she and her crew would be leveled out of school and away from the nightmare of living in the Coop.
Eagle caught the thin box with his scrawny arms and ripped off the plastic-coated carton top, grinning at the small bag of pretzels nestled in one of the small compartments. Reese was glad to see him so happy with his favorite snack. She had planned to give him hers if he didn’t get any, because though the meals ran in cycles, you never really had a choice about what popped out.
He poked his finger in the thick sauce that covered chunks of what passed as meat but was really protein cubes of some sort. No one really knew. “Nice. Still hot.”
Reese sighed impatiently. “You still haven’t told me what happened. Why are you so late?” The boys always got out after she did when they had their physical education class, which was why she picked up their meals for them, but today they were even later than normal.
“Oh, you should have been there,” Eagle said. “It was so fu—”
Whatever else Eagle tried to say was lost as Jaxon Crowley plowed around the corner and collapsed beside Reese. Part of his dark hair was wet with perspiration like Eagle’s, and his blue eyes were dancing with the same amusement, but his face had an added gray tinge to it. A wide, red welt stood out on his neck.
“Did that pus licker zap you again?” Reese demanded, studying Jaxon’s neck. He was her best friend, and she couldn’t help the anger boiling up inside.
“Yeah.” He swiped the back of his hand across his eyes, making his thick eyelashes stick together with moisture. “But this time we deserved it.”
“Yep.” Eagle nodded vigorously. “He caught us cutting out the soles of his shoes.”
As Eagle spoke, a flash of an image came to Reese’s mind. She saw the substitute teacher’s florid face and shaved head, his heavy body rigid. Wrinkles gathered under his eyes, and an even deeper one ran down the bridge of his nose. A circle of dark, gray-flecked hair bordered his mouth, a mouth pursed as it screamed something that started with “You” as his finger jabbed out accusingly. His big ears were quickly turning red, along with his nose and the top of his head. That was a man ready to blow, and blow big.
Instinctively, Reese reached for her drawing pad, her fingers itching to get the image on paper. Instead, she brushed up against the two remaining readymeals. Taking a breath, she passed one to Jaxon, looking carefully to make sure he wasn’t shaking. Stunners hurt bad, and though it was supposed to be illegal for anyone but enforcers to have them, there were more than a few at the school for secret use on recalcitrant students. But Jaxon’s hand was steady, so whatever blast the teacher had managed to give him, it hadn’t been all that powerful.
“He’s going to kill you tomorrow.” She hadn’t seen the teacher except in her mind, but his angry face scared her. Maybe tomorrow the stunner wouldn’t be on the lowest setting.
“Nope.” Jaxon shook his head as he unhooked the plastic fork embedded in the side of the meal and dug in. “He was only here two days, and maybe wherever he goes next, he’ll think twice about using a stunner to make boys run faster.”
“Right!” Eagle licked off a bit of sauce that had fallen on his hand. “As if any of us are going to ever use what we learn in a physical education class.”
“Running is important,” Reese retorted.
Jaxon reached over to tug on one of her dark locks. “Yeah, but he can’t teach us what we already know. We’ve been running from older crews since before we left nursery school.”
“I guess.” Reese scooped up her own readymeal. She wanted her drawing pad instead—her fingers tingled to draw the image in her mind. But she didn’t like being compelled, as if something outside her had control, forcing her to record the images that had begun popping randomly into her mind. Images that were always one-hundred percent accurate. Jaxon knew about it, of course. She told him everything. He’d been born in the small house next to hers, six by seven meters like all the other houses in their district, and they’d been inseparable in nursery school, even before they’d formed a crew with Eagle and the others. A crew that kept them safe. But though he knew her secrets, she tried not to remind him of her weakness. Of the way she had to draw. Jaxon was the only halfway normal kid in their small crew of misfits, and he would be accepted into any other crew, but he’d chosen them. Because of her.
Pushing away the urge to draw, she leaned back against the metal door behind her that opened to stairs leading down into the bowels of the school. Eagle had once hacked into the handprint lock, of course, and that was how they’d learned what the door hid—water pipes, electrical wiring, and furnaces. Furnaces that school officials rarely thought they needed in Welfare Colony 6, even though Reese remembered too many days when the inside of the school was colder than outside, and everyone wore extra sweaters and all the pants they owned and some of their parents’ as well, if they were lucky enough to have them—both parents and pants, that is.
She moved her legs to catch more of the sunlight, refusing to think about that now. This was April and winter was too far away to worry about.
“So where are the girls?” Jaxon asked.
Reese shook her head. “Don’t know.” It worried her too that they were late, though it could have been the long lines at the readymeal dispensers. She hadn’t seen them there as she normally did. She’d thought they’d already gone through, but they hadn’t been waiting here for her.
“They’ll be here soon,” Eagle assured them.
Sure enough, they were still eating their meals when Dani Balak and the twins, Lyssa and Lyra Sloan, showed up. More freaks. The twins because they were twins and Dani because of her short spiky white hair and her very black skin. They carried readymeals but were running, Dani a good head taller than the petite twins.
“It’s the Jammers!” Lyssa huffed.
Reese set aside her meal and jumped to her feet, her heart hammering inside her chest. The two Jammer brothers—Witt, an older boy, and Keag, who was their age—lived near them and were the meanest boys they knew. Their crew was mostly made up of the biggest kids in level twelve, some as big as Reese’s father and as angry as him after he’d downed a skin of sauce. Witt was their leader, and the boys followed him around like dogs, swaggering and tormenting anyone who happened to be in their way.
“Saca!” Jaxon swore, fear making his voice tight. “What happened?”
“It’s just Keag and some of their crew,” Dani said, pushing her readymeal at Lyra and turning to face the bend where Reese could hear someone coming down the hallway. “Witt ain’t with ’em. I can take care of it.” She raised her fists into a ready position, an expression of gleeful anticipation on her square, rugged face. Her black skin glistened under the harsh hallway light. She looked fierce and more than a little unbalanced.
No doubt Dani could take Keag and a couple others at the same time, but Reese needed to be ready. She slipped her left hand into the pocket of her jeans and grasped the metal fork she’d stolen from the hospital last year after someone at the school had discovered her taking an important test with her non-dominant arm and realized her left was broken. Since the break thirteen months ago, she’d worked on using both hands, just in case. Both for school work and for fighting. Nothing was going to prevent her from leveling out of school and getting released from Colony 6. No way would she die working in the factories like her mother. She wanted to be out in the real world with the rest of the citizens in the CORE, instead of locked in with the poor trash that depended on charity to survive.
Next to Reese, Jaxon was also taking something from his pocket. She knew what it was without looking—a spoon he’d shaped to go over his knuckles. He hit almost as well as Dani. Even the twins and Eagle knew how to throw a punch. Well, with Eagle it was only if he managed to see where to land the punch, but he had a pretty good right hook, and his skinny arm was long and tough.
“If we fight, they’ll know who we are!” Lyssa protested, her long ebony hair tied in braids on either side of her face. “If we hurt one of ’em, Witt will come after us.”
“Then we fight!” Dani motioned for Lyssa to give her space.
“Why are they after you?” Reese switched her fork to her right hand, wiped her left on her pant leg and then switched the fork back to the left.
Lyra’s slightly slanted dark eyes looked huge in her delicate face, a mirror image of her sister’s. “They wanted my pretzels.”
“You should have let them take the bag!” Lyssa growled at her. “It’s not like they wanted your whole meal.”
“But . . .” Lyra’s eyes went to Eagle, who was standing behind Reese near the wooden door leading down into the basement. “I was saving them in case Eagle didn’t get any.”
Reese felt a little tug in her chest, but it didn’t surprise her that Lyra would refuse a dominant crew something meant for Eagle. Their crew was as close as family. Or closer in her case.
“I just started running,” Lyra continued. “I thought I’d lost them for a while, but they followed me here. They aren’t very fast, so I caught up with Dani and Lyssa and told them to run.”
“You did right to refuse them,” Dani said through gritted teeth. “We can’t let them take anything that’s ours. That will make them target us more. We can fight them.”
“Or we could disappear,” Eagle said.
Glancing over her shoulder, Reese saw that Eagle had the combination pad to the door dismantled and the door to the basement was open. Eagle shrugged as he clicked the panel over the wires. “It’s easy after you do it the first time. I remembered how.”
Of course he did. Just as he knew how many steps were in each hallway and classroom. It was his version of using both hands. His mind, or maybe his memory, was his ticket to leveling out of school, despite the poor vision that might ordinarily cause him to fail.
“Yes, let’s go!” Lyssa urged, focusing her attention primarily on Dani. “If we fight, they’ll remember us. But if we hide, maybe they won’t. We weren’t with Lyra when it happened. They might not know she’s a twin. And if they see you now, they’ll never forget you. You’re the only one with that skin color and hair. They won’t rest until they kill us all.”
“We can take them,” Dani insisted.
“Yeah, but Witt and the others too?” Eagle asked. “And for how long? What if they catch some of us alone?”
The six kids stared at each other for a moment, all the while listening to the approaching footsteps that had slowed as the opposing crew obviously checked classrooms and other hallways. Not for the first time, Reese wondered if their choices would be different if they weren’t all freaks.
“Eagle and Lyssa are right,” Reese said, so everyone knew where she stood. She wasn’t afraid to fight when she had to, but fighting when there was a safer option, especially for the twins and Eagle, was pure stupidity.
Jaxon met Dani’s eyes. He was officially their leader and normally influenced their final decisions, but Dani was a wild card. If she wanted to fight, they’d fight. Not one of them would leave her.
Dani heaved a sigh. “Fine. But only because the twins have too many classes without me. I swear on the head of my grandmother, one of these days, I’m going to teach those pus-licking, warthog-faced, punk buckets all a lesson.”
Reese shuddered at the threat. She didn’t envy the Jammers. In the past two years, Dani had gone from a regular girl to a fighting machine. She moved faster than seemed possible, and her punches had already laid out more than a few older kids. In a year or two, no other crew would be able to mess with them, not even those in the eighteenth level.
Dani stood guard while they gathered up their readymeals and darted inside. A dim glow shone in the stairwell far below, and Reese was glad for the light. The door locked behind them with an automated click. Eagle sat on the first stair and the others followed. Only Dani remained standing by the closed door, ready for anything.
Almost immediately, taunting voices filled the hallway, and someone banged on the door to the basement when they realized it was locked.
“That just goes to the basement,” came a voice. “No one can get down there but the janitor.”
“They must have gone outside,” said someone else. “Come on. We’ll get them out there.” Shuffled steps moved away.
“They’ll be opening the door right . . . about . . . now,” Eagle whispered. Sure enough, they heard a loud thwack! as someone roughly pushed on the outside door.
“They’ll have to be in class soon,” Lyssa said. “They can’t lurk around our hallways much longer.” Lyra nodded in agreement.
“We’ve got time to finish eating,” Jaxon lifted the carton top covering his meal.
Now that they were no longer in immediate danger, Reese’s hands itched to draw again. She had to draw the face of the substitute teacher. Her stomach ached with the need.
“You going to eat those?” Eagle pointed at her pretzels.
“No. Go ahead.” She tossed them at him. Lyra tossed hers at him too, followed by Lyssa and Jaxon.
Dani aimed her bag at Eagle’s head, laughing and shaking her head, the white strands of her hair poking out crazily. “You deserve them,” she said, hitting him on the forehead.
Ten minutes later they were heading to math class, the one class they all had together. By then Reese was sweating and shaking.
She had to draw the image of the teacher she’d seen from Eagle’s mind, but it wasn’t as though she could mask what she was doing. They used Teevs embedded in their desks, and all schoolwork was submitted electronically. The only exception was art class. In math class, the teacher would notice her scribbling, maybe even take away her precious pad and drawing pencils, the only things of value she owned, a gift from her father’s aunt on the outside. She’d filled the other pads already, and this one still had so many fresh white pages.
Jaxon nudged up against her as they entered the room. “Whatever you need to draw, do it,” he whispered. “Sit behind me. I’ll get Old Geyser talking. He won’t even notice you sketching.”
Reese nodded, unable to speak. If she didn’t get it out, she’d be shaking the rest of the day, and that wasn’t good. She couldn’t afford to fail.
She slid into a seat behind Jaxon and pulled her drawing pad out of her ragged sack. In minutes, the sketch of the substitute teacher appeared under her hand, as if of its own volition. She was aware of each line, each curve, each bit of shading, as if it were a part of her—and yet somehow coming from outside. She didn’t need her eraser once. She wished she could use some of the colored pencils she’d permanently “borrowed” from her art class, but those were at home, tucked under her CORE-issued mattress. She shaded the redness of the man’s face with her pencil instead.
Relief filled her as the urge to sketch drained away. The result wasn’t her best drawing ever, but close. Someone tapped her on the shoulder, and she turned to see a scrawny boy she didn’t know well sitting next to her, his head craned to see her drawing. “You got his face exactly right,” he whispered. “So glad that pus bag was only here for two days.”
Nodding in agreement, she gave the boy a smile and shut her drawing pad, tucking it under her. At the front of the classroom, the math teacher paced back and forth, waving his hands animatedly in the air to emphasize his story about the usefulness of math in every profession. Jaxon glanced back at her and winked. He wouldn’t ask about the picture later, and she wouldn’t remind him. This was why he was her best friend.
He would always be. Nothing could separate them. Not even leaving the Coop.
Except in the end, it didn’t work out that way. Not even a little.
1
Inviting Vaughn Abrams to the wedding probably wasn’t one of Saffron Brenwood’s best ideas. He’d been looking at her with that expression all evening, the one that hinted at an impending conversation about their future, a conversation she knew she wouldn’t enjoy. She hoped it was only her imagination because he was a lot of fun, and everyone said they made a striking couple with their fair skin and matching blond hair. Breaking up with him would be harder than it had been with most of her boyfriends.
She sat at the bridesmaids table with two of her foster sisters, Halla and Elsie, their dates having gone for drinks. Saffron’s feet were a little sore from dancing, and the floor was a bit too crowded now for real fun, but she’d get in a few more songs before the night was over.
“So,” Halla said to Saffron, “how long have you been dating Vaughn?” Halla’s blue eyes looked huge and eager in her narrow face.
Saffron lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Three months.”
Halla gaped. “That’s got to be some kind of record, right?”
“Maybe.” It was exactly a month longer than Saffron had dated anyone in over eight and a half years since leaving her parents’ home. She’d known Vaughn for a year before they started dating, though, and that was also different and maybe why he’d lasted so long. It helped that they shared a lot of the same interests, like hiking, river rafting, visiting second-hand stores, and hanging out with her foster sisters.
“Does this mean . . .” Elsie began, pushing back a dark lock that had escaped her carefully upswept hairdo.
Saffron glanced over to where Vaughn stood in line at the bar, getting drinks with Elsie’s date. He met her gaze at that moment and shot her a smile before turning back to his conversation.
“Of course not,” Halla answered for Saffron. “I knew the minute they started dating that he wouldn’t last. Just like all the others. It’s too bad, though. I like him.”
Something inside Saffron’s chest shifted, but she forced a convincing smile. “You do know me.” Even back when they had all still lived at Lily’s House as foster sisters, Saffron had been changing boyfriends as often as she bought a new pair of jeans.
“Oh, man,” Elsie said. “I really thought this one would stick.”
Halla gave an unladylike snort, which seemed out of place with the elegant blue bridesmaid dresses they were wearing. “Not a chance.”
Saffron looked away from the table to the dance floor, where two more of their foster sisters, Ruth and Bianca, were dancing with their fiancés. She suddenly wished she were with them, sore feet or no. Zoey and her new husband, Declan, were also dancing, staring into each other’s eyes as if no one else existed. Saffron was happy for them, but why did seeing them that way suddenly make her feel alone?
“Oh, no,” Halla moaned, bringing Saffron’s attention back to the table. “He got the wrong drink. Again.”
Saffron’s gaze shifted to Halla’s tall, too-thin date, who was approaching the table. Halla was a good two feet shorter than he was, even in heels and with her short hair spiked an inch. The difference had made dancing all night a challenge, but the real problem for Halla was his lack of memory. He’d left for drinks long before the other men, but Halla had already sent him back once.
“I’d better go with him this time, even if that line is long. It’s better than trying to dance.” She rolled her eyes and jumped up to meet him, striding as if she were wearing her normal camouflage pants and boots instead of a bridesmaid’s dress and heels. There had been some doubt that she’d wear the dress at all. But Zoey was the first of the original six Lily’s House foster girls to be married, and they were sisters at heart, if not by blood, and not even Halla could let Zoey down.
“So are you going to break up with him?” Elsie asked, bringing Saffron’s attention back to her. “I hope not. You seem so happy lately, and you deserve to be happy.”
Saffron’s smile came easier this time. “There’s really nothing to break up. We’re just dating. Besides, I have time. I’m only twenty-five.”
Elsie nodded and kindly didn’t point out that Zoey was younger than she was, and so were Ruth and Bianca, who had both become engaged this week. But Saffron saw the thoughts in her face and put her hand over Elsie’s where it lay on the table. At nineteen, Elsie was the youngest and most romantic of the six sisters. “Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.”
“But why?” Elsie asked. “What happened to you before you came to live with Lily? You never talk about it. Is that why you always dump even the good guys?”
For an instant, Saffron couldn’t breathe. Pressure started in her chest, splitting into a deep chasm of nothingness. Only Lily knew the secret of her past. Saffron had been the first underage girl Lily had helped after finding her passed out on a bench, and by the time Lily had taken in the other girls, Saffron had become good at denial. Lily had saved her life, and Saffron had gone on from her mistakes, but in some very real ways, Saffron felt as if her life hadn’t moved on since that day, as if her emotions were forever frozen by what had happened to bring her to that point.
“I’m sorry,” Elsie said. “You don’t have to tell me.”
Movements in Saffron’s peripheral vision sent relief flooding through her. “Oh, look, here come our dates.”
Vaughn was in the lead, a smile on his face. “Sorry we took so long. There was a line.”
A slow song began as he set her drink in front of her. “Hey, let’s dance,” she said, popping up from her chair. Dancing would drive the memories away.
Vaughn sipped his drink before placing it on the table. “Sure.”
“We’ll see you in a minute,” Saffron said to the others. She felt Elsie’s eyes on her as she escaped to the dance floor.
Vaughn put his arms around her, and she leaned closer, loving the feel of his body so close to hers. She’d loved the attraction between them from the first moment they’d met at the end of last summer when he’d been the guide on a river rafting trip she’d gone on with friends.
They’d flirted probably more than they should have, and he’d asked for her phone number after the river trip. But she was a week into a new relationship, and she’d had to turn him down. Even after she’d said no, he’d helped her get a job at his cousin’s sports store, where he was managing their rafting business on the side. She learned he had recently left his job of five years as an animator at Datatoon Studios in California and was now in Phoenix preparing to teach animation at a local university.
During the months that followed, they’d often run into each other at the store, gone out with the same group of friends, or talked on Facebook. Yet it wasn’t until this summer, when they were both between relationships, that they’d gone on another river run together. He’d kissed her afterward, and that was all it had taken.
She almost wished she didn’t like him as well as she did, but he hadn’t pushed for commitment as hard as her past dates, so maybe they could go out another month or two before it had to end.
She snuggled her face into his neck. “Hmm,” she murmured, breathing in his aftershave.
He drew back. “What?”
“You smell good.”
He laughed, a contented sound that made her smile. “You say that every time I wear this aftershave.”
“Ah, that explains why you wear it so much.”
He laughed again, his arms tightening around her as the slow dance wound to an end. His face bent toward her, and his lips brushed hers with a kiss that was more promise than substance. Even so, it sent her heartbeat racing. When they stepped apart, his hands enfolded hers. “Can you come out on the balcony with me for a moment? We need to talk.”
A sinking feeling in Saffron’s chest warned her to say no. “I need to see Zoey off with the others.”
“I don’t think they’re leaving yet. Look, Declan’s talking with the DJ now. He must be asking for another song.”
“Oh. All right then.”
Vaughn pulled her gently in the direction of the deserted balcony. The late September evening felt too hot to Saffron, even in her short-sleeved dress, but that was probably due to the erratic pounding of her heart.
“Look,” he started. “This might not be the best time, but I’ve been trying for—”
She stretched up to kiss him under the moonlight. He kissed her back, and for a moment she forgot her worry. This was something they did really well. In fact, making out with him was better than it had been with anyone else. She might be able to avoid this talk altogether if they kissed long enough.
Too soon, Vaughn pulled away. He was probably frustrated, like the others before him had been, at the slowness of their physical progress. Saffron always broke up with men before hitting the bedroom. Always. Before any real commitment. It was what she had to do to survive the losses that still haunted her.
“Saffron,” he said, “these past three months—no really, this past year that we’ve been friends—I want you to know it’s been good. Especially all the time we spent together this summer.”
Oh, no, here it comes, she thought. A proclamation of love, after which he’d ask her to be his exclusive girlfriend, or even to marry him.
“It’s been fun,” she agreed, keeping her voice light. She didn’t want to hurt him.
He fell silent for a moment, his blue eyes searching hers. “You are an amazing woman. Beautiful, smart, fun, sexy.” He paused, swallowing hard. “I love being with you. And if I thought I had any chance with you, I’d follow you to the ends of the earth.”
This was different from the normal approach. “Uh, thank you?”
He gave a soft laugh that held no real mirth. “I mean it. But I’d be blind not to see that you aren’t as invested in me as I am in you.”
“I love being with you,” she protested. “I’m just not ready—”
“For anything more. I know.” He nodded, giving her a gentle smile. “You’ve been up front about that from the beginning. But I do want more. I’m ready to move on to the next part of my life. That includes a family, children. I’ve loved teaching, and I plan to finish out this second year, but after that I might be going back into animation full time. Last week, Datatoon made me a substantial offer to head up one of their game design teams, and I’m considering it.”
“That’s great,” she said. It didn’t feel great, though. It felt horrible. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You’ve had a lot on your mind, and I wasn’t even sure I was going to consider it. I know how you love being close to—” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Like I said, I’m not sure what this year will bring, and I don’t have to give them an answer right away. But in the end, that has nothing to do with what’s going on between us.”
“And what is that?” Saffron barely choked out the words.
“Nothing.” As her eyes widened, he hurried to add, “Not that I don’t want it to, but there’s a part of you I can’t reach, and I don’t know how to.” His forehead furrowed, and his eyes held a deep sadness that echoed in her stomach.
“Are you breaking up with me because I won’t sleep with you?” She felt more hurt than angry at the idea. It was something she understood at least.
“Of course not.” He ran a hand through his hair, pacing two steps away and then back again. “Before we got together, I watched you go through six boyfriends in less than a year. I’m happy you weren’t sleeping with them. Believe me. I also know that though you didn’t agree to see them exclusively, you didn’t date others at the same time. One proposed, one invited you to meet his parents, and one asked you to move in with him—and in each case, less than a week later, you were dating someone else.”
What could she say? He was right about all of it, except that there had been another proposal and two of her dates had called her frigid for refusing to sleep with them.
“And every time,” he continued, “I could always tell when you were getting ready to cut them loose.” He paused, holding her gaze as he finished. “Well, you don’t have to cut me loose, because I already know.”
“But . . .” She’d known it was ending too, so why did Vaughn’s dumping her hurt this much?
“Saffron.” He took her hands. “I don’t know what happened to you. I wish I did. I thought I could be the one you would trust enough to let through.”
Moisture glittered in his eyes, and she should feel some satisfaction that he was hurting too, but she didn’t. Not even a tiny bit. She only felt exposed, vulnerable. He’d discovered the truth—that something was broken inside her. Something that made it so she could never love anyone the way she had once loved a boy named Tyson.
“Am I wrong?” he asked.
It took every bit of strength inside her to say, “No.”
Vaughn squeezed her hands before bringing them to his lips to kiss. “If that ever changes, I’d love to know. Because I think we could have something great here.”
Slowly, he released her, his eyes roaming her face as he backed toward the door. Waiting? If she flung herself at him, would he stay? She suspected he would, because he was that kind of man. But it would only delay the inevitable, and she cared about him enough not to lead him on. She wished she could give him what he wanted. She’d wished that more than once with other men over the past eight years, but tonight the feeling was different, as if a piece of the wall around her heart were breaking.
“I’ll take off now,” he said, thumbing over his shoulder. “Unless you want me to stay.”
She’d had to be here earlier for photographs, so they had separate cars, which worked out well for this moment. Maybe that’s why he’d planned their breakup in a public place where there wouldn’t be a scene. As if she’d allow herself any kind of a scene.
“Goodbye, Vaughn,” she said quietly.
He nodded, his face tightening momentarily in the way it always did when he tried to hide any emotion. “Goodbye, Saffron.”
Only when he was gone did she turn to the railing and let a few tears escape. Maybe if she hadn’t brought him here tonight as her date, he wouldn’t have realized what they were missing. It was hard not to see the love in Zoey and Declan’s eyes as they’d exchanged their vows.
“Saffron!” Halla called from behind her. “Hurry! Zoey’s gathering her things to leave. We have to get things ready.”
Saffron hastily wiped the tears from her cheeks, took a deep breath, and forced a smile as she turned to her foster sister. “Great. This’ll be fun.”
Halla stared at her. “What happened? Wait, did you just break up with him? Here? It couldn’t wait one night? Seriously?”
“No, he broke up with me.” Despite her control, her voice wavered. Saffron bit her lip to stop herself from saying any more.
“Oh, that jerk!” Halla rushed to her and gave her a hug.
“Not a jerk. He just knew it wasn’t going anywhere.” Instead of feeling better at Halla’s support, Saffron felt worse. “What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I forget him and go on?”
Halla drew back. “Forget who? Because I know you don’t mean Vaughn.” Her eyes invited more.
“It doesn’t matter,” Saffron mumbled. “Maybe I’m always going to be alone.” If anyone but Halla had come to get her, she would have bitten back the words. The other girls still had romantic dreams, but Halla was down to earth. She wouldn’t try to convince Saffron that it was all in her imagination, or that real love was just around the corner.
“Because even when I’m with someone,” Saffron added, “I’m really still alone.” A familiar numbness was spreading inside her, and Saffron welcomed the feeling. At least there would be no more tears.
“Maybe it’s time to find out why,” Halla said. “Maybe you need to face this head on like Zoey did when she testified against her uncle in court. Whatever it is that’s bothering you might look different if you face it down. And if you need a listening ear, you know I’m always here.”
Saffron nodded, tempted for the first time to confide in someone besides Lily. Halla, who’d had to escape her house through an upstairs window to get away from an abusive and controlling father, had a clear grasp on how some parents didn’t do what was right for their children. She’d understand.
Elsie appeared in the doorway. “Hurry, you guys! You’re missing it.”
Saffron and Halla followed her back into the reception center and out to the front, where people were forming two lines. As Zoey and Declan, the new Mr. and Mrs. Walker, ran past them in a deluge of dried flower petals, Saffron cheered with the others. At least on the outside.
On the inside, her mind was churning. She’d assumed that one day she’d meet someone who would make her past disappear, but maybe she’d been going about this all wrong. Halla might be right that she needed to face the past, go back to where it all began. The idea of returning to Temecula was like a dead space inside her, but she needed to know. She’d recently connected with her younger sister on Facebook, and she did want to see her. Not so much her parents, and especially their mother.
And Tyson. The black hole growing inside seemed big enough to consume her now. Maybe confronting him—wherever he was—would be cathartic. If she could find him. Eight and a half years had passed after all.
She watched Zoey climb into Declan’s truck, which was decorated with balloons and streamers. She looked so happy, nothing like the terror-stricken young woman who’d been called to testify in court a few years ago.
“Okay,” Lily shouted. “Let’s pack up their gifts and get out of here.”
Dutifully, Saffron helped load gifts into the waiting cars. Then she drove her blue Hyundai Elantra to help unload the gifts at Lily’s House where they would be stored until Zoey and Declan returned from their honeymoon.
Saffron always loved coming to Lily’s House. It was home, the place where she and her fosters sisters had all finished growing up after running away or having been abandoned by their own families. Even as adults, Saffron and the others turned to Lily like a mother, though she was only four years older than Saffron.
One by one, Saffron’s foster sisters left with their dates, and Lily’s current foster girls went to bed. Mario, Lily’s husband, took their sleepy boys upstairs to tuck in. When they were all gone, Lily, with her ten-month-old asleep in her arms, pinned Saffron with her knowing stare. “Stay for some herbal tea?”
“Yeah, thanks.” Saffron didn’t want to go home to the apartment she’d finally been able to afford on her own. She would have to gather up everything that reminded her of Vaughn and either send it to him or throw it away. Facing that right now made her want to give in to the tears pressing at her eyes.
In the kitchen, Lily laid baby Cherie in Saffron’s arms. “If you’ll just hold her while I make the tea.”
How did Lily always seem to know what she needed? Saffron willingly held Cherie to her chest, feeling the little body settle into hers, hearing her tiny breaths. Holding Cherie, and Lily’s boys before her, had always been a balm to Saffron’s soul. But it also hurt as her mind invariably wandered to what might have been.
Lily hummed as she put cups of water into the microwave. Two minutes later, she brought the water over with several boxes of herbal tea on a tray. Saffron wasn’t ready to give up the baby yet, so she just pointed to the apple spice tea and let Lily put a bag into her cup.
“So,” Lily began as the tea steeped. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“It’s just . . . all of the girls are going on with their lives, but I only pretend. You know what I mean, right? I’ve dated a lot of wonderful guys, but the minute they want more commitment than a few kisses or a fun date, I end things.”
Lily nodded. “It’s something I’ve worried about the past few years. Why do you think you do that?”
Saffron let out a long sigh. “I don’t know. No, that’s not quite true. I think I’m still in love with Tyson.” She paused, grateful that Lily didn’t rush in with any words. “I’ve tried not to love him. I mean I was only a kid when it all happened. How could love at that age be real? And yet when I think about a future, about a family, it’s only him I see.” Now her tears came, tears for herself, tears for Tyson, tears even for Vaughn, who’d never had a chance.
“And I’m still so angry at my mother for throwing me out,” she continued. “Abandoning me when I needed her most. If she’d only stood by me, maybe . . .” Maybe things would be different. She and Tyson might be together. She might be in a house where their sons slept upstairs and it might be their baby lying in her arms right now.
“The maybes are the hardest part,” Lily agreed. She began removing the bobby pins that held her blond hair up in a twist.
The fact that Lily didn’t come right out with a list of options told Saffron Lily knew exactly what she should do, but it was something hard, something that needed to be her choice. She’d seen Lily, who was a fountain of wisdom, counsel dozens of foster girls who had gone through her house in exactly the same way.
“Are you managing me?” Saffron asked, attempting a smile.
Lily laid another bobby pin on her growing pile and chuckled softly. “I was only twenty-one when you came to live with me. Remember how we hid you in my room at college?”
“Oh, yeah.” In the beginning, Saffron had done nothing but lie in Lily’s bed, trying to recover from severe malnutrition and the endless heartbreak.
“The point is that we’ve been friends a long time,” Lily said. “It’s not managing. It’s trying to help a friend decide what she should do. But I think you’re right that you’re stalled emotionally, and it breaks my heart.” Lily teared up and it took a moment for her to recover and begin speaking again. “Remember when we moved in here, and we told you that even if you helped out with the house payment, you couldn’t have boys sleep over? And you said—”
“If I ever find a boy worthy of sleeping over, I’d probably marry him. But don’t hold your breath because I was sure he didn’t exist.” Saffron sighed. “Oh, yeah. I remember. The girls still tease me about it.”
“At first I thought you wanted to avoid getting hurt again, but for a long time now, I’ve known it’s something more. Because there have been a few guys I thought you might fall for, and Vaughn is probably the best of them all.”
Saffron blinked and another tear escaped her eye. “What I felt for Tyson . . . I thought it would go away. That I’d wake up one day and it would be gone, but it hasn’t changed at all.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I think . . . I think it’s time. I think I have to go back. I need to find him. I want to know why he never looked for me.”
“Maybe he didn’t know where to look.”
Saffron had told herself this over the years, but it still hurt that Tyson hadn’t come after her. He had to know something was up when she disappeared. Instead, he’d left her all alone to deal with the consequences of their love. The horrible, heartrending consequences that still made her cry when she was alone.
“Maybe,” Saffron allowed. She could at least listen to his reasons—if he cared enough to share them.
“It’ll be good to see your sister,” Lily added.
“It will.” Kendall had only been ten when Saffron had to leave. That day, as she’d thrown a few things into her backpack, Kendall had begged her not to go, and their mother had come in and ordered Kendall away. Saffron hadn’t been allowed to say goodbye.
For years, the idea of Saffron’s old life in Temecula had felt more like a vivid dream than reality. Kendall was certainly less a sister than the foster sisters who had been her family over the past eight years since Lily had found her. Even her days with Tyson and how much they’d been in love was like a life lived by someone else.
Only the way it had ended, that night with blood everywhere, stayed with her as if it had been yesterday.
This summer after she’d started dating Vaughn, for reasons she couldn’t pinpoint, her thoughts had been continually drawn to her sister. Maybe because Vaughn was always talking about his younger sister, or maybe because Saffron was seeing less of her foster sisters. She’d looked for Kendall, found her on Facebook, and sent her a message, letting her know the name she was using now and telling her she was in Phoenix. Almost immediately, Kendall had begun asking to see her. Saffron had avoided the request so far, partly because Kendall was still living with their parents in Temecula, but also partly because the memories were too painful.
“Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about Kendall,” Saffron said. “I think something is wrong with her. But she won’t say what.”
Lily set down her tea. “Well, she is living in the same house you haven’t been able to return to in eight and a half years. I mean, people can change, but maybe it’s not easy for her there. She might see you as a way out.”
Saffron sniffed hard, fighting more tears. “I know. And if she needs help, I should give it to her. I’m definitely going back. Even if it ends up being just for her and I don’t find Tyson at all.”
Lily’s smile was gentle. “Then maybe it’s time I returned something to you.” She rose and leaned down to take the baby from her arms. “And this one, I’ll go tuck in with her daddy.”
Reluctantly, Saffron relinquished the warm bundle to Lily. The baby had steadied her, had given her the human connection she’d so desperately needed after this terrible evening.
Lily returned in minutes with a small white jewelry box that Saffron recognized immediately. Her heartbeat thundered inside her chest. She knew too well what was inside, and she accepted the box without opening it. As she did, Lily’s hands closed around hers, holding her fast and staring into her eyes.
“Saffron, you can do this. But if you need anything from me, I’m here.” Lily released her and stepped back.
“You always have been.” Saffron stood, clutching the little box. “I’d better get home.”
Lily nodded and walked with her to the door. She stood there, framed by the light until Saffron placed the little jewelry box next to her purse on the passenger seat and drove away.
Was she really going back to California? Yes, she needed to or nights like this one would forever be in her future, with good men like Vaughn walking away because she couldn’t love them. Or breaking up with a man she liked because she couldn’t commit. Another tear skidded down her cheek.
In her room at her apartment, she sat on the bed to slip off her heels and automatically checked her phone, which she’d silenced during the wedding ceremony and had neglected to turn back on. There had been two calls from Vaughn. Her heart leapt. Maybe he’d reconsidered.
But the text message he’d also sent destroyed the hope: Just checking to make sure you’re okay. I understand if you don’t want to talk to me. I’m really sorry. I wish things could be different, but I hope we’re still friends.
Maybe he would have been the one to finally heal her heart, but now she would never know. He would never know. “You tried only three months,” she whispered, deleting the text. “Your loss.” But the words were a waste because she didn’t know if even three years would have been enough time.
Beside her on the bed, the jewelry box beckoned with a temptation she’d never been able to resist. That was why she’d placed it in Lily’s safe-keeping soon after she’d gone to live with her. Lily kept two locked boxes in her closet for that explicit purpose—to store the girls’ special treasures or important documents. Unlike the others who’d gone through Lily’s House, Saffron had never asked for it back.
Inside was a folded piece of paper, a small, pale blue shirt, and two pictures of the sweetest angel in the world. She held the shirt to her face, breathing in the smell that wasn’t there any longer but that her memory filled in. One of the pictures was a close-up of a baby wearing the shirt, his eyes shut, as if asleep. The other picture was of her holding his tiny form, gazing down on him with bewildered tears in her eyes.
Next, she unfolded the paper, though she already knew what the birth certificate said: Tyson Dekker Junior, son of Rosalyn Brenwood and Tyson Dekker.
Rosalyn. A name she hadn’t answered to in so long that she felt it belonged to someone else. For endless moments, she sat there, holding her treasures, eyes tightly shut.
When at long last the brutal ache began to ebb, she replaced the items inside the jewelry box, set it in the top drawer of her nightstand, and pulled out her suitcase.
She was going to find Tyson—and face her family. It was the only way.
Chapter 1
Location: Amarillo City, Dallastar
Year: 2278, 80 years after Breakdown
THE MAN’S LARGER than life face on the holo screen was ordinary, typical of most of the two million CORE residents, whose features had blended together over hundreds of years. Brown eyes, medium brown skin, narrow face, and average weight. Brown hair long enough to cover most of his ears but short enough to be professional. Only the position of his eyes was notable, rolled upward as if searching the ceiling for answers.
“This is Dr. Sam Kentley,” said Vic Brogan, captain of the Amarillo City Enforcer Division, commonly known as the AED. “He is your next assignment.” His heavy-lidded eyes scanned those gathered in the Underground conference room where they met instead of at division where their conversation might be monitored. His body was all chest and arms like a boxer.
Enforcer Jaxon Tennant was still uncomfortable being part of the underground. He’d trained for so many years to serve and protect the CORE he’d once believed in—and now knew to be a lie. How deep the lie, he didn’t yet know, but like Captain Brogan and the others, he was determined to find out.
And not only because someone had murdered his mother.
“You are to travel to Santoni,” Brogan continued, “and accompany the doctor back here.”
“I’m assuming he’s like us?” Across the table, Reese Parker, Jaxon’s partner in the Violent Crimes Unit and also the division’s sketch artist, looked up from her drawing pad, her pencil poised in the air.
“Like us” meant people from Colony 6 who had developed unusual abilities after generations of imprisonment and experimentation by the people who had pretended to save them—and who now wanted them dead.
Jaxon and Reese had grown up in the colony with most of the others in the room: Eagle Jensen, Dani Balak, and the twins, Lyssa and Lyra Sloan. As children they had fought to survive in the harsh environment and had been among the miraculous few who had been released from its confines. They had been a crew as children at Colony 6, and now on the outside, each had been found and hired by Captain Brogan to work at AED. Reuniting them as a team was an action meant both to protect and to use them.
Jaxon could never let himself forget that last part. They were here willingly, but if they chose not to be, they would conveniently disappear. They as individuals didn’t matter in the long run—not when many thousands of lives weighed in the balance. They mattered only by how they could help free the citizens of the CORE.
“Yes,” Brogan said. “He’s like the six of you. If my intelligence is correct, Dr. Kentley is a healer unlike the CORE has ever seen. He has a near perfect record with his patients that can’t be explained even by any pre-Breakdown medicines he might have rediscovered. None of his patients die while in his care, even those with severe radiation damage caused by exposure in the desolation zones.”
“Unless he somehow has access to an alias, he’s not anyone we knew,” Jaxon said.
Brogan shook his head. “He’s not from your same district in Colony 6, but he did grow up in the colony. Kentley brings our total to twenty people we’ve identified all together. Of all those allowed to leave the colony, we’re nearly certain they’re the only ones left alive. At least those still living in the CORE Territories.”
“That’s more than I hoped for,” Reese said. She hadn’t gone back to drawing, and her face looked haunted. Jaxon understood why. His mother wasn’t the only victim. At least fifteen hundred children had leveled out of Colony 6 schools and left the colony over the ten years of limited integration with society, and Brogan had found only these twenty besides the six of them. That was a miniscule number when compared with the ten thousand children who grew up, remained in Welfare Colony 6, and were now registered as dead or completely missing from the population database.
“There may be more living under assumed identities, but these twenty who are still out in the open need to be our priority. Like Sam Kentley.” Brogan waved two fingers in the air and the holo image of Kentley was replaced by the front of a short building. “This is where he works in Santoni. We are still tracing a home address. I’m not sure how much time we have left or why Special Forces hasn’t detained him yet, but we’ve picked up increased enforcer activity in the area, which indicates impending action.”
“No!” Dani Balak slapped her hand on the table, speaking for the first time at the meeting. “We don’t have time for this. What about Tauri?” Controlled anger threatened behind the measured words. Her unusual black skin masked any telltale emotion and her wiry blond hair jutted from her head at all angles as it normally did, but her splayed hand on the table trembled. Dani wasn’t beautiful by any standard, but her features were well-formed, and the way she carried herself, exuding strength and confidence, made her a person who demanded attention.
Unlike the rest of the crew, Dani hadn’t left Colony 6 to live in Estlantic or Dallastar, the two main territories of the CORE. Instead, she’d become a fringer, those who lived outside the CORE’s influence and protection. Common belief taught that fringers were radiation-crazed killers, but like so many things, Jaxon had learned it wasn’t true. While working with fringers in a territory they had named Newcali, Dani had saved people targeted for extermination by Special Forces, and her entire life’s goal was to free all the colonies. She’d only recently agreed to take an undercover job at the division as Brogan’s assistant in exchange for a promise, a promise Brogan hadn’t yet fulfilled.
“You said you’d help me rescue my brother,” she added, her words sharp and staccato. “That’s the only reason I’m here.”
Brogan let her words hang in the air for a moment without responding. Did he hear the threat? Jaxon wondered.
“I know this isn’t what you hoped for,” Brogan said finally, “but Sam Kentley is in immediate danger of being killed or taken by Special Forces. We can’t stand by and allow that to happen. We need a healer in the underground, especially if what you tell us—and what others have confirmed—is true about those having abilities going insane. You are all at risk until we figure out why that’s happening. The last thing we want is to be putting down our own people. Special Forces has done quite enough of that.”
“Just so you remember that my priority and the only reason I’m here is to free my brother.” Dani’s hand was no longer trembling. Had Jaxon imagined it?
Brogan’s eyes narrowed. “I am very aware of your priorities. But you also agreed to help us in our joint mission to save the colonies, starting with the gifted who were permitted to leave. We’re well into preparations to free Tauri, but a general location isn’t good enough. We need more intel, and I won’t risk the team—or you—going in early. You are all too valuable. The minute I think we can be successful, we’ll go for him. Until then, we’ll save as many others as we can. We’ll need all of them if we are to beat the Elite.” He held Dani’s stare, the tension in the room thick enough that no one dared speak.
Finally, Dani gave a curt nod and lowered her gaze. Jaxon knew her well enough—from growing up together in Colony 6 and these past six weeks after the crew’s reunion—to understand that she wasn’t beaten. Dani was never beaten. She’d push them to Breakdown and back to get her brother out of Estlantic and the hands of Special Forces. If they didn’t do it soon, they’d all better watch their backs. He rubbed the side of his temples to ease the building pressure there.
“And if Sam Kentley won’t come with us?” Reese asked. She was drawing again, but with her right hand now instead of her left.
Brogan’s heavy stare transferred in her direction. “Then you don’t give him a choice.”
“Of course,” Reese said.
Jaxon felt her scrutiny, and when he met her gaze, a thousand words stared back at him from her green eyes. She knew every bit as much as he did that they skirted the law now, and there was no going back, not if they didn’t want to end up dead. They probably would anyway. Watching her like this and wanting so much more for them both was an ache that never went away.
“We’ll need to communicate,” Brogan continued. “Off Teev feed, of course. Any communication there will be monitored. We’ll have to use the hardware Dani provided from her people.”
Jaxon wanted to protest his wording. He and Reese and the others were supposed to be Dani’s people, her crew, but Brogan was right that the fringers came first with Dani now. And her brother.
The CORE controlled access to the Teev and monitored all its feeds continuously, but the fringers had created their own separate version of the Teev, called the T-link, which also contained back doors into the CORE Teev system. Their mobile unit was nearly indistinguishable from the CORE’s iTeev, except the companion earbud was unconnected to the T-link itself by any wire. Dani had intended her contribution to aid in the rescuing of her brother, but the tech would also be useful to extract Kentley.
Brogan glanced at Eagle Jensen. “That means you’re sitting this one out unless you’ve been able to refit your alternate pair of glasses with the fringer tech.”
Eagle looked up from a piece of tech he was examining, his face as impassive as the dark glasses covering his eyes. Without them he was blind, or nearly so. “Needs more tweaks to be perfect, but it’ll work well enough for this.” He unfolded his tall frame and arose, taking the device in his hands to the tech-filled table that sat against the far wall of the conference room. “We leave in the morning?”
“Tonight.” Brogan killed the holo screen with a downward sweep of a hand. “Santoni is over five hundred and fifty kilometers away, so the sky train will have you there in about three hours. Santoni’s not much of a town, though, and you’ll be noticed if you aren’t careful. That means I want you to take civilian clothing and go incognito. By the time you arrive, Hammer will have sent Jaxon and Reese an encrypted file with everything you’ll need, including the location of where you’ll be staying. He suggests you leave on the seven o’clock train.”
Eagle began packing items from the table into his bag.
“What about Lyra and me?” Lyssa asked. She glanced at her sister as she spoke.
Twin births were not permitted, at least outside the colonies, and the likeness in their thin faces was unsettling for most people. The women’s familial features had blended over generations in the CORE melting pot, leaving only a tilt to their eyes and their ebony hair to firmly mark their Asian heritage.
“If this will involve our ability, we’ll have to go,” Lyssa added.
Brogan considered a moment. “How far is your projecting range?”
“Not five hundred and fifty kilometers,” Lyra answered.
“Then I think the others can handle this one alone.”
Lyssa looked disappointed. “Just when I finally learn to hit something when I shoot.” She patted the gun on her hip. Working in dispatch, neither she nor Lyra wore enforcer blues, but she still worked for a division, and enforcement was the only CORE profession that allowed weapon privileges.
“This should not involve shooting.” A slight smile tugged on one corner of Brogan’s mouth. “We hope. But they’ll need some tools.” He opened a metal box and withdrew a short stack of thin cards. “With the Teev codes Dani has provided from the fringers, we’ve managed to hack into the CORE citizen database and omit the fact that any of you came from Colony 6, though it won’t stand up to more than a cursory search, especially if, as we assume, they have a real database that lists everyone, including those they’ve made disappear altogether. Someone was responsible for sending that pus bag Bensell Summers after you six weeks ago, and that someone knows he failed. So you will need to use these identities during this operation.” He pushed the box to Jaxon.
Jaxon removed a short bundle with his name written on the band holding the cards together. The false IDs looked like cash credits, but when activated, the IDs would override their implanted CivIDs and broadcast another identity. Placing the pad of a finger on the back would activate or deactivate them.
“You each have three to begin with,” Brogan went on. “Make sure you take the stack meant for you and read the information we’ve programmed into them. Jaxon, I have included an alternate identity for Dr. Kentley with your cards. We’ve also included real cash credits for each of you, in case you need to make a purchase we don’t want the CORE to track.”
Jaxon passed the box to Dani, who took hers without comment. She’d had her CivID removed years ago by the fringers, of course, and the fake ID she used now was on a similar card that Brogan had also provided. She wasn’t in the population database. For all the CORE knew, the real Dani Balak had never existed. Unless she was on some secret database.
“What about the cameras?” Jaxon asked.
Brogan chuckled. “I believe Dani can help us there.”
She removed a small package from the pocket of her gray blouse, setting it on the table. From this she extracted a circular patch of indeterminate color and held it up so they could see. “My friends in Newcali have created these. We call them skin tags.” She peeled something from the back of hers and slapped it slightly off-centered onto her throat. Within a few seconds, Jaxon couldn’t see where she’d put it.
“They will immediately take on your skin color,” Dani continued, “and once activated will distort your face on any electronic recording. Activate with one long press of your finger. Use a two-fingered long press to both distort your appearance and to mask any of your CivIDs, including your implanted one. Turn it off with three short taps with one finger. You will experience a tingle on your skin as it changes. Drones won’t pick up the emissions because its function is to depress all emissions. Only detailed prison scanners might pick up their presence, at least ours do. Each tag will last up to two months and is nearly imperceptible to the naked eye.”
“Nice,” Eagle murmured. Jaxon was equally impressed, and he put his on immediately.
“Well, let’s get to it.” Brogan stood, signaling the end of the meeting.
Jaxon glanced at his iTeev secured to the sleeve of his enforcer uniform. The time on it read after five already. They needed to hurry.
Eagle shouldered his bag. “We should grab a little more firepower at division. Just in case.” As the weapons expert, he had access to everything, including weapons Jaxon didn’t want to know about. Eagle didn’t much like guns, but he loved explosions.
“Good idea,” Brogan said. “But first, I need a private word with Detective Tennant.”
Jaxon hung back as the others left the room, where he knew they’d wait for him out in the old subway tunnels. He closed the space between him and the captain.
“I know I said that we omitted the Colony 6 origin reference in everyone’s file, but Hammer had a problem with yours,” Brogan said as the door shut. “Bottom line is he hasn’t been able to do it, even with the codes from the fringers. There seems to be an extra layer of protocol attached to your file.”
An eerie sense of unease teased at Jaxon’s consciousness. That was often the sense he had before one of his premonitions, but when no vision came, he asked, “Any idea what it means?”
“I can’t say, except that you’re still a target for Special Forces. As long as you’re from Colony 6, they’ll suspect you have an ability. I can protect you here in Amarillo City, but you need to watch yourself in Santoni.”
“You think it has something to do with Bensell Summers?” Summers was the man Jaxon suspected of murdering his mother, but in the end when Jaxon had killed him, he wasn’t quite sure.
“It crossed my mind. But if it was that important to someone in the CORE Elite, it might also mean that they don’t want you dead. Yet.”
Small comfort, especially if there was any substance to the odd hints Summers had made about Jaxon’s parentage. All his life Jaxon had wanted to know who his father was, but not if it meant being the son of a lying whore wrangler. Even if the whore had been his mother. He didn’t blame her. She’d survived in the colony anyway she could, and that was more than many had done.
“I’ll be careful,” he said.
“Good.” Brogan picked up a skin-like substance lying in a mass on the table and pulled it over his head. In the few seconds it took for him to settle the mask, he changed from the well-respected AED captain to El Cerebro, feared leader of the underground in Amarillo City. The thin, faintly reddish mask concealed his identity with success, but the smoothness of the fake skin made him resemble a Nuface addict. The evenness of his guise was marred only by the C-shaped tattoo on his fake cheek, easily recognizable, even by CORE residents who didn’t deal with the black market. Fake brown hair followed the mask, covering his normal black. The whole ensemble was topped by a black knit cap, pulled low over Brogan’s brow, that flattened the hair against his neck. The transformation was eerie. Only El Cerebro’s top people knew his real identity, and he had to keep it that way if they had any chance of changing what was happening in the CORE.
“Keep me in the loop,” Brogan said to Jaxon as they walked to the door together. “And keep an eye on Dani. We still need her.”
So the captain—or was it the El Cerebro part of him?—had picked up on Dani’s threat. Somehow Jaxon needed to hold it together for all their sakes.
Outside the door, two of El Cerebro’s soldiers stood guard with assault rifles at the ready. The conference room was deep in the heart of an ancient, pre-Breakdown underground train system and also close to the undergrounders’ main lair. Every time Jaxon had been below, at least two guards were standing watch.
The rest of Jaxon’s crew waited with the guards, but they weren’t alone. Nova, El Cerebro’s niece, also stood outside, her eyes eager. “I volunteer to help, whatever it is you’re doing.” The child looked dirty as usual, her dark curls matted down her back, and she was so thin she looked younger than fourteen. Jaxon knew both the dirt and the innocence were fake. This was a child who’d once used pre-Breakdown tech to break into Reese’s apartment and who tripped through the streets after curfew like she owned them.
“Not this time, Nova,” El Cerebro said, his voice altered by a nearly invisible box on his throat.
“But it’s been over a month since we did anything, except that one bitty raid on that electronics warehouse.”
El Cerebro snorted. “The sales from that bitty raid are going to keep us in food down here for a year.”
Nova was about to say more, but a look from her uncle froze the protest on her lips. Giving Jaxon an evil stare as if her exclusion were all his doing, she started down the dark tunnel, her heavy pack swaying and appearing close to toppling her over.
Jaxon shrugged toward Reese, and she hid a smile as they left El Cerebro with his guards and followed the others in the opposite direction from the one Nova had taken. “Looks like she’s no longer pining after you,” Reese said.
Jaxon snorted. “That’s a good thing. I was beginning to worry she’d lock me in some abandoned room down here until I gave into her demands. Whatever those might be.”
Reese laughed and engaged the projection light on her iTeev. “Sounds about her style.”
The maze of tunnels was tricky, and they’d both gotten lost in them before, but Eagle could retrace his steps now even without his glasses, so they were in no danger of misdirection with him around. Jaxon could feel his suit’s heat volume kicking up to account for the colder temperature in the tunnels.
They walked for a few minutes, and then Reese said, “This doctor, how far do you think his ability goes?”
“Grow back limbs? Raise the dead? Who knows?” He laughed as she snorted. For that moment, the conversation between them was easy, like in the old days, but it wasn’t always that way now.
“Anyway, Brogan’s right that we need him.”
“You’re having more symptoms?” he asked her.
She hesitated. “Alex gave me a neural suppressant and it did make the sketches come less frequently, but it’s a little like seeing through a cloud, so I stopped taking them.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because it wasn’t necessary.” She sounded angry, but he knew it wasn’t directed toward him. “I just want to be able to control this thing like the others can.”
On that he agreed. The rest of the crew could control their abilities far better than he or Reese, even the twins who sometimes “traveled” unintentionally in their sleep. Reese had no choice but to sketch images she saw from people’s minds, including those she didn’t want to see, and he had equally little control over the frequency or subject of his premonitions.
“It’ll come.” He hadn’t told her everything either, and he didn’t plan on it. Besides, the premonition he’d had of them together was so far off that he was beginning to wonder if it had stemmed more from his desire than from an actual vision.
The darkness in the tunnels seemed heavy and ominous. It was dangerous business, living this secret life. If they were discovered down here, working with El Cerebro, the punishment would be psychological reconditioning at the least and more likely surgical enhancement and permanent banishment to one of the welfare colonies.
Ahead, the twins were talking with Eagle, their lights moving as they walked, but Dani fell back with them. “We can use more healers in Newcali,” she said.
Why was she so one-sighted? “You can’t have him,” Jaxon told her. “They need him here.”
More than one undergrounder had died from a disease they were ineligible to obtain help for as long as they weren’t valid citizens of the CORE. Others died from infection after digging out their implanted CivIDs or while giving birth to a non-authorized baby.
“I know.” Dani didn’t sound convinced. “Let’s just get this done. I need to get to my brother.”
The moment “brother” came from her lips, the pressure that had been building in Jaxon’s head exploded in a flash of blinding light.
A man in enforcer blues stands over Dani, who is sprawled on the ground, an assault rifle aimed at her heart. “You can’t dodge this many bullets,” he says with a smirk. To his comrades, he adds, “She’s from Colony 6, guys. No doubt about it. Cuff her and toss her into the shuttle. The Controller is going to enjoy this extra little gift.”
Jaxon jerked from the vision, finding himself on the rocky ground and everyone staring at him, their lights shining in his direction. His arm went up to cover his eyes. If Reese thought her ability was out of control, his was impossible. Lately, even the mildest premonition caused that pressure at his temples and sent him scrambling to the ground. The more he tried to resist, the worse it became, but when he didn’t fight them, he’d sometimes lose hours where he remembered nothing but the premonition. Only the hunches, gut feelings really, didn’t cause a physical reaction, and those came less often now as the full-blown visions had taken over.
“Lights,” Reese said, lowering her beam to the ground in front of him. The others did the same.
“Was it the doctor?” Lyssa asked. “Do we get him?”
Jaxon shook his head and gazed at Dani, finding her staring back at him, her black face blending in with the darkness around her, making the whites of her eyes that much more prominent. “You’re going to be captured by Special Forces. They’re going to take you to the controller.”
“No,” Reese said, her voice hard as she offered him a hand up. “We’re going to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
But they all knew his visions came true. Always.
Chapter 1
The antique music box inside the battered dish cupboard was lovely, but the imprints on it were even better. Someone had loved and cared for this treasure long before it had ended up in the attic at this May estate sale. Long enough ago that when I touched it I experienced only a warm, soothing satisfaction instead of any vivid emotions the owner might have once experienced. The imprints hadn’t been left by the former owner of the house, a widow who had died a few weeks ago at the ripe old age of ninety-two, but were most likely from her mother as a child.
The dish cupboard that had protected the music box wasn’t worth the price the estate sale agents were asking, but the music box, with a separate price tag of two hundred and ten dollars, was a good value. I could resell the little wood box in my antiques shop for over five hundred after I fixed the music assembly—if I could bear to part with it. The lid of the box featured intricate roses inlaid with mother-of-pearl, and several of my customers collected similar boxes.
“Nice,” Paige Duncan said, studying it. In her navy suit and with her perfectly ironed, shoulder-length blond hair, the detective looked incongruous in the dirty attic where we sorted through treasures and junk alike. Someone had made a half-hearted attempt at cleaning the attic, but it was still dusty.
I placed the music box in the blue reusable grocery bag I’d brought to carry any small treasures I might uncover. Down on the main floor, Paige’s partner, Shannon Martin, who was also my boyfriend, was guarding a mirror and a rolltop desk for me. He wasn’t in uniform, but he was carrying a gun, and he had his badge, just in case, so I knew my future inventory was perfectly secure. That was more than I could claim when I went hunting on my own. Estate or “tag” sale attendees could be rather ruthless at times. I’d once had a set of antique balance scales, complete with weights, torn right from my hands by a woman with spiked heels and equally spiked blond hair.
Since we’d left Shannon talking with the employee of In Loving Memory, who was in charge of this particular estate sale, I hoped he’d charmed important information from her. His doing so was far more likely than me finding an imprint to confirm a possible series of geriatric murders.
“Anything?” Paige asked, her eyes briefly straying to where the only other occupant of the attic was examining a rolled-up rug in the corner.
I shook my head. We were here investigating In Loving Memory, and since Friday was my usual day for garage and estate sales, I was happy to play the part. The Portland Police Bureau didn’t pay me huge consultant fees, and the double duty would help keep my store, Autumn’s Antiques, afloat. My ability to read emotions imprinted on certain objects was the reason they wanted me on the job, but estate sales were my business, and I’d report anything that seemed out of the ordinary.
So far I’d come up with nothing in either imprints or suspicious activity.
Yet several competitors had noted In Loving Memory’s sudden wealth of clients and reported their suspicions that the deaths of those new clients might not have been accidental: an air tube dislodged while a night nurse was in the kitchen, a fall down the stairs, a drowning in a hot tub, another fall—this time on an icy walk. There was no proof that these incidents were any different from the many similar instances that claimed the lives of the elderly each year. That this company had tripled their net worth in the past two years, and had been planning to conduct auctions for many of the owners before their deaths, could simply be a matter of coincidence.
However, when several of the adult children of the deceased estate owners claimed that family heirlooms had gone missing before and during the sales, the police had finally decided to investigate.
I glanced at the guy in the corner with the rug. He was a grungy man, probably in his fifties, with weeks-old scruff on his face, wearing worn jeans and a black and gray patterned button-down shirt over a black T-shirt. Could the rug have any real value? And if so, how could he possibly pay for it?
These estate sales, where nearly the entire contents of a deceased person’s house was offered to the public for sale, attracted a varied clientele and contained as much overpriced junk as they did treasures. Attending them was a little like voyeurism; no place was off limits and everything not previously snapped up by the heirs was for sale, to be pawed over and examined by strangers.
For me, the glimpse into these strangers’ lives was true a hundred times over. Not only could I sense emotions left on beloved objects or on things frequently used, but I often experienced the stronger imprinted memories as though I’d lived them myself. In emotional crises, people imprinted on almost everything, regardless of an object’s emotional or monetary value.
My gift—or curse as sometimes it turned out to be—was called psychometry. Which was the fancy, scientific way of saying I somehow used areas of my brain that other people couldn’t, a talent inherited from my birth father.
I refused to answer to the title psychic.
Paige, the grungy man, and I were joined in the attic by two older ladies and a clean-cut young man with an engaging smile who was likely a grandson. One of the women looked agile, perhaps in her late sixties or early seventies, her dark hair, flecked heavily with gray, swept up in an elaborate twist at the back of her head. Her aqua suit reeked of money, but her casual attitude made her appear at home in the dusty attic. By contrast, the other white-haired woman, at least in her mid-seventies, looked frail and pale in her peach dress, and I wondered how she’d climbed the steep, narrow flight of stairs.
I let my bare hand glide over the slat-back of a child’s rocking chair made of oak and maple. It was from the early eighteen hundreds, the rockers underneath added much later, and the rush seat had been destroyed, perhaps eaten by mice. At a hundred dollars, the chair was a steal. I winced, though, as a negative imprint grabbed at me.
“You will sit in this chair, Beatrice, until you behave. Heaven knows I have enough pain in this horrid life without you adding to it with your sneaking and trickery.”
My face stung as Momma’s hand struck, the action tumbling her long, black hair forward over her shoulders. Hurt filled every corner of my body. Momma didn’t want me. I knew she didn’t. Not like the boys. I was too distracted, too undisciplined. I hadn’t meant to spill the flour when I was making the bread. I should have stopped myself from writing in it, though.
When Daddy got home I’d be in big trouble. He’d probably make me stand in the corner while everyone ate dinner. I might not get to eat at all, unless Tom snuck me up a bit of bread later. If he didn’t get whipped for cutting lessons again.
“Are you buying that?” a svelte voice said practically in my ear.
The voice gave me power to snatch my hand from the chair, to remember that I wasn’t Beatrice, but Autumn Rain, owner of an antiques shop, twin to Tawnia Winn, and part-time consultant for the Portland police.
I turned to see the spry old lady on my left, her eyes fixed greedily on the little chair.
Greedily? No, eagerly. I liked to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, especially someone whose relatives might be reselling this chair at another estate sale in the very near future, though the older woman looked healthy enough at the moment.
“It’s all yours,” I said. “Great price.”
I shouldn’t be so picky about negative imprints because I could probably make six hundred or more from it, even after replacing the seat. But I wouldn’t be able to bear having it in my store, not with that imprint—now over eighty years old—still retaining so much potency. I suspected that unless someone bought and loved that little chair, the imprint would remain strong for another eighty years.
My ability to read imprints wasn’t always an advantage. With the many bargains I had to pass up, it certainly hadn’t made me rich.
“Thank you, dear.” The woman glanced once at my bare feet before nodding to the young man to take the chair. He came forward with a slight stoop to his shoulders.
“Finished?” Paige asked me in an undertone. She grimaced slightly, showing her white teeth, perfectly straight except for a slight sideway tilt of a canine. It made her look a trifle like a movie star I’d seen in some old show.
“I just want to look over there.” I indicated the corner with the rug, even though I really didn’t expect to find anything in the attic. If someone had pushed the old man who had lived here down the main stairs where he’d been found dead, anything they’d touched or imprinted on should be closer to the crime scene. Then again, that same person could have been responsible for tagging all these items, so an imprint could be anywhere, and I’d already checked all the other rooms.
The attic was now becoming quite full of shoppers. The grungy man was gone, leaving the rug behind, but five other customers, one with a child in tow, had trekked up the narrow attic staircase.
“Why don’t you wait for me downstairs?” I told Paige. “You can help Shannon get my desk out to his truck.” Since we were undercover as bargain hunters, he’d brought his own vehicle instead of his unmarked white police mustang.
Paige scanned the faces around us, probably searching for potential danger. The old women were examining the dish cabinet, only to be beaten out by a forty-something man wearing a bad toupee. I was glad for them because it wasn’t worth the asking price.
“All right,” Paige said. “Hurry, though. We still have one more to go today.”
“Just don’t scratch the desk.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She stepped around a young couple holding hands and headed with relief toward the stairs. Though she was only in her mid-twenties, there was a reason she’d made detective so early—one that didn’t take into account her family’s long history with law enforcement. Paige got her hands dirty if she had to, and she was a crack shot with her Glock 19, but she was serious and conservative by nature. Slumming through other people’s belongings was a tad beneath her, even if the items had a price tag she couldn’t afford on her detective’s salary.
I grinned at her retreating figure. Good thing she was dating a doctor, going on five months now. He’d even passed Shannon’s approval, though we had yet to go on a double date.
I wiped dusty hands on my jeans and padded my way to the rug in the corner. I never wore shoes if I could help it—due as much to my hippie, flower-child upbringing as to an old injury to my back. With bare feet, I felt closer to the earth, connected, though most people didn’t understand my feelings. Not even my twin, and she had been driven to jobs in three different states before finally finding me. I believed in fate only to a point. I knew Tawnia and I were invisibly connected in the same way I’d been connected to my adoptive parents. We belonged together.
I touched other tagged items on my way to the rug, testing for accusatory imprints. A dresser (trace of resentment), a trunk full of disintegrating clothes (sorrow), a lamp (nothing), a broken end table (faint burst of surprise followed swiftly by anger), and a doll covered in black marker (blissful preoccupation). No sign of a murder or a plot to swindle victims’ families. Shannon had to be wrong on whatever his gut was telling him.
A smile touched my lips as I anticipated telling him exactly how wrong. In fact, I was looking forward to it far more than I should. It had been a rather boring winter and spring these past five months since he and I had helped bring down a drug-smuggling and child-trafficking ring in Salem. Shannon had been forced to take two weeks off to recover from the gunshot wound in his thigh, and then his captain had sent him off to a training program for several weeks, probably to make sure he actually healed the rest of the way before getting shot again. When he’d returned, Shannon had been lent to Vice and had gone undercover for two months to help catch members of the Portland branch of the same drug ring we’d busted open in Salem. I hadn’t been invited along.
Shannon’s new work schedule had put a serious damper on our romantic intentions. I’d seen him only twice during his time undercover. Once when he’d come to my shop at closing time, dressed in a disguise, and we’d stolen kisses before he had to slink away. And another time he’d been waiting for me in my old rusty Toyota hatchback, and we’d laughed when once again it wouldn’t start.
I’d missed him, but maybe taking our relationship slow was the right thing to do. I still felt guilty about dumping my last boyfriend, Jake. Though he had remained my good friend, and we helped each other out in our connected shops, I knew Jake had been hurt when Shannon had come between us.
This week I’d seen Shannon every night except the two I dedicated to working out in my taekwondo black belt class. After our rocky start, I was beginning to think Shannon might just be the one. Which was good because I was thirty-four, and the birth of my niece nearly nine months earlier had me thinking of the future.
I reached the rolled-up rug and set my shopping bag containing the music box on a crate marked flannel. Gingerly, I brushed the surface. I’d learned to be careful. Strong imprints could trap me in a recurring loop from which I couldn’t break free. I didn’t want to pass out here without Paige or Shannon to guard my back.
The rug sported a detailed, elegant pattern that modeled an older style, but though I didn’t know as much about rugs as I did other antiques, I was certain this one was fairly new. It wasn’t worn or dirty, and it didn’t smell of the dust that plagued the rest of the attic. Even more interesting, my fingers tingled when I brushed the rug, hinting at strong imprints somewhere close. Not covering the entire rug, but focused, perhaps where someone had touched or lain, or cleaned a spot. People didn’t feel much passion at foot level, so these imprints might be important. Maybe even what we were looking for.
“There’s nothing else of value here,” announced the old woman who’d taken the child’s rocking chair. “We’d better hurry and check out the rest of the house, or maybe that other estate sale across town.” Her voice was authoritative, and shoppers gravitated to the stairway quickly in obvious hopes of beating the woman and her frail companion, who inched her way slowly across the attic. The man who’d decided on the dish cupboard enlisted another man to help him ease it down the steep stairs.
Ignoring them all, I unrolled the rug, trying to pinpoint the imprints. The rug was about my height in width, but much longer, likely used in a wide hallway. The price tag of three thousand dollars seemed ludicrous, unless it was a name brand I didn’t recognize—entirely possible since I dealt with old and not new furnishings. The back had a thin spongy layer that would make it skid resistant when placed on a wood floor or tile. Unlike the top of the rug, the off-white sponge showed a little bit of dirt.
The tingling became stronger.
All at once I found the imprint and . . . I was squatting in a dark hallway, lifting the corner of the rug. Just a tug and it would be over. My muscles bunched in preparation.
The imprint vanished as strong hands closed over my mouth and eyes, yanking me from the rug. My head twisted back as someone pulled me tightly against his chest.
A man’s chest. A man that wasn’t Shannon.
My martial arts training kicked in, and I began to struggle. The man behind me gasped as I elbowed his stomach, but the barrel of a gun jabbing into my side gave me pause.
“Don’t move,” a whispered voice growled. A second man.
Instinctively, I tried to look in his direction, but the man holding me kept my head still. The second man shoved a wad of cloth into my mouth, following it with a strip of tape plastered across my face. I could barely breathe. Another piece of cloth cinched tightly over my eyes and around my head.
Guess I’d found what I was looking for. There must be something forensics could find on the rug that would incriminate someone—and perhaps that person had stashed the rug here, hoping it would be overlooked. But how did that person know about my ability, or that I was working for the cops? With my jeans, my bare feet, and my short-cropped brown hair, dyed auburn on top, I didn’t look official by any means. Paige did, and even Shannon might be pegged, but I looked like a legit bargain hunter
“What now?” asked one of the men.
“Here.” A hand pushed me face first into the rug. The edges curled around my body, and I mentally berated myself for not fighting back. I might have survived a bullet, but if they got me out of here and someplace alone, I’d be in worse trouble. Besides, since being locked in a root cellar at a commune during one of my other cases, I’d become claustrophobic. Just thinking about being closed in brought on the panic.
As the rug squeezed tighter around me, the imprint began again. My arm or maybe my cheek was touching the place where it had been left.
I crouched in a dark hallway, lifting the edge of the rug. Just a tug and it would be over. My muscles tightened, ready to pull.
Footsteps in the darkness. A glimpse of pale feet. Waiting for the right moment. Waiting
Now. I pulled hard. A hoarse cry pierced the quiet night, followed by a loud crash. One more thud and then nothing.
All finished. Wait. My finger was bleeding on the rug. I needed to get out of the house before someone saw me.
Some part of me knew I was Autumn and that I was rolled in a rug. That part knew I had to struggle and fight so Shannon and Paige could find me. But I was caught in the imprint, the memory that wasn’t mine. Caught reliving again and again a murder in the dark.
They say your greatest strength can be your greatest weakness, but I never really understood that until I began to read imprints. Psychometry might be the name for my ability, but right now psycho might be a better one. I was trapped more surely by the imprint than the rug.
I pulled the rug again. The same crash and the same helpless scream.
I’d give a lot at this moment to be as blind as the rest of the world.
I never saw anything new when I experienced imprints for a second or additional time. Never. Sometimes I might forget something after seeing it only once, but the imprint itself didn’t change. What I saw came through the eyes of the person actually imprinting on an object, filtered through their experiences and intelligence. That meant imprints could often be misleading.
Not this one. Intent to harm was present. Determination. The act. What I couldn’t know, because the person hadn’t been thinking about it, was his motive or identity. It was so dark in the imprint that I couldn’t see anything besides the rug and a pale flash of feet down the hall, perhaps at the top of a staircase. I might be witnessing the homeowner’s cause of death.
I yanked the rug again. My victim fell.
No, it wasn’t me. I was Autumn—not whoever had left this imprint. That person was only worried about their job. About the blood.
Nausea threatened to choke me.
Why hadn’t the murderer destroyed the rug? Or if he worked for In Loving Memory, why hadn’t they discounted it and placed it in a prominent location so it would sell fast? The police obviously hadn’t considered the rug as evidence at the time of the owner’s death, but now that complaints had been filed, the murderer should be covering his tracks. It didn’t make sense to overprice the rug and hide it in the attic.
More important, why abduct me? Because I could feel that I was being carried down the stairs. Across a room.
I pulled the rug again.
My panic grew. Please, Shannon, I thought. Find me.
The tips of my toes jabbed into the stomach of one of the men, the rug not quite large enough to hide all of me. Would someone notice, or were the men wearing bulky enough clothing to hide what little of me emerged?
The moving stopped. “What a great choice,” a woman said. “I hope you realize, though, that this is a cash-only sale.”
I tried to scream, but I was too busy waiting for the flash of pale feet. Wait. Maybe I could use the imprint to my advantage.
Now! I lurched with the movement in the imprint, pulling the rug not only in my mind but also jerking my whole body.
My feet slammed against hard muscles, and then I was falling head first. Still firmly trapped inside the heavy rug.
“Oh, my,” the woman said to one of my captors. “Are you okay?”
“Just tripped,” the man grunted.
Again I waited in the dark. Waited for the pale feet.
A tear skidded down my cheek. My breath was hot.
My stomach heaved. I was probably going to suffocate. I jerked again with the pull of the rug, but this time my abductors were prepared.
“Thank you so much,” the woman trilled. “We hope you’ll attend one of our events again in the future. We have a sign-up sheet here if you’d like to be notified of other estate sales. No? All right. If you change your mind, please visit our website.”
Then we were moving again. I gasped for breath, willing myself to be calm so I wouldn’t suffocate. A little hard to do when reliving the thoughts of a murderer plotting to kill someone.
I heard a door open and felt the sensation of being dropped. My body seemed to be level, so the vehicle was probably a van.
“Hurry,” said a man’s voice.
“Shouldn’t we check her?”
“She’ll be okay. You felt the way she was moving.”
I saw the pale feet and jerked the rug again.
This time the action was less real, disembodied. Further away. I didn’t feel the roughness of the rug on my fingers. I did hear the crash and the scream. My head tumbled through black space as I fought to retain consciousness.
Chapter 1
People don’t usually feel strongly about countertops, so they don’t contain many imprints, especially those at a gas station. I might experience a hint of someone’s impatience or frustration—temporary, fleeting emotions that started to fade almost as soon as the customer moved on. That kind of imprint meant only minor discomfort. Nothing that would cause me to wear gloves or stare at the clerk in glazed horror.
That I was compelled to stop in the middle of my question to the clerk, one hand splayed on the counter as if glued to it, was my first clue that this counter was different.
Most people develop maybe ten percent of their brains. I happen to be one of the lucky few who developed a bit more. But I wasn’t gifted in mathematics or music or something that people recognized as a boon to the world. No, I read imprints, emotions left behind on beloved personal objects or imprinted during events that evoked great emotion—love, hate, fear, terror. Unfortunately for me, most of these latter imprints are negative. Psychometry is the scientific name for my skill, and it’s a questionable one at best, but it helped me find missing people and save lives.
“Autumn, you okay?” Shannon’s voice came to me as if from far away. Strange when I could feel the pressure of his hand on my back. When imprints are strong, I live them as if the events happened to me and they become part of my memory. At the moment the Autumn he knew couldn’t answer.
It was easy. Just take out the gun, point it at the clerk, and get what I’d come here for. And more. They’d had a lot of traffic that morning, and the cash drawer should be full. Do it now, during this lull. With the other employee out for an early lunch and the last customer driving away.
The solid feel of the gun in my hand was comforting. Racked and ready to fire. If that clerk hesitated, I’d shoot him. I’d do it anyway when I had what I wanted. Wipe that smug look off his face permanently.
Wait. A couple was coming into the store. I hadn’t seen them drive up to the gas pump. They must not have seen the closed sign I’d placed out front to stave off potential traffic. Frustration and anger waved through me. An urge to shoot, to get what I needed.
No, better to wait. It wasn’t just the money. I could never forget that.
It was odd watching Shannon and myself walk up to the glass doors, and it reasserted my sense of self as nothing else could. This was not my experience or my feelings but someone else’s, a man, if I could tell by the thin, callused hands in the imprint. Sometimes hands were misleading.
“I forgot something,” I/he told the clerk, voice rough with frustration. “I’ll be right back.” Heart pounding, I/he picked up the bag of chips he’d brought to the counter.
The scene vanished. Another imprint followed, weak and faded by comparison. Vague frustration from two weeks earlier as a clerk stopped to answer a question from another customer in the middle of ringing up an order. I managed to lift my hand from the counter and it vanished.
“Autumn?” Shannon said again.
His hand was heavier on my back now, and I turned my head to meet his concerned gaze, the blue-green color of his eyes brighter and more intense than I’d ever seen them. Probably because of the light streaming in through the glass doors and windows behind me. The premature wrinkling around his eyes was also more pronounced. He wasn’t tall for a man, which meant he was only a few inches taller than I was, but the graceful way he moved his compact body with no wasted effort always attracted women’s gazes. He’d attracted me right from the beginning, even when he’d been so irritating I could barely stand him.
“Trouble,” I mouthed. Because the man from the imprint was still in the store, and he was planning to rob it. Part of me wanted to run to the door and leave as he expected, but the other part knew our presence was the only thing preventing him from carrying out his plan. If we left, I didn’t have any hope for the clerk making it through this day alive.
“Did you decide not to buy the drinks?” the clerk asked me. Kirt, according to his name tag. He was young, probably in his mid-twenties, a strong, handsome guy with dark hair that hung straight and a little shaggy over his ears. Would he hand over the money easily to the thief or would he try to be a hero? Given the emotions in the imprint, I didn’t believe it would make a difference in the final outcome.
“Just a minute,” I said. The antique rings on my fingers were exuding their usual comforting imprints, dulling the intensity of the counter experience. It was why I always wore them, to protect me against unexpected negative imprints.
“Sure. Let me know.” Kirt shrugged and stepped back from the cash register, picking up a magazine lying open on the counter.
Shannon’s hand left my back and inched toward the concealed weapon he always carried at his waist, even when he was off duty. As a consultant to the Portland police, I’d been through gun training and my concealed-carry permit was in my wallet, but I didn’t usually carry. Today was no exception.
Shannon scanned the store, trying to pinpoint the danger. At least he’d learned enough about my talent to take me seriously. I didn’t stop as I usually did to ponder how that tied in with his attraction for me—a feeling he’d fought since the minute we’d met. Or had until a few weeks ago.
Behind Shannon, I spotted the man as he pretended to study a row of cold cereal boxes. He was of average height and wore a tan coat that seemed a little large, a blue baseball cap pulled low on his forehead. A few light-colored locks escaped, curling tightly up over the base of the cap. His eyes met mine—and held.
Uh-oh. I’d never been good at masking emotions.
Something in his expression changed. Fire raged in his eyes. He went for his gun, his movements a blur.
“Down!” I yelled, pulling at Shannon, my left arm screaming at the strain. Though I’d removed the bandage from the fleshy part of my arm where I’d been shot several weeks ago, the muscles were still tender. A shot whirred over our heads.
Risking a glance, I saw the clerk had also dropped to the floor. Hopefully, the bullet hadn’t found him first.
The man came toward us firing, his face grim with determination. Shannon rolled me behind him and went up on his knees, drawing his own gun, but the man ducked behind a shelf of toiletries. Shannon shoved something in my direction—his backup weapon, a compact 9 mil of a brand I didn’t recognize. I froze with the weapon in my hand, steeling myself for a flood of gruesome imprints, but he’d used this gun solely for target practice, so the only thing I picked up were hints of frustration or satisfaction, depending on how well he’d shot at the range on any given day. Barely a distraction to me.
“Find a place to hide,” Shannon said through gritted teeth. “Shoot him if he comes after you.”
We’d had the gun argument before—my last gunshot wound had come from a gun he’d made me carry—but now wasn’t the time to get into it again.
“Police!” Shannon shouted, edging around an aisle. “Put down your weapon and come out. Keep your hands where I can see them.”
Another shot answered his demand. The clerk yelped, though he was behind the counter and presumably safe, except perhaps from ricochet. Shannon returned fire, and the glass case in the freezer section shattered. That caused the man to pause, and for a moment I hoped he’d run away. I mean, it was one thing to attack three civilians but quite another to face an armed police officer. Though the robber couldn’t know it, Shannon was a crack shot and the best homicide detective in Portland, maybe in all of Oregon.
I heard a metallic clang, and black smoke oozed into the space around me. Great, just great, I thought. Apparently, this guy had come prepared. I crab-walked backward down the aisle, hoping to find a safe corner where I could pull out my phone to call for help. It was a long way to go, and my left arm burned.
Another shot and more splintering glass.
Shannon ducked behind a display of donuts. At least I think it was Shannon. Hard to tell with all the smoke.
A flurry of shots followed that had me cringing, wondering how they could even see to shoot in such thick smoke. One of the huge outside windows shattered, following closely by two more. Smoke billowed toward the openings.
Then I heard the slam of feet on the floor and saw a blur near the counter.
“Put down your gun,” said a voice I recognized from the counter imprint. “Or I’ll shoot him. I swear.”
“Please,” whined the clerk, his voice cracking. “Don’t hurt me.”
Under the cover of smoke, the perp had somehow managed to get behind the counter. Though the smoke was now slowly clearing, I couldn’t see where Shannon was, but I hoped he wouldn’t give up his gun. I suspected the guy would shoot us all anyway. Though I couldn’t read people as I could objects, I didn’t need any unusual ability to feel the desperation leaking from him. He was angry and had something to prove, something I hadn’t picked up in the imprint.
I’d crept far enough into the store that I was near a wall, huddled behind a display of canned foods. Behind me was a swinging door—an employee office or stockroom. I wondered if there might also be a back entrance so I could go for help.
I didn’t think Shannon or the clerk could hold out that long.
The weight of the semiautomatic pistol felt heavy in my hands, though it was small compared to a full-sized weapon. If I were Paige Duncan, Shannon’s partner, I’d rush the man from behind, jab the gun in his ribs, and demand surrender. Or I’d save the day by somehow shooting the perp without endangering the clerk. All while still looking as if I’d just come from a high society party. But I wasn’t Paige. My weapons of choice were my hands and feet. My agility. I was a good shot on the range, better than good, but using those skills on a real person was quite another matter.
“Put down your gun,” the robber repeated. “Now! Or I swear I’ll shoot him through the head!”
“And then what?” Shannon asked. “Tell you what. You give up your gun now, and it will go a lot easier on you. No one has been hurt yet.” From the sound of his voice, I guessed that Shannon was farther from me than I’d thought and much closer to the far end of the counter. Good. One distraction would be all he’d need to rush the gunman.
Yet even from my position, I saw the man’s hand tighten on his weapon. The clerk moaned. “Say goodbye,” the robber said, his voice gaining a lilt, as if in anticipation.
“There’s no hurry,” Shannon said. “Let’s talk about this. What’s your name?”
“What’s my name? My name?” yelled the man, punctuating his words with spittle. “You don’t care what my name is. This is all you understand.” As he said the last words, he moved his gun and fired.
The bullet ripped through Kirt’s right shoulder. He screamed in an agony I well remembered.
“Next one goes in his head.”
“Okay,” Shannon said. “I’ll put it down.”
“Kick it my way.”
No, I thought, as I heard Shannon’s Glock slide over the tiled floor.
It was now or never. Thrusting the 9 mil into my coat pocket, I grabbed a can of pork and beans. I hoped Shannon was as good as I thought he was or this might be the last thing I ever did. I rushed the counter, throwing the can as soon as I was close enough to hit my target. Sensing me, the man turned, his gun swinging in my direction.
I was already diving for cover, but that didn’t mean I’d make it. The can caught him on the side of the head.
Using the distraction, Shannon hurtled over the counter, slamming into him. They disappeared from view. The clerk screamed again.
Jumping to my feet, I hurried around the counter, my hand once again gripping the weapon Shannon had given me. Terror at what I might see made my heart pound double time. It had taken Shannon and me months to admit there was something between us, and I desperately wanted time to explore exactly what that something was.
Neither of the men had a gun, but they were on the ground, slugging each other. The gunman had lost his cap. The clerk crouched nearby, agony on his face, his hand covering the wound in his arm. He would be no help.
I knew without checking that the gun I carried had a bullet in the chamber. I liked to have to rack a gun before I knew it could fire, but Shannon always carried his weapons ready.
Squeezing the trigger, I shot once, the bullet pounding into the floor by the perp. Both men froze. Shannon recovered first, slamming his fist in the other man’s face before reaching for my gun.
“That was kind of close,” he said mildly.
I relinquished the pistol. “I’m a good shot.” I spoke as though my heart wasn’t still having trouble finding a normal beat. Shannon wasn’t dead. We were okay. I wanted to melt to the floor with relief.
Shannon smiled. “That you are.” He forced the man to lie face down on the linoleum. “Get me something to tie his hands, okay? Then I’ll call this in.”
“You don’t have handcuffs? I thought those were something you never left home without.” I smirked because it kept me from doing something else, like weeping. Though I was only a lowly police consultant, dealing with men like this had become my job. I was still deciding if I was going to keep at it.
“They’re in my glove compartment,” Shannon said. “With the way trouble finds you, I really should have them in my pocket.”
I lifted my hands. “Hey, I had nothing to do with this.”
He spared me a smile that brought warmth to my face and pushed back my urge to run from the store. Moans from the clerk penetrated my brain. “I’ll be right there,” I told him, as I began rifling through the drawers and cupboards under the counter. Finding some twine that might have once held a stack of newspapers together, I threw it to Shannon before hurrying to the clerk.
I didn’t think he was in danger of bleeding to death, but there was enough blood for concern. “Do you have a first-aid kit, uh, Kirt?” I asked, glancing at his name tag to make sure I’d remembered his name correctly.
“Through that door back there, by those cans. It’s hanging on the right.”
“I’ll be right back.”
I passed Shannon, who was barking into his phone, sounding annoyed. Though we were out of his jurisdiction, he’d work it out. He was good at law enforcement politics.
I found the kit and put on a pair of rubber gloves before using all the gauze on the clerk’s wound, as well as a couple packages of car rags they had for sale in the store. I finished by wrapping his shoulder with the duct tape I’d discovered earlier in one of the drawers. “There,” I said. “That will hold you until the paramedics arrive. Unfortunately, we don’t have anything for the pain, except whatever you sell here. Sorry.”
“Thank you,” Kirt said. “If you two hadn’t come in . . .”
“Maybe he just would have robbed the store and left.” I didn’t believe that, but there was no sense in giving him worse nightmares.
“I don’t know. He seemed to have it out for me.” He grimaced in pain. “I’m getting married in two weeks. I-I . . .” He stopped, and I patted his undamaged shoulder until his shaking subsided.
“Have you ever seen him before?” I asked.
Kirt shook his head. “He must have known this was our slow time. He must have watched and waited.”
“Probably. The police will be here soon.”
Customers arrived before the police did, hesitant at first when they saw the wounded clerk and the tied gunman but voicing enthusiasm once Shannon flashed his ID and they realized the danger was passed. Men and women alike gave me the once-over, and I knew they thought I was Shannon’s partner. Probably a good thing I was wearing my black dress pants and red sweater instead of my normal jeans and T-shirt. More official looking.
“Stay outside!” Shannon ordered the crowd, but since much of the glass in the large windows was now missing, it didn’t make much difference. I hoped the local authorities arrived soon so we’d have help maintaining order.
“Maybe he has something to do with that missing girl,” said a woman with a pinched face, her head and shoulders leaning through the missing window next to the counter. “He looks the type.”
“Shove it!” the perp said, punctuating his command by a slew of curses and threats. “You don’t know anything about that girl!”
An admission of guilt? Maybe. If so, it would make what I came to do in Hayesville a lot easier.
“What do you know about Jenny Vandyke?” I asked.
He shot off more vicious words that included creative ways he would see me suffer. While the customers outside gaped at him in disbelief through the shattered windows, I tore off a piece of duct tape and plastered it roughly over his mouth. He glared at me, but I refused to react. My heartbeat was back to normal, and I liked it that way.
“He’s just yanking your chain,” said a broad, forty-something man with more muscles than most men half his age and less hair than most men twice his age. “My bet for the girl is on that old recluse who makes those tree sculptures. Didn’t you hear the police were questioning him?”
I stiffened and glanced toward Shannon. He met my gaze, but his eyes didn’t reveal his thoughts. That “old recluse” was the reason we were in Hayesville and the reason I wasn’t in jeans. I’d told myself the dressing up was for Shannon, but he’d seen me enough times at my worst that even I had to admit my logic was thin.
“I don’t think it was the old man,” Kirt said. He was pale, but he hadn’t moaned since I’d bandaged him. He might be afraid I’d try a second time. I didn’t exactly have the gift of healing. “He comes in here sometimes. He’s a nice guy. Quiet.”
“He’s a pervert, is what he is,” the pinch-faced woman retorted. “The quiet ones are always the worst.”
“Yeah, I bet he’s guilty,” said a young woman who had somehow come inside and now held a handful of candy bars. “My husband has a friend who works for dispatch at the sheriff’s office. He told us they found one of the girl’s boots on his property a couple days ago.”
“That wasn’t in the news,” said a man with a thick head of graying hair.
The young woman shrugged. “Must be keeping it quiet for now.”
“They ought to call for volunteers to search his land,” the first man said. “I’d go.” There was a ripple of agreement from several others.
I wanted to leave, more anxious than ever to get to our destination. The information about the boot bothered me more than I wanted to admit. Though I knew he’d done terrible things during his life, I’d been hoping the old artist was innocent of kidnapping Jenny Vandyke. But if he was responsible, I’d make sure he paid.
“Would you please wait outside?” I asked the woman with the candy bars in a tone that was far more polite than I was feeling. I thumbed at the clerk. “He really can’t sell them to you right now.”
“Oh, sure.” Taking the candy bars with her, she sauntered toward the glass door that was remarkably unscathed.
We’d gathered nearly a dozen people by this time, including the other employee, who kept loudly voicing his desire to come inside the store so he could start cashing in on the interested bystanders. Apparently, this section of road outside Hayesville was more popular today than our gunman had anticipated. Or maybe the growing pile of cars outside convinced people to stop here instead of waiting to buy their gas in town. This was suddenly the happening place.
A murmur went through the crowd. “Sheriff’s deputies are here. Ambulance, too.”
Shannon took out his badge and waved the deputies over. In the light streaming through the broken windows, his sandy hair appeared lighter than usual, the ends curling as they always did when he needed a haircut.
“You’re going to be fine,” I told Kirt as the EMTs hurried over to us.
“Thank you.” His gaze went to the gunman, his eyes narrowing. He said he hadn’t seen the man before, but could he be wrong? He shrugged and turned to leave with the paramedics.
“Wait,” I said. “Do you know the way to that artist’s house? Cody Beckett, the old guy you said comes in here sometimes.”
He nodded. “He lives even farther out of town than we are, in an unincorporated section of land. Just take the road behind the station. Keep going about a mile. Turn right and go another mile or so. Not sure how far. I’ve only been out there once since he finished the big scarecrow. But it’s on that road. Just keep going until you see his sculptures. Can’t miss ’em.”
“You’ve seen his work?” He was the first person I’d talked to who’d actually seen Beckett’s work in person, and I was curious as to what he thought.
He shrugged. “Everyone goes out there at one point or another. Great place to take a date after dinner. You know, artsy but private. If a guy’s lucky, he might get a kiss or two. Last time I was out there, I proposed to my girl.” He grinned. “Wasn’t paying much attention to the sculptures then, if you know what I mean. Cody’s work is out in his fields, and the road in front of it is public land for anyone to see, but nobody goes to his house. He keeps a shotgun handy.”
I guess there wasn’t much in the way of entertainment in Hayesville if going to see an old man’s log sculptures was a favorite pastime of the local youth. I wondered if they all kept their distance or if the man used that shotgun to stave off vandalism.
“He’s kind of a local celebrity,” Kirt went on, “but shy about it, you know? The fact that he’s been in prison, well, that just adds to the mystery.” Kirt glanced over his shoulder. “Those people don’t know him. They’re looking for someone to blame. They’re scared.”
“And you’re not?” That a fourteen-year-old had gone missing was huge news in this community.
“I think she just ran away. Kids do that.”
“The police don’t think so,” I said.
Shannon had checked up on the case. Jenny Vandyke was fourteen but a young fourteen, tiny, slender, and blond. I’d seen her picture, and she was a beautiful child. Nothing in the girl’s room was missing except her backpack, and she hadn’t mentioned leaving to her friends. Two weeks ago, she’d simply never arrived at school. That was part of why I’d come to Hayesville to see Cody Beckett. I needed to know if he was guilty. “Do you know the girl’s family?”
Kirt shrugged. “No. It’s just a guess.”
The paramedics led him off. I hoped they’d take him to the hospital before removing the makeshift bandage so the bleeding wouldn’t start again, but he was in their hands now.
I walked over to the door where Shannon was standing with the sheriff’s deputies, who’d finally managed to send away most of the gawking crowd. “This is Autumn Rain,” Shannon said. “She’s a consultant with us in Portland. Autumn, these are Detective Sergeant Greeley and Detective Levine. They’re deputies with the Marion County sheriff’s office. Hayesville and the unincorporated areas here don’t have a police department, so the sheriff’s office has jurisdiction. Detective Greeley is over their criminal investigations unit.”
“Nice to meet you.” Having left my gloves in Shannon’s truck, I kept my hands in my coat pockets. I couldn’t read people by touching them, but both detectives were wearing rings on their right hands, and I didn’t want to peek into their lives.
“You too.” Greeley pulled back his hand, the line between his eyes deepening. That was the way it often went—I offended people even when I was trying to be courteous. They had no idea how long it had taken me to learn not to offer my hand so that I wouldn’t invade their privacy.
I was involved in a constant struggle to maintain my own identity. Where once I, the adopted child of hippie parents named Winter and Summer, used to be open and accepting of everyone, I was now reluctant to reach out to others for fear of coming in contact with objects that contained their innermost feelings. Some feelings should never be revealed, not even to those you love. Maybe especially not to those you love.
“I’ll come in later to make a full statement,” Shannon said. “Right now, we’re on our way somewhere.”
“First we need to call your precinct.” Greeley pulled out a phone. “Just to check your story. Protocol, you understand.” He was taller than Shannon by half a foot, several inches of it wavy brown hair. He had an impressive build and a face that brooked no nonsense. Maybe he was even a little mean. Detective Levine was nearly the same height but slender with a pleasant face framed by short dark hair. His face was rounder, almost boyish, though he had to be nearing forty. He gave me a warm smile and a slight shake of his head that told me he didn’t agree with his partner.
Shannon’s jaw clenched as he bit back a retort. He pulled out a pad and jotted something on it. “Look, this is my phone number and where I’m staying for the weekend. You can contact me if you need to. I promise, I won’t leave town.” He turned his back on them. “Let’s go,” he growled in an undertone. “It’s not as if I actually shot the man.”
I didn’t bother to hide my grin. “Wait, I never got my drinks.” I found them on the counter where I’d left them. As I laid a few bills down for payment, Detective Greeley was talking into his phone, his small brown eyes on Shannon. Hopefully, he’d figure out Shannon was legit in the next few minutes or we might end up in jail ourselves.
Detective Levine nodded at us as we passed, the hint of his former smile still on his lips as he glanced at his companion over our heads. I grinned back. At least we might have one ally among the local authorities.
We left without further trouble, though the other gas station employee and the few remaining locals gave us odd stares as they noted the tension between us and Detective Greeley.
Outside, another car from the sheriff’s office had pulled up, but the deputies who jumped out of it rushed past us without speaking. A breeze pushed cold air down my back, and I pulled my duffle coat tighter around me. The brown wool blend held up well to the rain, but it was damaged in the under part of the upper left sleeve where I’d been shot. I couldn’t afford a new coat of the same quality, so I’d have to make do until the end-of-season sales. As it was only December, I had a bit of a wait. Fortunately, I was handy with a needle, and unless people had really good eyes, they probably didn’t notice the repair.
Shannon’s hand was once again on my back, the gentle pressure urging me forward. “You really know how to show a girl a good time,” I drawled. “Not even noon and I already got to dodge bullets.”
He laughed, the tension draining from his face. “I’m just glad I came with you today.”
I was too. And I was glad my sister had kept her promise to stay home with her baby. Though she wanted to meet Cody Beckett as much as I did, I’d put them in enough danger in the past.
Cody Beckett. That’s what this trip was all about—seeing if it was safe to open a dialogue with the man, even though he wouldn’t likely welcome either of us.
Since this was a private case, not something authorized by his captain, we’d brought Shannon’s truck instead of his unmarked white police Mustang. I still wasn’t comfortable in the truck because it underscored the recent change in our relationship from reluctant associates to something more. Exactly what that more was I didn’t know yet. Things had been much clearer when he hadn’t believed in my abilities and had fought his unwelcome attraction to me. Back then I’d treated him in the same mocking, standoffish, annoying way he’d treated me. Now we had to decide where our feelings would take us.
The directions Kirt had given us were better than those on my phone’s GPS, as was sometimes the case in remote areas, but with several odd turns in the path, I was glad Shannon was along to decipher them. Both my sister and I were directionally impaired.
Kirt was also right about the sculptures—they were hard to miss. We would have found them even without his help. Standing sentinel in the middle of a barren field of week-old snow, they were huge, some spiraling as tall as a two-story house. The first was a tall, thin scarecrow, his log legs looking unsteady. Next, a mammoth ear of corn, partially painted and looking as though it had exploded from the fat log from which it had been carved. Following these was a farmer, his head and hat carved from the bottom part of a tree, a few roots painted to resemble loose straw. These first three sculptures sported a weathered look, as though they’d endured the elements several years, but the aging only added to their appeal. Looking more recent was a half-finished boat bursting from yet another massive log. The artist’s work in progress, I assumed.
Bales of straw, some in tall stacks, lay scattered among the sculptures like lesser entities. With no ladder in sight, I figured the artist must use the bales to reach the tops of his works. Somehow it was fitting that he used the straw, the effort of climbing adding to his unusual style. A stark loneliness clung to the sculptures as though a testament to their uniqueness. Almost, they seemed sentient, and I wondered how Cody Beckett had been able to part with any of his creations.
“Impressive,” Shannon said, slowing the truck.
I nodded. “No wonder the locals come to ogle.”
“He must charge a pretty penny when he sells them. Bet they take up to a year or more to complete.”
Then we were past them. We drove through a thicket of leafless trees, where it looked as if the vegetation had tried to reclaim the narrow asphalt road but had been beaten back by the arrival of snowfall. We came upon our destination suddenly—a long gravel drive, layered with dirty, compacted snow, that led to the house I’d seen once in the newspaper and once in a drawing made by my sister. A house she’d never seen before. That was her talent, as potent and unpredictable as mine.
Shannon turned the truck down the drive. We hadn’t yet reached the house when a grizzled old man came onto the porch dressed in worn jeans and a thick flannel shirt, a shotgun in his hands. Not exactly the welcome I might have hoped for. Of course, he didn’t know I was coming or even who I was.
As Shannon brought the truck to a stop, I noted the white stubble on the old man’s chin, the wrinkles around the eyes, and the too-long white hair that was uncombed. I was too far away to see the color of his eyes, but I knew that his right eye was hazel and his left blue.
Like my twin sister. Like me.
This was Cody Beckett, our father.
Chapter 1
I lifted the Ruger LCP .380, racked it quickly, and fired. Three shots in rapid succession—boom, boom, boom. Three more shots emptied the magazine. My target jerked repeatedly. Not unlike the jolting of my heart.
“Not bad.” Detective Shannon Martin looked over my shoulder at the man-shaped paper target. Four of the rounds had hit the chest. Another went through the head. Only one was missing. “You sure you haven’t done this before?” he asked.
“No,” I snapped. Truth was, I didn’t want to be doing this now. My consulting position with the Portland police had led to my being imprisoned in an underground cellar, shot in the leg, and injured in numerous other ways, but carrying a gun was going too far. With my flower child upbringing, I doubted I could shoot anyone, even if my life depended on it.
“What’s wrong?” Shannon’s eyes went from my face to the Ruger and back again. “You aren’t picking up any imprints, are you?”
We were alone inside the range, so I pushed off the earmuffs he’d insisted I wear to protect my ears—great idea, it turned out. “No imprints,” I said.
Well, there was one faint feeling of satisfaction that Shannon had left when he’d shot the gun a week earlier, and even now I was probably leaving a few of resentment and maybe a little pride. Fortunately, these less vivid imprints didn’t bother me.
“The older lady I bought it from said she’d shot it only a few times,” he added.
“You know that if I ever actually used this on someone, I’d never be able to use it again. I’d have to relive the memory every time I touched it.”
He shrugged. “I’d just find you another one.”
I guess as a police detective that didn’t bother him—shopping for guns, the possibility of shooting someone. All of it bothered me. I believed people had the right to defend themselves, but it was quite another thing to be the one actually pulling the trigger.
“Can we quit now?” I started to hand him the gun, barrel down, the way he’d drilled me these past few weeks as I’d practiced gun safety off the range.
“Not yet. You have to shoot at least a hundred rounds a month to stay in practice—and that’s assuming you’re hitting anything, which you are, fortunately. Now load her up again.”
“A hundred? Please tell me rounds are individual bullets and not a whole clip.” I’d gone shooting with him only once before and couldn’t remember the terminology.
My faulty memory might have a remote—a very remote—connection to his unusual eyes. There’s something about them. Something, perhaps, in the green blue color that illuminated his face. Or maybe it was the framing of his light brown lashes that made them so compelling. It was hard to think about anything else if I became caught in his gaze, so mostly I tried not to look.
“Magazine,” he corrected. “It’s not a clip. I know people call them that, but that’s not what they are. The magazine is what holds the rounds—in this case, six rounds. And yes, rounds are individual bullets.”
So six bullets went into the magazine, which in turn slid into the bottom of the gun grip, or handle as we rookies called it. Not rocket science by any stretch. Sighing internally, I pushed the magazine release button, placed the gun on the small stand in front of me, and began forcing bullets into the magazine.
Shannon stopped me when I went to put it back in. “Visually check the chamber first, just to make sure nothing’s caught.”
I did as he asked before proceeding to shred more of my target. Like the first time we’d gone to the range, Shannon seemed more puzzled than pleased at my success.
I didn’t see what was so hard. You aimed and you shot. It was, well, rather easy. Kind of fun too, which I would never confess to Shannon. I derived a strange sort of contentment from irritating him, a trait he definitely shared when it came to me.
I shrugged. “I have good eyesight.” Once again, I had to raise my voice to near yelling because of our earmuffs.
“All those herbs?” he mouthed a bit derisively, pushing the box of bullets at me.
I didn’t take offense. Everyone was entitled to his opinion—even the annoying Detective Martin. My adoptive parents had been self-proclaimed hippies who owned an herb store, so naturally I’d consumed more than my share of herbs. Growing up with them had been unusual, but I wouldn’t have traded it for anything—well, except maybe the opportunity to grow up with my twin, but that couldn’t be changed now.
“Satisfied?” I asked when the man-shaped target finally tore in two at the chest and fell to the ground.
Shannon allowed himself a grin. “I’ve seen longtime police officers do worse.”
Not exactly a compliment, but Shannon was careful that way. Maybe it was because he liked me far more than he wanted to. Or maybe because he’d finally started to trust both me and my weird gift of reading imprints—and begun to realize that there was nothing holding him back from his attraction to me now.
Nothing except my boyfriend, Jake, and my own reluctance to trust a man who until a few months ago thought I was mostly nuts.
Shannon was staring at me with those eyes that were probably responsible for more convictions than any detective work he’d ever done. I looked instead into his hairline. His hair, usually somewhere between brown and blond, was on the darker side now that we were in November. He needed a haircut, and the ends were beginning to curl with the length.
For a long time he didn’t speak, though the air was suddenly heavy with whatever he’d left unspoken. Carefully, he began packing things away. He handed me the Ruger, zipped in a lightly padded cover.
“Keep it in your purse until I get you an ankle holster. There’s an extra magazine in there, too. I’ve filled it with hollow points for a bigger impact.”
“No way.” I pushed the weapon back at him. “I don’t even use a purse half the time.”
“Well, you can’t carry it on you without a holster.”
“I’m not going to carry it at all.”
“What do you think that class and all that fingerprinting was about? Your concealed-carry permit arrived in the mail, didn’t it? You should have it on you at all times, whether you’re carrying or not, in case you end up with a gun while working a case.”
Okay, I had taken a class on gun safety and found it interesting. Since I’d been shot in the leg during our last adventure and had somehow ended up with the gun, albeit unloaded, I’d wanted to feel more comfortable with handguns in case such a thing ever happened again. But I wouldn’t have taken the class at all if I’d known Shannon was going to insist that I carry a weapon.
“I’ve got the permit in my wallet, but I read that women who own guns are more likely to be shot than those who don’t,” I told him.
He snorted. “That’s only women who aren’t trained and who aren’t going to practice every few weeks.” He scrubbed a hand over his hair, and I followed the motion. “Speaking of which, there is a more intensive training I’d like you to attend. It’s only three days. You get great target practice in a lifelike town. With popup targets and stuff.”
“No, no, and no! Look, I have a niece now, and I can’t have a gun around my apartment or at my store. If you make me take it, I’m just going to put it in my glove compartment.”
“You don’t even lock your car.” The way he said car left me no doubt that he didn’t believe my rusty Toyota hatchback was worthy of the name. He might have a point. It was always breaking down.
“Oh, right. Guess that sets me up for all kinds of liability.”
“Yeah, the jail kind.”
He was kind of cute when he was upset, though that was certainly not why I was arguing with him.
“Look,” he continued, “your niece is only, what, three months old? It’s going to be a while before she can rack and shoot a gun. By then you’ll have a safe installed.”
“At the department’s expense?” They’d agreed to start paying me a consulting fee for reading imprints, but it wasn’t a lot.
“Sure.”
At this point, he’d say whatever he needed to make me take the gun, but I doubted the safe would come from the department. They didn’t care if I carried a gun. They’d probably rather I didn’t. But Shannon was president of the Autumn Needs to Be More Careful Club, which meant he cared about me. I wished he didn’t. It made my life more complicated.
More exciting.
I took the gun and put it in my coat pocket. “There’s not a bullet in the chamber, is there?”
“No. You’d have to rack it before you could shoot. But you should have checked yourself if that’s the way you plan to carry it. Remember the class?”
“Oh, right.” I wouldn’t carry the gun with a bullet in the chamber like he did, though my permit gave me license to do so. I didn’t trust it not to go off accidentally, but unless I racked it, it couldn’t fire, so I was safe.
Outside it was raining. Again. The wind was also doing its thing, which made Portland bitterly cold this time of year. Shannon glanced instinctively at my feet, perhaps forgetting that during the most bitter winter months, even I usually wore something to cover my feet when I went outside. Instead of my customary winter moccasins, today I wore the boots my sister, Tawnia, had given me—no heel, fur-lined, and advertised as footwear that made you feel as if you were barefoot. They were almost like wearing thick socks, but unlike the socks I occasionally resorted to, they were waterproof. I hated not feeling a connection with the earth as I normally did in bare feet, but cold weather like this usually convinced me to use the boots or my moccasins.
I’d begun using gloves as well, something I’d occasionally done before in winter, though not for the same reason I used them now. Gloves protected me from accidentally finding random imprints and reliving experiences that weren’t mine.
Of course, I wasn’t prepared to wear gloves all the time. My shoe-hating, herb-loving, spirit-connected-to-the-universe upbringing wouldn’t let me go that far. But sometimes after stumbling on a particularly virulent imprint, I was tempted.
Zipping my coat, I ran to Shannon’s truck. Yes, a truck. I knew his house was built on an acre of land, so it made sense he might need a truck for something related to that, but I’d been so accustomed to seeing him in his white, unmarked police Mustang that when he’d come to pick me up, I’d felt a little taken aback. For some reason the blue truck made him seem more real—normal, maybe. Almost as though I’d seen a part of him that was too private to share.
It’s just a truck, I told myself.
The weight of the Ruger felt heavy in my coat pocket. At least it could sit in a drawer at my antiques shop while I was working. My niece wasn’t old enough even to crawl yet, much less open a drawer. Before much longer, though, it’d have to be in a safe or in a holster.
The idea of needing a gun was enough to make me seriously consider getting out of the imprint business. Except I didn’t choose to read imprints. That just happened.
Psychometry was the official name of my ability to pick up scenes and emotions left on certain beloved objects or on objects involved in extremely emotional situations. I used my talent to find missing people, and the police used it through me. Some scientists believed that people like me developed part of our brains that ordinarily remained inactive. For all I knew, they were right. I suspected it was also hereditary, though because I was adopted, I wasn’t sure where the ability had come from.
“Who’s that?” Shannon asked.
We’d arrived outside my shop, where a bundled figure was pacing in front of my store. My employee, Thera Brinker, should be inside, but even if she wasn’t and the door was still locked, all my customers knew they could reach Autumn’s Antiques from the Herb Shoppe next door, owned by my friend and current boyfriend, Jake Ryan. Or I should say maybe-boyfriend, because even nearly six months into our relationship, we weren’t exactly sure where things were heading.
The person outside was not a customer, then, but someone else waiting to see me.
“I don’t know.” I peered at the tall figure. Besides the fact that the person was likely male, I couldn’t see much beyond the coat and the beanie he wore. I started to open the truck door.
“Wait. I’m coming with you.”
I sighed. Shannon had been annoying before he’d stopped being so suspicious of me, but this was ridiculous. Ignoring him, I jumped from the truck and hurried toward my store. The figure stopped pacing when he saw me.
“Autumn,” he said, giving me a tentative smile. “Hey, are your eyes two different colors or is it just the light?”
I’d know that smile anywhere—and the familiar greeting. My eyes were a different color, but only those who really saw me ever actually noticed. “Is that you, Bean Pole? Did you grow another three inches? Long time no see.”
It’d been months, in fact, since I’d seen Liam Taylor. At least seven.
Liam nodded. “I need to talk to you. It’s important.” Before I could respond, his gaze went beyond me to Shannon, who’d finally caught up to us.
“Is he a cop?” Liam asked in an undertone.
If Liam hadn’t been so serious, I might have laughed. He’d made Shannon as a cop dressed in civilian clothes on a Saturday afternoon. In the rain. That said a lot about Shannon—or about Liam. I hoped it was about Shannon and not Liam because I’d thought he’d come a long way since I first caught him shoplifting in my store.
“Why? You got something to hide?” Trust Shannon to make a comeback like that.
“Shannon’s a friend,” I said to Liam, throwing Shannon a glare. “What do you need to see me about?”
Liam shivered. “Can we go inside? I brought you something to, uh, see.”
He meant something to read, as in imprints. A knot formed inside me. I hoped he wasn’t in trouble. Either way, I had to get Shannon out of the picture.
“Okay, just a minute and we’ll go inside.” I turned to Shannon. “Thanks for the lesson.”
“You sure you don’t want me to stay?” He was using his eyes to full advantage, as if he knew their effect on me.
“I’m fine. Jake’s next door if I need help.”
Shannon stiffened. Wrong thing to say, but he knew my feelings for Jake, and I wasn’t going to start hiding them now simply because I was also attracted to Shannon.
“Liam’s harmless,” I added. “He used to work for me.”
Only a little bit of a stretch. I’d put Liam to work after I’d caught him shoplifting one of my antique music boxes last year. He’d seemed sincere when he said it was to send to his sister for her birthday. I hadn’t simply given it to him like my father would have done—or invited him to dinner and ask if he needed a place to stay. I was too poor to go that far. But I had let him work off the music box in exchange for helping move and arrange my displays. I even gave him the music box wholesale so he wouldn’t have to work more than a few days.
After that, I’d given him several more odd jobs I could barely afford whenever he was desperate, just enough to keep him honest. Then he’d graduated from high school and found a real job for the summer. He was supposed to be in college now, living on a merit scholarship and a bit of help from his parents.
“I’ll call you about the safe.” Shannon’s eyes followed Liam, who was already opening the door to my store.
“Okay.”
It was awkward leaving Shannon, though it hadn’t always been. Now I never knew if I should hug him or say something to push him away. Lately, I’d really, really wanted not to push him away, but there was still Jake, and I didn’t want to hurt him.
I followed Liam into my store and motioned him to wait in the back room so I could help Thera with the rush of people. Normally, I would have taken time to at least wave to Jake, but there was no chance of that now. Saturday mornings were always brisk in the antiques shop, and I had to hurry from my early morning taekwondo class to get there in time to help. The afternoons usually picked up from there. It was good for my pocketbook, though it made it hard to dart out at lunchtime for a brief shooting lesson. Unfortunately, Saturday was the only time Shannon was available during the day, and an evening seemed too much like a date to me.
“How did the lesson go?” Thera asked. As usual her white hair was swept up in an elegant knot, and she was wearing all blue, which she insisted was a calming color.
That reminded me of the weight in my coat pocket, one I couldn’t rid myself of in front of my customers. “Apparently, I’m a natural.”
“I thought you might be. You have good instincts.”
I shrugged off the coat and set it under the counter, followed by my boots. I wiggled my freed toes and sighed with relief.
“Well, about most things,” amended Thera, glancing at my feet in disapproval. She was always worried I’d catch my death of cold, even in midsummer, or contract some strange illness, no matter how many times I told her I washed my feet more than most people washed their hands—and how she touched a lot worse things on doorknobs. She didn’t want to hear it.
“I hope you got a chance to grab some lunch,” she added, “because it’s been like this the whole time you were gone.”
“I did.” We’d eaten sandwiches Shannon had bought on our way to the range. I felt bad for leaving Thera on a day when it was so busy, but Shannon had been insistent. He obviously still felt responsible for the last time I’d been hurt.
When we were down to the last customer at the register and two more who were browsing, Thera turned to me, waving a blue-clad arm. “I can take care of the rest. That boy seems kind of anxious. He’s poked his head out half a dozen times already.”
“Thanks.”
In my narrow back room, which ran the width of my store, Liam wasn’t sitting in the comfortable easy chair that beckoned to me with an almost hypnotic call. He’d taken off his coat and laid it on the long worktable but was pacing from the shop door to the bathroom at the far end. He was as lanky as always—college life hadn’t improved that—and his hair looked as though he hadn’t combed it in a week, though it didn’t seem greasy.
“So what’s up?” I asked, ignoring my easy chair and going to heat water on the stove so I could make a nice soothing herbal tea. I wanted to ask if he was in trouble, but he’d come to me, and I’d let him tell me what he wanted in his own time. I took two mugs from the overhead cupboard.
“It’s Rosemary, my sister.”
I turned to look at him more closely. His brown eyes were worried and tinged with red that probably came from too many late nights and cram study sessions. “Is it her birthday again? Do you need a present? How about another music box?”
My attempt to lighten the mood didn’t even register. “She’s missing,” he said.
“What makes you say that?”
He stopped pacing and pulled at the side of his hair. “She was supposed to meet me yesterday for lunch when she had a rehearsal break, but she never showed up.”
“Maybe she forgot.”
“She wouldn’t do that. We haven’t seen each other in like a year. She’s not even answering her cell. I’d go to her apartment, but I don’t know where she’s staying. My parents say she’s a flake and not to worry, but that’s only because they’re still mad about how she dropped out of college to tour with that theater company a couple of years ago.”
I had to play devil’s advocate. “What makes you think they’re wrong?” I placed loose tea in the infuser. Lemon balm, Liam’s favorite, with no caffeine or anything else to get him more worked up.
“She’s only been back a few weeks, and she wouldn’t leave without seeing me. We’ve talked a lot on the phone, and she was all excited about a new part she was trying out for with some other theater company. Said it was a smaller outfit but with better connections. She practiced day and night to get the part, and then she did. She was so excited. I know she wouldn’t just disappear. I went over to the company, but she hadn’t shown up to rehearsal yesterday.” His eyes held mine. “Please, Autumn. I don’t know who else can help.”
“Maybe the police.”
“That’s why I asked if that guy was a cop. I thought I recognized him from the newspaper article about that real estate fraud business going on last summer. I was hoping he was and that you might get him to help.”
Oh, I’d read that situation completely wrong. I’d been thinking Liam’s problems were the kind that bordered on unlawful and that it’d be easier to convince him to make good without Shannon hovering over us menacingly.
“Well, she’s an adult with a history of taking off, so the more proof we have, the better. But if your sister really is missing, we’ll need to let the police search for her. They have information I don’t have access to.”
“Yeah, but they can’t read imprints.” He crossed to the worktable and yanked a plastic grocery sack from the pocket of his coat—a deep pocket by the size of whatever was in the bag. “She had a cubby at the theater company. I took these from it when they weren’t looking.” Liam flushed. “It wasn’t stealing.”
“Of course not.” I took a deep breath. Probably these imprints wouldn’t tell me anything. Since the items had simply been sitting on her shelf, it wasn’t likely I’d have to relive a murder or a kidnapping.
I hoped.
Liam waited, the sack extended. Before taking it, I removed the antique rings I wore to dull any unexpected imprints I might accidentally touch when I was out and about. When I wasn’t wearing gloves, that is. The rings held comforting imprints that would counter any negative ones, but they would also get in the way of my perception if the imprints I wanted to read weren’t very strong.
Months had passed since I’d come across a seriously evil imprint, but I remembered how it had sapped my strength. I’d wondered what might happen if someday I went too deep, if the imprint was too intense, too horrible.
There was no one to ask, so I had no clue. I’d been helping Shannon and his partner, Paige, on cases, but I suspected Shannon had deliberately kept me from consulting on the really bad ones—murders, rapes, brutal muggings. I hadn’t pushed. Now I felt guilty. While I was protecting myself, how many more people had been hurt?
I reached for the grocery sack. Liam watched me intently, not pushing. He was that sort of kid. Patient, studious, dedicated to his sister. Dedicated enough to steal an antique music box for her.
Gently, I shook out the contents of the sack onto the worktable—a worn copy of a play script, a square bag with a makeup brush peeking from one end of the zippered top, a pair of leather gloves, a brush, and a small see-through purse filled with elastics, hair clips, and bobby pins. It wasn’t much, but if she’d used these objects every day, there might be imprints.
Probably not on the gloves, though they were leather and had a better chance than regular cloth. Clothes that were often washed and things easily dismissed or forgotten never evoked enough emotion to hold imprints. Fortunately, or my life would be a living nightmare. I’d have to wear gloves to buy fruit and milk at the corner grocery.
There were definitely imprints on the objects. I could feel them radiating, beckoning. What I couldn’t tell without touching them was if they were positive or negative imprints. If I could figure that out, my life would be a lot simpler.
“Autumn,” came a voice from the door.
I lifted my gaze to see Jake’s good-looking face, framed by his black, finger-sized locs, or dreadlocks as some people called them, that always made people stop and notice. In his customary snug T-shirt, he looked strong and a little dangerous, but anyone seeing him help fragile old ladies in his herb shop would change their minds about that in a hurry. He’d been my best friend for nearly two years and a little bit more than my friend since this past summer. I’d trust him with my life.
“Hi, Jake.”
His eyes took in the objects Liam had brought and the antique rings I’d set down next to them. A flash of hurt registered on his face. Once he’d been my biggest supporter where imprints were concerned, but after our summer run-in with a branch of organized crime and a crooked attorney who’d stooped to kidnapping and illegal adoption, Jake had begun to exhibit reluctance about my reading imprints.
He no longer brought in anyone who wanted imprints read, and he didn’t encourage me to talk about helping people. I knew his guilt ran deep about having been unable to protect me, and nearly dying himself hadn’t helped matters, but I figured that was something he would have to get over on his own. I’d finally been honest with myself about what I now saw as my calling, and I couldn’t let his fear stop me, even if I knew it stemmed from love. Besides, what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
Or so I’d thought.
There had been a time when, if Jake had found me about to read something, he would have put his arms around me and drawn me close for a strengthening kiss—and a part of me still wished he’d do that. But he knew I wasn’t sure of my feelings, and that was enough for him to back away. Not completely, though. He’d made it clear how he felt about me. Now it was my turn. He was my best friend, and I loved him, but I didn’t know if I loved him enough. As much as he loved me.
“You remember Liam,” I said to cover the awkwardness.
Jake dragged his eyes from the table. “Oh, yeah. Hey, Bean Pole, how you been?”
“Okay.” Liam nodded a greeting but didn’t elaborate, anxiousness exuding from him in waves.
I’d better hurry, or he might lose it altogether. “His sister’s missing,” I told Jake. “I’m going to—” I shrugged. “You know.”
Jake’s gaze came back to me. “You should have called me. I’d like to help.”
I understood what it cost him to say that, but I wasn’t sure I wanted him to stay—though if the imprints were bad, it’d be safer for me if he did. He knew what to do.
Jake glanced out the door into the store and frowned as though remembering something.
“Did you need help in the Herb Shoppe?” I asked. He could be here only to see me, but when I’d come in, he’d had more customers than I had, so I suspected another reason.
“No.” His face became more animated, but the line of concern on his brow deepened. “There’s a woman in the Herb Shoppe. Her name is Suzy Olsen. She came in looking for your mom.”
“For Summer?” My adoptive mother had died when I was eleven, and I was surprised one of her acquaintances hadn’t heard.
“Well, she didn’t want Summer. Or not exactly. She was looking for Summer only to ask her about Kendall. She says she knew her.”
All at once there wasn’t enough air in the room. Kendall was the almost sixteen-year-old who’d died after giving birth to my sister and then to me—twins who’d been separated by the attending physician and given to two adoptive couples. I knew little more than that, and every lead we’d researched had gone dry.
Until now.
Prologue
I would remember the day forever. I knew because I’d lived through it once before. Tonight I’d have to say a final goodbye to Winter Rain, the only father I’d ever known. I wished now that I hadn’t called him by his first name, because only the word father could describe the loss I now felt.
Friends were already gathering for the all-night vigil in my living room, where we would share stories and talk about his life. There would be plenty for everyone to say. Winter had loved and helped more people in his short sixty-five years of life than many men could have in ten lifetimes. My mother, Summer, had been the same way. The only good thing about the bridge bombing that had stolen Winter’s life was that it had also returned him to her.
A home funeral was our tradition, and even though Winter had been under water for nearly a week after the bridge collapse and some of his skin had been torn away, the cold water had preserved him enough that we didn’t have to betray his wishes with embalming. Winter lay inside the simple pine box one of his friends had made, one we would use markers to decorate with messages of love. There was a peace in the stillness of his face that strangely comforted me.
My best friend Jake popped his dark head into the kitchen. “I found the markers. And I’ve made sure we have plenty of dry ice in the coolers if we need to replace the bags around him.”
“Good.” With a sigh of relief, I shut the kitchen drawer I was searching and followed him out to the living room, where people were gathered.
Tawnia, my twin sister, with whom I’d been reunited only this week, after thirty-two years of separation, looked up from her conversation and gave me a little wave. Her being here was a comfort every bit as large as the loss that carved up my insides until I didn’t know if I could ever breathe again.
Jake stopped and I nearly plowed into him. “What about the picture?” he asked, reaching out to steady me.
He meant Winter’s favorite picture of Summer. Because though we’d gathered to celebrate Winter’s life, Summer had been the only woman he’d ever loved, and she was a big part of his life. He’d loved her from the first day they’d met, had adored her through twenty years of marriage, had cared for her during a year of cancer, and had been faithful to her for over twenty years since her death. The picture would bring her back, just for the night, to those who had known her and would remember those stories.
“Oh, right. It’s still in his bedroom,” I told Jake. “I’ll go get it. Can you pass out the markers?”
“Sure.”
I turned and went into the bedroom Winter had used. Everything was neat and clean, except the bed where I’d been sleeping to feel close to him. Tawnia must have been at work in here. The picture was on the nightstand in the same spot it had adorned for the past two decades. As a young girl, I’d sat on his bed for hours staring at the picture.
I swept it up and stared into my mother’s face. I expected to remember the emotions of the sad eleven-year-old I’d been at her passing, an emotion that was forever frozen in time. Instead I felt . . .
An ache so large the world couldn’t contain it. An ache that would have been impossible to bear but for the love that also rushed in and filled every crevice and pore, pushing out the ache so I could bask in the warm light of pure love. Loving Summer was the best, most perfect thing I had ever done, and though she was gone, she was still in my heart and would be forever.
I reached out and traced the glass covering her face . . .
I gasped. The hands I’d seen in this strange vision weren’t mine but Winter’s. And the love I felt wasn’t that of a girl for her lost mother, but the larger, more encompassing love of a husband who was completely devoted to his wife.
My fingers became suddenly boneless, and I dropped the picture. It fell . . . seemingly both too fast and in slow motion. Down, down, down to the thin throw rug covering the wood floor. The frame hit the carpet and bounced, slamming into the floor with a loud crash. The glass splintered.
I stood there staring, my chest heaving. Frightened yet exhilarated.
“Autumn? You okay?”
I turned to see Tawnia in the doorway, concern on her face.
“Yes, it slipped.”
She rushed in, passing me and picking up the picture. “Not a problem. You join your guests. I’ll throw away the rest of this glass and clean up the shards. We can still set the picture out in just the frame. I’ll get it replaced for you tomorrow.”
“But . . .” The words died on my lips as she left the room with the picture.
I’d wanted to touch it again, to feel the love Winter had for Summer. Even with the all-encompassing ache of missing her, it was the most incredible experience. Almost as though he hadn’t died, or at least a part of him hadn’t.
Or as though, for an instant, I had become him.
“Thank you,” I whispered to the empty room.
My eye caught on the small book of poetry my parents had used to recite their favorite verses while exchanging their vows. Some of the people gathering would remember the ceremony, and would like to hear the poems again. I would. As a girl, I’d had them practically memorized. I lifted the book.
And I was happy. So happy. I stared at Winter, knowing today I would pledge my life to him, knowing my future was safe, our love secure. My eyes met his as I began to recite the poem, the one that explained exactly how I felt about him.
The scene skipped backward to one that had occurred only minutes before the first.
I was the luckiest man in the world, standing with my hand linked to that of the most beautiful woman in the world. Words of a poem slipped through my lips as if I’d written the words myself just for her.
I drew in a swift breath. It was them—Winter and Summer. On the day they’d exchanged their vows. It was as if I were there, seeing an event that had taken place ten years before my adoption. I knew the story by heart, of course. Winter had recited his poem and then Summer had followed. I’d seen it in reverse order, but it was as real as if I’d been standing there.
Carefully, I set the book down and began touching more of Winter’s belongings. His favorite mug, his lamp, his shoes, the piece of pottery I’d made for him in grade school. On everything he’d loved, I felt him. Sometimes faintly, like a whisper, and sometimes it was more of a shout. I looked out from his eyes, reliving his memories. I was overwhelmed with the sense of him until I almost forgot I existed, except as he saw me—his beloved child, the daughter he loved more than life. I remembered events I’d never experienced. I understood things I could not possibly know.
Whatever was going on here, I didn’t question it. I’d felt an invisible cord tying me to Winter and Summer every day of my life—until they died. I’d felt the same tie from the moment I met Tawnia. It was family. Connection. This was like that . . . but stronger.
Tomorrow, I knew we’d drive to the outskirts of town to a plot of earth owned by one of my father’s friends, where we’d bury Winter next to Summer. And then it would be over, and life would return to the closest thing to normal I could find without him. Whatever crazy worlds had aligned to give me this intimate glimpse into Winter’s life, I was grateful.
I was also dead wrong.
Chapter 1
Psychometry. The word sounded like a method for measuring a person’s mind, not a scientific term for reading emotions mysteriously imprinted on random objects. I hadn’t even heard the word until I’d been reading imprints for months. In no way did the term reflect the vivid scenes or raw feelings that often left me dazed or confused.
Neither did it convey the lives I’d saved. Or those I hadn’t.
I hoped today’s imprints would be the saving kind.
My sister, Tawnia Winn, sat on the tall stool behind the long counter at my antiques shop, her swollen belly stretching all the way to the counter. With four weeks left of her pregnancy, I didn’t see how she could grow any larger and not be pregnant with twins, but the doctor had assured her there was only one baby.
“Sophie should be here any minute,” she said. “I called her before I left work, and she was already on her way.”
Traffic was often busy in the Hawthorne District of Portland, Oregon, especially on Fridays, and I knew Tawnia was worried about the possibility of Sophie not arriving before she had to return to work. Since I was the one who had to read the imprints, I wasn’t as anxious.
“What about naming the baby Lark?” I asked, leaning over to move an antique toy soldier closer to its opponent. For the safety of my younger customers, I carried only the plastic kind, not the lead figures. “Or maybe Saffron or Rose?”
Tawnia let out a long-suffering sigh. “How do you know it’s even going to be a girl?” She took a last bite of the sandwich she’d bought on her way to the shop. White bread, mayo, processed turkey with preservatives—I was proud of myself for not mentioning how bad it all was for her.
“How about Sky or Cyan? Those could be for either sex, I think,” I said. Tawnia wanted the baby’s gender to be a surprise, a decision that had both me and her husband, Bret, mad with curiosity. I planned to have the child in my shop a good portion of each day, and I wanted to know if I should focus on buying more soldiers or antique dolls, though when I thought about it, they were actually the same thing.
“I think we need something a little more traditional. You know how my parents are.” Tawnia looked like a model from an expectant mother’s magazine. Her dark brown hair had grown thick and long during the past months, and she had the means to buy the latest maternity wear. Her face was a little bloated, but the added roundness and a good base made her absolutely beautiful.
By contrast, when I looked in the mirror I saw a gaunt copy, a shadow twin, with freckle-blotched skin and chopped hair dyed red on the top, who looked decidedly on the scroungy side in camouflage pants and a T-shirt.
Of course, the adventure that had landed me in the hospital three and a half weeks ago while rescuing two women from a cult masquerading as a commune hadn’t helped, but my broken rib was healing, my cuts were gone, and the bruises faded, except for the narrow green half moon across my left cheekbone. My right wrist gave me problems only when I carried something heavy.
Reading imprints had definitely made my life more interesting, if not exactly safe.
“Look,” Tawnia said, moving from behind the counter, one hand resting on her stomach in the agelong way of expectant women. “If it’s something really terrible, go easy on telling Sophie, okay? It’s hard enough with Dennis gone and having to take care of the children by herself. I don’t know how she’s going to handle bad news.”
She meant, of course, if Sophie’s husband had left of his own free will. “Either way, he’s missing,” I said. “It can’t be good.”
Tawnia frowned. “She’s such a sweet person, you know. I couldn’t ask for a better neighbor.”
Tawnia and Bret had built their new house in a cozy settlement of houses owned by couples who were in the same stage of life—married and having children. Sophie Briggs and Tawnia had taken to each other instantly, and though I really liked Sophie, I missed having Tawnia around as much. At least for now my sister still worked in town and we could have lunch together, so I could make sure she ate decent food for my niece or nephew. Tawnia was the only person I knew who consumed as much as I did, but she tended toward junk food while I was a health nut. It wasn’t really my fault—growing up with hippie parents who owned an herb shop had a tendency to do that to a child.
“How about Sunwood or Gypsy?” I asked, moving my bare feet into a patch of sunlight that came through the window. You’d think the shop would be warm in July, but I felt cold in anticipation of the imprints waiting on whatever Sophie was bringing for me to read.
Tawnia wrinkled her nose at the faint shadow of dirt on the tips of my toes, though they were as easy to wash as her hands, which touched far worse things in the course of a day. Doorknobs, for instance. “Sunwood? You’re joking, right?”
I was, a little. “Okay, how about Tempest, if it’s a boy?”
“With a name like that we’d have nothing but tantrums and rebellion.”
Children did tend to live up to expectations. Tawnia and I had, in our separate adoptive homes. Tawnia had grown up to be an organized, forceful, wildly successful art director, while I had become an herb-loving, shoe-hating free spirit. I loved cooking and was good with a needle; Tawnia burnt everything she cooked and hated sewing. We both were directionally impaired, which was why Bret had finally bought Tawnia a GPS so she would stop getting lost while driving her car.
Strong brown arms came around me at the same instant I perceived Jake’s presence. He turned me around and gave me a kiss that warmed me far better than the sunshine, but I noticed he didn’t hold me too tightly, and his gaze lingered regretfully on my bruised cheek. He thought he’d failed at protecting me, though I was perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Rescuing two women, putting two bad men behind bars, and freeing that tiny community had been worth everything I suffered while undercover at the commune. That and learning Jake loved me.
Tawnia beamed at us as though she was personally responsible for our relationship. Maybe in a way she was. She’d kept throwing us together when I’d given up hope of ever being more than best friends.
“Anyone thirsty?” Jake asked, releasing me. “I have a new tea we need to try before I start selling it.” He held up a hand. “Don’t worry, Tawnia. No caffeine or anything weird. It’s completely safe for little Indigo.”
“Indigo?” Tawnia guffawed. “You’re as bad as Autumn.” Her smile vanished as the electronic bell above my door sounded. “She’s here.” She hurried over to meet Sophie before I could tell her not to look so devastated—she was probably thinking how awful she’d feel if Bret had gone missing. I knew how I’d react if it were Jake.
As though reading my mind, Jake, already a few steps away, glanced at me over his shoulder and winked. “I’ll put the water on and be right back, okay? Don’t start without me.”
Since the commune and a few imprints that had left me barely conscious, he’d been a bit over protective. Something I needed to get him over. After thirty-three years of doing things my way, I wasn’t about to lose my independence, new boyfriend or no.
I rolled my eyes. “I’ll be fine.”
“Whatever.” Jake threw me a grin that melted my resistance. His brown skin emphasized his muscular build, and the short, pencil-sized dreadlocks—or locs, rather—added an air of mystery. He was entirely too handsome, my Jake. A handful of female customers often came to buy something from my shop or his, expressly for the joy of feasting their eyes on him. I didn’t mind as long as he knew he was mine. Though if I were to tell the truth, my relationship with Jake was still so new that I wasn’t comfortable with it yet.
He hurried to the back room that ran the width of my shop, while I turned to face Sophie Briggs. I’d come to know her fairly well in the past month. A wholesome-looking young woman several years younger than I, she was the kind you wouldn’t think twice about leaving your child with—if you had a child, which I didn’t. Average height, a little baby fat around her waist, nothing really to set her off from other housewives who’d recently given birth, except an adorable dimple in her left cheek and a mass of brown hair with natural curl that was carelessly swept up in a clip, the awkwardly straying pieces betraying her state of mind even more than the reddened eyes. Lizbeth, her three-month-old infant, snuggled in a carrier next to her chest, and she pushed her toddler son, Sawyer, in a stroller.
Tawnia placed a hand on her friend’s arm. “How are you holding up?”
“Okay, I guess.” Sophie looked between Tawnia and me as even our closer friends still had a tendency to do, taking in our similarities, especially our eyes. Those didn’t change regardless of weight or hair color.
“Hi, Sophie.” I smiled to put her at ease. I’d shared half a dozen dinners with Sophie and her husband during the past month, but it’s surprising how things like my unusual talent didn’t come up in social situations. If she’d noticed that I avoided touching certain things on the table when we were together, she’d never pointed it out. Tawnia had only told her about my ability this morning.
Sophie came around the stroller and reached for my arm, looking ready to burst into tears. “Can you really help me find Dennis?” The fingers that touched me were cold, and I was glad she didn’t shake my hand or press the ring she wore against my skin. After the past two days of her worrying, the imprints wouldn’t be pleasant. “I don’t know, but I’m willing to try.”
“This isn’t like him. He always comes home. He doesn’t stay after work to play computer games, he doesn’t go to bars, he loves to be with the kids. With me. We planted a garden. We’re going to paint the baby’s room. He wouldn’t leave us.” Her voice broke, and I felt her fear. Though I knew she believed what she was saying, there was always room for doubt.
“Anything missing from his closet?” I asked, more to calm her than anything. That was something Detective Shannon Martin would ask, and it was possible, depending on the imprints I picked up in the next few minutes, that I might have to talk with him about the case. I doubted he’d be pleased to see me, however, and he was definitely not high on my list.
Sophie nodded. “Some shoes, a pair of jeans, T-shirts, and one suit, but he might have been wearing that. His shaving stuff is gone, too. There was a withdrawal from our savings—two thousand dollars.”
Not a good sign. Still, if he’d been planning to leave his wife and children permanently, he would have packed far more.
“Where does he work?” I asked.
“At Simeon, Gideon & Associates. It’s a law firm. He’s their IT guy. He does programming and keeps their network running smoothly.”
“I see.” I really hoped his job didn’t figure into his disappearance, one way or the other. A law firm trying to cover up fraud would be careful to cover their tracks, as would anyone who might have taken him to hack into their system.
“What did you bring for Autumn?” Tawnia asked.
“I wasn’t sure what was best. Everything’s in that bag under the stroller.” She reached toward it, but I waved her back.
“I can get it. I want to say hi to Sawyer any way.” I squatted down beside the stroller to speak to the three-year-old.
“Hi, Autumn.” His brown hair was curly like his mother’s, though better combed, and he was dressed neatly in cargo jeans and a red T-shirt. “I wanna get out.” His tanned skin told of hours playing in the backyard. Obviously, he was the outdoors type and not at all used to being confined.
“Can I play with the toys?” he added, pointing at my soldiers. “I bringed the other ones you gived me.” He dug a chubby hand in his pocket and brought out a blue-clad soldier carrying a rifle. At some point in the toy’s history, someone had severed one of the two places where the rifle connected to the soldier’s hands, and from the moment Sawyer had seen it in a bunch I’d taken for him to play with during a barbeque at Sophie’s house, he’d loved how he could move it back and forth, pretending to shoot. I’d given it to him to keep, along with another soldier mounted on a horse, which he confessed he liked a “tiny bit” more.
“No, Sawyer,” Sophie said. “Just play with those you brought.”
“I don’t mind, if you don’t,” I said, thinking that if Sophie could name her son Sawyer, maybe there was hope Tawnia wouldn’t settle on a boring name for my niece or nephew. “He can’t hurt them.” I kept the most valuable toys in a glass display box.
Sophie eyed the shelf of breakable antiques beyond the soldiers. “Okay, but it’s better that he stay in the stroller.”
When Tawnia’s baby was born, I might have to rethink the placement of a few things.
Tawnia swept up a row of soldiers and deposited them into the boy’s waiting hands. He laughed and promptly began placing them in strategic locations around him.
I retrieved Sophie’s bag from under the stroller. It was one of the reusable grocery bags that were popping up everywhere and heavier than I expected. Gently, I tipped the contents onto the counter. Books, several tools, a letter, a recent family portrait, a tie, a stamp collection, a notebook with baseball cards, a signed baseball packed carefully in a little box, a phone charger, an electronic book reader, and an elaborate pen and pencil set.
“He doesn’t like a lot of extra junk around, you know,” Sophie said. “Not like me. I have a lot of knickknacks and keepsakes, but he doesn’t care about that sort of thing. I got a lot of this stuff from his office, but I’m not sure how he felt about any of it. His keys are gone, and his phone. So is his car. I didn’t know what else to bring.”
“This is a great start.” As usual, I was struck with how little was left behind, a mere hint of who Dennis had been to those who didn’t know him well. “You know what it is I do, don’t you?” I wanted to make sure she wasn’t expecting miracles.
“Tawnia said you could sometimes see scenes or feel emotions left on objects.”
“Not just any object. It has to be something frequently used or treasured by a person, articles that aren’t often washed or forgotten. Or it can be something a person touched while experiencing a great emotion—love, sadness, anger.” Also hate, guilt, terror, jealousy and more. The list was long, but some were better left unsaid.
Sophie frowned. “I don’t know if I brought anything useful.”
“I can always go to your house later. Or to his office.”
“Thank you.” In her chest carrier, Lizbeth was moving restlessly in her sleep, her dark, fuzzy head tilting side to side. Sophie swayed back and forth to soothe the child.
“I’m happy to try to help.” Before beginning, I removed my four antique rings, including a tourmaline and a black-and-white hard-stone cameo. Two of the rings were silver, another a tricolor of elaborately twisted gold, and the cameo was set in rose gold. Each had once belonged to a woman who’d given them comforting imprints, now long faded into a pleasant buzz, a barrier for me against any sudden shocks when I was out and about in the world, which happened more often these days than was comfortable. In the year since my gift had appeared, I’d gone from being open and friendly to everyone, even strangers, to being careful not to touch personal items belonging to anyone.
Jake was usually my official ring-holder, but he was still in the back room making tea, and the anxiety on Sophie’s face nixed any idea of waiting for him.
I needn’t have worried. He was there before I set them on the counter, his warm fingers giving mine a subtle squeeze as he took them from me. I smiled at him, and he winked.
Slowly, I extended my hands over the items. Imprints were there—I could feel them already, but I didn’t know what they would tell me. The moment of truth was here. I let my hands drop.
Sometimes when I did a formal reading like this, I’d flash back to the day my ability first manifested itself. On the day of my adoptive father’s funeral, I’d picked up a picture of my mother that he’d treasured, but instead of seeing her face as I’d always seen it, I was looking at her through Winter’s eyes, experiencing his love for her as his worn finger stroked the lines of her face. Though the imprint was tender, I’d dropped the picture in my shock, shattering the glass. In that moment the photograph, always cherished, became even more treasured.
I touched Dennis’s books first, but they had nothing to tell except a hint of concentration. If Dennis had loved these books, it was not for themselves but for the information he’d long ago internalized. The baseball was different. It held a distinct imprint of love and pride, yet it was an old imprint, one from a young boy. It made me smile.
“What?” Sophie asked, sounding out of breath.
“He really loved this ball—when he was a boy, I mean. He hasn’t left any recent imprints on it.”
The hammer gave me an image of hitting a thumb, the screwdriver a sense of satisfaction. From the letter, I felt a sense of deep love, followed by an image of Sophie’s face. I ran through the rest quickly—the portrait (hint of pride and love), the stamp collection (fading youthful eagerness), and the baseball cards (vague regret). From the phone charger and the electronic book reader there was nothing except a slight annoyance that might have derived completely from my imagination. While reading vivid imprints was similar to experiencing a real event, especially of late, some of the fainter imprints often made me wonder if I was reading my own feelings instead of the owner’s. The pen and pencil set and the tie had no imprint at all, real or imagined.
I shook my head and met Sophie’s eyes. “I’m sorry. There’s nothing here that says he was planning to leave or that he was in trouble.” I motioned to the letter, whose address was facing down on the counter. “That’s from you, isn’t it? He loves you very much. I can feel how much he treasures that letter.”
Tears filled her eyes. “What am I going to do?” She brought a hand to her mouth as if to stop herself from crying out loud.
I put a comforting hand on her shoulder at the same time Tawnia put an arm around her. Sophie blinked rapidly, calming herself, before patting my hand in silent thanks.
My stomach jolted. “Wait,” I said, grabbing her hand. Around her slim wrist was a gold charm bracelet decorated with a variety of interesting charms, including several heart lockets for holding miniature pictures.
“What?” Sophie asked, alarmed.
“There’s an imprint on your bracelet. Can I see it?” Though it had only brushed against me, the imprint had been strong, sending me the image of a suitcase.
Sophie struggled with the clasp, finally allowing Tawnia to undo it for her. Tawnia slid it into my hands.
I saw Dennis on Wednesday, two days earlier, standing before the mirror of the dresser he shared with Sophie. Also reflected in the mirror was a small suitcase with the tags still on it, sitting on the bed. Items had been haphazardly thrown inside without care for organization. The imprint was strong and vivid, pulling me inside until I was looking out of Dennis’s eyes into the mirror.
He/I stared down at his hands at the bracelet, the anniversary gift he’d bought for Sophie. There was a sense of disconnection, a surreal, subdued determination. He/I was leaving. I wanted to leave. Now, before Sophie came home. It was the right thing to do. I reached out to set the bracelet back in the box on the dresser. The image vanished.
There were no more imprints, and there was no use trying again. I never saw any more. Never. Even if I didn’t understand what I saw the first time, or if what I saw wasn’t complete, the images and emotions wouldn’t change. The bracelet slipped through my fingers to the floor before I realized I’d let it go.
Sophie gasped. “What did you see?”
I looked at Tawnia, who watched me with her mismatched eyes, the right eye hazel, and the left one blue. Heterochromia was the medical name, and in our case the condition was hereditary, but we didn’t know from which side of our birth family it had come. She started to shake her head but stopped, knowing that I wouldn’t hide any information from Sophie. She deserved to know.
Jake’s hand went to my waist, his warmth encouraging and comforting all at once. Since the day of Winter’s death, he’d been there for me—no, even before that. First as a friend and now as something more. We’d spent hours together, working and playing. We’d faced danger together more than once, and I trusted him without question.
I found my breath. “I saw a new suitcase with tags attached and things piled inside. He was standing in front of a dresser with a mirror holding that bracelet. It was on Wednesday afternoon.” Pinpointing the exact day was easy this close to the day of imprinting. “I’m sorry, Sophie, but it seems he left of his own will. He thought it was the right thing to do. You weren’t home, were you? He knew that.”
“Then why go out and buy me this bracelet?” She bent down awkwardly to pick it up, the baby in the carrier giving a sleepy grunt of discomfort. “Our anniversary isn’t for two months. He never remembers. I found it this morning before I drove here. That has to mean he left it for me to find. Why would he do that if he wanted to leave me?”
A goodbye gift? I wouldn’t say it aloud.
“I’m sorry,” I repeated. “I know it’s not the full picture of what happened, and I don’t know his reasons, but Dennis bought a suitcase and packed his own bag before he left. He planned it.”
Sophie stared at me, tears leaking from her eyes. “There has to be an explanation. He loves me!”
“I’d be willing to try to find out more.”
“I don’t know. What if . . . what if . . .? What about his job? He loved that. He’d never quit.”
“Have you talked to the police?”
“Yes, but I didn’t get the feeling they thought anything was suspicious. They gave me odd looks. I caught one rolling his eyes and looking at the kids as if they were a disease.”
“We’ll do whatever we can to help,” Tawnia said to her.
Sophie was shaking her head. “No. This was a mistake. I won’t believe it. Not any of it. Dennis loves us!” In two steps she was at the stroller, gathering the toy soldiers from her son and tossing them onto the nearest shelf.
“Wait! Those ones are mine!” Sawyer protested. Sophie gave him back one of the soldiers and then a second one he pointed at before hurrying to the door.
“Sophie, stop!” Tawnia started after her friend. “What about Dennis’s things?”
But Sophie shrugged her off and fled outside. I sighed.
“Not good, huh?” Jake placed a small poetry book in my hands, and joy arched through me as if someone had turned on the light. A man and woman stood together exchanging wedding vows. My adoptive parents, Winter and Summer Rain. My energy level soared. Sometimes Jake knew me so well it was scary.
“It wasn’t a bad imprint. Just vivid. Determined. And sad because he left of his own will.” Though I appreciated Jake’s foresight, I tucked the little book under my arm, keeping my contact as brief as possible. I didn’t want my parents’ imprints to fade under my own. Their imprints on that book and on a few other possessions meant everything to me.
“You ready for tea?” Jake put an arm around me. Yes, it was possible for a man to say those words and still be incredibly attractive, especially when he owned an herb shop. Then again, any man making me something to eat or drink was always sexy.
“I am.” Tawnia moved down the aisle like a woman with a purpose. “But first I have to show you both something. Autumn, I know you’ve never been wrong about an imprint before, but maybe there’s a first time.”
If she’d experienced imprints herself, she wouldn’t suggest such a thing, but I’d hear her out. She was my twin, and I knew she didn’t take my ability lightly.
She reached for her oversized bag on the counter next to the items Sophie had left. “I was so sure you’d find someone had taken him or something. Because what you said doesn’t explain this.” She slapped a sketchbook down on top of Dennis’s books. “If Dennis wanted to leave Sophie, why did I draw this?”
I stared at the paper. My sister also had an unusual ability that we’d only become aware of within the past month. During the problems at the commune, she’d used her talent to help solve the mystery, but since then it had disappeared.
Apparently not for good.
The sketch showed a man in a sedan, fear distorting his handsome features. Behind him were two men in another car, one with his hand out the window firing a gun.
“That’s Dennis,” I said, recognizing the man in the front sedan. “And his car.” Tawnia chewed on her lip. “I don’t know who the other men are, but I was trying to come up with a new billboard for Mr. Lantis today, and this is what came out instead. It’s why I urged Sophie to come here.”
“Did you show her this?”
“No.” Reluctance laced Tawnia’s voice. She still didn’t admit to having an ability, but I’d already seen proof that she could draw things happening miles away, involving people she’d never met.
“So, it’s okay if you have a weird sister, but not if you’re weird yourself.”
“It’s not like that, Autumn. I just—this comes from the pregnancy. I know it. Or something connected to you. It’s not me.”
I sighed. It wasn’t like my sister to hide from the truth. The woman had moved to five different states in ten years searching for something—for me, it turned out—and she still didn’t believe she was special.
“Whatever it is,” Jake interrupted, “this guy needs help now.”
I turned back to study the page, thinking that if Tawnia had drawn the reality of Dennis’s situation, we might already be too late.
Chapter 1
My breath came faster as I stared into the shoe box sitting on the counter at my antiques shop. None of the items inside was exceptionally valuable or remarkable in any way—a kaleidoscope of bric-a-brac and childhood keepsakes that had once made up a young woman’s life.
A missing young woman.
I met Mrs. Fullmer’s swollen, tear-stained eyes, small and brown inside the fine scattering of wrinkles that were evidence of her suffering. Her hands tightly gripped the edges of the box holding her daughter’s possessions, though the box sat on the counter between us and needed no support.
I didn’t want to do this. I didn’t have to. If I refused, Jake would escort the couple quickly outside and make sure they didn’t return. I was very near to fainting as it was, though more with fear of what I would discover than of what the box contained. I’d learned the hard way that some emotions left imprinted on random objects were better off undiscovered.
“You okay, Autumn?” Jake’s voice was both worried and curious. He smiled tentatively, his teeth white against his brown skin.
“I’m fine,” I said.
A soft snort came from Mr. Fullmer. “Maybe we should be going.”
An unbeliever. I didn’t blame him. I hadn’t believed in psychometry myself when the imprints had begun, and I hadn’t told anyone about my strange gift for months after. I’d confessed to Tawnia first, and that my practical sister believed me was a testament to the connection between us—despite our having spent the first thirty-two years of our lives apart.
Jake Ryan was the second person I’d told. Solid, reliable Jake, who was gorgeous despite—or perhaps because of—his chin-length dreadlocks, or locs as he called them. When he was at the counter in my store, women bought more of my antiques just to see him smile or to have an excuse to talk to him. He had increased the sales in the Herb Shoppe considerably since I’d sold Winter’s business to him. Winter Rain, my father.
Silently, I met Mr. Fullmer’s gaze and saw him notice my mismatched eyes, his mouth opening slightly in surprise. People are always surprised when they look at me long enough to actually see my eyes. I didn’t give him credit for seeing, though, as we’d met already once before and because he’d been staring at me for the past five minutes, searching for obvious flaws. He took a step back, which I regarded as defeat.
“If there’s any chance Victoria left a clue,” Mrs. Fullmer said in her breathless voice, “we have to try. She’s been gone for months.”
When no one spoke further, I slowly removed the oversized antique rings from my fingers and handed them to Jake, the comforting, pleasant buzz they gave off ceasing the moment I released them. Wearing them wouldn’t prevent me from reading other imprints, but it would soften them, and I didn’t want that now. I reached for an object. A hairbrush. I held it in one hand, running the fingers of my other hand over the polished length, pushing at the hair-entwined bristles.
A face in a mirror, a narrow, pretty face with long, blond hair. There was a sound at the door and a flash of an angry man staring down at me, words falling from his lips: “You are not going tonight, and that’s final!” The urge to throw the brush at his face, an urge at least nine months old.
I shook my head and set the brush back in the box. I’d recognized the girl as Victoria from the picture they’d shown me and the man as Mr. Fullmer, but the scene hadn’t told me anything except that once last year Victoria had been angry enough to want to throw the hairbrush at her father. She hadn’t done it, though, and the memory was already fading. Mentioning it now wouldn’t help them find her. I moved to the next item, passing purposefully over the new-looking socks and worn swimming suit.
I’d learned by touching everything of Winter’s after his death that distinct feelings or imprints remained intact only on belongings connected with great emotion. Objects a person treasured most or held while experiencing extreme levels of joy, fear, worry, or sadness. Items that weren’t often washed or forgotten.
For Winter that meant the colorful afghan my adoptive mother, Summer, had crocheted, the first vase I’d made on my wheel when I’d gone through my pottery stage, his favorite tea mug with the sad-looking puppy on it, his plain wedding band. And of course, his cherished picture of Summer, the one I’d dropped in shock and surprise on the day of his funeral eleven months ago, causing the glass to shatter. It was the first object that had “spoken” to me.
Other objects gave off a muted sensation, a pleasant low hum, but no clear images or scenes I could relive when the burden of missing Winter became too great. I never found anything among his possessions that contained angry or hateful imprints. He must have long ago come to terms with those feelings. My adoptive father had been an exceptional man.
My hand settled on the journal from the Fullmers’ box, but I could tell right away this hadn’t been a real journal for the missing girl. No emotional imprints, except perhaps the barest hint of old resentment. If she’d written in the book at all, it hadn’t been willingly.
I picked up the prom pictures instead. Victoria was a slim, pretty, vivacious girl, and her date equally attractive, but though he was nice enough, the girl hadn’t been attracted to him. The feeling had been strong enough to leave a faint residue of distaste on the picture when she’d held it in her hands as recently as six months earlier, which would have been mid-December, several weeks before her disappearance. I set it down.
The sea shell hinted at the ebb and swell of the ocean, the girl’s possession of it not long enough or felt deeply enough to make an imprint. An old compact mirror with jeweled insets radiated a soothing tingle. Most of my antiques were like that, the emotions clinging to them soft and old and comfortable. I believe that feeling is why I went into the antiques business. Perhaps the objects had quietly hummed to me all along, though I hadn’t yet understood their language.
Even in the old days there had been attractive items I’d never wanted to bring to my store, and now that I was conscious of my gift, or curse as I sometimes thought of it, I suspected those were the antiques that had fresher, negative imprints, perhaps even violent ones. A cast iron statue at an estate sale last month had flashed a terrifying image of crushing a human skull. No way had I wanted that statue in my shop. I didn’t care that my markup would have been phenomenal.
I let my hand glide over several more objects in the Fullmers’ shoe box, scanning for emotions that might be clues for Victoria’s mother. The letter (contentment long faded), the porcelain figurine of a ballet dancer (sleepy dream of the future), a book of poetry (whisper of an old crush). To tell the truth, I wasn’t positive any of these weak impressions were real or if my mind showed me only what I expected to find. These items had obviously been important to the missing girl at one time, though, or she wouldn’t have kept them all these years.
Not until I reached the black velvet jewelry box did I feel a jolt. My hand closed over it, my palm covering the small object completely. Even through the box, the emotion was strong—too strong to come from even my active imagination.
“What is it?” Mrs. Fullmer asked. “That’s my daughter’s—”
She was hushed by her husband, who probably thought I would make something out of whatever information she might let slip. But I didn’t need anything from the mother to tell me the girl had loved whatever was inside.
I opened the box and took out a gold chain with two intertwining heart-shaped pendants, one studded with diamonds. A beautiful piece, one that would never be outdated, and expensive enough to be out of reach for most young girls in their first year of college. I knew Victoria had loved the necklace because it had been her grandparents’ high school graduation gift to her mother and then her mother’s to her. Yet the overall feeling emanating from the piece was not love but guilt, one emotion overlying the other.
I gently rubbed the hearts between my fingers, my eyes closed. Jewelry often retained the best imprints, which was why I’d saved the velvet box for last. “She wants to take it with her,” I said aloud, “but everything she has will become theirs, and she knows it’s not right to give them her mother’s necklace. It should stay in the family. She thinks you will give it to Stacey when she’s gone.”
I very clearly felt Victoria replacing the necklace with a sigh. She hadn’t wanted to pass it to her younger sister, and that’s where the guilt came in. She’d wished there was a way to follow her dream and keep both her family and her necklace. With the guilt came several earlier flashes of memory, rushing like water through my hands to my brain.
A college campus, a park, a man dressed in a flowing, button-down shirt with a wide, pointed collar and elaborate cuffs turned upward, the tails of the shirt untucked. He had kind eyes and longish black hair, and he was surrounded by younger people wearing white T-shirts.
“Yes, I’m going with you,” I said to him, my hand going to the pendant at my throat. “But first I have to go home. There’s something I have to do.”
When I opened my eyes, everyone was staring at me. “She left on her own,” I said. “Or at least she was planning to leave with a man in an old-fashioned white shirt. He had blue eyes, black hair down to his collar, a short beard. She wasn’t the only one to go with him. Did you ever see her wear a white T-shirt with blue lettering that says ‘Only Love Can Overcome Hate’?”
Mr. Fullmer paled noticeably, but Mrs. Fullmer was nodding. “She had one.”
“A cult then,” Mr. Fullmer sputtered. “That’s what you’re saying.”
I shrugged. “Maybe a commune.”
“Same difference,” Mr. Fullmer said.
“I can’t say for sure. I do know that she believed anything she took with her wouldn’t be hers anymore. She wished she didn’t have to choose between them and you.” Almost as an afterthought, I added, “They were selling Christmas cakes at a park. Near a university, I think. That was when she met them.”
“She came home early on break,” Mrs. Fullmer whispered. “She’d been having a hard time, but we didn’t know until later that she missed all her final exams. She never registered for the next semester.”
That explained the despair Victoria had left imprinted on the necklace. “She was more hopeful when she met them,” I said, meaning it as a comfort.
“It’s not only the colleges these people have targeted,” Jake said into the awkward silence that followed my statement. “I’ve seen a similar group here down by the river, selling things to the crowds who come to watch the bridge reconstruction. In fact, they’ve been there almost every time I’ve driven by the past few weeks.”
“Stupid child.” Mr. Fullmer’s gruff voice was tinged with pain. “She should know better than to talk to crazies.”
“She could be in danger,” Mrs. Fullmer protested. “She’s too young to know better.”
I didn’t respond. I didn’t need to. There was nothing more I could give them. I stood back from the counter and waited for them to leave.
Jake handed me my rings. As I slid them on, his warm hand touched the middle of my back, and I was grateful for the support. Last September I’d begun entertaining the thought that we could be more than friends, but our relationship remained mostly linked to business. I didn’t mind too much. After my sister, he was my best friend, and since Tawnia had married and was now expecting her first child, her attention was divided. At this point I needed Jake’s friendship more than I needed romance.
The Fullmers left, walking together slowly. Mr. Fullmer, his back rigid in his dark suit, carried the box of his daughter’s belongings. His sandy hair was thinning in the back. Jake had a natural remedy that would halt the hair loss, but that wasn’t why he’d come, so I remained silent. Next to him, Mrs. Fullmer looked shrunken, her shoulders hunched forward, her blond head bowed. She clung to her husband’s arm, staggering more than walking. Below her dress I could see a run in the back of her nylons.
Before she reached the door, she paused, stepped away from her husband, and retraced her slow steps to the desk. “Thank you,” she whispered. She looked around somewhat frantically before her hand shot out to grab the Chinese thirteenth-century Jun Yao vase that sat in glory next to the cash register. It was wider than it was tall, a dark, glossy red piece with bright blue highlights. The sale price was seven hundred dollars and a steal at that because it was in extremely good condition. I’d found it in a basement in Kansas when I’d sheltered with some people during a tornado.
“I want to buy this,” Mrs. Fullmer said.
I arched a brow. I didn’t think she really wanted the vase, but business had been slow, and I wasn’t going to turn her down. I took it from her, enjoying the pleasant tingle of the thoughts that surrounded the piece. Not an image I could see but nice and comforting. At least one person who’d owned this vase had cared for it lovingly and had lived a life of quiet contentment. I wrapped the vase as Jake rang up the sale. Mr. Fullmer waited by the door, impassiveness and impatience alternately crossing his stern features.
As I passed the bag with the vase to Mrs. Fullmer, she caught my hand and pressed something into it: the velvet box with the necklace. “Keep it for a little while. Maybe there’s something more.”
I shook my head. “There’s never anything more. I’m sorry.” The last words felt ripped from me, not because I didn’t mean them, but because I knew they wouldn’t help her suffering.
She made no move to take back the box. “Please.”
I nodded, sighing internally. Keeping it gave her false hope, and I didn’t want that, but I wasn’t strong enough to refuse.
She smiled. “Thank you for the vase.” She turned and joined her husband.
I didn’t feel guilty about the vase because they could obviously afford it, but I did feel bad that she might think buying it could help me see something more.
“That was nice of her,” Jake said.
“Nice?”
“Buying the vase. I told her when she called that you didn’t accept money, but I did suggest that she might want an antique for her house. This way you earn something for your trouble. That’s important, especially if it makes it so you can’t work the rest of the day.”
As he spoke, he was pushing me onto the tall stool I kept at the counter. Then he disappeared into the back room and returned with a small book of poetry that my parents had written for each other for their wedding. I took it willingly, grateful for the positive emotions that flowed into me. Touching it, I could see them as they held the book in turn and exchanged their flower-child vows in the forest, Summer with a ring of flowers on her head and Winter with his prematurely white hair in a long braid down his back. Though this session hadn’t been all that draining, I felt full of life as I witnessed their silent, love-filled exchange. I hoped these feelings would never fade from the pages. Almost, it was like having them with me again.
I kept the book at the store because not all imprints were as easy to stomach as Victoria Fullmer’s. Last month I’d been asked to touch the bicycle of a ten-year-old girl named Alice, who had vanished while riding her new birthday present. At first there had been only elation at her new toy—until the dark-haired man had stood in her path and torn her from the bicycle. I’d fainted with her fear. Later my description of the man had allowed the police to make an arrest and had eventually led them to little Alice. Too late. The memory still haunted me sometimes when I was alone. I’d had to sleep with my parents’ book for a week—and the picture of Summer as well. I tried not to do that often, afraid my parents’ imprints would be overwritten by my own.
Jangling bells told us someone had entered the Herb Shoppe next door. Jake looked at me. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine. Go ahead.”
He walked around the counter and sprinted to the double doors that joined the two stores. My father had put in those doors back when Jake had worked for both of us. Jake and I still helped each other out, using a networked computer program to keep track of sales so we could ring people up at either counter. We also shared two part-time employees, Thera Brinker, who worked early afternoons and Saturdays, and Jake’s sister, Randa, who came after school and during special weekend sales events. Thera mostly worked for me and Randa for Jake, but they crossed over when either store had a rush of customers. It worked for all of us.
“Jake,” I called. Too late, I thought, because he had disappeared, but his dark head popped back in. “I’m going for a walk, okay?”
“No problem. I’ll keep an eye on things until Thera gets in.”
I knew he would, but to make it easier for him, I locked my outside door on the way out, flipping over the sign that told people to use the Herb Shoppe entrance. That way Jake would be aware of any customers coming to browse my antiques, and they’d have to pass by him to leave. Only a few pieces in my inventory were really expensive, but all together, my inventory added up to my entire future.
The cement felt warm against my bare feet, and I relished the sensation. In my late teens, the only time I’d gone through a shoe phase, my back had ached constantly, and once I’d spent a month in traction because of the pain, so for me it didn’t make sense to continue wearing shoes. But then, I liked the feel of the earth under me—or as close as I could get in this cement jungle. There was a better connection with nature that way.
Thankfully, not wearing shoes wasn’t against the law, not even while driving, and there were no government health ordinances banning bare feet in public buildings. Only the few years I’d gone to school as a child had I been given any grief about my choice, when each October the principal would threaten to call child services until I brought shoes to school and kept them under my desk. My parents, who I’d called by their first names, had always taught me to celebrate my differences, so Summer would have been happier teaching me at home, rather than see me conform, but I’d wanted the public school experience. Yet I was always glad I had stayed with her that last year, when I was eleven, the year she’d died of breast cancer.
My hand grazed the box in my pants pocket. I felt not the velvet but a flash of emotion. Victoria had loved this necklace, and she’d loved her family. Yet she’d chosen to leave them. A well of bitterness came to my heart. I’d give anything to have Summer and Winter alive and in my life. I could no sooner have left them than I could have cut off my own arm.
What had possessed her? Was there more to her family than I’d seen? Had her father’s anger driven her to seek people who might love her unconditionally?
It’s none of my business, I thought. My part was over. They knew she’d left of her own will, and they knew where to begin looking. I’d even been compensated for my trouble. In a few days, I’d mail Mrs. Fullmer the necklace so she could eventually give it to her other daughter.
Decision made, I focused on my surroundings. I’d walked long and far, or what most people would consider far these days, and my bare feet had taken a path I should have anticipated, given my reading for the Fullmers and what Jake had said about the group he’d seen.
I’d ended up near the Willamette River, downstream from the Hawthorne Bridge, where the bombing had taken place and where Winter had died. We’d been on the bridge in my car when the explosion collapsed the structure. I had come up from the cold, heavy depths, and he hadn’t. Thirty others had also lost their lives in the bombing, and though those responsible had been punished, the holes in the lives of those left by the dead weren’t easily filled.
I hadn’t been this close to the river since Winter had been found a week after the bombing, and it was strange to see the rebuilding in reality instead of on television. The construction area was fenced off, so I couldn’t go all the way to the riverbank, but I could see the bridge had come a long way in the past six months. The promise to have the bridge ready for traffic in less than three years would probably be kept. Not that I’d ever had any doubts. My brother-in-law, Bret Winn, was the director of the project, and he was conservative in his estimates. In fact, he was conservative in almost everything—that was part of what my sister loved about him.
My tumbling thoughts halted abruptly as I caught sight of a man wearing coarse brown pants and an old-fashioned white shirt that looked all too familiar, though he wasn’t the man from Victoria’s imprint. He stood in front of the high chain-link fence surrounding the construction site, handing out flyers with his companions—young people of all sizes and shapes. All of them carried baskets and were wearing royal blue T-shirts with white lettering that proclaimed Love Is the Only Thing That Matters.
Jake had been right about the group coming to the river, though why I had felt compelled to track them down was another matter altogether. Victoria’s college wasn’t far away, but that didn’t mean this group was connected with her disappearance.
Or maybe they were. How many groups like this could there be in the same town?
I moved toward them purposefully. Questions might not get me very far, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t find a stray imprint or two. If they were hiding something I was going to find out what.
CHAPTER
1
The first day of her new life was hotter and more humid than Tawnia McKnight had believed possible. The sweltering heat blasted inside her green Pontiac Grand Prix as she peered through the open window at Portland in the distance, the city rising high above the traffic. One of the ten Willamette River bridges was in sight, and she was as impressed as the first time she had visited the city with Bret, even though he wasn’t around to point out the unique structural features.
Thoughts of Bret came naturally since they had come here together last year—five months after the funeral in Nevada. She’d felt the pull of the city on her then and knew it was only a matter of time until she had to answer its call. The same thing had happened when she’d moved from Kansas to Colorado and from there to Utah and on to Nevada. Ten years and five different states. Her parents, who had particularly hated this last move to Oregon, alternately blamed her restlessness on a desire to annoy them and a fear of commitment.
She knew her decision to move again wasn’t a fear of commitment. She would have committed with Bret.
Maybe.
There had come a time when she had not seen Bret’s resemblance to Christian every time she looked into his face, but Bret could not seem to forget that she had been the last one to see his brother alive. The one who cradled him at the base of the tree as they waited for the ambulance.
Annoying her parents was not high on her list, either. They had been good to her over the years, if smothering and strict. She knew they wanted the best for her. As an only child, and adopted at that, she had felt a lot of pressure to succeed. So she had. She had landed that coveted art director position at an advertising firm in Nevada, and now she would be a creative director here in Portland. A nice career move.
Yet she still couldn’t say why she’d felt so compelled to move to Portland or how long she might stay. What magic did the city hold?
Or secrets.
Why had her mother cried when she’d mentioned Portland?
Giving one last frustrated thump to the buttons on her broken air conditioner, Tawnia laid her MapQuest directions on the passenger seat and edged back into the thick traffic. Just her luck to be arriving at what appeared to be the busiest time of the afternoon. After driving a good part of the past two days in the heat, with the wind and her shoulder-length hair beating at her face, she was feeling more than a little irritated. According to her new landlady’s instructions, she had to find the Hawthorne Bridge. Then she would be in a perfect position to stop by her new job before heading to her rented bungalow.
“Where are you?” she muttered aloud. There was a bridge ahead, but it didn’t look like the one she’d seen on the Internet. About the right length but not the right shape.
A car behind her honked. “All right, already. I’m going.”
She was on the bridge now, and there wasn’t any choice. She thought she caught a glimpse of the right bridge in the distance, but it was impossible to be sure. A glare came off the water, punishing her tired eyes.
At least it’s green here, she thought. Nevada had its own austere beauty, of course, but it wasn’t the green Kansas where she’d grown up. Portland seemed more lush than both of them.
She turned left off the bridge and looked for a place to pull over and study the map. “Come on, people,” she fumed. “I’m going the wrong way. I think.”
At last she spied a place to pull out of traffic. “There we are.” As she rolled to a stop, there was a deafening burst of sound, almost like an explosion. Her car began shaking and a horrendous, grating noise filled the air. Metal grinding against metal, a long, drawn-out sound.
“Not now,” she moaned. Up until this trip her Pontiac had always been reliable, but first the air conditioning had gone and now this. Maybe she’d been wrong about Portland being the place for her. How could it be right if getting there was so hard? It wouldn’t be the first time she’d been mistaken. Nevada had ended up being awful.
Yet would she have given up knowing Christian and Bret?
The grinding noise was louder now, but the car was stopped, so it wasn’t coming from the car at all. And a good thing, because the battery on her cell phone was completely run down. Around her, other drivers were slowing, puzzlement on their faces, but almost immediately the cacophony faded. In its place a huge plume of smoke rose into the air several streets behind her and to the right. With the absence of the grating noise, the simple rumble of the traffic seemed muted.
“What on earth?” She craned her neck to get a better view, but there were too many buildings in the way to get an idea of what might have happened.
With a loud screech, a car on the highway came to an abrupt stop in the road near where Tawnia was parked, narrowly missing being hit by the person behind him. Too many drivers gawking. Horns blared impatiently, and slowly the traffic moved on.
Sounded like a building collapsing, Tawnia thought. She’d seen a real building purposely demolished on television once. The newscaster reported that dust had radiated for miles.
The dust from this event was quickly dispersing, though the cloud was still noticeable over the city. Fortunately, traffic was picking up as though nothing had happened.
Forcing her mind back to the problem at hand, Tawnia studied her MapQuest directions, comparing them with her car map. Somehow she’d actually managed to pass the Hawthorne District, so she was closer to her new bungalow north of Burnside instead of her future place of employment.
It’s just as well, she thought. She was arriving in the city later than she’d hoped, and if she didn’t find the rental house soon, her new landlady might wonder if she’d changed her mind. Besides, she was sweat-soaked and exhausted from her drive, and she didn’t want to run into any future coworkers looking like this. She wasn’t due in to work until Monday, anyway, so she had two and a half days to find her bearings. After a good shower and a call to an auto repair shop, of course.
With a long sigh, she pulled into traffic just as the wail of an ambulance siren cut through the air. She glanced in the rearview mirror where the plume of dust had become a silty sheen poised above the buildings.
Someone must have gotten too close, she thought. Probably caused a pile-up. I hope everyone is okay.
Shakily, she drove to her rented bungalow, making only three more wrong turns in the process. She was directionally impaired, or so Bret had joked. Her father said she became lost on purpose on a subconscious level, a helpless act that was actually a bid for power over the male species.
Right, Dad.
Glad he wasn’t around to see her now, she raked her fingers through her lank hair, wishing she had an elastic band handy. The medium brown color was dull with dirt from the beating it had taken from the air coming through the open window. She looked decidedly worn. Worse, the contact in her left eye felt gritty. Oh, well.
Slipping from the Pontiac, she started up the walk, comparing once more the number on the bungalow to the paper in her hands. This was it. But where was the landlady? She’d said something about doing yard work that morning. If she wasn’t still around, Tawnia would have to drive to another address to get the keys.
What a day.
The bungalow was one in a row of close-set houses, similar in size, with sloping roofs and front porches running across the narrow fronts. Hers had a tiny, immaculate yard, with a line of bushes growing up against the red brick porch. Potted plants lined the porch wall, and a lounge chair and a rocking chair took up most of the available porch space. The front of the house was white siding, framed by more of the red brick, giving it a quaint appearance. A gable jutted from the middle of the roof, but it covered a disguised attic vent instead of a real window. A tiny strip of grass separated the houses.
“Cozy,” she murmured, pleased with her choice. If the inside was half this neat, she would love living here. Even the street exuded a sense of peace. Maybe she’d finally discover what she was searching for. She took the three steps in two leaps and rang the doorbell.
No answer. Instinctively her hand went to the knob to test it—after all, she’d paid her deposit and first month’s rent. As her hand brushed the metal, the knob turned and the door flung open.
A robust woman with a flushed face, an anxious smile, and short, tightly curled, dishwater hair stood in the doorway, impressive in her purple muu-muu. She wore bright, matching eyeshadow and a thick layer of face makeup. Her mascara was apparently bought in bulk.
“I thought I heard someone coming up the walk,” she said.
“Are you Mrs. Gerbert?”
“That’s me. And you must be Tawnia.” Her gaze ran quickly over Tawnia’s cropped jeans and fitted T-shirt. “You’re much younger than I imagined. You said thirty-two, right? But never mind all that. Thank heaven you’re here!” With a sigh, the woman pulled her into a rather exuberant embrace.
Tawnia tried not to stiffen, though the last thing she wanted was a hug from Mrs. Gerbert or any other stranger. Her family had never been demonstrative, and she had to work hard not to put people off with her craving for space. But even for friendly people this display seemed over the top. What had she gotten herself into? Mrs. Gerbert had sounded normal enough on the phone.
Mrs. Gerbert pulled away, dabbing at the sudden tears under her eyes. “Oh, I’ve embarrassed you, haven’t I? I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve been so worried since I heard the news about the collapse. After all, I told you to come by way of the Hawthorne Bridge, and when you were late . . . Oh, I’d never have forgiven myself if something had happened to you!”
Tawnia stared at her. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, my! You mean you haven’t heard?” Mrs. Gerbert’s hand went to her heart.
“No.”
“Come on in,” the woman grabbed her arm with strong fingers, tugging Tawnia through the door and into the living room of the bungalow. “It’s on TV right now. I was straightening the house and watching the news. You know, waiting for you, and then it happened. Oh, I can’t believe it! They’re still pulling bodies from the water. They have all kinds of boats out looking for people. So many cars simply sank! And the people on the walkways fell with no protection from the debris.” She closed her eyes as though to shut out the horror her words conveyed.
Tawnia dragged her gaze from Mrs. Gerbert’s tortured expression and stared at the images on the television. One moment there was the Hawthorne Bridge, the bridge she had seen on the Internet, and in the next camera shot most of the bridge was missing. Some distance away from the damage, a large boat floated sideways, the top completely shorn off. The dark surface of the water was covered with debris, including a bicycle helmet, a coat, and a plastic bag. People were in the water too, some waving their arms, others swimming. A woman was floating on her back with a baby on her stomach. Tawnia couldn’t tell if the child was moving and was relieved to see a boat approaching her.
A man appeared on the screen, a grave expression on his face. “As you see, rescue efforts continue, and more and more people are being plucked out of the water. Still no word on just how this happened, but for some reason either the lift did not go up or the boat you see here was not in the correct position to pass under it. Whatever the case, this boat hit the bridge, setting off this terrible devastation. Five of the six spans have collapsed, including the span with the vertical lift. For some time after the initial collapse, part of the lift with the cabin and controls remained attached on the one side, but it eventually sheared off and fell into the water. We’ve confirmed that the bridge operator was able to climb to safety before that happened, but we’ve had unconfirmed reports of more than a dozen fatalities already—and there are sure to be others trapped in their cars under the water. This is a sad, sad day for Portland, and it’s hard to know what to say.”
He shook his head and brought a hand briefly to his left eye as he struggled to keep his emotion in check. “Police are saying—as I’ve stated several times already—that people should not go down to the waterfront unless they are uniquely qualified to help. The rescue personnel need space, and the crowd down there is threatening to hinder rescue efforts. So stay home, please. We’ll do our best to keep you informed. We hear police have located a security video of the crash, and we hope to have access to that soon. Meanwhile, we’re going to our reporter live at the scene. Julie, what can you tell us?”
A woman with short blond hair appeared on the screen. “Well, Daniel, it’s an unreal scene we have before us. People swimming to shore; others going out and trying to save them. People walking around with dazed expressions. Many are wounded. Surprisingly, there has been little screaming and shouting here, just a determination to do everything possible to save as many as we can. Divers are here now, and hopefully they will be able to help those who may be stuck underneath the water.” She shook her head. “But it doesn’t look promising. That bridge is very heavy, and so are the cars. I fear this is going to be far more serious than any of us imagine.”
“Have you managed to talk to any of the victims?”
“Yes, we have a couple right here. Tom and Angie Stewart. They were the first ones out of the water and have stayed to help others.” She turned to a middle-aged couple beside her. “What can you tell us about the accident?”
“It happened without any warning,” the woman said. She had a blanket around her shoulders, and mascara ran down her face. “One moment we were driving, and the next, we were falling toward the water. The car ahead of us—it was crushed by the bridge. I know there was a child in the car. I—” She started crying, and her husband put a comforting arm around her.
“I opened the door and we got out,” he continued. “Started swimming. A man came by in a boat and helped us.”
Tawnia felt a numbness spread through her heart. She had to get down to the waterfront! Now. She was halfway to the door when Mrs. Gerbert’s voice brought her back to her senses.
“Thank heaven you weren’t on the bridge.”
Tawnia turned. What had she been thinking? Hadn’t the man on television told people to stay home? It wasn’t as though anyone she knew had been on that bridge.
“I think I turned off too late. I went over another bridge—I never could follow directions very well. But I heard the sound. I saw the dust.”
Mrs. Gerbert’s round face wrinkled with concern. “I’m so sorry. What a terrible welcome for you. But what’s important is that you’re safe.” She glanced back toward the television. “My daughter is a real estate agent. Goes across that bridge four or more times a day. She’s also safe, thank heaven. I couldn’t call her—the cell phone lines all seem to be busy—but I know she had homes to show up north today. It’s a terrible, terrible tragedy. But thankfully, those we know are all right.”
Tawnia nodded as her eyes fixed once more on the television. By whatever fates were in control, she had taken another route and was safe. Why then did she feel as if someone close to her had died?
“Tawnia!” shouted Christian from the tree. “Come on up!”
“Be careful!”
“There’s a squirrel up here. He’s jumping from limb to limb. I have to get a picture of this.”
“It’s really high.” Tawnia started to climb the tree. Her parents had never approved of tree climbing, but she had the right build for it, and physical activities always came to her easily. “I’m coming.” A tremor of fear went through her heart as a small branch plunged past her, nearly hitting her cheek.
“Sorry!” Christian shouted. “I needed a place to put my camera. Didn’t mean to let that fall.”
“I’m okay.”
“Good, because I’m hoping for a kiss at the end of this date!”
She smiled. Maybe he’d get one. He seemed to be a nice guy, not the player some of her coworkers claimed he was.
Silence came from above as he snapped pictures. She was halfway up the tree now and having second thoughts. It was so high. Certainly not something she would ordinarily do in her right mind. But Christian’s exuberance and vitality had a way of rubbing off on people. When she’d been moved to his group at work, she immediately recognized how opposite they were. Yet he brought out who she wanted to be. Or maybe who she would have been in another life, raised by different parents.
Maybe if she’d been raised by her birth mother.
Or if she’d had a sibling, and her parents hadn’t been so careful with her.
Not that the person she was wasn’t enough. It was. She was proud of everything she’d accomplished.
There was a brief shout of surprise, and then something else was falling toward her. Something large. Too far away to be a danger to her. Her heart started pounding, recognizing the situation before her mind could fully comprehend.
“Christian!” she screamed.
In panic, she half-climbed, half-slid down the tree, tears wetting her cheeks, unmindful of the bark and bits of tree that dug into her skin. “Christian!” she called over and over. “Are you okay? Talk to me!”
She fell the last several feet, and the breath whooshed out of her. She crawled to where her friend was lying on his back.
“Christian?” His eyes were closed, but he was breathing.
She reached for her cell phone but remembered she’d left it home. His phone was in his back pocket, and she carefully slid her hand under him to get it so as not to move him more than necessary.
No service.
She knelt by his inert body. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to get help.”
He gave a weak moan, his eyes fluttering once.
“You hang on!” With a cry, she leapt to her feet and ran down the path. It was a mile before she found anyone—a group of hikers who had a working phone. They called for help while she ran back to Christian. She held his hand as they waited for the rescue workers. But Christian died later that day during surgery at the hospital.
The first time she’d met Bret, she’d had to tell him how his brother died.
Tawnia remembered how she’d felt then.
It was how she felt now.
Bret Winn wondered what Tawnia was doing at that moment. She’d probably already arrived in Portland by now, perhaps even days ago. Would she visit the restaurant he’d taken her to last year? Or dance in the club where he’d begun to think they might be falling in love?
Not that it was any of his business. Not anymore. But he wished her a good life.
Opening the drawer of his desk, he brought out the strip of pictures he and Tawnia had taken in a booth together one day at the mall. They were sticking out their tongues at the camera, rolling their eyes, and pulling each other’s hair. He smiled. The memories were good. It surprised him how good.
Sighing, he shut the photos back inside, focusing again on his work.
“Come quick!” His coworker John Thompkins came into Bret’s office at a run. “You have to see this.”
Bret reluctantly tore his eyes away from the calculations on his computer screen. “Now? I’m busy.” He didn’t try to keep the annoyance from his voice. Bret didn’t enjoy the pranks or humorous Internet sites that seemed to be the base of John’s existence.
“The Hawthorne Bridge in Portland has just collapsed,” John blurted. “Or most of it. People are in the water. A dozen dead already.”
Bret sprinted down the hall to the breakroom, where half a dozen engineers were gathered around the wide-screen television. They stared in horrified fascination as the camera showed the rescue efforts.
The Hawthorne Bridge demolished! The oldest vertical lift bridge in operation in the United States had been his favorite of all the overwater bridges he’d seen in Portland. That it was gone in what appeared to be a matter of seconds, according to witnesses, was impossible to believe. The nightmare of every engineer who had ever designed a bridge.
“There’ll be an inquiry,” someone commented. “Wonder if they’ll call here.” Bret didn’t take his eyes from the screen to see who spoke, but he could feel eyes on him. He’d been on the committee of independent engineers who reviewed the tragic bridge disaster in Minneapolis some time back, volunteering for the job when no one else had wanted it and even becoming spokesman for the group. The experience had been both horrifying and educational.
“You’ve been to see that bridge, haven’t you?” John asked Bret.
Bret nodded. He’d seen every overwater bridge of importance in the United States and many out of the country. Overwater bridges were a particular hobby for him, which was ironic because he worked in Nevada where most bridges were nowhere near water. But working here did have advantages. Nevada had one of the best reputations for safe bridge operation.
Bret watched with the others for thirty minutes before a thought came to him: Tawnia is in Portland. Had she been near the bridge?
Worry ate at his insides. No, she couldn’t have been. This time of day, when many would be on their way home from work, she would likely still be at the office. Like him, she was serious about her job, and because hers was a new one, she’d be even more inclined to work overtime.
Unless her job hadn’t started yet. He tried to remember the details of their last conversation, but all he remembered was the sinking feeling and the realization that this was goodbye for good.
He had to know. He reached for his phone and dialed, but her voice mail picked up immediately.
There, she must be on the phone. Safe.
Unless the phone was in the water.
Bret was beginning to feel a little idiotic. Tawnia was out of his life, and he shouldn’t be worrying about her. The likelihood that she’d been on the bridge when it collapsed was almost nil.
“Bret, can I see you for a moment?”
Bret tore his gaze away from the television to see his boss, James Griffin, motioning to him. “What’s up?” Bret asked as he reached Griffin’s side.
“You know a man named Clyde Hanks?”
“Sounds familiar.” Bret shrugged. “Can’t place it, though.”
“He’s the manager of the Bridge Section at Multnomah County.”
Which meant, of course, that Clyde Hanks was the man responsible for the maintenance—and therefore the collapse—of the Hawthorne Bridge.
Bret nodded. “That’s right. I met him last year. Nice guy.” He and Tawnia had shared a lively conversation with Hanks about overwater bridges and the collapse in Minneapolis. Yet despite Hanks’s knowledge on the fascinating topic, Tawnia had captured most of Bret’s attention that day.
I miss her, he thought.
The realization didn’t change the facts of their relationship, but it did make the situation more sorrowful. Somewhere out there, Tawnia was living her life without him. The way it had to be.
“I just got off the phone with Hanks,” Griffin was saying, bringing Bret’s thoughts back to the present. “Come into my office. We need to talk.”
1
Inviting Vaughn Abrams to the wedding probably wasn’t one of Saffron Brenwood’s best ideas. He’d been looking at her with that expression all evening, the one that hinted at an impending conversation about their future, a conversation she knew she wouldn’t enjoy. She hoped it was only her imagination because he was a lot of fun, and everyone said they made a striking couple with their fair skin and matching blond hair. Breaking up with him would be harder than it had been with most of her boyfriends.
She sat at the bridesmaids table with two of her foster sisters, Halla and Elsie, their dates having gone for drinks. Saffron’s feet were a little sore from dancing, and the floor was a bit too crowded now for real fun, but she’d get in a few more songs before the night was over.
“So,” Halla said to Saffron, “how long have you been dating Vaughn?” Halla’s blue eyes looked huge and eager in her narrow face.
Saffron lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Three months.”
Halla gaped. “That’s got to be some kind of record, right?”
“Maybe.” It was exactly a month longer than Saffron had dated anyone in over eight and a half years since leaving her parents’ home. She’d known Vaughn for a year before they started dating, though, and that was also different and maybe why he’d lasted so long. It helped that they shared a lot of the same interests, like hiking, river rafting, visiting second-hand stores, and hanging out with her foster sisters.
“Does this mean . . .” Elsie began, pushing back a dark lock that had escaped her carefully upswept hairdo.
Saffron glanced over to where Vaughn stood in line at the bar, getting drinks with Elsie’s date. He met her gaze at that moment and shot her a smile before turning back to his conversation.
“Of course not,” Halla answered for Saffron. “I knew the minute they started dating that he wouldn’t last. Just like all the others. It’s too bad, though. I like him.”
Something inside Saffron’s chest shifted, but she forced a convincing smile. “You do know me.” Even back when they had all still lived at Lily’s House as foster sisters, Saffron had been changing boyfriends as often as she bought a new pair of jeans.
“Oh, man,” Elsie said. “I really thought this one would stick.”
Halla gave an unladylike snort, which seemed out of place with the elegant blue bridesmaid dresses they were wearing. “Not a chance.”
Saffron looked away from the table to the dance floor, where two more of their foster sisters, Ruth and Bianca, were dancing with their fiancés. She suddenly wished she were with them, sore feet or no. Zoey and her new husband, Declan, were also dancing, staring into each other’s eyes as if no one else existed. Saffron was happy for them, but why did seeing them that way suddenly make her feel alone?
“Oh, no,” Halla moaned, bringing Saffron’s attention back to the table. “He got the wrong drink. Again.”
Saffron’s gaze shifted to Halla’s tall, too-thin date, who was approaching the table. Halla was a good two feet shorter than he was, even in heels and with her short hair spiked an inch. The difference had made dancing all night a challenge, but the real problem for Halla was his lack of memory. He’d left for drinks long before the other men, but Halla had already sent him back once.
“I’d better go with him this time, even if that line is long. It’s better than trying to dance.” She rolled her eyes and jumped up to meet him, striding as if she were wearing her normal camouflage pants and boots instead of a bridesmaid’s dress and heels. There had been some doubt that she’d wear the dress at all. But Zoey was the first of the original six Lily’s House foster girls to be married, and they were sisters at heart, if not by blood, and not even Halla could let Zoey down.
“So are you going to break up with him?” Elsie asked, bringing Saffron’s attention back to her. “I hope not. You seem so happy lately, and you deserve to be happy.”
Saffron’s smile came easier this time. “There’s really nothing to break up. We’re just dating. Besides, I have time. I’m only twenty-five.”
Elsie nodded and kindly didn’t point out that Zoey was younger than she was, and so were Ruth and Bianca, who had both become engaged this week. But Saffron saw the thoughts in her face and put her hand over Elsie’s where it lay on the table. At nineteen, Elsie was the youngest and most romantic of the six sisters. “Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.”
“But why?” Elsie asked. “What happened to you before you came to live with Lily? You never talk about it. Is that why you always dump even the good guys?”
For an instant, Saffron couldn’t breathe. Pressure started in her chest, splitting into a deep chasm of nothingness. Only Lily knew the secret of her past. Saffron had been the first underage girl Lily had helped after finding her passed out on a bench, and by the time Lily had taken in the other girls, Saffron had become good at denial. Lily had saved her life, and Saffron had gone on from her mistakes, but in some very real ways, Saffron felt as if her life hadn’t moved on since that day, as if her emotions were forever frozen by what had happened to bring her to that point.
“I’m sorry,” Elsie said. “You don’t have to tell me.”
Movements in Saffron’s peripheral vision sent relief flooding through her. “Oh, look, here come our dates.”
Vaughn was in the lead, a smile on his face. “Sorry we took so long. There was a line.”
A slow song began as he set her drink in front of her. “Hey, let’s dance,” she said, popping up from her chair. Dancing would drive the memories away.
Vaughn sipped his drink before placing it on the table. “Sure.”
“We’ll see you in a minute,” Saffron said to the others. She felt Elsie’s eyes on her as she escaped to the dance floor.
Vaughn put his arms around her, and she leaned closer, loving the feel of his body so close to hers. She’d loved the attraction between them from the first moment they’d met at the end of last summer when he’d been the guide on a river rafting trip she’d gone on with friends.
They’d flirted probably more than they should have, and he’d asked for her phone number after the river trip. But she was a week into a new relationship, and she’d had to turn him down. Even after she’d said no, he’d helped her get a job at his cousin’s sports store, where he was managing their rafting business on the side. She learned he had recently left his job of five years as an animator at Datatoon Studios in California and was now in Phoenix preparing to teach animation at a local university.
During the months that followed, they’d often run into each other at the store, gone out with the same group of friends, or talked on Facebook. Yet it wasn’t until this summer, when they were both between relationships, that they’d gone on another river run together. He’d kissed her afterward, and that was all it had taken.
She almost wished she didn’t like him as well as she did, but he hadn’t pushed for commitment as hard as her past dates, so maybe they could go out another month or two before it had to end.
She snuggled her face into his neck. “Hmm,” she murmured, breathing in his aftershave.
He drew back. “What?”
“You smell good.”
He laughed, a contented sound that made her smile. “You say that every time I wear this aftershave.”
“Ah, that explains why you wear it so much.”
He laughed again, his arms tightening around her as the slow dance wound to an end. His face bent toward her, and his lips brushed hers with a kiss that was more promise than substance. Even so, it sent her heartbeat racing. When they stepped apart, his hands enfolded hers. “Can you come out on the balcony with me for a moment? We need to talk.”
A sinking feeling in Saffron’s chest warned her to say no. “I need to see Zoey off with the others.”
“I don’t think they’re leaving yet. Look, Declan’s talking with the DJ now. He must be asking for another song.”
“Oh. All right then.”
Vaughn pulled her gently in the direction of the deserted balcony. The late September evening felt too hot to Saffron, even in her short-sleeved dress, but that was probably due to the erratic pounding of her heart.
“Look,” he started. “This might not be the best time, but I’ve been trying for—”
She stretched up to kiss him under the moonlight. He kissed her back, and for a moment she forgot her worry. This was something they did really well. In fact, making out with him was better than it had been with anyone else. She might be able to avoid this talk altogether if they kissed long enough.
Too soon, Vaughn pulled away. He was probably frustrated, like the others before him had been, at the slowness of their physical progress. Saffron always broke up with men before hitting the bedroom. Always. Before any real commitment. It was what she had to do to survive the losses that still haunted her.
“Saffron,” he said, “these past three months—no really, this past year that we’ve been friends—I want you to know it’s been good. Especially all the time we spent together this summer.”
Oh, no, here it comes, she thought. A proclamation of love, after which he’d ask her to be his exclusive girlfriend, or even to marry him.
“It’s been fun,” she agreed, keeping her voice light. She didn’t want to hurt him.
He fell silent for a moment, his blue eyes searching hers. “You are an amazing woman. Beautiful, smart, fun, sexy.” He paused, swallowing hard. “I love being with you. And if I thought I had any chance with you, I’d follow you to the ends of the earth.”
This was different from the normal approach. “Uh, thank you?”
He gave a soft laugh that held no real mirth. “I mean it. But I’d be blind not to see that you aren’t as invested in me as I am in you.”
“I love being with you,” she protested. “I’m just not ready—”
“For anything more. I know.” He nodded, giving her a gentle smile. “You’ve been up front about that from the beginning. But I do want more. I’m ready to move on to the next part of my life. That includes a family, children. I’ve loved teaching, and I plan to finish out this second year, but after that I might be going back into animation full time. Last week, Datatoon made me a substantial offer to head up one of their game design teams, and I’m considering it.”
“That’s great,” she said. It didn’t feel great, though. It felt horrible. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You’ve had a lot on your mind, and I wasn’t even sure I was going to consider it. I know how you love being close to—” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Like I said, I’m not sure what this year will bring, and I don’t have to give them an answer right away. But in the end, that has nothing to do with what’s going on between us.”
“And what is that?” Saffron barely choked out the words.
“Nothing.” As her eyes widened, he hurried to add, “Not that I don’t want it to, but there’s a part of you I can’t reach, and I don’t know how to.” His forehead furrowed, and his eyes held a deep sadness that echoed in her stomach.
“Are you breaking up with me because I won’t sleep with you?” She felt more hurt than angry at the idea. It was something she understood at least.
“Of course not.” He ran a hand through his hair, pacing two steps away and then back again. “Before we got together, I watched you go through six boyfriends in less than a year. I’m happy you weren’t sleeping with them. Believe me. I also know that though you didn’t agree to see them exclusively, you didn’t date others at the same time. One proposed, one invited you to meet his parents, and one asked you to move in with him—and in each case, less than a week later, you were dating someone else.”
What could she say? He was right about all of it, except that there had been another proposal and two of her dates had called her frigid for refusing to sleep with them.
“And every time,” he continued, “I could always tell when you were getting ready to cut them loose.” He paused, holding her gaze as he finished. “Well, you don’t have to cut me loose, because I already know.”
“But . . .” She’d known it was ending too, so why did Vaughn’s dumping her hurt this much?
“Saffron.” He took her hands. “I don’t know what happened to you. I wish I did. I thought I could be the one you would trust enough to let through.”
Moisture glittered in his eyes, and she should feel some satisfaction that he was hurting too, but she didn’t. Not even a tiny bit. She only felt exposed, vulnerable. He’d discovered the truth—that something was broken inside her. Something that made it so she could never love anyone the way she had once loved a boy named Tyson.
“Am I wrong?” he asked.
It took every bit of strength inside her to say, “No.”
Vaughn squeezed her hands before bringing them to his lips to kiss. “If that ever changes, I’d love to know. Because I think we could have something great here.”
Slowly, he released her, his eyes roaming her face as he backed toward the door. Waiting? If she flung herself at him, would he stay? She suspected he would, because he was that kind of man. But it would only delay the inevitable, and she cared about him enough not to lead him on. She wished she could give him what he wanted. She’d wished that more than once with other men over the past eight years, but tonight the feeling was different, as if a piece of the wall around her heart were breaking.
“I’ll take off now,” he said, thumbing over his shoulder. “Unless you want me to stay.”
She’d had to be here earlier for photographs, so they had separate cars, which worked out well for this moment. Maybe that’s why he’d planned their breakup in a public place where there wouldn’t be a scene. As if she’d allow herself any kind of a scene.
“Goodbye, Vaughn,” she said quietly.
He nodded, his face tightening momentarily in the way it always did when he tried to hide any emotion. “Goodbye, Saffron.”
Only when he was gone did she turn to the railing and let a few tears escape. Maybe if she hadn’t brought him here tonight as her date, he wouldn’t have realized what they were missing. It was hard not to see the love in Zoey and Declan’s eyes as they’d exchanged their vows.
“Saffron!” Halla called from behind her. “Hurry! Zoey’s gathering her things to leave. We have to get things ready.”
Saffron hastily wiped the tears from her cheeks, took a deep breath, and forced a smile as she turned to her foster sister. “Great. This’ll be fun.”
Halla stared at her. “What happened? Wait, did you just break up with him? Here? It couldn’t wait one night? Seriously?”
“No, he broke up with me.” Despite her control, her voice wavered. Saffron bit her lip to stop herself from saying any more.
“Oh, that jerk!” Halla rushed to her and gave her a hug.
“Not a jerk. He just knew it wasn’t going anywhere.” Instead of feeling better at Halla’s support, Saffron felt worse. “What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I forget him and go on?”
Halla drew back. “Forget who? Because I know you don’t mean Vaughn.” Her eyes invited more.
“It doesn’t matter,” Saffron mumbled. “Maybe I’m always going to be alone.” If anyone but Halla had come to get her, she would have bitten back the words. The other girls still had romantic dreams, but Halla was down to earth. She wouldn’t try to convince Saffron that it was all in her imagination, or that real love was just around the corner.
“Because even when I’m with someone,” Saffron added, “I’m really still alone.” A familiar numbness was spreading inside her, and Saffron welcomed the feeling. At least there would be no more tears.
“Maybe it’s time to find out why,” Halla said. “Maybe you need to face this head on like Zoey did when she testified against her uncle in court. Whatever it is that’s bothering you might look different if you face it down. And if you need a listening ear, you know I’m always here.”
Saffron nodded, tempted for the first time to confide in someone besides Lily. Halla, who’d had to escape her house through an upstairs window to get away from an abusive and controlling father, had a clear grasp on how some parents didn’t do what was right for their children. She’d understand.
Elsie appeared in the doorway. “Hurry, you guys! You’re missing it.”
Saffron and Halla followed her back into the reception center and out to the front, where people were forming two lines. As Zoey and Declan, the new Mr. and Mrs. Walker, ran past them in a deluge of dried flower petals, Saffron cheered with the others. At least on the outside.
On the inside, her mind was churning. She’d assumed that one day she’d meet someone who would make her past disappear, but maybe she’d been going about this all wrong. Halla might be right that she needed to face the past, go back to where it all began. The idea of returning to Temecula was like a dead space inside her, but she needed to know. She’d recently connected with her younger sister on Facebook, and she did want to see her. Not so much her parents, and especially their mother.
And Tyson. The black hole growing inside seemed big enough to consume her now. Maybe confronting him—wherever he was—would be cathartic. If she could find him. Eight and a half years had passed after all.
She watched Zoey climb into Declan’s truck, which was decorated with balloons and streamers. She looked so happy, nothing like the terror-stricken young woman who’d been called to testify in court a few years ago.
“Okay,” Lily shouted. “Let’s pack up their gifts and get out of here.”
Dutifully, Saffron helped load gifts into the waiting cars. Then she drove her blue Hyundai Elantra to help unload the gifts at Lily’s House where they would be stored until Zoey and Declan returned from their honeymoon.
Saffron always loved coming to Lily’s House. It was home, the place where she and her fosters sisters had all finished growing up after running away or having been abandoned by their own families. Even as adults, Saffron and the others turned to Lily like a mother, though she was only four years older than Saffron.
One by one, Saffron’s foster sisters left with their dates, and Lily’s current foster girls went to bed. Mario, Lily’s husband, took their sleepy boys upstairs to tuck in. When they were all gone, Lily, with her ten-month-old asleep in her arms, pinned Saffron with her knowing stare. “Stay for some herbal tea?”
“Yeah, thanks.” Saffron didn’t want to go home to the apartment she’d finally been able to afford on her own. She would have to gather up everything that reminded her of Vaughn and either send it to him or throw it away. Facing that right now made her want to give in to the tears pressing at her eyes.
In the kitchen, Lily laid baby Cherie in Saffron’s arms. “If you’ll just hold her while I make the tea.”
How did Lily always seem to know what she needed? Saffron willingly held Cherie to her chest, feeling the little body settle into hers, hearing her tiny breaths. Holding Cherie, and Lily’s boys before her, had always been a balm to Saffron’s soul. But it also hurt as her mind invariably wandered to what might have been.
Lily hummed as she put cups of water into the microwave. Two minutes later, she brought the water over with several boxes of herbal tea on a tray. Saffron wasn’t ready to give up the baby yet, so she just pointed to the apple spice tea and let Lily put a bag into her cup.
“So,” Lily began as the tea steeped. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“It’s just . . . all of the girls are going on with their lives, but I only pretend. You know what I mean, right? I’ve dated a lot of wonderful guys, but the minute they want more commitment than a few kisses or a fun date, I end things.”
Lily nodded. “It’s something I’ve worried about the past few years. Why do you think you do that?”
Saffron let out a long sigh. “I don’t know. No, that’s not quite true. I think I’m still in love with Tyson.” She paused, grateful that Lily didn’t rush in with any words. “I’ve tried not to love him. I mean I was only a kid when it all happened. How could love at that age be real? And yet when I think about a future, about a family, it’s only him I see.” Now her tears came, tears for herself, tears for Tyson, tears even for Vaughn, who’d never had a chance.
“And I’m still so angry at my mother for throwing me out,” she continued. “Abandoning me when I needed her most. If she’d only stood by me, maybe . . .” Maybe things would be different. She and Tyson might be together. She might be in a house where their sons slept upstairs and it might be their baby lying in her arms right now.
“The maybes are the hardest part,” Lily agreed. She began removing the bobby pins that held her blond hair up in a twist.
The fact that Lily didn’t come right out with a list of options told Saffron Lily knew exactly what she should do, but it was something hard, something that needed to be her choice. She’d seen Lily, who was a fountain of wisdom, counsel dozens of foster girls who had gone through her house in exactly the same way.
“Are you managing me?” Saffron asked, attempting a smile.
Lily laid another bobby pin on her growing pile and chuckled softly. “I was only twenty-one when you came to live with me. Remember how we hid you in my room at college?”
“Oh, yeah.” In the beginning, Saffron had done nothing but lie in Lily’s bed, trying to recover from severe malnutrition and the endless heartbreak.
“The point is that we’ve been friends a long time,” Lily said. “It’s not managing. It’s trying to help a friend decide what she should do. But I think you’re right that you’re stalled emotionally, and it breaks my heart.” Lily teared up and it took a moment for her to recover and begin speaking again. “Remember when we moved in here, and we told you that even if you helped out with the house payment, you couldn’t have boys sleep over? And you said—”
“If I ever find a boy worthy of sleeping over, I’d probably marry him. But don’t hold your breath because I was sure he didn’t exist.” Saffron sighed. “Oh, yeah. I remember. The girls still tease me about it.”
“At first I thought you wanted to avoid getting hurt again, but for a long time now, I’ve known it’s something more. Because there have been a few guys I thought you might fall for, and Vaughn is probably the best of them all.”
Saffron blinked and another tear escaped her eye. “What I felt for Tyson . . . I thought it would go away. That I’d wake up one day and it would be gone, but it hasn’t changed at all.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I think . . . I think it’s time. I think I have to go back. I need to find him. I want to know why he never looked for me.”
“Maybe he didn’t know where to look.”
Saffron had told herself this over the years, but it still hurt that Tyson hadn’t come after her. He had to know something was up when she disappeared. Instead, he’d left her all alone to deal with the consequences of their love. The horrible, heartrending consequences that still made her cry when she was alone.
“Maybe,” Saffron allowed. She could at least listen to his reasons—if he cared enough to share them.
“It’ll be good to see your sister,” Lily added.
“It will.” Kendall had only been ten when Saffron had to leave. That day, as she’d thrown a few things into her backpack, Kendall had begged her not to go, and their mother had come in and ordered Kendall away. Saffron hadn’t been allowed to say goodbye.
For years, the idea of Saffron’s old life in Temecula had felt more like a vivid dream than reality. Kendall was certainly less a sister than the foster sisters who had been her family over the past eight years since Lily had found her. Even her days with Tyson and how much they’d been in love was like a life lived by someone else.
Only the way it had ended, that night with blood everywhere, stayed with her as if it had been yesterday.
This summer after she’d started dating Vaughn, for reasons she couldn’t pinpoint, her thoughts had been continually drawn to her sister. Maybe because Vaughn was always talking about his younger sister, or maybe because Saffron was seeing less of her foster sisters. She’d looked for Kendall, found her on Facebook, and sent her a message, letting her know the name she was using now and telling her she was in Phoenix. Almost immediately, Kendall had begun asking to see her. Saffron had avoided the request so far, partly because Kendall was still living with their parents in Temecula, but also partly because the memories were too painful.
“Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about Kendall,” Saffron said. “I think something is wrong with her. But she won’t say what.”
Lily set down her tea. “Well, she is living in the same house you haven’t been able to return to in eight and a half years. I mean, people can change, but maybe it’s not easy for her there. She might see you as a way out.”
Saffron sniffed hard, fighting more tears. “I know. And if she needs help, I should give it to her. I’m definitely going back. Even if it ends up being just for her and I don’t find Tyson at all.”
Lily’s smile was gentle. “Then maybe it’s time I returned something to you.” She rose and leaned down to take the baby from her arms. “And this one, I’ll go tuck in with her daddy.”
Reluctantly, Saffron relinquished the warm bundle to Lily. The baby had steadied her, had given her the human connection she’d so desperately needed after this terrible evening.
Lily returned in minutes with a small white jewelry box that Saffron recognized immediately. Her heartbeat thundered inside her chest. She knew too well what was inside, and she accepted the box without opening it. As she did, Lily’s hands closed around hers, holding her fast and staring into her eyes.
“Saffron, you can do this. But if you need anything from me, I’m here.” Lily released her and stepped back.
“You always have been.” Saffron stood, clutching the little box. “I’d better get home.”
Lily nodded and walked with her to the door. She stood there, framed by the light until Saffron placed the little jewelry box next to her purse on the passenger seat and drove away.
Was she really going back to California? Yes, she needed to or nights like this one would forever be in her future, with good men like Vaughn walking away because she couldn’t love them. Or breaking up with a man she liked because she couldn’t commit. Another tear skidded down her cheek.
In her room at her apartment, she sat on the bed to slip off her heels and automatically checked her phone, which she’d silenced during the wedding ceremony and had neglected to turn back on. There had been two calls from Vaughn. Her heart leapt. Maybe he’d reconsidered.
But the text message he’d also sent destroyed the hope: Just checking to make sure you’re okay. I understand if you don’t want to talk to me. I’m really sorry. I wish things could be different, but I hope we’re still friends.
Maybe he would have been the one to finally heal her heart, but now she would never know. He would never know. “You tried only three months,” she whispered, deleting the text. “Your loss.” But the words were a waste because she didn’t know if even three years would have been enough time.
Beside her on the bed, the jewelry box beckoned with a temptation she’d never been able to resist. That was why she’d placed it in Lily’s safe-keeping soon after she’d gone to live with her. Lily kept two locked boxes in her closet for that explicit purpose—to store the girls’ special treasures or important documents. Unlike the others who’d gone through Lily’s House, Saffron had never asked for it back.
Inside was a folded piece of paper, a small, pale blue shirt, and two pictures of the sweetest angel in the world. She held the shirt to her face, breathing in the smell that wasn’t there any longer but that her memory filled in. One of the pictures was a close-up of a baby wearing the shirt, his eyes shut, as if asleep. The other picture was of her holding his tiny form, gazing down on him with bewildered tears in her eyes.
Next, she unfolded the paper, though she already knew what the birth certificate said: Tyson Dekker Junior, son of Rosalyn Brenwood and Tyson Dekker.
Rosalyn. A name she hadn’t answered to in so long that she felt it belonged to someone else. For endless moments, she sat there, holding her treasures, eyes tightly shut.
When at long last the brutal ache began to ebb, she replaced the items inside the jewelry box, set it in the top drawer of her nightstand, and pulled out her suitcase.
She was going to find Tyson—and face her family. It was the only way.
CHAPTER
1
May 2008
On the day Brandon Rhodes came back into her life, Mercedes Walker Johnson was shopping at Safeway, not expecting anything out of the ordinary and certainly not expecting to see a ghost from her past. She wandered to the aisle where the boxed cereal sat on the shelves, frowning at the contents. Her three boys loved the stuff, but she knew the cold flakes weren’t as healthy as her home-cooked cereal. Still, in the past year or so, she’d taken to letting them get their own breakfast on Sundays. Everyone needed a day off—or as much of a day off as any woman on a farm could take. Even Wayne stayed away from the fields on Sundays, though the cow still had to be milked and the animals fed.
She plucked a few boxes off the shelf, the ones with the lowest sugar content. Whatever questionable nutritional value they contained would at least be boosted by whole, fresh milk from their cow.
Starting down the aisle, she wondered how Wayne and twelve-year-old Darrel were coming along on the planting. The sugar beets, of course, were already in the ground and growing. Hopefully they would have the spring wheat planted within the next week or two, so they could get in some corn to supplement their cattle’s ration of hay from the alfalfa that was standing a foot tall in the fields. Wayne had been trying his hand at raising cattle these past few years because a crop of calves could be worth far more than sugar beets and wheat. The winter had been tough for the animals, though, and she and Wayne had spent many months worrying about how many they might lose to cold or disease, but spring had blessedly come on time, and most had survived well.
A man stood at the checkout as she approached, waiting for a total from the cashier. For a moment, he was any man, someone she didn’t know, but then he tilted his head and chuckled at something the cashier said, and Mercedes’ breath rushed from her. Him! He’s here.
But she couldn’t really believe that. No, it was only someone who looked like him. Such a recognition had happened before, and always she would stand there with elation and fear vying in her heart, until at last the man would turn and she would realize she was mistaken.
It’s not him, she told herself. She pushed her cart behind a display of ketchup where she could observe him without being noticed.
“This place has changed a lot since I was here,” the man said. He was handsome, she could see, with brown hair and a square jaw that bore a slight stubble. He wore dress pants and a button-down shirt, with the first button open. “Been nearly thirteen years.”
Mercedes swallowed hard. Thirteen years. It could be a coincidence.
“Well, the years tend to do that to a place.” The cashier was a plump Native American woman in her fifties, one Mercedes often saw here, though she didn’t know her by name. “Things change. So you’re a doctor, are you?”
“How did you know?”
She pointed without expression to the identification card clipped to his pocket. “Your tag. You come to work at Riverton Memorial?”
“Actually, I’m here to teach the heart procedures I developed with some universities. We’re holding a seminar here.”
“Well, uh, Dr. Rhodes, I hope you have a good time in Riverton. Maybe I’ll see you again. Thank you for shopping at Safeway.”
Mercedes’ heart thundered in her chest. Dr. Rhodes. Dr. Brandon Rhodes. Once she’d hoped and prayed to see him again, thought she might die if she didn’t. But that was before she’d understood the truth and begun hoping and praying never to see him again. In the past few years, she’d almost managed never to think about him at all.
A normal person would go to the counter and say hello. After all, they’d once been close. More than close. She still remembered the first day they’d met, how they’d shared lunch in the hospital cafeteria, the way the world had ceased all movement. The way her life had changed.
Mercedes closed her eyes as the familiar wave of pain crashed through her chest and spilled through her limbs and out every pore of her body. He had no right to come back. Not now. Not after all this time.
I hate you, she thought, but she knew it wasn’t that simple. The main reason, of course, that she couldn’t smile and greet him was Darrel. If it could be said she had a favorite child, Darrel would be it, though her other sons were as precious, and she worked hard to treat them the same. The fact remained that Darrel was different. He was a part of the old life, the life that yearned for more. She knew he wouldn’t belong on the farm much longer, but she wasn’t ready to give him up quite yet.
You don’t deserve him, she said to the man’s retreating back.
I won’t let you ruin his life . . . like you did mine.
Of course, there was no indication that he was in Riverton for any reason other than the one he’d told the cashier. He might not know that she still lived an hour northeast of the city on what had once been her father’s farm. Maybe he thought she’d continued her studies to be a psychologist. If so, she could be working anywhere by now.
The thoughts calmed her, and she was about to make her way to the counter when he stopped and turned back to the cashier. “Have you heard of a place called Walker Farm? Do you happen to know who owns it now?”
“Sounds familiar, but there are a lot of farms around here.”
“It’s about fifty miles or so out of town. Northeast.”
“I don’t go out that way much. Sorry.”
“What about a woman named Mercedes Walker? Do you know her?”
The woman shook her head, lightly rustling the gray-streaked black hair that fell midway down her back. “We got ten thousand people living here, plus all those that come in from the other towns to shop. It ain’t thirteen years ago. We don’t know everybody like we did back then. Or practically.”
He nodded. “Well, thanks. I figured it was a long shot.”
“Maybe try the phone book.”
“Good idea. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you. I’m here for a couple weeks.”
Mercedes’ heart was pounding so loudly she almost couldn’t breathe. So much for hoping he wouldn’t pursue their connection. But why would he even try? Did he think she’d still be sitting here, waiting for him? And what right did he have to return after all this time, anyway? Thirteen years since he’d walked away.
He’s just looking up an old friend, she told herself. Bitterness filled her mouth at the thought. Friends. She hadn’t even been worth a postcard or a letter. Maybe if he’d written, it would have been different for Darrel. But it was too late now. She loved her life, her boys, and Wayne. Nothing this stranger could do would change that.
Unless he somehow knew about Darrel.
Mercedes closed her eyes again, fear welling up in her chest. Dear God in heaven. Please help me.
“Are you all right?”
Mercedes opened her eyes to see the cashier standing in front of her. “Oh, thanks. I’m fine. I was just thinking.”
“You sure? You’re white as a sheet.”
“I’m all right. Really. I think I’m finished shopping. Could you ring me up?”
“Sure. Come on over to the register.”
When the groceries were tallied, Mercedes’ hand shook as she wrote out the check. The woman didn’t bother to ask for ID, obviously recognizing her from other trips into town, but her eyes caught on the name. “Walker Farm? Mercedes Johnson. Hey, there was a guy in here just now asking about you. Real handsome fellow. A doctor. Been in a couple times in the past few weeks. I think he’s probably still in the parking lot. You want me to catch him?”
“That’s okay, I—”
“No problem, really.” The cashier slammed the till shut and scooted toward the front of the store faster than her bulk should have allowed.
“Please,” Mercedes called after her. “Don’t—” But the woman was already out the door.
Brandon.
Panic made Mercedes wonder if there was a back door. She imagined herself vaulting over a cart of vegetables as the store manager chased her down. But the panic subsided as quickly as it came, and anger took its place. He had no right to come back into her life.
The cashier reappeared—alone, and Mercedes felt an odd piercing disappointment that made no sense at all. “He’ll be right in,” the woman told Mercedes. “He’s putting his bags in his car.”
“Thank you.” Mercedes made a private note never to shop this Safeway again. Yet why should she let a man she hadn’t seen for almost thirteen years chase her away? Another burst of anger gave her strength. Ignoring her cart, Mercedes hefted her plastic bags of groceries, two in each hand. They weighed nothing compared to what she had to lift at the farm.
She strode out the door, heading purposefully toward her green truck. The battered Ford had seen better days, but it was like an old friend, dependable and familiar. With any luck, she’d get in and drive away before Brandon caught up with her. Setting down the bags, she opened her door, shoved the groceries inside, and climbed into the cab. Relief was already calming the furious pounding of her heart.
“Mercedes?”
Her hand froze on the open door. Part of her wanted to slam it and drive away, but the other part was curious about the man he’d become. She turned and met his eyes. For several seconds, she said nothing. She drank in the handsome face, brown hair, and green eyes. He looked the same, and yet he didn’t. There was maturity in the face and a confidence that had been lacking when she knew him before.
For a moment she felt disoriented, as though the fabric of time was somehow adjusting itself. From somewhere came the blare of a car horn and a man’s distant shout. But the earth didn’t stand still. Brandon Rhodes was simply a person she had once known, and if she played this moment well, she would never have to see him again.
“Excuse me?” she asked.
“It is you! Mercedes, don’t you recognize me? It’s Brandon Rhodes.”
“Brandon?” She scrunched her forehead. “Oh, Brandon! My goodness, it’s been so long.” She gave him a polite smile he couldn’t possibly know was fake. He didn’t know her at all— and apparently never had. The past was proof of that.
She climbed out of the truck, leaving the door open for a quick retreat. He stepped forward tentatively, and they embraced in a loose, impersonal hug, the kind people used when they weren’t close. Or perhaps the kind of hug exchanged when one of them was holding a secret. If there had been no secret, Mercedes would have been excited and pleased to see him, and the hug would have been real.
“You haven’t changed a bit,” Brandon said as she drew quickly away. “I mean, you have, but you haven’t. Your hair is the same, and your eyes are still dark enough to be black. But I don’t remember the freckles.”
“They’re from the sun. I didn’t get much sun back in the old days. Too much bookwork.”
“Life must have treated you well. You look great!”
“Thanks. You too. So what brings you to Riverton?”
“Oh, a seminar at the hospital. You know, giving back. I’m staying at the Alpine House for a few weeks. Thought I’d look up some old friends.”
Old friends. She remembered her thoughts in the store. Friends did not begin to describe what they had been to each other. “That’s nice. Is anyone you know still at the hospital?”
“Not many. Old Dustbottom is, though. He’ll probably outlive us all.”
Mercedes smiled. “He still in charge of the morgue?”
“Yep. And the backside of his coat is still just as speckled with dirt or ink or whatever it was. Have you ever seen him around?”
“I don’t get into town much. Especially to the hospital.” Only to give birth to her children. But she wasn’t going there.
“So what are you doing these days? Practicing psychiatry? Psychology?”
She shook her head. “Neither. I’m married now. Raising a family. We’re running my family’s farm.”
He blinked. “Married—of course you are. I’d heard that. I was married for four years myself. It didn’t work out.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “That’s the way it goes.”
Not in Mercedes’ book. Marriage was a commitment you didn’t walk out on. But then, Brandon was good at walking out on commitments.
“So you have children. I mean, you’d have to if you’re raising a family.” His eyes seemed intent as he spoke, and Mercedes felt a tremor of fear.
“Yeah, three boys. Good kids. In fact”—she looked at her watch—“I’d better get back to them. They’re helping their dad with the planting today, since it’s Saturday. But the younger ones don’t have as much endurance, and sometimes they can be more of a hindrance, if you know what I mean.”
“I don’t have children, but I can imagine. How old are they?”
“Eight and nine. Their daddy’s patient and a good teacher, but there’s a limit. And believe me, they like to push it.” She forced a laugh.
“And your other boy? Didn’t you say you have three?”
“He’s two years older.” Not exactly a lie because Joseph would be ten in three months, and then he would be two years younger than Darrel’s twelve. But since Joseph was still only nine, Brandon would assume Darrel was eleven. Eleven kept him safely out of reach. “He’s not very tall or big, but he’s got a good head.”
“I’d love to meet them. I bet they look like you.”
“Two of them do. The other one looks like his dad, even down to his red hair and blue eyes.”
“I’ll bet they’re great. Oh, I wanted to tell you, I saw your brother four or five weeks ago.”
This surprised her. “Where?”
“At the hospital in San Diego where I work. His company was updating some of our electronics.”
“That’s funny. Austin didn’t mention it. He was here helping with the planting last weekend.” What she wouldn’t add was that the farm hadn’t done well last year, and with the purchase of a new tractor, they’d had to forego hiring help until the harvest. Austin’s willingness to pitch in had been a godsend.
“Well, I only saw him briefly, and to tell you the truth, I wasn’t even sure he remembered me. We only met a few times when I lived here.”
Mercedes let herself relax. Even if Austin had recognized Brandon, he wouldn’t have betrayed her secret. He knew the stakes as much as she did. This was only one more secret in their shared past. A past where their father drank and treated his children like worthless chattel. A past where their mother had let him. “He was concentrating on college in those days. He’s become quite successful, though.”
“I see he left the farm.”
Mercedes wasn’t quite sure, but she thought she sensed a question there. Did he wonder why she was still at the farm she’d vowed never to return to after her mother’s tragedy? She doubted he could ever understand. “Actually, Austin comes back quite often. We even keep a room for him. He took over my grandmother’s charity when she died a few years back. Runs it part-time with his wife, Liana. He got married four months ago.”
“That’s good to hear.”
She knew it was only something said to fill the empty space between them. Thirteen years was too long to feel comfortable.
“Do you have time for a quick drink?” he asked.
“Not really. My husband and the boys are waiting. Some other time.”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” she echoed. There really wasn’t much else to say, was there?
“Mercedes . . .”
“Yes?” She put a hand on the truck door.
“The way we left it. I didn’t mean . . .” He looked up at the sky. “Time passed so fast. I didn’t mean for things to work out that way. It’s one of my biggest regrets.”
What does he regret? she wondered. The relationship? Leaving? Or not keeping in contact? None of it really mattered now.
“It’s okay,” she said with more gentleness than she felt. “We both moved on. That’s just the way it is.” She thought it was particularly poetic to use his own terminology against him. In her heart, though, her fury mounted. He’d given up so much.
Worse, he’d made the choice for both of them, a choice she’d had to live with for thirteen years. He’d broken more than her heart; for a time, she’d lost even her will to live. Only Wayne had saved her. Wayne, with his quiet, unassuming love. With his constant support and refusal to judge. Though she had deserved his scorn, he’d given her back her life. In return, she’d given him that life.
And I’m happy, she thought fiercely. Turning, she climbed into the truck.
“Mercedes,” Brandon said again.
She gazed at him from behind the wheel, simply waiting. “I’d like to drop by, if I may. Meet your husband, talk about old times.”
“You’ve met Wayne before. He worked for my father.”
He looked puzzled. Likely he remembered Wayne as old enough to be her father, though he was only fifty-two to her thirty-nine.
“Anyway,” she continued, “you’re welcome to come out, but we’re still getting in the spring wheat.” What she wanted to tell him was to go back to wherever he’d come from and leave her family alone. The way he pushed told her he wanted something from her. She could only pray it didn’t involve Darrel. Yet what else could it be? “That means we’re not at the house much.” Or at least Wayne wasn’t.
He nodded. “Well, it was nice to see you.”
Mercedes shut her door, put the truck into gear, and drove away. She could see him in the rearview mirror watching her leave. The scene brought back memories of when he had left and she had stayed behind. Her heart felt tight.
Thirty miles outside Riverton, she pulled off the highway and leaned her head on the steering wheel. She was shaking so badly that she felt ill. “Wayne,” she whispered. She needed Wayne.
Forty minutes later, she was in the barn saddling Windwalker, her white stallion. Di and Thunder, her red retrievers, watched patiently, wagging their tails with excitement. But only Thunder followed as she galloped from the barn, Di choosing to stay back with her new litter of puppies. Always the good mother, watching over her babies. That’s what good mothers did.
Wind beat into her face, flattening the tears down and over her cheeks until they seemed more like a sheen of sweat than tears at all. Windwalker, a surprise present from Wayne last year, was her most prized animal. He had traded three calves to their neighbors down the road for the young horse, and Mercedes believed he was worth far more. She loved the power in his stride and the elation of moving so fast over the ground that time didn’t seem to matter. Today was no exception. Hunching over his mane, she urged him onward. He flew like the wind. And for those few minutes, she was safe.
She came upon the west fields too quickly for her state of mind, but seeing Wayne and Darrel on the tractor and the younger boys, Joseph and Scott, playing in the back of the seed truck gave her a rush of belonging. These were her men, her place, and even the heartrending mound of dirt in the family cemetery past their small fruit orchard was a part of who she had become.
“Hi, Mom.” Joseph and Scott waved her over.
“Can I have a ride back?” Scott added. “I’m bored.”
“I’ll take you both home in a minute. First I need to talk to your father.”
Wayne had spotted her and opened the tractor cab, leaping down and leaving Darrel to operate the machine alone. He loped toward her in his customary gait, which was strangely graceful. Wayne was a tall man, built as strong as an old tree. At fifty-two, he had the strength of a much younger man, but his face was worn and weathered by the sun, and his red hair had gone an orangey white. His blue eyes were kind, and the wrinkles in his face were as much a part of him as the furrows were a part of the fields. Not for the first time, Mercedes understood that Wayne was the farm. He was as constant as the earth, as tender as the plants he coaxed out of the soil, as forgiving as a thirsty stalk of wheat after a spring rain.
“What’s wrong?” he said as they met halfway.
She looked to the right and to the left, unwilling to meet his eyes.
“Mercedes.” He spoke in almost the same way as Brandon had, but then he added, “Honey, I’m here.”
She dragged in a breath and looked up into his eyes. “I was at Safeway. He’s back in Riverton. He came to teach a seminar or something. At least that’s what he says. But it’s too much of a coincidence. I-I’m afraid.”
He didn’t ask her who “he” was. “He” was the only person who had stood between them all these long years, the one with the power to change their safe world.
Wayne made a noise of dismay in his throat and pulled her into his arms. Besides galloping on Windwalker’s back, this was the only other place she felt completely safe, where nothing could touch her. Even as a child when he’d protected her from her father’s wrath or her mother’s indifference, she had felt safe with Wayne.
“I love you,” he said. “It’s going to be all right.”
She dropped her head to his shoulder, wiping her wet cheek against his dusty shirt. “He wants to come by. What if he knows?”
“What if he doesn’t?”
She pulled back slightly to look up into his face. “Then why come? After all these years? It’s not like the hospital here has anything to offer him.”
“Maybe he’s finally realizing what he lost.” Wayne’s eyes were sorrowful, and Mercedes wondered if he thought such a thing would change her life—knowing that Brandon might have come back for her.
It wouldn’t, of course. Yet just for an instant, she remembered how she’d felt the day Brandon left. The certainty that he would be back for her, the belief that he couldn’t live without her as she couldn’t live without him.
He hadn’t come back. Until now.
Mercedes swallowed hard. “He never loved me, not the way you do.” She said this with a surety born of long years of knowing. Sometimes Wayne’s love weighed heavily on her, as though it were a burden, because she knew everything she could give him would never begin to equal all that he gave her.
PROLOGUE
Saturday, August 29, 1981
Unalterable and unforgiving as a gaping hole in a cemetery, the event would forever after stand out in memory. There was nothing out of the ordinary to signal its coming. The pans sat on the immaculate stove as they always did each afternoon in preparation for dinner, their empty interiors open, ready, beckoning. Sounds from the television floated in from the adjoining family room. Somewhere outside a dog barked, and a horn honked as a car passed the house.
Clarissa Winn set out the vegetables. Steamed broccoli florets with sliced carrots would go nicely with the meatballs and spaghetti. She picked up a knife.
The shrill of the kitchen phone broke through the sounds of the television. Clarissa looked up from the broccoli and reluctantly reached for the phone, hoping it wasn’t someone from the PTA asking her to take on another project, or the pastor needing a pianist for services the next day.
“Hello?” she asked, tucking the phone between her ear and neck. If it was one of her friends, she’d get a start on cutting the vegetables while they talked.
“Is this Mrs. Clarissa Winn?” a man asked, his rich, melodic voice boasting a distinct British accent that made her think of exotic places to which she had never traveled.
“Yes, I’m Clarissa Winn.”
“My name is Dr. Mehul Raji. I am calling from Calcutta, India, from Charity Medical Hospital. It is about your sister.”
“My sister?” Clarissa’s grip tightened on the knife in her hand. Sister. She hadn’t heard the word in relation to herself for far too long. “You mean Karyn?”
“Yes, Karyn Olsen Schrader.”
“Has something happened?” The words hurt Clarissa’s throat.
“Indeed. It is with great regret that I must inform you of the death of your sister and that of her husband, Dr. Guenter Schrader. They were killed in a plane accident last Saturday as they traveled to give medical care to the inhabitants of several remote villages here in India.” The words were measured and exact, but now the doctor’s British English was heavily accented with whatever language he called his own. “Please accept my heartfelt condolences. Both Karyn and Guenter were valuable members of our staff and will be deeply missed.”
Clarissa’s eyes filled with tears. My sister is dead.
The hand with the knife shook. Her reflection in the shiny surface of her four-quart saucepan was distorted—as distorted as her soul.
The television blared. Outside came the happy ringing of the ice-cream truck. Life as usual.
“I would have called sooner,” Dr. Raji continued, “but only today did we manage to track down your telephone information. I am happy to be able to reach you.”
Clarissa barely heard his voice. Karyn is dead. The words came with a furious pounding of her heart. She still gripped the knife, poised over the broccoli, her hand turning white.
“I wish to know what instructions you have for me regarding their four-year-old daughter, as you appear to be her only living relative.”
Suddenly Clarissa was listening again. So Karyn had given birth to the daughter she’d longed for. “Is she okay?”
“She is unhurt, but there is concern. She has not spoken to anyone since the accident. At the moment, she is in the care of a woman in whose house Dr. and Mrs. Schrader were living, but we expect that you will want her sent to America. Is this not correct?”
Sobs pierced Clarissa’s awareness—bitter cries that hurt her to hear. She tried to answer the doctor, but words refused to come.
Karyn is dead.
Her husband’s arms came from behind, wrapping around her body. “What’s wrong, honey?”
Only then did she realize that the bitter crying was coming from her own throat. She swallowed her sobs with an agony that threatened suffocation. The knife moved in her hand.
Travis reached for it, rubbing the flesh and loosening her grip before taking the knife. “Give me the phone,” he said softly.
Clarissa watched as he talked with the doctor from India, her own disbelief and shock mirrored in his dark eyes. Finding a pen in the drawer, he wrote down a number. Then he set the phone on the cradle.
“It’s my fault,” Clarissa moaned. And it was—as surely as if she had forced Karyn onto the plane that would eventually crash.
“No, it’s not. It’s not anyone’s fault.”
“It is.”
He sighed. “If it’s yours, then it’s mine, too.”
She shook her head. “No, no. Mine. I’m her sister.” Was, her mind corrected. She was my sister.
Travis put his arms around her. She gazed up at his familiar, dearly loved features, stared into the eyes she would never have known had it not been for Karyn, the sister she had betrayed. Oh, dear God—how did I let this happen? There was no chance for making amends now.
“Her daughter,” she said aloud. “What about that poor little girl?”
“She’ll come here, of course.”
She nodded. “We’ll raise her as our own.”
An unexpected—unwanted—surge of joy welled within Clarissa’s breast. Only fleetingly did she consider that someday they would have to tell Karyn’s daughter the truth.
CHAPTER
1
March 2007
Liana Winn’s fingers flew over her calculator, making long tallies of numbers that spewed onto a long curl of white paper. She hated working on this account for more reasons than one. Wealthy Jim Forrester, the obscenely young owner of a computer consulting firm, didn’t exactly cheat on his taxes, but there were many points she felt stretched the realm of belief: vacations in Hawaii, elaborate gifts for clients, deluxe hotel rooms with heart-shaped bathtubs.
After two years of doing Forrester’s taxes and avoiding his blatant advances, Liana had tried to refuse being assigned to his case. But he was Klassy Accounting’s most important client, and when he had requested her personally, her boss made it clear she had no choice but to accept.
“You about done with the Forrester case, Liana?”
Liana’s fingers stiffened over her calculator as she looked up into the small watery eyes of Larry Koplin, her boss. He was a tall, balding, barrel-chested man who wore tailored suits and who might have been commanding if not for his swollen cheeks, thin shoulders, and scrawny limbs.
“Nearly, Mr. Koplin,” she said, keeping her voice calm. “I’m just finishing a few numbers. Once I put them into the computer, I’ll be finished.”
Koplin’s pale face darkened with a brief frown, which Liana knew was because he had invited her time and time again to call him Larry instead of Mr. Koplin. Liana had tried, briefly, half-heartedly, but the time when he had inspired friendship was long past.
“Good.” He twisted his thin, too-long fingers, as though washing them. “I knew you’d be done soon. I told him to come over in an hour. He’d like to take you to lunch.”
Distaste rolled through Liana, but she was careful not to show it. “Thank you, Mr. Koplin, but I won’t be able to go. I need to finish at least two more accounts before I leave tonight.”
Koplin’s smile did not reach his leaking eyes. “Nonsense, a girl has to eat.”
Liana stifled a sharp retort that would have detailed her womanly capability of buying her own meal. She had learned to do at least that in her nearly thirty years of life, thank you very much. Instead, she said, “I think we promised Jones and Dean that their accounts would be finished by morning, didn’t we? Lunch with Forrester could take hours.”
She watched contrasting emotions battle in Larry Koplin’s puffy face as he pitted the money he would receive from those accounts against the points he would earn if he could coerce her to have lunch with Forrester. Liana remembered a time when she had believed in him—a time when his smile and a promise of a bright future had drawn her away from her previous job. It was an offer he still touted, but Liana had discovered that his “bright future” meant this minuscule office and nothing more.
Koplin’s greed for money won out. “I’ll tell Mr. Forrester you can’t possibly get away now. Just see that you finish those accounts.”
Liana felt the sudden urge to quit right that instant, to turn her back and walk out, just to see him scramble for a replacement. Maybe then he would recognize the four years of hard work that had earned her this pitiful closet she called an office—an office she now despised. But she had bills to pay, which her monthly paycheck barely covered, so she had no choice but to swallow her anger. “I will, Mr. Koplin.”
He nodded sharply, causing the loose skin under his chin to wobble, and turned on feet that seemed small for his towering height and protruding chest. As he walked down the aisle between the gray cubicles, he was followed by surreptitious stares from his employees. One of the nearest women, a new employee named Jocelyn, cast Liana a sympathetic glance through the door, and Liana smiled politely before returning to her work. The anger gradually faded as she put the incident aside. She would not allow anything to affect her work or her state of mind. She was in control. Anything else was unacceptable.
When the phone rang, she reached for it, eyes glued to her computer screen. “Liana Winn,” she said. Tilting her head to support the phone, she continued entering numbers. Earlier in the day, she’d hoped to finish work early, but that hope was fading fast.
“Hi, it’s me.”
She smiled despite her dark mood. Her brother’s voice was always a welcome sound. “Hi, Christian. What’s up?”
“Actually, I need a favor.”
“Ha, what else is new?” She rolled her eyes. He was forty, and she was still bailing him out of one thing or another.
“Well, a friend of mine has to get a bit of tax work done—pronto.”
“Sorry.” The phone pressed hard between her ear and shoulder, and already her neck was beginning to ache from the awkward position. “I’d like to help your friend, but I can’t. Maybe next month, after the fifteenth.”
Her brother wasn’t having any of it. His voice took on a pleading note, one she always found difficult to ignore. “Oh, Liana, come on. The company he works for is a client of mine. If I lose that account, my boss will kill me.”
Through the open door of her tiny office Liana could see a buzz of activity in the cubicles where she had worked until her promotion a few months earlier. Fingers typed at keyboards, creating an unlikely symphony that hummed evenly on the air. There were voices, too, but lower, almost covered by the incessant tapping. Ringing phones added shrillness to the din. March was one of the accounting firm’s busiest times of the year, surpassed only by the madness that consumed the first half of April.
She willed herself to be strong. “If this guy changes advertising firms because I can’t work him in, then he’s no friend of yours.”
“It’s his company I need to impress, not him, and that means if they need a favor, I deliver. This accounting thing isn’t even Austin’s department. He’s their sales manager, but he got stuck with filing the tax forms because he works with me, and I opened my big mouth.”
Not again! She stifled a sigh. “And how on earth did that happen?”
“Well, I was in this meeting yesterday, and they were discussing my new advertising design—which they seemed to like, by the way.”
“Christian,” she groaned.
“Okay, okay. So they started in about how their financial manager had run off on them and how the new one—the owner’s nephew or something—can’t start until he finishes college next month. Bottom line, they’re in a big bind and need help quick if they want to avoid paying more penalties. Next thing I know, my mouth opens all on its own, and I’m telling them I know someone.”
“Know someone? Who do you think you are—the Mafia?”
He gave a short laugh. “Come on, will you just meet with him? If it’s too much work maybe you could file another extension. Pleeeeease? His office is just outside Vegas, only a couple of miles away from yours. It’s a quarterly thing, I think, so it can’t be too big, can it?”
Liana sighed. Christian had no idea how difficult quarterly filings could be. He was a genius at dreaming up creative advertisements, but numbers escaped him completely. “Depends on the size of the company. Can’t your friend come in and meet with my boss? Maybe someone else could work him in here.”
“Can’t see that happening. Austin would never trust a company with a corny name like Klassy Accounting.” Christian’s voice rose in mimic of the commercials that were being run on the radio. “Klassy Accounting—no job too big or too small.” He snorted. “No offense, but it’s stupid. Please, Liana Banana? What do you say? Do it for me?”
The use of her childhood nickname made it more difficult to deny his request. “Let me think a moment,” she said, raking her hand through the long strands of her dark hair. If she skipped her twenty-minute lunch down at the corner deli—again—and didn’t take her afternoon break, she might be able to finish work by seven or so, and that would leave enough time to see Christian’s friend. Even as she thought this, the strong aroma of a TV dinner, coming from the small alcove that lamely served as an employee break room, wended its way into her office, making her stomach ache with emptiness.
“Okay, okay,” she agreed with resignation. “I’ll take a look. But you’ll have to pick me up and stop at some fast food place on the way so I can eat as you drive. I’m famished.”
“Deal. You won’t regret this, Banana. I love you.”
“Hmm.” She hung up the phone.
Daylight was already beginning to fade as Liana exited the front door of her building. Outside, she found Christian parked in a no-parking fire zone, lounging against his green BMW, a car he was still paying for and would be for at least another three years. He greeted her with a wave and a grin that always made people feel he shared their secrets. “I got you Chinese,” he said as he opened the passenger side door for her. “I know how you love it.”
“I enjoy it.” She slid into the car.
Christian rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah, I forgot. You don’t love anything . . . or anyone, right? Except for me.” Grinning, he placed his hands on his khaki dress pants and leaned down until his eyes were even with hers. “Come on, tell me you love me. Tell me I’m your favorite brother. Why don’t you ever say it?” They both knew he was teasing, and yet there was an undercurrent of sincerity to his plea. To him things like saying “I love you” made a difference, but Liana knew that saying so only set a person up for loss.
She snorted in annoyance and pulled her door shut. Her brother barely had time to jump out of the way. “Hey!” He slapped the side of the car, but lightly so there was no chance of damaging the finish.
She watched him saunter around to the driver’s side. Handsome by any standard, Christian had dark, laughing eyes and longish brown hair combed back from his square face. He was fun-loving, adventuresome, generous—and completely irresponsible. Though Liana was more than ten years his junior, she often lent him money, patted his back when his relationships didn’t work out, and handled all his finances. He joked that he’d never marry until he found someone exactly like her. What he didn’t seem to realize was that someone like her was unable to maintain a stable romantic relationship.
“Be careful of the seats,” Christian warned, sliding behind the wheel. “Leather and Chinese don’t mix.”
“I know, I know.”
As Christian drove through Las Vegas, Liana ate her Chinese food with the plastic fork provided. He’d bought her favorite, curry chicken, but had ordered fried rice instead of regular white. She closed the rice carton with distaste and opened the chicken, careful not to spill it on her black suit or Christian’s precious leather seats. Her stomach rumbled in anticipation, even as the spicy flavors brought her mouth to life.
Weaving through the post rush-hour traffic, Christian babbled about his job, a girl at work that he was thinking about asking out, and how much it had cost to repair a scratch in the paint on his car. There was no pattern to his speech, and he punctuated his stories with unexpected exclamations. His voice was a welcome relief from the monotonous sounds at the office.
Sometimes the continuous tapping at work was more than Liana could endure, and she had to envision herself elsewhere to survive the day. When she’d first started in the cubicles, her daydream had been a quiet beach with nothing but the occasional cry of the seagulls to interrupt her peace. Then two summers earlier she had taken a vacation to Catalina Island in California, where the beaches had been filled with boisterous people and the constant roar of the waves hurling themselves up the beach. After a while, the rise and fall of the white-crested waves had been as bad for her as the tapping on the keyboards—too much rush and hurry. She’d gone home disappointed and had begun to dream of a remote cabin in the mountains.
Last summer she had stayed in her other brother Bret’s cozy new cabin in the mountains of Utah. She wanted to hike over the soft, fragrant layers of pine needles and escape Nevada’s penetrating heat. It had been wonderful—at first. Then at night the wind singing through the trees became a constant sound, somehow hauntingly familiar, as though someone had only muffled the tapping from the keyboards. After three sleepless nights, she went home early, resigning herself to never escaping the cacophony of the accounting office. From that time on, she’d hated her job.
“Here we are,” Christian said, all too soon.
Swallowing a bite of chicken, Liana gazed at the new three-story building liberally dotted with impressive windows. Large gold lettering on the front window next to the double glass doors spelled out Goodman Electronics. “What did you say the company does?”
“They sell televisions, DVD players, that sort of thing. Austin also runs a charity organization to help orphans in Ukraine. His grandmother started it. But that doesn’t have anything to do with his job here.”
“I hope they’re not too big.” The larger the company, the more work she would be in for.
Setting aside the remains of her chicken, Liana grabbed her black briefcase, climbed from the car, and walked with Christian to the doors. Almost immediately, a buzzer sounded and they were let inside.
Behind the wide, room-length reception desk sat a lean man dressed in a dark business suit. He was tilted back in the chair with his hands behind his head and his feet on the desk. His eyes were fixed on the monitor in front of him, as if nothing could tear him away. Black hair covered his head, the corners arching high in the front—a sign of intelligence, her father used to say—and the tanned, chiseled face already sported a five o’clock shadow.
He moved as they approached, languidly pulling down his arms and coming to his feet. He was tall—at least a head taller than Liana. His eyes stayed on the screen a few seconds longer, and Liana wished she could catch a glimpse of what so fascinated him. Then his face turned in their direction, his welcoming smile echoed by a friendly gleam in his black eyes.
Individually, his features weren’t anything to speak of—his nose was too large, his chin too wide, the forehead too high—but taken all together he was positively the most arresting man she had ever seen. Liana didn’t know if it was because his eyes were the color of midnight or if it was the way he looked at her. Certainly he wasn’t the most handsome man she’d met. Take Jim Forrester, for example. That man had the blond good looks of a surfing king, though his merits were decidedly spoiled by his certainty of his beauty—not to mention the existence of a Mrs. Forrester. Liana never allowed good looks to impress her.
“Austin, this is my sister, Liana Winn,” Christian said. “Liana, this is Austin Walker.”
He walked around the desk, offering his hand. She looked up into his face and murmured something, schooling herself to show nothing of her momentary admiration.
Austin’s eyes didn’t leave hers. “Are you the wonder woman who’s going to free me from this accounting mess?” His voice was low and rich, with a hint of familiarity that made her uncomfortable.
“That depends.” She averted her eyes from his stare. “Where are the papers so I can get started?”
The smile on Austin’s face faltered but steadied quickly. “Right this way.” He took an ID card hanging from his waist on a thin retractable elastic cord and swiped it through a metal reader near the door next to the reception desk. “Through here.” He held the door open for them.
As Liana passed, she caught a whiff of Austin’s cologne, or perhaps it was only fabric softener someone had used on his white button-down shirt. The scent reminded her of hiking outside Bret’s cabin—a slight fragrance of pine mixed with the freshness of a mountain breeze. The scent was gone almost before she could identify it. She slipped past, felt his gaze boring into her back, and wondered why he so disturbed her.
It’s not just him, came an unbidden thought. She remembered Jim Forrester and Mr. Koplin. They were only a few in a long line of men that made her feel uncomfortable. Truth be told, the only men who didn’t make her nervous were her brothers, Christian and Bret. Liana forced the thoughts away and continued down the hall. Men were irrelevant. She didn’t need anyone. No, not even Christian, who had called her Liana from her first day in America—instead of Lara, the legal name she detested. Not even Christian, who had held her shaking body while she sobbed for her mother during those first weeks and months after the plane accident, and who had eased her hunger with ice cream stolen from the freezer in the middle of the night when she had been too upset to eat her dinner. Not even Christian, who had promised never to leave her—a promise she couldn’t bear to elicit from his parents, the aunt and uncle who had adopted her. If she kept telling herself she didn’t need him—or any of them—it might become true.
“It’s that one over there.” Austin slipped around them and opened another door with a swipe of his card.
The accountant’s office was dim, lit only by the darkening light coming through the wide, unshuttered windows. Austin flipped on the overhead lights, and the room sprang from the shadows. To one side sat a nice oak desk, and beyond the desk, tall oak filing cabinets lined one wall. A high oak bookcase bordered the opposite wall, and a narrow table held a vase of flowers. But the most obvious piece of furniture was a small round plastic table in the middle of the room, standing awkwardly alone, unattached to any chair and of notably different quality from the rest of the furniture.
“Everything should be here on the table,” Austin said. “I had a secretary make hard copies of everything and do the best she could to organize it.”
Liana grimaced at the mounds of papers and files lying on the small table. Though neatly organized, the stacks were thick and numerous. Generally, she preferred to leave everything on the computer until the final go-through. Everything except her tallies of numbers. Those she liked to have on tangible paper—either created on her adding machine or, in the old-fashioned way, with pencil and pad.
“I know it looks like a lot,” Austin said. “But I can help. I’m good with numbers. I’m just not sure what to file or when.”
Carefully, Liana set her briefcase on top of one of the stacks. She looked around the room and spotted a chair behind the desk. Thankfully, it was padded.
“There’s a chair.” Austin started for it at the same time she did.
“I can do it.”
Their hands touched on the back of the chair, and Liana pulled away hard. The chair shot from the horseshoe desk toward the table, banging into it. “Wheels. What a nice invention,” she said, not meeting Austin’s gaze. She felt like an idiot.
Ignoring the men’s polite chuckling, she sat down to work. After a while Christian and Austin started whispering, breaking her concentration. “Isn’t there somewhere you two can go for about forty minutes?” she asked.
“Uh, yeah.” Austin motioned Christian to the door. “We have an employee lounge where we can catch a little TV. And I should check my email. Are you sure you’ll be okay?”
“Don’t worry about me. I’m only stealing your company secrets.” Her eyes returned to the papers.
Austin hesitated, but Christian pulled him away. “She’s joking.”
“Of course she is.”
Liana didn’t look up until they left. Though she was alone in the room, she still felt Austin’s midnight eyes upon her.
Prologue
Location: Welfare Colony 6, Dallastar
Year: 2258, 60 years after Breakdown
JAXON CAME THROUGH the doorway of Reese’s house without knocking, his steps dragging, his body hunched as if coming from a beating, though there wasn’t a mark on him. One glance at the slump of her best friend’s shoulders and the tightness in his face told her that his mother had a visitor next door.
Her fingers froze on the pencil poised over her sketchbook. “Hey, Jaxon.”
“Hey,” came the strangled reply.
She arose from the small table in her living room, clutching her notebook to her chest. He’d almost reached her when the flash came, a mental image of the visitor’s face. For that single, bright instant, Reese could see the man as Jaxon had seen him inside his house only moments before. The vision was like a sketch in her mind, but burning vivid and real and in full color. Then it was gone, leaving her hands itching to draw the face of the stranger, to record him in her sketchbook.
Even at only ten years old, Reese wasn’t too young to understand what the visitor meant. Everyone living in Welfare Colony 6, or the Coop as its residents referred to it, knew the facts of life and what people were willing to do for money. Or what they had to do if they wanted to do more than barely survive in this place that was as jam-packed with human life as any chicken coop.
“Forget him,” she said.
Jaxon nodded, the tension in his face receding slightly.
Reese knew it bothered him that the man was with his mother, probably because he was still hoping his father would show up one day to claim him. As if that would ever happen. Jaxon’s father was long gone like all the other visitors, leaving only his son as the lone signal of his passing.
“I’ll just put this away.” As she walked to her tiny room, she hastily outlined the visitor’s face on a blank page in her sketchbook, hoping the quick drawing might be enough to stop the compulsion she always felt after seeing a “sketch.” She could fill more in later.
After carefully storing her sketchbook under her thin, CORE-issued mattress, Reese led Jaxon outside. The two children hurried past the fancy car that filled the entire narrow street in front of Jaxon’s house. The unmarked vehicle was a clear sign of the visitor’s wealth. Only people from outside the Coop had cars and the money to come here. Regular people used the public sky train and walked from the closest station.
Sweat trickled down the back of Reese’s neck under her long hair, but she increased her speed as they wound through the maze of houses. Despite their slightly different shapes and styles, the buildings were really all the same. Laminate exteriors bleached by the sun, miniscule yards largely untended, trash everywhere, and each house wedged so tightly against the others you could almost hear your neighbor snoring at night. Reese didn’t mind the crush of humanity, but lately the smell seemed to be getting worse.
The cement wall ahead signaled their arrival at the transfer station. Pipes from the station ran throughout the Coop, supplying the rows of houses with water according to the whim of those in control of the main station located outside the colony. Reese still remembered the year the water had turned to sludge and people had died by the hundreds. If she was ever lucky enough to get one of her dad’s empty sauce skins, she always filled it with water and stored it under her bed. She had eight stashed there now.
Angling around to the back, they climbed over the wall using the knotted rope they’d managed to loop over one of the intermittent posts. The wall was twice her father’s height, but short in comparison with the outer wall that encircled the entire colony. Reese was glad she’d worn her one pair of jeans instead of cutoffs because she invariably scraped her knees against the rough cement. The other kids from their crew were nowhere in sight, but they’d arrive soon.
Reese and Jaxon sprinted across the short open space, passed the huge metal grate that covered the opening between the entombed canal and the transfer station, and began scaling to the top of the station using the metal rungs embedded in the cement.
Anticipation rolled through Reese. Unless they were standing directly on top of the grate, the roof of the transfer station was the only place they could glimpse the water as it rushed into the cement structure.
Settling on the hot roof, Jaxon tossed a small pebble down, and it pinged off the grate, bouncing once before falling through into the swirling water. Reese imagined the hard, heat-soaked pebble diving into blissful coolness and longed to do the same, but the metal grate was a barrier they hadn’t yet been able to breach.
Jaxon tossed another pebble, then lay back suddenly despite the heat of the cement rooftop. He put his hands under his head, not quite touching the ground, bare elbows curled up so they didn’t graze the blistering rooftop. “I just want to get out of here. I need to get out of here.”
“And leave your mom?” Reese really meant “And leave me?” but she couldn’t say it aloud. Overhead, the blue sky was clear and painfully beautiful, a perfection that somehow made her insides ache. Her legs dangled over the edge of the roof, but now she pulled them up and hugged her knees tightly to her chest.
Jaxon turned burning blue eyes in her direction, the color brighter than the overhead sky. They always startled her with their brightness, a glaring contrast to his dark coloring that was common in the Coop. Three generations of being confined to this colony had resulted in a blending of the races. The few pale faces, or those much darker than the norm, always stood out. “We’ll both get out of here, Reese. You have to believe it. Anything is possible.”
Obviously, her casual statement hadn’t fooled him for a second. She wasn’t surprised. They’d been friends long before they started school. He knew about her father and his addictions, her obsession with drawing, and her ability to glimpse people she’d never seen. He understood about the water under her bed and her fear of dying. And most of all, how she longed for the mother she’d never known.
She smiled, relieved that he wasn’t planning anything drastic because there was really no place to go. If they leveled out of school, they could get jobs at eighteen and work hard to prove they were valuable enough to leave the Coop. That meant a real life outside in society with the support and protection of the CORE. If they didn’t graduate, they’d work jobs here until they died in the same houses they’d lived in all their lives.
She’d only been outside the Coop twice to visit her great-aunt, who was an art teacher for kids whose parents cared about that sort of thing. The woman was brusque and outspoken, and it was apparent she didn’t hold much love for her nephew, Reese’s father. But those brief visits, and her gift of the sketchbooks, were what kept Reese going to school month after month, and year after year. She hated the rigidness and confinement, and most of all the noise, but the only way out of the Coop was school. They were told daily how most of them would fail, that they would end up working all their lives in one of the Coop’s factories. But Reese didn’t intend to be one of those failures, and she didn’t plan for Jaxon to become one either.
As if reading her mind, Jaxon threw off his gloom and sat up. “They’re coming. Just wait till you see what Eagle and I have to show you.” Now his eyes sparkled.
Reese jumped to her feet, spurred by the excitement in his voice. “There you go again with that super hearing.”
He always knew when the others were arriving. He also guessed when their teachers were going to be absent, or the times Reese’s father would be coming home so sauced that it was safer to sleep outside.
Jaxon laughed. “Just a hunch.”
Sure enough, Eagle Jensen’s head poked over the concrete wall, and he began scrabbling over. More heads appeared after him. By the time she and Jaxon half fell, half slid down the metal rungs to the ground, good old Eagle Eyes was already across the open space, his brown eyes hidden behind thick glasses that still left him almost blind. He did odd jobs all around the colony to save up for surgery, but the price tag on his dream seemed impossible to Reese. Kids from the Coop never had surgery, or at least she’d never known anyone who had.
Lyssa and Lyra Sloan were with Eagle, and Dani Balak brought up the rear. All six crew members were present and accounted for. Lyssa and Lyra were an oddity in the Coop, not just for their obvious Asian heritage, but because they were identical twins. Dani was equally odd, with nearly black skin and her short, stiff hair a strange off-white, as if someone had dumped bleach over it.
Reese’s green eyes and pale skin made her almost as unusual as the others. At school in level ten, the six of them were considered the smart oddballs, and their very peculiarities were the reason they’d banded together after leaving the nursery levels when they were barely five.
Only Jaxon was mostly normal—at least in Reese’s estimation—but their longtime friendship meant he belonged in their crew all the same. Together they were strong enough to ward off other kids who tried to take advantage of them. There was safety in numbers, especially when one of those numbers was Dani, who could outfight anyone, even those twice her size.
Jaxon sat on the thick, two-foot-high cement base that held the huge grate. The water wasn’t visible from where they stood now, but Reese could hear it gurgling below. Beckoning, taunting in the summer heat.
“You got it?” Jaxon asked Eagle.
Eagle hefted a battered cloth backpack in his hands. “You know it.”
Jaxon’s grin grew wide. “Yeah, but you think it’s going to work?”
Eagle shrugged unevenly, his right shoulder lifting slightly before the other. “Don’t see why not. You should have thought of this at the beginning of summer.”
“Will someone tell me what’s going on?” Reese looked at the other girls, but they shook their heads.
Dani put her hands on her hips. “Someone better start talking. It’s hot as Breakdown out here, and my show’s on the Teev.”
Jaxon turned eyes on her. “Oh, it’s so gonna be worth it. I promise. Took us long enough to gather the parts. But this is something you can’t share with anyone outside the crew, or we’ll lose it.”
Lyssa and Lyra both rolled their eyes as if they were an extension of one another rather than separate people. Reese shuddered internally, slightly spooked by it, though she’d known them since nursery school and liked them almost as much as she did Jaxon.
“Like we’d ever say anything to those jukeheads,” Lyssa said. Lyra nodded, her sister’s words apparently enough for her.
“Come on, then.” Jaxon took a step onto the cement ring and looked over the grate.
“I think we ought to do it over there.” Eagle pointed to the middle. “Less noticeable if someone comes.”
Jaxon frowned. “Yeah, but kids could fall in if we do it there. Some still sneak in even though they know we’ve claimed it. Let’s do it closer to the edge, near the building. At least they’d have a chance to grab that slanted cement edge under the grate if they fell.”
Eagle rolled his eyes, and Dani smirked. Only Jaxon would think about other kids, and it made Reese proud of him. He was like their conscience or something.
“Anyway, it’d be less tricky for us to get down,” he added.
“Right.” Apparently convinced, Eagle jumped up on the grate and started across it, staggering slightly under the weight of his backpack. Reese followed with the others, curious now. The rush of the water grew louder.
The grate was significantly larger than the opening it covered. Underneath the grate, a layer of cement angled down on all sides until it formed a small, open rectangle where they could glimpse the water. The rectangle was small only in comparison to the grate, however, because the opening had about the same footprint as a house in the Coop. Every now and then white pipes poked up a few inches on the angled cement, like the roof vents on the Coop houses. Reese didn’t know why whoever built the transfer station had installed the grate instead of covering the entire thing with cement, but she was glad they had. Even if they couldn’t get to it, the water was entertaining.
She stopped and peered down at the water, wondering at the sheer volume. So much liquid, all moving forward at a clipped pace, though not so fast as to be frightening. She’d heard about oceans and people swimming in them, and lakes in the mountains, but no one she ever knew had personally seen them. The only water she’d seen that even came close was the chemical-filled pool at school where they did endless laps under a teacher’s watchful eye.
Reese pulled her attention from the water and hurried across the grate, her toes slipping off her too-small sandals, the hot metal searing the skin slightly. By the time she reached the others, Eagle was cutting into the grate a few feet from the station.
“I thought this had an alarm.” Reese glanced around, feeling strangely exposed, though she’d been on the grate a thousand times.
Eagle grinned up at her. “That’s what this is for.” He gestured to a heap of wiring that he’d apparently attached to the grate on each side of the parts they were cutting. “They have detectors in the metal, but this’ll fool them. Got the laser cutter from the lab. The science teacher’s out at a funeral, but I gotta have it back by tomorrow.”
With a few swift cuts, the piece of grate was free, and Eagle carefully pulled it away from the rest. “It’ll never seal like before, but I got some magglue to make it look right,” he said. “It should hold if no one walks on it. Mr. Day will never miss the glue, and there’s enough to reseal it a bunch of times before we’ll have to steal more.”
“Okay, now what?” Dani asked.
Jaxon began pulling out what looked like coils of clothing from Eagle’s backpack. A small, battered sack of pretzels came out with the clothes, and Eagle opened it to share. They were his favorite treat, and he’d been known to scour the school garbage bins in search of them whenever they were served in the lunchtime readymeals.
Reese took a pretzel as she eyed the mishmash of clothing. “Wait, is that my old sweater?”
Jaxon laughed. “Oh, yeah. Eagle and I’ve been working on this for a while.” He shook out the coils to reveal a makeshift ladder. “Ladies, we’re going swimming.” No wonder the backpack had looked so heavy.
Jaxon threw the ladder down the hole, the metal hooks on the end clipping easily to a part of the grate. “I’ll go first.”
“Let me.” Dani had already stripped to her underwear and tank top. “I’m tougher than you.” Without waiting for a response, she grabbed hold of the rope and started her descent.
Six feet down, she reached the place where the cement angled steeply from the side. From there she stepped off the ladder and walked down, using only her hands on the ladder to slow her progress. Finally, she reached the edge of the cement.
“Punk bucket,” she called. “Way more water than I thought. At least five times as big as the pool. Maybe more.” Grabbing onto one of the strange white pipes, she knelt on the sloped cement and peered over. “It’s hardly moving on the sides, though, so I think we’re good.”
She balanced again on the ladder where it dropped over the water, and Reese backtracked to the middle of the grate to keep Dani in view for a few more seconds as her body sank below the slanted cement. If there wasn’t enough ladder to reach the water, they were all going to be disappointed.
A loud splash sent terror through Reese’s chest, but a second later, Dani’s voice echoed up to them from the deep. “It’s great! Come on down! The ladder almost reaches the water. No worries about getting back up.”
The rest of the crew needed no further invitation. Jaxon was next, and Reese followed, first shucking off her jeans and sandals, her heart pounding with equal parts fear and anticipation. The lower she climbed the cooler it was. She could almost forget that seconds before she’d been melting under the hot sun.
As Reese stepped off the ladder and onto the sloping cement, she brushed one of the protruding white pipes. Air was coming out of it, emitting a smell she couldn’t identify, and the aroma intensified as she climbed over the last bit of cement, stepped back onto the ladder, and swung unsteadily into the air.
Below her, Jaxon jumped the rest of the way, landing with a splash into the water. He was immediately caught up in the current, but with a few strong strokes he made it to the calmer water at the edges where Dani was swimming lazily on her back.
The sloping cement was open underneath, where huge iron bars jutted from the walls, supporting it. It puzzled Reese that the builders had included the extra cement at all. What was its purpose? Going down the rest of the ladder felt like entering a huge cavern that she’d once seen on the Teev.
She was getting ready to jump into the water when she noticed the cylinders—dozens of them, each a foot long with the circumference of a dinner plate. The cylinders were secured to the underside of the cement, directly under the pipes that jutted out on top. What is that about?
Above Reese, Lyssa was already climbing down, her bare feet approaching quickly, so Reese jumped, careful to angle her fall toward the calmer outer edges of the water. She hit and went under, her body tingling all over at the sudden change of temperature. The water was cool, but not icy, and for a moment of pure bliss, she floated on her back, moving her arms lazily to keep in place.
No one had ever done this before. No one but them.
Eagle was the last one down, and he paused for longer than Reese had on the ladder, studying the cylinders. He reached over and put a hand on one. “These things are some kind of membrane,” he called down. He sniffed his hand and then shrugged before carefully climbing down to the end of the rope and sliding into the water. Even then, he held onto his glasses with one hand as he swam awkwardly in Reese’s direction.
“Anything dripping from those canisters?” he asked. “I can’t see well enough to tell.”
Reese studied them for a moment before nodding. “Yeah. Clear stuff. Just every now and then. A drop or two. Must be chemicals. They have to treat the water to make it safe to drink.” Now the sloping cement seemed to make more sense.
Jaxon closed the few feet separating him from Reese. “But they treat the water inside the station before it goes into the pumps. This must be something else.”
“Maybe.” Reese glanced over at Dani, who had swum to the far wall, peering into what they could see of the opening where the rush of water entered the transfer station. “Anyway, I always wondered why they put in a grate at all.”
“Leaving it open to the air helps the flavor.” Eagle accidently splashed a little water on his glasses and scowled in frustration. “Least that’s what they said in science class when we studied water filtration.”
Reese didn’t remember that, but she trusted Eagle to have been paying attention. She glanced back up at the green canisters. “You think the chemicals will hurt us?”
Eagle considered her question. “I doubt it. They’re very tiny drops. It’s probably just something else to make it taste better.”
“Hey, come look at this!” Dani shouted at them.
Reese let herself drift partially into the main current, gliding along toward Dani. Jaxon reached out and pushed her to the side of the opening as they neared. “Careful,” he warned. “The current’s stronger here.”
Reese pointed her feet forward, landing against the cement wall with a jolt.
A fine wire mesh covered the six-meter hole where the water entered the transfer station. Reese vaguely remembered hearing something in school about a series of filtration grates as the water came down the manmade canal from the closest river. Even so, slippery bits of debris had gathered along the mesh.
“Fish, here?” Jaxon said.
Sure enough, small fish about the length of Reese’s longest finger lay pinned against the wire mesh by the rush of water. She peered closer to see them nibbling at the debris.
“Look at this one!” Dani exclaimed, pointing. Just below the water level, a fish had broken away from the mesh. It was almost transparent but glowing with some kind of light.
Apparently even Eagle could see it. “Weird,” he said. “I wouldn’t have thought it was big enough to fight the current.”
“What do you mean? It shouldn’t be here at all.” Dani reached toward the glowing fish, which didn’t seem in the least bothered by their presence.
“Could have been tiny eggs when they came down the canal,” Jaxon said. “Then they grew here.”
“They’re not like any fish I ever seen on the Teev.” Eagle stared so intently that the bottom rims of his glasses skimmed the water.
“You even seeing them?” Dani teased. She touched the fish and immediately pulled back. “Saca!” she cursed.
“It bite you?” Reese asked.
“No. It tingles all over like some kind of smeg flush.”
Reese had never tried smeg, but her dad used the drug every time his new girlfriend came over. The way he zoned out before hustling Cecelia into his bedroom frightened her.
Lyssa started to touch the fish, but Jaxon grabbed her hand. “Better not,” he said, jerking his head at Dani. “We should wait to make sure there aren’t any side effects.”
He glanced up at the cylinders as he spoke, and goosebumps rippled across Reese’s shoulders.
“Gee, thanks,” Dani muttered.
Suddenly, Reese wanted more than anything to climb out of the water and get away from the transfer station completely. But Lyra started a water fight, and in the ensuing fun, Reese forgot the feeling. They swam the length of the cavern, reveling in their secret and the accomplishment of being there.
All too soon, Eagle was telling them it was time to go, and Reese climbed up the ladder first. She was glad Dani volunteered to be the last one out.
The heat of the sun felt good after being in the cool water. The grate was warm against Reese’s skin now instead of searing as it had been earlier, which meant the sun would soon set and she’d need to get home in case her father wanted her. She spread out over the grate to soak in the warmth as Eagle and Jaxon used the magglue to temporarily secure the cut piece of metal. By the time the boys finished with the glue, she was dry enough to pull on her jeans.
Thankfully, the car that had been parked outside Jaxon’s house was gone when they arrived on their street. Jaxon waved at her and headed inside, walking tall and grinning wide, as if there hadn’t been a visitor at all. Reese opened the door to her own house, and the smell of nuked food—a sure sign she wouldn’t be home alone tonight—made her stomach growl.
As she walked into the room that served as both living room and kitchen, her dad’s girlfriend, Cecelia, looked away from the three-dimensional Teev figures moving above the table. “Hey, Reese, where you been? Why’s your hair wet?”
Reese shrugged. “We were playing a game. Is my dad home?”
“In the shower. You hungry? I got some chicken. Your favorite.”
“Thanks.” Reese grabbed one of the flat readymeal containers from the sack on the counter, slid it into the narrow opening of the microwave, and punched start. As she waited for the food, she turned her eyes to the holographic Teev projection. From her vantage point, she could only see the sides of the characters, but they looked real. The only apparent difference between the Teev feed and real life was the smaller size. At school they had Teevs that projected life-sized characters, and teachers constantly used these to present their lessons. She’d grown used to seeing the teacher talking at the front of the class while simultaneously working on grades in the back of the room.
Cecelia loved to watch romances, and two characters were kissing passionately on the screen. Reese couldn’t understand why that was interesting, but she couldn’t help thinking about Jaxon and wondering if some day they might want to kiss like that.
Leaving the meal to cook, Reese grabbed her sketchbook and pencils from her room, returning as the readymeal glided out of its slot. It wasn’t really chicken, according to her science teacher, but Reese had never tasted real chicken, so it made no difference to her. She cleared a spot in the weeks of discarded food wrappers on the table and sat in the chair opposite Cecelia. Her eyes avoided the Teev as she ate with one hand and drew with the other. First, she wanted to capture the underside of the grate and the strange canisters. She was glad she’d “borrowed” the colored pencils from school because they made her drawings much more realistic. She was about to fill in the water when she felt her dad enter the room.
“Hey,” he said. “You guys better not have eaten everything. I’m starved.”
The knot Reese hadn’t even realized existed in her stomach relaxed. He hadn’t been drinking. Not yet. As Cecilia jumped up to cook his food, he paused at Reese’s shoulder. For a moment, she was terrified he would recognize the transfer station and forbid her to go there, but his attention locked on the kissing couple. With a scowl, he barked a command, and the Teev feed changed from romance to the news, which was almost as bad, but not quite. Grownups were so boring.
Carefully, Reese turned the page of her sketchbook, hiding the transfer station. She concentrated on eating for a while, but before she could finish, the drawing she’d begun earlier that afternoon beckoned like a promise she had to keep. Before she could help herself, her fork lay discarded as she turned the pages to the quick sketch of the man who’d visited Jaxon’s house.
She frowned at it. No, it wasn’t quite right. The face had been wider and more square. She erased the old lines and new ones began to form under her pencil. That was better—just as she had “sketched” him in her mind. She shaded in the too-smooth forehead that hinted at Nuface therapy. Next, she enhanced the deep-set blue eyes under the thick brows, followed by thinning the lips slightly and adding an oddly pointed chin that made him seem cruel. The nose wasn’t right either, but flattening it added the distinct toughness she remembered. To finish, she shaded in the shock of medium gray hair with a prominent widow’s peak.
Perfect. The most telling thing about the man was the fleshy cheeks, rounded with rich foods, which meant he didn’t belong in the Coop. He was slumming. He wasn’t ugly, but something about him made her feel upset. Maybe it was because she knew how much his visit had bothered Jaxon.
Cecelia brought her father’s meal and squeezed in between them at the table, cuddling up to her father as he began forking down his food. Feeling crowded, Reese arose to go to the other side, and as she did, her eyes were drawn by what was streaming on the Teev.
She gasped. It was him! The man she was drawing. No mistaking those eyes.
Both her dad and Cecelia looked in her direction. “What?” barked her dad, his tone annoyed.
Reese tried to clasp the sketchbook to her chest, but he was already reaching for it. His strong fingers pulled the book from her. He stared at the picture and then back up at the Teev. “Where did you see him?”
“I-I didn’t.” She pointed to the man on the Teev. “I mean, just now.”
Her father’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Reese.”
She shrugged. “It’s just a picture.” Even as she spoke, the man disappeared from the Teev.
“Tell me. Now.” Her father’s voice was slow but sharp, reminding her of nails and broken glass. “Where did you see that clud-faced pus bag?”
Pus bag? That meant he was an Elite who held an important job in the CORE, and that Reese was right about him slumming. She’d have to answer her father or spend the night regretting it. And what harm could there be in telling him anyway? “He was at Jaxon’s today.”
“Did you actually see him?”
Reese shook her head.
“But he was there.” His words weren’t a question but demanded confirmation.
“Jaxon saw him.”
A smile curving his lips, her father tore the drawing from her precious sketchbook, and Reese almost felt that he tore out a piece of her soul. She had three other books, but they were crammed full of drawings already.
“Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” Cecelia looked from Reese to her father. She didn’t know about Reese’s flashes or sketches or whatever they were, and Reese had hoped she’d never know. She wanted Cecelia to like her, not consider her a freak.
“Later.” Her dad went back to eating, his eyes no longer on the Teev but fixed on her drawing. The intensity of his stare made Reese uncomfortable.
Abandoning the rest of her dinner, she slipped away to her bedroom, the door barely clearing the bed as she pushed it open. Sinking to her mattress, she waited until her heartbeat slowed before carefully redrawing the man, this time adding better shading.
Once it was finished, she relaxed. Good. Now she could rest and forget him. Eventually, the drawing would fade from her mind. She hoped it was the last time he’d visit the Coop.
REESE’S RELIEF WAS short-lived. Barely a week later, she and Jaxon were swimming at the transfer station when he abruptly insisted that he had to go home. He’d done the same thing for the past two days, and Reese was a little annoyed, but she left the other kids and went with him because he was acting strange, and it worried her. Arriving on their street, they discovered a silver enforcer shuttle and an ambulance jammed into the space in front of his house. Two EMTs carried a sheet-covered form on a stretcher to the ambulance.
“What’s going on?” Jaxon asked the nearest enforcer. Panic made his voice rise at the end, sending needles of fear into Reese’s gut.
“Beat it, kid. Take your nose somewhere else.”
Outrage filled Reese, overcoming her fear of the clipper. “He lives here.” She wanted to add some of her dad’s more colorful adjectives, but enforcers—or clippers as most disrespectfully called them—on the Coop beat were known to tag kids with their mood-altering temper lasers just for fun.
“Not anymore, you don’t.” The man gave them an unpleasant smirk.
“Leave him alone.” This from another enforcer, a wide-shouldered man with red hair, a freckled complexion, and a slight accent Reese couldn’t place. Obviously, he wasn’t from around here. He thumbed toward the shuttle, and the other cop left.
“I’m Enforcer Tennant,” he said to Jaxon. “Look, I’m really sorry, kid, but your mom’s dead.”
Jaxon’s mouth opened. “No, no . . . she can’t . . .” He looked as if someone had punched him in the gut, the color bleeding from his tanned face.
“We think it was a robbery.” The clipper laid a comforting hand on Jaxon’s shoulder. “We’ll find the guy who did this. For now, you need to come with me. We’ll get you fixed up with a place to stay.”
As the man led him away, tears ran unchecked down Jaxon’s face. Reese wanted to run after him, to put her arms around him and tell him it was going to be okay. But it wasn’t okay. Not for him or for her. His mom was gone. That meant he’d be taken away, and Reese would lose Jaxon. Kids whose parents died always left and never came back.
Reese couldn’t find her breath. She couldn’t call out. She couldn’t even cry. She couldn’t do anything but watch as the enforcer closed the door of his shuttle with Jaxon inside and drove down the street.
Blindly, Reese headed for home. Jaxon is gone, gone, gone. He promised we’d leave together, but now I’ll never see him again. She wept for him and for herself. Now that they’d finally come, she couldn’t stop the flood of tears. Why hadn’t she at least told Jaxon how sorry she was that his mom was dead?
No one was home at her house. She sank onto a chair next to the table, staring at nothing. Her wet hair dried, but not her eyes. She was still sitting there in the dark when her father stumbled into the room and flipped on a light. She could smell the stench of sauce on his breath.
He took one look at her, sneering a little as he said, “What’s wrong with you?”
Inwardly, she cringed. “Jaxon,” she whispered. “They took him away. His mom’s dead.”
For a full three seconds her father didn’t speak, but his eyes seemed to grow two sizes. “When?” he choked out.
“A few hours ago. She was okay before we went to play. I think someone killed her.”
“Get your stuff. We’re leaving.” Just that fast, her dad wasn’t drunk anymore. He grabbed a large duffel from the closet and began shoving in food.
Reese jumped to her feet. “What? No! Jaxon might come back. I have to wait for him.”
“Now!” He slammed a cupboard just as Cecelia walked into the kitchen.
“Gerry,” she said, running to him, “what’s wrong?”
For a moment Reese saw panic in her father’s face, but it was followed quickly with a hardening of his jaw. “Bethany’s dead. They killed her. We’ll be next.”
Cecelia gasped. “I told you to leave it alone. You should have ripped up that picture!”
Reese’s stomach dropped. Her picture? It had to be. She was the only one who drew around here. And the picture of the man at Jaxon’s house was the only one her father had shown interest in. What had her father done?
“Leave the stuff.” Cecelia’s high, breathy voice sounded nothing like her usual self. “Let’s go.”
Her father gave a curt nod. “Just gotta get something from the bedroom. We’ll need all the cash I’ve saved. Yours too.”
“When are we coming back?” Reese hated the wobbling in her voice. She’d meant to sound determined.
“Never.” His finger stabbed at her. “With or without you, I’m leaving. Your choice.”
“Of course she’s coming! It won’t be safe here.” Cecelia gave her a sympathetic glance. “Get whatever you can carry, honey. Hurry!”
This was insane. Where did they plan to go? There was no place but the Coop, not for people like them. Leaving a colony, even temporarily, was impossible without preapproval. And if they managed to sneak out using one of the breaches in the outer wall, how would they survive? They’d be picked up before long without the right kind of ID.
Reese ran to her bedroom and shoved her three used sketchbooks into a bag, followed by her current one and a few clothes. The bag was only half full when she remembered the water skins under the bed. Those went in next, followed by her two spare pairs of underwear and a pair of sneakers that were missing parts of the soles.
Had the world gone crazy?
Jaxon! She wished she could talk to him, explain to him how much she wanted to take back her picture. To unsketch the man. Somehow she knew her picture had caused his mother’s death, that she was responsible for the devastation in his face.
Before Reese realized she was making a decision, she was out the front door and running over the square of dying lawn to Jaxon’s house. But his door was locked, and all the enforcers were gone. No answers here—and of course no Jaxon.
She heard a door slam and Cecelia calling her name. Then her dad, his voice loud and angry. She crouched by the edge of Jaxon’s house where an overgrown bush somehow thrived in a foot of dirt. Her father was cursing now, and Cecelia pleaded with him to wait, but their voices faded, floating down the street in the direction of the sky train.
They’d really left her. Reese didn’t care. She had to see Jaxon. To make him understand that she hadn’t meant to hurt him.
But Jaxon didn’t return, and neither did her father. After two days of hiding out at the transfer station, spying on her house and Jaxon’s, the endless hunger in her stomach forced her to break in and raid both houses for food. Packing all she could carry, she left the colony through the breach in the outer wall that she and the other kids had found during their explorations.
Outside, barren land stretched as far as she could see, broken only by an occasional plant and a ribbon of road that cut like a scar across the terrain. She’d have to wait until dark to start down the road or the cameras mounted on the wall would catch her. At night, there were patches of darkness between the flood lights that might be enough to hide her escape. If she ran fast, she’d only be visible to the guards for a few seconds before she was beyond the reach of the brightest beams—if they were even paying attention.
Her plan succeeded maybe too well. Days of walking and hitching several rides from kind strangers followed, bringing Reese into first one CORE city and then another. She moved on the edges, avoiding cameras and enforcers—or anyone who looked official. Finally driven to desperation and the hunger in her stomach, she dared use her CivID to ride the sky train, which miraculously didn’t bring enforcers down on her. By dusk of the seventh day, she arrived at her great-aunt’s place in Big Horn, where she collapsed on the beautifully manicured lawn. The gardener found her the next morning, chilled despite the heat of August, and brought her inside, where her great-aunt fed her mounds of the most delicious food in a kitchen so large that Reese felt she was still outside.
It was then she learned her father and Cecelia were dead. A fall from a sky train platform—an accident, the report said. But Reese knew better. Her picture had killed them too.
1
I placed the bowl of chopped vegetables and bread in front of the swollen raccoon. It had been three days since the wounded animal had tried to bite me when I came to feed her in the quarantine building, and I had to admit my attachment to her was growing. I couldn’t wait until Betsy, as I’d named her, delivered her babies. Homeowners had discovered her in their chimney a week earlier, her leg chewed and one eye missing after an apparent encounter with their neighbor’s dog. Like many of the animals at Safe Haven Exotic Wildlife Sanctuary, coming here was her last chance.
A branch on a newly planted sapling banged loudly against the quarantine’s solitary window, startling both me and the raccoon. “It’s okay girl,” I murmured, darting a glance at the window. For mid-afternoon, it was growing dark, and I wondered if we were in for another microburst. I hoped not because Tuesday was fasting day for the big cats, the one day the sanctuary was closed to the public, and a storm would interfere with all the work we had to get done before the visitors returned.
I reached out to soothe Betsy as I would many of our other raccoons, but she stopped eating, cringing away from my hand. “Sorry girl,” I muttered. I’d worked here a month and should remember that wild animals, even the most playful, didn’t like being touched while they were eating. I eased back to give her room and came slowly to my feet.
“How’s she doing?”
I jumped a little, my heart speeding into high gear, before turning around to see Stephen Carey’s tall, lean figure outside the cage. He was wearing a leather bomber jacket, hands in the pockets as if he was cold, his short, brown hair standing slightly on end in the front.
“Sorry if I scared you, Zoey.” He rubbed a hand through his hair, smoothing it down.
“That’s okay.” I glanced at the window. If anything, it was getting darker out there. “Looks like a storm.”
He nodded. “Bad one, according to the forecast. A storm warning’s been issued over half of Arizona, so I sent the volunteers home. We’ll need to round up everyone else and secure the animals.”
His aunt and uncle owned the sanctuary, and Stephen was the manager, which meant he had to deal with ordering food, public relations, keeping the books, and fundraising while the rest of us focused on the animals that came to us from all over the world. I thought we had the better end of the deal.
I ducked out of the cage door and shut it carefully behind me. Stephen watched, and I was all too aware of his stare. Last week we’d gone to see a movie together with a couple of the other sanctuary employees, and we’d had a great time. Stephen was smart, intelligent, and good looking. It wasn’t anything like an official date, but ever since the movie, I’d thought about asking him out to show my interest. Yet something inside held me back. Would he even be interested if he knew the truth about my life and where I’d come from?
I pushed the thoughts away. Stephen and I were friends, and I wasn’t going to let the past dictate my actions with him—or anyone else.
A movement caught my eye, but this time I wasn’t startled as Declan Walker eased into view around the far end of the narrow corridor. One moment he wasn’t there and the next he was, as though he had been there all along, or that we’d been expecting him. He moved with the same grace as our big cats—unhurried, powerful, and . . . natural. And just like when I watched the big cats, my heart leapt at the sight of him. He wore jeans topped by a jacket made of sturdy canvas, a bit of white wool lining showing where it opened at the neck. His slightly long, curly blond hair was messy, as if the wind had enjoyed playing in it.
Nodding a greeting, he squatted down in the narrow corridor next to the cage, studying Betsy. “She’ll be dropping those kits any day now.”
“How can you tell?” The raccoon didn’t look any different to me than she had last week when she’d arrived, except for the healing wounds.
Declan angled his head upward, his gray-blue eyes wandering somberly over my face as if considering my statement—or perhaps wondering if I really wanted to know. I did.
“She’s finished eating,” he said. “Let’s go in and I’ll show you.”
“What about securing the animals?” Stephen asked.
Declan’s gaze shifted to him. “Your aunt and uncle and a couple of the others are heading out to the big cats. Ewan went for the alpaca and llamas. Kitcat’s got the goats and bears. Blake’s taking the wolves and coyotes. We’ll check Betsy here, then divide the rest of the animals between the three of us. We’ll be finished long before your uncle’s back.”
With nearly two dozen tigers and a half dozen other big cats to secure, I could believe that.
At Declan’s reassuring words, the tension seeped from Stephen’s stance. I’d noticed over the past month that Declan had the same kind of calming influence on the animals. “Ah, good,” Stephen said. “Thanks for taking care of all that.”
“Yep.” Declan slipped inside Betsy’s cage before I heard it unlatch. He moved toward the raccoon slowly, keeping low to the ground. She watched him advance, her eyes unblinking, but didn’t cringe from his presence like she did most everyone except me, since I was the one who fed her.
I went back inside the enclosure after him, moving with not quite as much grace but just as slowly so I didn’t startle her. To my amazement, Betsy allowed him to touch her stomach. I didn’t really blame her—all the animals responded to him that way. And women. My solitary late-night study sessions certainly had as much to do with learning facts to impress him as they did with my love for the animals.
“See how tight this is?” Declan said. “You can feel the size of the babies. Go on, try it.”
I touched her neck first, working my way down to her stomach, my hand brushing his as he pulled away. Gently, I explored the bulges under the raccoon’s fur, all too aware of Declan’s eyes on my face. We’d had many such experiences together, but for reasons I didn’t want to examine too closely, being this close to him had started to make me feel uncomfortable.
Not that it really mattered, because apart from our work and training sessions, he kept too busy to exchange much casual chitchat. He hadn’t even come to the movie with us last week because we’d been finishing up a habitat for a new tiger, and he’d wanted to make sure the place was ready for transfer the next day.
“Don’t most raccoons give birth in late spring?” Stephen asked from outside the enclosure. “It’s barely April. She’s early.”
Declan looked over at him, one of his shoulders lifting in a half shrug. “It happens.” To me he added, “You feel it? At least four kits is my guess. Seem to be full term.”
One of the babies wriggled against my touch before pushing back into the mass. I could imagine the curled form was about four or five inches long, but it was hard to tell. Betsy’s stomach did seem to be stretched to the limit. “I’ll have to take your word for it,” I said.
Declan knew a lot about animals—even Josh Carey, Stephen’s uncle, had turned over much of his beloved tigers’ care to him—but I wondered how Declan could know this much about raccoon babies. Here at the sanctuary, our animals rarely had offspring. At first I was surprised that they neutered males when they were placed in habitats with females, but now it made a lot of sense. The point was to give abused or displaced wild animals the opportunity to live out their lives in comfort, not create more animals who could never return to the wild. We weren’t a zoo, and living in captivity was never best for a wild animal.
“She’ll be more relaxed once she’s out of quarantine and with the other raccoons,” Declan added. “By the way, Betsy’s a good name for her.”
I grinned. “I think it fits. Anyway, it was nice of everyone to let me name her.”
“Hey, you won the coin toss fair and square.” This from Stephen, who I suspected had rigged the game in my favor.
Together, Declan and I moved to the cage door, ducking outside and following Stephen down the quarantine’s corridor. Stephen paused at the main quarantine door, which rattled slightly with the intermittent gusts of wind outside. “Let’s divvy up the rest of the animals,” he said. “I’ll take the monkey house and the birds.”
“I’ll check the raccoons and the small cats,” I put in hurriedly.
Declan gave a soft groan. “Guess that leaves me the apes.”
Stephen held his hand to his heart and blinked dramatically. “That’s because Gretta will do anything for you.” He sniffed and pretended to wipe away a tear. “Ten years that gorilla’s known me, and she still hates my guts.”
“And mine,” I agreed.
As far as apes went, the chimpanzees and orangutans weren’t bad, but no one enjoyed coaxing any of our gorillas from their habitats and into their more secure feeding quarters. They were too independent, not to mention huge. Give me the cute little raccoons any time—and even the bobcat was more predictable. But Gretta, the oldest of the gorillas, seemed to consider Declan her mate and would do anything he asked.
Declan grinned and rolled his eyes. “Maybe I need to take a bath more often.”
“Uh, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,” I said, striving to keep a serious face. “But don’t worry. If you don’t return, we’ll come looking for you.”
Declan’s grin became a laugh. “Thanks. Call me on the walkie if you have any trouble with Bob.” His hand touched the two-way radio on his belt before zipping up his coat.
“Ah yes, Bob.” The old bobcat didn’t adjust well to new situations. I dragged the zipper up on my own jacket. Normally, I never used more than a long-sleeved shirt in April, but this morning I’d been glad the jacket I kept in my truck during the winter was still there.
Declan opened the quarantine door, and it was nearly pulled from his hand with a sudden blast of wind. He waited for us to emerge, then shut it carefully and headed off with a purposeful stride.
Stephen hesitated, leaning closer to me. “I had a great time last week. We should all do it again.”
Warmth filled me, and I hoped my brown skin, a legacy from my Latina mother, would mask the tell-tale color that was probably seeping into my face. “Yeah, we should. It was fun.” Maybe I wouldn’t have to be the one to ask him out first. But why didn’t I feel as excited at his attention as I’d expected?
He nodded and started away from the quarantine—only to stumble across a sharp-faced stranger in a black suit. The newcomer was as tall as Stephen but far thinner, and his eyes were too close together. He leaned into the wind, as if afraid of losing his footing. His mouth opened, but whatever he said was torn away by a gust, so I couldn’t make it out.
Even standing close to him, Stephen had to yell to make himself heard, “I’m Stephen Carey.”
More words I couldn’t hear, and then Stephen walked back to me, his dark eyes gleaming with a challenge I knew wasn’t directed at me. “It’s Baxter Ross, that attorney.” He spoke the word like a curse.
Before I’d come to work at Safe Haven, Stephen’s uncle had filed a lawsuit against a local man in the community for using the content of the Carey’s website to create a fake wildlife rescue site. The man had ended up bilking over a million from unwary donors. To add insult to injury, he’d sneaked into the sanctuary early one morning and hopped in with an aging Bengal tiger to make a video clip for his site.
“Seriously? Now?” I almost wished Cuddles had bitten the trespasser harder, instead of only giving him a playful warning. Of course that might have given this attorney grounds for a countersuit.
Stephen shot an annoyed glance at Ross. “We had an appointment, but I didn’t think he’d still come with the storm. Our attorney texted and said he was canceling the meeting. This guy probably showed up hoping he could take advantage of our attorney not being here.”
“Go deal with him,” I said. “I’ll check the monkeys and birds.” There wasn’t much to do with the birds except to make sure the aviary and flying enclosures were secure, but I’d want to double check that the herons and ostriches, who were in regular field enclosures, made it into their wooden shelters so they’d be protected from flying objects.
“Don’t go easy on him,” I added.
Stephen smiled with an anticipation I couldn’t understand. This attorney had been dragging out the case for over a year now, and the quotes he’d shared with the press were at best intentionally misleading, and at worst outright lies. “Believe me, I have no intention of doing that.”
He stalked toward the attorney, waving at him to follow. Well, better Stephen than me. I’d already had enough experience with attorneys to last a lifetime. I started into the wind as a tumbleweed passed. My long hair whipped around my face and my nose filled with dust. Pulling up my hood, I ran.
At the aviary, even the humid interior felt nice after being choked with dust. The place was locked down and food had been brought in but hadn’t been placed in the feeders yet, as if someone had dropped the buckets mid-job. Probably when they got the call to check on the big cats. I took a few moments to dole out the food.
My phone buzzed in the pocket of my jeans. Still hefting the final bucket in one hand, I peeked at the caller ID and answered. “Hey, sis.”
“Everything okay there?” Bianca asked. “You sound out of breath.”
Using my knee to assist, I managed to dump the food without getting too much on the floor. “We’re just having a bit of wind, so we’re locking down the animals, but it should pass soon. Everything’s great. Sorry I missed our call yesterday.”
Bianca laughed. “You don’t have to check up on me every day, you know.”
At twenty-two, she was only a year younger than I was, but I’d been taking care of her since our mother died, years before Lily Perez became our guardian and we went to live at what would eventually become known as Lily’s House. Keeping track of Bianca wasn’t a habit I was likely to break any time soon. She was my best friend, not just a sister, and I missed her terribly. I’d almost passed up this job at the sanctuary because it meant leaving her in Phoenix. “You get that batch of pottery finished?”
“Oh, yes.” Bianca practically breathed the words with her excitement. “I can’t wait to show you my new stuff.”
“I’m still planning on driving to Phoenix this weekend, so I’ll see it all then.” So far, I’d made the three-and-a-half-hour trip south to see my sister every weekend.
“Well, I have a big surprise for you! You’re going to love it.” She paused. “At least I hope so.”
“I’m sure I will. How are you liking your new roommate?”
“She’s good.” Bianca’s voice sounded a little forced.
“What aren’t you telling me?” Since we’d aged out of the foster care system, we’d lived together in an apartment in Phoenix with some of our foster sisters from Lily’s House—except for the past month that I’d been in Kingman, of course. Knowing the others were keeping an eye out for Bianca was the only way I’d been able to leave her, and I was still hoping she’d take me up on my offer to share my rented house here after she graduated from college this month.
“Nothing. She’s fine. I’m just on my way somewhere right now, and traffic is being stupid.”
“Oh, I see.” I wasn’t exactly buying her story, but a storm was coming and I didn’t want her out in it. Phoenix wasn’t far enough away to be missed completely. “Well, I’m hanging up then so you can concentrate. Call me after you get wherever you’re going. I should have the animals squared away soon.”
“Okay, but did Betsy have her babies yet?”
“Nope. Not yet. Should be soon, though. I’ll let you know.”
“You love it there, don’t you?” Bianca said. “I can hear it every time we talk. You finally found your place.”
My place, meaning a calling in life, like the one Bianca had felt from the moment she’d picked up a piece of clay at our high school. She’d been confident that I’d find something I could be as passionate about, but it never happened, not even through four years of college and bachelor degrees in biology and chemistry.
By the time I’d finished three months at the research firm where I’d been hired after college, I was beginning to believe a “place” wasn’t something most ordinary folks like me ever found. Six months later, I’d quit the firm.
This job at the sanctuary had been a fluke, and I’d intended it as a short term venture until I figured out where I really wanted to end up. Yet after only the first day, it was clear why my future had eluded me before. Who would have thought working with exotic animals was an option, much less a calling? But I belonged at the sanctuary as I’d never belonged anywhere else, except for maybe Lily’s House.
“You were right,” I conceded. “Now concentrate on driving. We’ll talk later.”
As we hung up, a faint rumbling came from outside the aviary, and several birds let out loud ca-caws in answer. I was glad the aviary was built to withstand a hurricane because too many of our birds were maimed or wounded and wouldn’t be safe out in this storm.
Ducking into the wind once more, I hurried past our large flight enclosures, where our non-tropical birds had already taken refuge in their wooden structures. Beyond the flight enclosures, I found the ostriches already in their shelters as well, but I had to entice the emu in. By the time I’d finished locking her down, my eyes stung with grit and I was wishing I had goggles.
Now for the monkeys, who were never very cooperative unless bribery was involved. I went inside and rattled the food dishes to attract their attention, and they came hurtling inside. Unfortunately, with the volunteer staff sent home and the rest of us securing the sanctuary, there was no food yet, and might not be any until much later, and they weren’t shy about squealing their discontent and banging on the bars as I locked them in.
“Sorry guys.” Once the five shelters were secure, I hurried on to the raccoon habitat, where we’d release Betsy after her quarantine was over. The raccoons were already inside their underground structures, huddled together for comfort. “That’s it. Smart little creatures.” Raccoons were good at self-preservation.
Only the small cats were left. The air was positively dark now, and I held the front of my jacket over my mouth to avoid breathing in the dust. This was bad—really bad. A sense of dread filled me. I hoped Bianca had arrived at her destination, or that the storm wasn’t as bad in Phoenix.
The small cats were inside their underground dens, except Bob, who was prowling along the fence, letting out irritable roars that made shivers crawl down my spine. Going inside each enclosure, I pulled down and locked the wood doors over the other dens while contemplating how to get the bobcat inside his.
Even as I watched, a large piece of wood sailed past, slamming into the fence near Bob, scaring him further. I needed to secure him before he was hit by something, but with how worked up he was, enticing him to safety was going to be a challenge. Like many of our wild animals, Bob had been rescued from a Vegas animal act, and he was accustomed to being around people. On a normal day, I wouldn’t be averse to going inside and calling him to me for a nice scratch—but only a crazy person would jump inside his habitat before he’d eaten, especially when he was this upset.
I was debating whether or not I had time to go for a tranquilizer gun when Declan appeared, his hair wild from the wind, curling in every direction. He looked like a powerful Norse God, stepping out of the storm to come to my aid. Without argument, he was one of the most ruggedly attractive men I’d ever met, and for the slightest instant, I forgot to breathe.
Grinning widely, he tossed me a small sack, and something heavy squished in my hands as I caught it. At least it wouldn’t be me Bob would take a bite out of today.
“Gee, thanks.” My heart beat oddly in a way that had nothing to do with the storm but everything with Declan’s presence.
“I figured temperamental Bob wouldn’t go eas—” Declan froze in mid-utterance as he stared at something over my shoulder.
“What are you—” I turned to see the entire horizon painted a dark gray, a maelstrom of . . . something heading in our direction. “Is that dirt?” I’d lived in Arizona all my life, and I’d never witnessed a sight so massive and utterly terrifying.
Declan nodded. “I think so. We’d better hurry.”
1
I looked both ways as I headed into the alley behind the store, not because I was embarrassed, but because I didn’t want to get Payden in trouble for slipping out to meet me there. The boy was going to a lot of effort to help me, and my runaway girls always needed the food he donated. Unfortunately, I didn’t have my car today, and I was already balancing two bags of groceries I’d purchased when I’d gone inside the store to signal Payden that I was here. So whatever he had for us would make my walk home that much more difficult.
He was already outside in the alley, waiting at the back door by the green Dumpster, his round, heavily-freckled face grinning as always. The roundness made him look younger than his seventeen years, and rather innocent.
“Hey, Lily,” he greeted me, shifting the large box in his arms so he could give a friendly wave. His blue apron was splashed with something that had turned it purple, and the sagging material made him look chubby. He puffed a breath upward to blow away the straight-cut brown hair that hung like a shield over his brown eyes.
“Hey, Payden.” I hooked the grocery bags over my wrists and pushed them toward my elbows, freeing up my hands so I could take the box from him. “Thank you so much.”
“Got bread, bagels, muffins, and cookies today. Should last if you freeze them.”
I could also see dented cans, a few vegetables that would make a fabulous soup, and a gallon of expiring milk. “This is great. Are you sure you won’t get into trouble? That other clerk in there was looking at me kind of strange.”
He shrugged. “Makes no sense to throw it in the trash if you’re right here.” He laughed. “I can always say you wrestled me for it.” His smile dimmed slightly, and he waited only a second to add, “How is she?”
“Elsie’s doing great. Really. The bruising is almost gone. I’ll try to bring her next time, if she’ll come.”
His smile returned. “Then she didn’t run away again.”
“Nope. She still thinks whoever she’s running from is looking for her, but no one’s tracked her down yet. Plus, she’s worried child services will find her and make her go back.”
He folded his arms, looking for all the world as if he wanted to do battle for her. The expression sat oddly on his young face. “They probably would. She’s better off with you.”
If going back to her family or staying with me were the only options, I was the better choice—one glance at the picture I’d taken of Elsie after finding her in this very alley three weeks ago was proof of that.
I’d heard Elsie’s pitiful sobs from the main street and hurried to find her collapsed on the ground near the Dumpster, which she’d apparently been trying to open to find food. Her numerous cuts were old, but not healing, and a deep black and green bruise mottled most of her feverish face. When I’d lifted Elsie up, her battered ribs showed through a gaping rip in her shirt.
That’s when Payden had found us and given me that first box of expired groceries. He was a kindred spirit. Too bad he wasn’t five years older. But then, even men my age seemed too young these days. All they cared about was partying, scraping by in their university courses, and more partying.
“Thanks again.” I didn’t tell him Elsie hadn’t gone outside at all since last week when our neighbor on the second floor had seen her in the stairwell and questioned her about where she lived. Knowing would only make Payden feel bad, and it wasn’t something he could change.
“You’re welcome.” He turned to go inside but hesitated at the door. “Hey, you should really talk to my cousin. I told you he’s working at a place here in Phoenix that helps troubled kids. Teen Remake, or something. He’s got connections, you know? He’s dropping some stuff off for me soon. If you wait just a minute, I could introduce you.”
“I don’t think so. I can’t betray Elsie’s trust. She’s been through enough.” I could probably be charged for harboring a minor, and if my own family found out, I suspected they would come down on the side of the law. Well, all but my sister, Tessa, who had helped me out more than once in the past few months. Anyway, it wasn’t likely Payden’s cousin could do anything more than I could about helping Elsie.
“Think about it,” Payden urged.
“I will.”
I trudged up the alley, tripping once on an old tire someone had left in the way but catching myself before I fell. Lugging the groceries all the way back to my apartment on foot wasn’t something I was looking forward to. Saffron, the oldest of the runaways who lived with me, had chosen a rotten day to borrow my car, but her job interview this morning had to come first.
Cars honked and whizzed past as I reached the main street. Downtown Phoenix was never quiet, it seemed, and today was particularly busy. The air already felt hot and dry on my face.
“Lily!”
I turned at the voice and saw Payden, but this time he stood in the front doorway of the small grocery store. A man I’d never seen before was with him, and I hoped Payden wasn’t in trouble for helping me. Would they take back the groceries?
As I watched, the man pushed past Payden and stepped out onto the wide sidewalk. My heart stopped. He was a good two heads taller than Payden and handsome enough that I remembered I wasn’t wearing makeup, and that my messy ponytail had to be more mess than ponytail.
“My cousin’s going to help you get those to your car,” Payden said, nodding encouragingly. He jerked his head to the side, as if listening to someone from behind him. “Gotta go.”
The relief inside me that Payden wasn’t in trouble was canceled out by the amused smile on the man’s face. Without introducing himself, he reached for the box. “So, where’s your car?”
His black hair was short except on top in the front, where it partially waved, arching up and then down in a way that I found compelling. His eyes, also dark, spoke of something exotic. Up close, not even one freckle marred his face, but there was a bit of a five o’clock shadow, as if he’d missed shaving today.
This was Payden’s cousin? If I’d known he was this attractive, I might have hit him up for help a long time ago.
I kept hold of the box. “I didn’t bring it. Sorry. But it’s okay. I don’t need help.”
“I don’t mind walking to your place. Where do you live?” He tugged again gently on the box, his bronzed arms brushing mine. I couldn’t tell if his skin color came from heredity or the sun.
“Are you sure you’re Payden’s cousin? Because you don’t look like him.”
He laughed, a sound that warmed me clear through to my stomach. “People say that a lot. But we are cousins—our mothers are sisters. I just have a bit more variety in my gene pool from my dad’s side.”
Definitely a combination that was working for him. “Well, I’m used to carrying the boxes Payden gives me. But thank you.”
He lifted the box from my arms anyway. “What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t walk you home?”
“Maybe you just want to know where I live.”
Again the laugh. “Actually, I do want to know. That way I’ll know where to pick you up when we go out.”
When we go out? A thousand butterflies took flight in my stomach. “Who said I’m going out with you?”
He gave me a slow grin that only increased my heartbeat. “You’ll come around. Now where are we going?”
All at once, I wanted to let him help. I’d been doing this alone for so long, and I couldn’t recall when I’d last been on a date—or flirted with a guy. Certainly not in the past six months.
“Okay,” I said. Letting this gorgeous stranger carry a box ten blocks wasn’t going to hurt either of us. “But keep up. I have stuff to do. And my roommates are waiting for me.”
“Roommates, huh?”
“I have a few.”
Six to be exact. Girls living on the street seemed to have some kind of internal radar where I was concerned. They appeared in my vicinity, obviously in need, and I couldn’t help taking them home. Elsie, our newest addition, had been the last straw for my old roommates, but I was still trying to see getting kicked out of their apartment as a good thing. My new place was a dump, but at least the girls didn’t have to hide in my room or sneak in only at night to sleep. And there were no complaints about them stealing food.
“So, have you lived here long?” I asked him.
“Five years. I came for school, but I love it here and I don’t think I’ll ever leave. I’m from Tucson originally. You?”
“Flagstaff. I’ve been here for most of three years. It’s a nice place—well, not downtown so much but the city in general.” I wouldn’t tell him what I liked best was being away from Flagstaff and my parents. “Is your whole family here?”
“Just Payden and his mom. His dad died a few years back. That’s one of the reasons I moved here, to help them out. My family’s still in Tucson. I have three brothers and two sisters.”
“That many?”
He laughed again, and it made me smile just to hear it. “Yeah. You have any?”
“One sister. She’s here, too. Across town.” Tessa didn’t know I’d moved, and I was a little embarrassed to tell her. She’d warned me it would happen, but how could I have left Elsie in the street?
No, Tessa would understand, and she’d volunteer to help, if I needed her. She managed the swing shift at Crawford Cereals, our dad’s factory, so our hours overlapped, and it would be easy enough to pull her aside and tell her there. If my parents got wind of it, however, there would be repercussions. They’d wanted me to come home after the college semester ended and, when I’d stayed, had barely let me continue my part-time job at the factory.
They didn’t know about the girls, or that I was their only support. Now that school was out, I was thinking about finding a second job. The twenty hours at the factory weren’t cutting it, and I’d already used much of my savings account.
Beside me, Payden’s cousin slowed. “Hey, where’d you go?”
I refocused on him. “Sorry. Just thinking about something I have to do later.” Then before he could probe further, I said, “I don’t even know your name. But I can keep calling you Payden’s cousin, if you want.”
“If I tell you, will you go out with me?”
“If you don’t tell me, I won’t go out with you.”
“That’s not exactly a yes.”
“Nope.” I gave him a slow grin.
“Okay, my name is Mario Perez.”
An unexpected laugh burst through me. He didn’t look like a Mario Perez. “Mario? You mean like the game?”
“No way, you play video games?”
“Of course I play video games.” Games were one way to connect with the girls, so I learned to play, and sometimes I even enjoyed it.
“Well, that’s really my name. I’m named after my grandfather who came from Spain.”
Europe. So that explained the olive skin and exotic features. “You don’t look like a Mario.” I studied him more closely. In the video game world, Mario was short and, well, a cartoon.
“My middle name is Jameson,” he offered. “But only my mom and my aunt call me that. Everyone else calls me Mario.”
“Okay. I’m sure there’s a story behind that.”
He grinned, and once more that strange heat curled through my belly. If he asked me to go out again, I was definitely saying yes.
“My mother named me, but she changed her mind about calling me Mario after the birth certificate was filed and began using my middle name instead. But my dad said that if Jameson was the name she’d wanted, she should have put it first.” He laughed. “It’s become a friendly little tug-of-war between them. Basically, I’ve learned to answer to just about anything.”
“Sounds fun,” I lied. Not if their wars were anything like the ones my parents waged. Those always sent both Tessa and me running for cover. “You do look more like a Jameson to me. But maybe I’d better pick something safer. Like MJ.” I regretted the words the minute they escaped my lips because MJ didn’t fit him at all.
His grin grew wider. “A nickname. Does that mean you’ll go out with me?”
I was prevented from responding as a motorcycle roared by, and when I could hear again, the moment had passed. I jerked my head toward the four-story apartment complex. “That’s where I live. I can take it from here.”
“I don’t mind walking you to your door.”
As long as it was only to the door. With seven of us crammed into the one-bedroom apartment, I had no idea what to expect of the inside. I’d given the girls chores, but this early most of them would still be in bed, except Saffron, who was at her job interview, and the two sisters I had guardianship over, who were in school.
“It’s on the fourth floor,” I warned, “and there’s no elevator.”
“Of course there isn’t.”
He’d obviously taken in the peeling paint, the planter boxes filled with weeds, and the litter on the ground. But it was cheap, and the owners didn’t mind the girls “visiting” me. Or at least as long as we didn’t make too much noise or come in large groups around the other tenants. Mostly, the place was so run down that they were eager to accept just about anyone.
I hurried up the four flights of open stairs, and Jameson wasn’t puffing hard as he kept up. That was a good sign. But the closer we got to my apartment, the more worried I became. I had a lot to hide, and maybe thinking I could date like a normal person was crazy.
Why did Jameson have to be so incredibly yummy?
He followed me down the inner corridor, where I paused in front of my door. “This is it,” I announced.
He waited expectantly, but there was no way he was carrying that box inside, not when I could guess what was waiting. And I’d have little time to clean before I rushed to my four-hour shift at the factory this afternoon.
A tiny tendril of moisture curled down from Jameson’s temple, and even that was sexy. His dark eyes met mine. “So, Lily, will you go out with me? Payden says you’re my type.”
The door in front of us whooshed open, revealing Halla, a sixteen-year-old with blond hair so short she reminded me of a marine. She also had a penchant for army camouflage and tank tops, which added to the impression. Halla was tiny, though, mostly from malnutrition, so her tough act didn’t carry much weight, but we were working on getting her what she needed.
“Elsie’s on the roof again!” Halla blurted excitedly. “She was just sitting out there on the balcony and then bang, up she went.”
“Oh, no.” I darted a worried glance at Jameson. Forget about yummy or dating; I wished he’d leave.
Another face appeared behind Halla. This time a tall black girl who was only fourteen but looked at least eighteen. Ruth had shoulder-length hair that I usually plaited in tiny, meticulous braids, although today it was a frizzy mess under a baseball cap. She was model gorgeous, but she always covered her lithe figure in too-large clothes to hide any trace of femininity. After what she’d been through, I didn’t blame her.
“I told you we shouldn’t let anyone up there, even with you,” Ruth said. “Elsie thinks none of the rules apply to her.”
She had it wrong. I was pretty sure I knew what had spooked Elsie. I pushed a sack at each girl and reached for the box. “Sorry,” I told Jameson. “Gotta go.”
His eyes went from me to the girls and back. “You need some help?”
“No. Elsie will only get hurt if she thinks you’re here for her.”
“Here for her? Why, what’s she done?” A crease marred his forehead.
Great. I’d known his following me home like a Boy Scout was a bad idea. I yanked the box from his unwilling arms and shoved it at Ruth. “Nothing. Goodbye, Jameson. And thanks.” I pushed past the girls and entered the apartment, leaving Ruth to get rid of him. She was a protective mother hen, and she’d know his presence here was dangerous.
“So no nickname?” he called after me.
I didn’t answer. What had I been thinking? Any kind of a romantic relationship now was completely out of the question. I had to think of Elsie and the other girls. Two of them had already tried to kill themselves.
The balcony ran the length of our apartment, which meant the living room and the bedroom, but the ladder that led to the fire escape and up onto the roof was located on the living room side. I stepped over blankets and backpacks and other strewn belongings on my way across the tiny living room, where a lump told me one of the girls was still sleeping. I kept walking a few paces until it dawned on me that I had no idea who the lump might be. Elsie was on the roof, Saffron at her interview, Ruth and Halla were here, and the other two were in school. I shook my head. I’d have to deal with whoever it was later.
It was my fault Elsie was on the roof. One night I’d climbed up in search of privacy, and when a couple of the girls had come looking for me, I’d answered their calls. Before long, all of us were up there.
Now it had become almost a nightly ritual for whichever girls were home, a place where we could talk in the dark with only the stars as witnesses. I’d learned more about their lives there than anywhere else. Except for Elsie, who never talked but would sometimes reach out and clutch my hand.
The rules were that no one could go up without me because while the roof was large and barely slanted, we were on the fourth floor and some of the girls were still recovering from substance abuse. A couple of them also had quick tempers or were big jokers and as of yet didn’t understand things like gravity and permanent consequences.
I jumped on the chair and climbed the ladder, easing over the edge on my hands and knees for a few feet until I reached the almost flat part and could walk upright. Elsie wasn’t in plain view, but I found her hiding behind several air conditioning units that were already working overtime. Her forehead was pressed to her bare knees, and her long hair splayed outward in a wild, tangled mess, looking dark against her pale skin.
“Hey,” I said, sliding into the empty space next to her.
She looked past me before replying, her brown eyes deep and unrevealing. “Is he looking for me?” The throaty words were full of dread.
“Oh, honey. No. Never.”
She gave a little sob and pushed into my arms. At twelve, she was the youngest of the girls, and with how beaten she’d been when she arrived, the rest of us felt protective toward her—a good thing, or Halla and Ruth wouldn’t have even noticed she was on the roof.
“Who is he?” she said after a few moments.
“Payden’s cousin. He helped me bring home some groceries.”
The remaining tautness in her body eased. “Good.”
“Is there something you’re not telling me?”
Elsie pulled away and nodded. “Yesterday when everyone was gone, I was on the balcony and I saw a little cat out in the parking lot. I thought I’d just go down to pet him for a minute and see if he was hungry, but that guy downstairs saw me and followed me, so I ran around the block and snuck back in.” Elsie’s teeth clamped down on her lips. “It was like he knew something and wanted to ask me more questions.” Tears filled her eyes, spilling over when she blinked. “I won’t go back. I’d jump off this roof before I’d go back.”
Terror clutched at my chest. “No, Elsie. That’s not going to happen. We’ll find a way. Once I graduate, it’ll be different. You’ll see.”
Changing my major twice now seemed ridiculous. The nursing classes had come in handy when Elsie arrived, but I should have pushed on with the business degree my parents had wanted—or at the very least avoided the year deviation into psychology. I could have finished by now, and have a good job cutting paychecks and balancing books at Crawford Cereals, even if it was a job I knew I’d detest. At this rate, I’d be an old woman before I graduated and had a job with enough money to do my dream work of helping lost girls.
The terrible irony was that I had money—a lot of money—just out of reach. An inheritance left to me by my grandfather, who’d founded Crawford Cereals: a half million dollars and monthly payments thereafter. But I had to be twenty-five and married, or thirty if I was still single, to access the funds. My parents had means, but convincing them would be impossible.
I needed to find a way to become legitimate, so the girls could get health and dental coverage and other benefits, but I didn’t know where to begin. Risking that Elsie or any of the others might be sent back to the horrible situations they’d run from was not an option. At least with me, they didn’t have to prostitute themselves or endure abuse by the very people who were supposed to protect them.
“Thanks, Lily.”
At Elsie’s soft words, the fear in my heart melted. I would make it work. Somehow.
Until I did, gorgeous and witty guys like Jameson were a distraction I didn’t need.
CHAPTER 1
LINDON STEPPED OFF THE FIVE o’clock shuttle with that look in his eyes, as he had every so often since their marriage nine years ago, but Maddy wasn’t putting up with it. “No,” she said before he could speak. “The answer is no. I won’t do it.”
His gray eyes glinted like fluid steel, and his beard-shadowed face hardened. He shrugged off the long white jacket he wore to work at the lab each day, tossed it into the cleaning unit embedded in the wall inside the front closet, and put his arms around her rigid body. Maddy watched over his shoulder as the shuttle flew away into the warm California night air and the automatic door on their private port slid shut.
“You know I can’t,” her voice was softer this time but still resolute. “Why bring it up again?” It had been a year since his last plea, and she’d hoped he had resigned himself to her decision. Each request stole another slice of her determination.
“Hear me out. It’s different this time.”
The suppressed excitement in his voice made her stare. He seriously expected her to change her mind. “We’ve been through this,” she said. “You knew about it before we married. How many times are we going to revisit the issue? Besides, you always accepted Stewart as your son. Why do you need another child?”
Lindon sighed as he released her, a hand running through his longish brown hair. His unruly, casual look was one of the things that had most attract her to him when they’d met at an earth preservation rally over a decade ago. “I guess I thought you’d change your mind, or that your so-called biological clock would convince you to try again.”
“Well, I’m thirty-eight and it hasn’t ticked once.” The words were a lie. She wanted Lindon’s child, had dreamed about it for years. But always looming in opposition was the terrifying memory of how her body had reacted when she was carrying Stewart.
She’d been a young twenty-two and in her first marriage, an ill-fated one to Phil Jacobs, Stewart’s father. After a brief week of happiness following conception, she learned the rare genetic deviation that caused her to be allergic to almost everything was also rebelling at the baby’s presence. She spent the next six months in bed—in violent, agonizing pain. Fearing for her life and having little hope for the baby, the doctors urged abortion from the third month, but Phil cajoled, begged, and even threatened her with a court order to make her continue the pregnancy. In the end, after seeing her son on the ultrasound, Maddy knew that ending the pregnancy would break her heart far more than Phil ever had, but she also knew that choosing not to abort would cost her life.
So she prepared to die. In her darkest moments, she cursed Phil for wanting a child more than he wanted her.
When her body went into cardiac arrest almost three months before term, no one was more surprised than she was when a team of physicians were able to save both her and her son.
There was no saving her marriage. She couldn’t forgive Phil for his indifference and lack of support, and he couldn’t forgive the fact that she loved Stewart more than she had ever loved him. They were divorced within the year.
Her nose twitched. I must look at the air filter, she thought with a remote part of her brain. Something must be caught in it. I don’t want to have a reaction.
“Let’s adopt,” she said to Lindon. “What about the orphans from the Moon colony? I saw them on the vidscreen yesterday. We could petition to—” She broke off at Lindon’s impatient grunt.
“I don’t want to adopt,” Lindon said. “Not yet anyway. I love you, and I want a child who looks like you—like us.”
“You want to pass along your genes you mean.” The words would hurt him, but she was feeling too wounded herself to care. Maybe if Lindon hadn’t been one of the most renowned research gynecologists in the world, he wouldn’t be so obsessed with making her body do what he wanted. “Well, he’d have my genes too—do you want to condemn him to that?” She turned from his stare and gazed through the transparent wall that looked out over the ocean behind their house. She loved the location, and she walked on the beach at least once a week, even if it meant wearing a film of Protect-a-Skin. The Skin was thin enough that she could feel the sand between her toes.
“You know we can make sure our child doesn’t get that gene. Besides, Stewart doesn’t have allergies.”
She whirled on him. “Leave Stewart out of it! The real issue is me, and you know it. This time I could die. The doctors said there was a ninety-nine percent chance of recurrence—your own testing confirmed that. And don’t give me another spiel about medical advancements. You and I both know they won’t make a difference. Not enough of one anyway.” She turned away again, walking toward her office with long, angry strides.
“Maddy, just listen!”
But she couldn’t. Would he finally dissolve their marriage now that she couldn’t give him what he wanted? The thought distressed her, yet there was also relief. The sword that had hung constantly above her head would fall and pierce her heart, but she would live on. And there was always Stewart.
He caught up to her and put his hands on her shoulders. Strong, warm hands that were usually comforting. Today they felt cold.
“Maddy, honey, I know how pregnancy was for you. I also know you want another child as much as I do. That’s one of the reasons I’ve been working so much overtime the past couple of years.”
Maddy turned slowly, drawing her brows together tightly as she studied her husband. What did his work have to do with their having a baby?
His hands dropped to his side. “A month. Only a month,” he said into the silence. “It won’t take nine.”
She smirked. “Only a month? To have a baby? Well then by all means, let’s have two. Or maybe six.”
He ignored her flippancy. “I’ve done it, Maddy. It’s taken me a decade of hard work and a hundred false starts, but I’ve done it! Dan and I have tested it over and over and it works. We can have a baby in one month.”
The laughter died in Maddy’s throat. “That’s what you’ve been working on?” She felt a level of betrayal that she couldn’t even name. Before their marriage, Lindon and his team of talented specialists had been given a government grant to study the issues of aging and metabolism. But neither subject was related to pregnancy—or so she had thought. Lately he had been more involved in his work, and it bothered her that he’d stopped talking about new discoveries that he’d once been so eager to share.
“Well, it wasn’t the idea we started with,” Lindon said, “but about eight years ago, we realized that our research into metabolism could have other implications.” He paused, his face flushing a dark red that told her more than words how much this meant to him. “At first I didn’t want to hope. But I’m sure now.”
Maddy’s sense of betrayal was fading, but she couldn’t find her voice. Stewart had been her miracle; she had never expected another.
Lindon’s smile was hesitant. “One month is different than nine. For one month we’ll be able to control your symptoms.”
She hated the way his heart seemed to be in his eyes. Or was that her heart? “Only one month? How is that possible?”
He dared to touch her again, his hand closing around hers. “We’ve come up with a drug that increases the metabolism. During the early twenty-first century similar drugs were used for weight loss. They achieved quite a bit of success, despite the side effects.”
“Side effects?” Maddy stiffened. “I have a deadline. I don’t have time for nonsense.” Pulling from him, she stalked down the corridor to her study where her computer waited blankly.
“Maddy!” Lindon called, but she didn’t falter.
She sat on her high-backed chair made of the finest black synthetic leather, the kind that cost ten times more than the real thing and that wore even better. Seven years old now and it still looked new.
One month? Side effects? She knew Lindon wanted a son, but that he might ask her to risk her health with an experimental drug was beyond belief. He wasn’t like Phil—or so she had thought.
“On, computer,” she said tersely. The oversized screen on the wall sprang to life exactly where she had left off a short time before, but she didn’t begin speaking the code that would eventually become part of a new architectural program she was designing. Her expression reflected from the dark glass, pursed lips and narrowed eyes full of—fear?
Lindon drew up another chair and sat close, resting a hand on her knee. “Don’t be angry, honey. Listen to what I’m saying. There are no serious side effects with Nonomine—that’s what we call the drug. Absolutely none. We’ve done the tests on animals, and we’ve had no lung failure, brain hemorrhaging, or any of the other problems that marked our experiments with other drugs. Nonomine has mild side effects, to be sure, but nothing we can’t easily handle. And this isn’t the only application. We believe low dosages will extend quality of life, if not add years to life expectancy. It’s really two sides of the same coin. Enough helps the body remain stronger for longer. More speeds it up, spending the years faster. It’s a matter of dosage for the purpose we intend.”
A compartment in the wall opened, triggered by her sitting in the chair, and a tray with her favorite foamleaf tea, one of the prime exports of the Zeppay Moon Colony, came within reach. From habit she took the steaming mug and set it on the side table next to her chair, the aroma of rich earth filling her nose. Her mouth watered, but the action did nothing for the sudden dryness in her throat.
“Three years ago we got permission to start limited testing on humans,” Lindon continue. “We now have thirty-four babies whose gestation period was slightly less than one month. In each of the test cases, the mother’s metabolism returned to normal after the births. Four of the mothers had twins, born three to five days early, and in five cases, the mothers actually went through the drug program twice and had two pregnancies within an eight-month period. There is no abnormality in any of the children, and according to Dan, they are developing as well as or better than children who are gestated normally. I’m not on that end of it, but Dan assures me it’s true. The point is we now have thirty-four children, each born in one month with next to no complications during or after pregnancy.”
The dryness in Maddy’s mouth deepened. Her heart pounded in her ears. Hope was sometimes a deadly thing. “Isn’t the speeded up rate of growth dangerous for the baby? And the mother?”
“Actually, our data indicates that it’s less risky for both fetus and the mother. You see, the mother actually is nine months older. She has aged just as she would have in any other nine months, but with less danger of falling, of being exposed to diseases, stress, etc. And the baby is less likely to be strangled by the cord or be damaged by a host of other internal accidents simply because he’s in the womb a shorter time. In the end, it’s actually safer to have your baby with Nonomine.”
“Yet the woman is still nine months older. She’s lost eight months of her life. Most women I know don’t want to lose a day, much less months.”
“But her body hasn’t been through all of the stress it would have in those extra eight months. She feels the entire strain of pregnancy, of course, but not all of the outside influences she would normally endure during those nine months—heat, tension, gravity, even cosmetics use—that add to the aging process. With these things out of the picture, we figure that it won’t really shorten a woman’s life all that much, and when it’s over she’ll have her baby.” Lindon fell silent, his eyes holding hers, compelling, pleading.
She sighed. “Why didn’t you tell me about this before? Why today? Why not three years ago?”
“Next week Stewart is going to stay with his father for the summer. And we have an opening for a potential mother. I’ve wanted to tell you, even at the risk of losing my grant, but not until I was absolutely sure it was right for us. I didn’t want to get your hopes up, and every time we talked about it before, I really didn’t have all the answers. I feel I do now. Please, just think about it.”
She looked away. He had been preoccupied of late, but she hadn’t questioned him, fearing that he would bring up the possibility of having a baby and that she would have to say no.
“You said there were mild side effects,” she said, staring not at him but at the foamleaf tea. How did it get in her hand? She couldn’t remember picking it up. “What kind?”
Lindon leaned back in his chair, slipping into what Maddy recognized as his teaching mode. “Swelling mostly, and some leakage of amniotic fluid because of the rapid increase in volume, but we’ve found a way to counter both problems. For safety, the women have to live at the clinic during the month so they can be monitored. That’s why I thought it’d be good to do it when Stewart is with his dad, though he can certainly visit. I—I’ve even had special air filters installed, like those we have here, and the women aren’t allowed to use any sprays or perfume that might cause allergic reactions.”
Because of me, Maddy thought. Lindon might not be aware of it himself, but she understood that the direction his research had taken was entirely because of her. “What about people with my condition?” She saw the hot flare of hope in his eyes and the look seared her.
“Ten of the women have had previous difficult pregnancies similar to yours, though only two cases were as severe. It was hard to find even that many, but I insisted on including them. There was no use in discovering something that wouldn’t also help those who really need it.”
“And?”
His smile grew large. “Each came through well. One of the mothers with allergies like yours gave birth last week and the other one today. It was incredible!”
So that was why he’d approached her now. Two women like her were new mothers because of his work. He wants it to be us. “But the sickness—”
He leaned forward again, his eyes bright. “It seems Nonomine has the good side effect of stifling the normal sickness in pregnancy, and it works for cases like yours that are normally resistant to medicines. In fact, those two particular mothers only had difficulties with sickness during the last week of the pregnancy.” He shook a finger. “One week!”
One week of agony. Would it be worth it? In her mind Maddy saw Stewart as he had been when they had finally placed him in her arms, so tiny, helpless, and all hers. An unexpected rush of warmth overwhelmed her.
There were tears in her eyes as she looked up at Lindon. “What’s a week?” she said softly.
He smiled in triumph and held her face between his hands. His touch was gentle. “You won’t regret it, you’ll see,” he said.
But Maddy already knew. Heaven help her, it had been worth it before. Almost dying had been worth Stewart. She couldn’t explain it, not even to herself, but it was true.
THE CLICK OF MY RED stilettos echoed faintly in the long hallway. The ridiculous shoes were completely unnecessary, in my opinion, but Stella was in charge of disguises, and she’d insisted.
“We want the guards looking at you, Erin, not at your credentials,” she’d said, grinning as I tried to balance on what felt like stilts. I comforted myself with the very real possibility of using the pointed heels as a weapon.
Stella was right. The guards’ eyes had been too busy with the curves of my legs under my tight skirt to do more than barely glance at my Homeland Security ID. A good thing, since the identification wasn’t real. They should have called to verify, even though the main office had advised them of our upcoming arrival. Just in case they did check, Stella had tapped into their communications network and was ready to give them the fake approval code she’d provided when she’d set up the meeting yesterday.
I was more worried about running into an Emporium hit team than dealing with Homeland Security. Compared to the Emporium, getting the best of the US government was child’s play.
We’d known we would have to pass through a full-body scanner when we’d entered this secret facility outside Dallas, so the weapons and communication devices we carried were disguised as ordinary items.
Not to mention my shoes.
If the Emporium showed up, Ritter, Dimitri, and I might need everything we’d brought to break Shadrach Azima out of here. He was a traitor to us, but leaving him in captivity any longer, now that he was finally out of Islamic hands, wasn’t an option. He was still a Renegade, and we wouldn’t leave him for the Emporium or the American government to experiment on.
Dimitri, our healer, was dressed as an aging, gray-haired doctor, complete with a white lab coat, a stethoscope, and a medical bag in hand. I didn’t personally know any medical employees who wore white coats into a facility, rather than donning them there, but again Stella had insisted. The broad, normally dark-haired man fit easily into the role, and the guards had given even less attention to his forged credentials as a world-renowned geneticist than mine. At over a thousand years old, Dimitri had forgotten more about medicine than mortal doctors had time to learn.
Only Ritter, unconvincing in his nerdy, Clark Kent glasses and his long-sleeved, white dress shirt buttoned far too high, caused the Homeland Security agents nervousness. He towered over everyone, moving with an animal-like stealth. His longish dark hair was hidden under a light brown wig that slicked back behind his ears, and his black eyes were now blue with special contacts, all of which was supposed to hide his real identity but still couldn’t mask the killer inside. This was probably why the guard accompanying us down the hallway tracked Ritter with an alert expression and his hand close to his weapon.
“Their ability to heal is miraculous,” said our guide, Dr. Tina Hartley, a middle-aged woman in a white lab coat similar to Dimitri’s. Her rich, brown hair was pulled into a thick bun at the base of her neck and was her one great beauty. Nothing else about her stood out—except her thoughts. In the mass of whirling emotions that filled her brain, she wondered if our visit would set her schedule back far enough that she would be allowed to work overtime. If so, she’d use the extra money to put toward her dream trip to Paris, where she’d meet a sexy man who wouldn’t scorn her three college degrees and would write her poetry and run his fingers through her hair. The man in her thoughts looked a lot like Ritter, minus the shirt and glasses. Her imagination of him shirtless didn’t begin to approach reality.
“I’ve read the reports,” I said, though I hadn’t—not the real ones. Despite Stella’s technopathic abilities, we hadn’t been able to hack into the reports, which weren’t kept on any network connecting to the outside. Our Renegade cell’s alliance with the US president had allowed us access to the official reports he’d received, but a note smuggled out of this facility had proven our suspicions that the president wasn’t being told the entire story.
Either that or we were being set up—which could very well be the case. Our enemy, the Emporium, was as eager to get their hands on us as they would be to retrieve the so-called “patients” who were detained at this facility. Three months ago in mid-January, the president’s announcement of Unbounded existence rocked the world, and things had been heating up ever since. We’d need to work harder to make sure the Emporium didn’t end up on top when the dust finally settled. Succeeding was the only way Renegades could save mortals and humanity.
The doctor arched a brow, nothing of her scattered thoughts showing in her face. “The reports are not exaggerated. In the two weeks they’ve been here, they’ve pretty much decimated everything any of us know about medicine.” Her voice took on a note of excitement. “They might even be the key to the problem of aging.”
I glanced at Dimitri, whose only reaction was a slight pursing of his lips. His centuries-long study of the Unbounded gene had yielded no result in making mortals Unbounded. Theoretically, mortals who were direct descendants of Unbounded and had enough of the unique code in their genes could Change with scientific manipulation. But the theory had thus far remained unrealized, and other Unbounded researchers, also gifted in healing, agreed that mortals would remain just that—mortal.
“Good thing they live so long,” I said, making my voice cold. “Plenty of time to figure it out.”
“Yes. Two thousand years, and they age only two years for every century. It really is amazing.” Hartley paused before a set of double doors in the hallway, swiping a card through a reader. “We have you scheduled with the Iranian, as requested. We’ve turned off the sound recordings, but we will, of course, leave video on during your interrogation.” She pushed open one of the doors and motioned us into yet another generic corridor.
“Of course.” I didn’t for a minute believe they weren’t recording, not after faking the reports to the president. At least Stella’s faked request from Homeland Security to interview the Iranian could not be ignored. This facility was maintained by Homeland Security, and Homeland supposedly had oversight of the work these doctors had conducted this past month since retrieving the Unbounded detainees from the Moroccan government.
“Iranian, American, Russian,” Dimitri said with indifference. “Doesn’t matter to me. I’m just interested in examining any of them.”
Hartley’s eyes strayed to Dimitri. “With all your research into human mutation, I expect you are especially interested in their limb regrowth and how we might transfer that ability to the general population.”
Dimitri nodded and smiled. “Yes, indeed. I understand that all of them fully regenerated after the explosion in Morocco.”
“They did regenerate beautifully. However, we have seen the need to experiment further.”
A rush of silent emotion from Ritter caught me by surprise. His control was generally tight, even with our usual mental connection, but I understood the lapse because I shared his anger. We were accustomed to the Emporium Unbounded experimenting on other Unbounded, but this was the first time mortals were involved. Previously, Hunters, castoff descendants of the Emporium, were the only mortals aware of us, and they tended toward brief torture followed by hasty execution rather than experimentation and prolonged agony.
“Oh?” Dimitri’s excitement sounded real. “Do you have a regrowth in progress now?”
Dr. Hartley shook her head. “Not at present. However, while you interview the Iranian for whatever information you feel he is withholding, I will talk to my supervisor. He might be able to arrange something for today.” She gave him a smile that made her face slightly more attractive, but her mind registered guilt. Hartley may believe experimentation was necessary, but the morality behind it was another story.
“I don’t believe I read about any regeneration experiments,” I said.
“Some of our regenerations may not have been adequately detailed in the current reports,” Hartley explained. “We have to be sure what we’re seeing isn’t just a fluke. So, naturally, we’re repeating some experiments before we report our findings.”
Someone was obviously keeping secrets about what was going on in this facility. No wonder Shadrach had been desperate enough to contact us. I only hoped the additional information he’d hinted about in his message was real and not a lie he’d concocted to make us come for him faster.
The doctor regarded me with expectant eyes, so I said, “I’m sure our superiors at Homeland Security would be grateful for a firsthand account of regeneration.” Our superiors, meaning hers and mine. “That’s why we employed Dr. Jude”—I dipped my head toward Dimitri—“to conduct his own brief examination of the patient and to give his opinion on the progress here. Anything you can do to facilitate that will be appreciated. Even if it takes us all evening.”
Hartley’s smile widened, and I didn’t have to push to see the dollar signs in her mind. She thought her trip to Paris was almost a done deal, but after today, I could at least guarantee that she wouldn’t be fantasizing about Ritter. She might even lose her job.
Pausing before the single door, Hartley swiped her key card again and pushed down on the handle, this time preceding us but stopping just inside the room, blocking our entry and our view of the occupant. “Hello, Mr. Azima,” she called. “I hope now is a good time for the interview. The visitors I told you about yesterday have arrived.”
Interview not interrogation—apparently the doctor knew how to spin a story.
“Would it matter if I said no?” Shadrach’s English held more than a hint of accent, which told me he was under great stress. After four hundred years, he spoke many languages flawlessly.
My mind reached out to Shadrach’s, but his barriers were in place, and much stronger than any I’d seen in a non-sensing Unbounded except for Ritter and Dimitri. No use expending energy to get through it—not yet.
“Now, now, Mr. Azima.” Dr. Hartley gave an amused chuckle, and I felt irritated more by her patronizing tone than I had by her fantasies of Ritter. “You know what we’re doing here is for the good of all.”
“The same has been said throughout history by all those who use human suffering to their advantage,” Shadrach replied without emotion.
Hartley stiffened and more guilt filled her mind, but Shadrach’s tone became conciliatory. “Never mind, dear. Of course I’ll see them. I know you are just doing your job.”
Dr. Hartley turned to us, her smile now fake, her eyes narrowed and upset. “Please, come in.” She stepped farther into the room, holding the door open with one hand as we filed inside. The guard waited in the hallway. Ritter placed his hand next to Hartley’s, giving her a smile to indicate that he’d hold the door. Hartley was so entranced, she didn’t glance twice at his hand or see what looked like a piece of gray eraser that he pressed under the control pad outside the door.
Shadrach stood in front of a new-looking leather couch, his feet shoulder length apart, his arms hanging loosely at his sides. I’d expected to find him abused and underweight. But he was much as we’d seen him last—physically in his late thirties, more beautiful than handsome, and elegant with straight dark hair, deep brown eyes, and a sensuous mouth. His dark skin had a healthy glow that stood out clearly from the drab green scrubs he was wearing. Only in his eyes did I see a hardness that hadn’t existed before, a hardness that four centuries hadn’t succeeded in placing there before now. How much of his suffering came from witnessing his mortal son’s murder by the Emporium in Morocco and how much derived from his internment here, I might never know.
He showed no signs of recognition, except for meeting Dimitri’s eyes a fraction of a second longer than a stranger might. Shadrach was also a healer, and the two men had worked together in Africa years ago. Shadrach was one of the best, Dimitri had told me. Being a guinea pig for procedures that were far behind Unbounded advancements must have been particularly trying for the Iranian.
“Hello, Mr. Azima,” I said for Dr. Hartley’s benefit. “Thank you for meeting with us. I hope this won’t take long, but the government does have a few questions about your involvement with the events in Morocco.”
He sighed without meeting my gaze. “I don’t suppose they’ll ever get tired of asking, but my answers won’t change. I had nothing to do with the attempt to sell plutonium to insurgents in my country.”
That wasn’t exactly true because Shadrach had tried to trade the recovered plutonium to the Emporium for his son’s life. In true Emporium fashion, they’d murdered the son anyway. No thanks to Shadrach, we’d still managed to retrieve the package and save millions of lives.
“Well, enjoy your visit,” Hartley chirped. “I’ll come back when you give the signal to the camera.” She indicated the guard. “Let Murphy know if you need any help. He’ll be waiting in the corridor.” She nodded at us, her eyes lingering too long on Ritter before escaping into the hallway.
For a brief moment, as the door closed between us, I felt a surge of unease, knowing that we were locked inside that room every bit as much as Shadrach had been for the past month.
Ritter went right to work, opening the laptop he carried. The device was supposed to record our interrogation but would actually connect wirelessly to the camera in the corner of the room. This would allow Stella, who was at our safe house in San Diego, to remotely follow the wires back to the computer and access not only that camera but the entire security system located on their internal network. Fortunately, this was the US government we were infiltrating, not the more advanced Emporium, so we’d been able to ascertain what technology they were using and didn’t need to plug one of Stella’s devices physically into their network. The laptop would suffice, but it would take some time.
Dimitri had already approached Shadrach, and both men were now seated on the couch, Dimitri listening to Shadrach’s heart with his stethoscope. In reality, it was the hand on Shadrach’s back that was doing the real work. Dimitri would be using his ability to see into Shadrach’s body, to trace every vein and feel every organ.
I allowed my gaze to wander over the room, or suite, actually. On the wall was a flat screen television, and past this a bed sat next to a set of weights. A small kitchenette nestled in the far back corner, and the single door there must lead to a bathroom. Everything appeared clean and new.
Shadrach followed my gaze. “They let us into a common area twice a day to interact with each other.”
“You mean the other patients?” I wanted to say Emporium agents, but I was sure the doctors were still recording.
“Prisoners,” Shadrach corrected, distaste radiating from the word. He didn’t say more, yet as he met my gaze, I saw recognition there. He knew me underneath the putty, the brunette wig, and the shiny red lipstick. He’d helped me once, healing my exhaustion when I’d needed rest, and despite his betrayal, I cared for Shadrach Azima. Trying to save his mortal son was a goal I understood, even if he’d let his desperation endanger us all. He should have known the Emporium better, that they wouldn’t reward him as promised. Then there was the whole argument of whether or not the life of his son balanced out eight million lives being targeted in Israel. Or far, far more lives. Because the Emporium would not rest until they had complete control, no matter how many mortals died. Like Shadrach’s son, mortals were only a subspecies to them. Expendable.
“Okay.” Ritter stepped closer to the couch, placing the laptop on the coffee table. “It’s working. You can talk freely now. Stella has control over the cameras and the sound.”
Apparently satisfied with his examination of Shadrach, Dimitri shook out earbuds from a container in his medical bag and handed one to each of us. They looked like replacement tips for his stethoscope but in reality would connect us to Oliver, who was outside waiting for us in the van. I didn’t actually need the earbud because I could use my ability to communicate directly to his mind, but Oliver hated me in his head, and I had to admit that his self-centered mental world was not one I had the least interest in visiting. Besides, if the Emporium happened to be near, it paid to keep our mental shields in place.
“This is the plan,” Ritter continued for Shadrach’s benefit. “There’s a ventilation shaft in the hallway off the kitchen here, so we just have to make it there and follow the path to the roof. We’ve already dropped equipment there that will allow us to rappel down the building. Then it’s only a matter of making it to the breach in the fence that we prepared last night. With Stella controlling the cameras, it should be easy to avoid being spotted. Your door lock is completely self-contained, but we have plans for that.”
There was a touch of frustration in Ritter’s manner at the simplicity of the plan, though he’d been responsible for the details. The Unbounded gene in our bodies made it so we preferred a head-on confrontation, and for someone with the combat ability like Ritter, skulking around in ventilation shafts went against all instinct. But he’d stick to the plan. Because getting Shadrach to safety and finding out what he knew was the most important thing. We might still run into problems, even with Ritter’s close attention to detail, and that’s why there were three of us—in case something went wrong.
“No,” Shadrach said, his sharp tone stopping Ritter in mid-stride to the locked door. “We can’t. Not yet.”
I arched a brow. “Hey, you’re the one who contacted us. Remember that cryptic email sent to our bogus chat group?”
“I meant we can’t leave without the others,” he said, coming to his feet.
We all stared. “You mean the Emporium agents? The people who tried to kill us in Morocco?” The people who murdered your son. But I didn’t say that last part aloud.
“We can’t leave them.” Shadrach shook his head, his face looking suddenly ill. “You don’t know what it’s like here. They cut off my arm last week just to see how long it took to grow back. They put out one guy’s eye. Oh, they’re kind enough to give us morphine. Except for the guy they electrocuted to death. Yes, electrocuted. The guy they froze also didn’t have any painkillers. They wanted to test his tolerance for cold.” Shadrach swallowed noisily in the abrupt silence. “Those are only the highlights. They’re far worse than the Moroccans—and they were nasty enough.”
“Their people will come for them.” Ritter’s jaw clenched and unclenched like his fists.
“That’s right. They will—and they’ll murder every mortal here. But the doctors and staff are only under orders, for the most part, and they don’t deserve that.” Shadrach’s dark eyes went to Dimitri in appeal. “In the past three months since the explosion on that rooftop, I’ve done what I can to help the Emporium agents heal, to ease their pain. They trust me, and since the announcement, they’re different. They want to live in peace. They don’t want to return to the Emporium.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Ritter said. “Maybe you have some other reason to want us to help them.”
Shadrach grimaced. “I know what you think of me, and maybe I was wrong in Morocco—”
“You almost got us killed!” Ritter didn’t take a step toward him, but the fury in his face made Shadrach step back until his calves hit the couch.
“I know,” Shadrach said, his voice strangled. “But you’re going to have to trust me on this one. Because you’re not going to leave me here, so either you drag me kicking and screaming or you take them too.”
The veins in Ritter’s neck bulged. “Believe me, I won’t have to take you screaming.” For an instant, I thought Ritter was going to punch the healer out and throw him over his shoulder. I’d probably help him.
Dimitri stepped in. “Let’s hear him out.”
“Okay,” I answered for Ritter, giving him time to calm down. “We’ll listen. But we’re going to make the final decision, Shadrach. Not you.”
“Agreed,” he said.
Ritter’s fists relaxed. “This could be a plan on their part. Did you think of that?”
Shadrach scrubbed a hand over his face and into his black hair, causing it to fall out of place. “If so, it’s an elaborate plan that started back in Morocco. Two of these agents hate the Emporium as much as I do, and the other has listened to us. I won’t pretend that their courage doesn’t come mostly from knowing Delia Vesey is dead. The fact that she can’t hurt them or their families anymore if they don’t do what she orders was a huge factor in their decision.” He paused before adding, “Vesey caused some damages—perhaps permanent—in one man’s mind, the one who took convincing. I fixed what I could, but he’s not all there in the logic department. Reality is hard for him to understand. But the others, I’m sure of.”
Now he made a direct appeal to Ritter. “They know where the Emporium strongholds are, at least five of them. The major ones. They’re willing to share that information with us.”
Ritter’s head swung toward Dimitri and they shared a long, silent stare. I knew what it would mean to locate Emporium headquarters. They’d recently relocated many of their safe houses after we’d obtained intel on the locations from a thumb drive recovered in Mexico, and since then we’d made little headway on tracking their whereabouts. This intel could prove invaluable.
Shadrach’s eyes fixed on me. “Erin can see that I’m telling the truth.” The shield around his mind dropped—an invitation I immediately accepted. In the representation I created of his conscious mind, I stood on a sort of stage, and his thoughts fell from the darkness above me in a stream of what looked like sand, curving downward and disappearing again into the darkness at hip level. Each grain of sand represented a thought or memory, past or present. I would only see thoughts he was currently pondering or memories he recalled as I studied him, but it would be enough to get a feel about his truthfulness.
I stared deeper, more interested in searching for Emporium traps—the mental constructs Delia Vesey, a former Emporium Triad leader, had been so good at placing in people’s minds. Mental traps could be fatal for the person carrying them and for any sensing Unbounded attempting to repair the damage. Delia’s assistant had survived the encounter in Morocco, so he could have planted something in Shadrach’s mind, and the Emporium had at least a few other sensing Unbounded, if the rumors were true. But Shadrach’s mind was clean. Not a hint of Emporium meddling—or prefabrication on Shadrach’s part. He believed what he was saying.
“He’s telling the truth,” I said, “and I don’t see any Emporium constructs in his mind.”
Ritter nodded once, his face grim. “Then we’ll do it.” His surface emotions radiated determination, but his mental shield was otherwise strong.
“Wait, wait, wait!” Oliver said in my earbud. “Are you guys sure about this? Because that’s going to take longer, and I kind of feel like a sitting duck all alone out here in the van.”
“Aren’t you masking it?” I asked. His ability of illusion was the reason we’d let him come with us at all. Because while Oliver was a genius, his arrogance made us all pretty much want to kill him.
“Well, it was a fruit stand for a while, but people stopped and tried to buy some.” He groaned. “I had to make the fruit appear moldy to get them to leave.”
I bit my lip “So put up a closed sign!”
“Right.”
Trust Oliver to take such pride in his illusions that his fake fruits looked and smelled great enough to make people stop to buy them even in this manufacturing area.
I caught a glimpse of irritation on Ritter’s face before he said to Oliver, “We may need a distraction at the front of the building. Something with a lot of fireworks. Be prepared. And have Stella extend her satellite surveillance to a radius of three streets in case the Emporium decides to join our party. I want to know if there’s anything unusual.”
“Will do,” Oliver said, sounding chastised. He didn’t have a lot of respect for the rest of us, but his admiration of Ritter was almost as irritating as his know-it-all attitude. “The satellite we tasked here did go down for a few minutes. Could have been someone hacking our feed, but it’s back up and running perfectly now, and we’ve detected no unusual activity so far.”
“No other fruit stands?” Dimitri asked, a hint of a smile in his voice.
Oliver took offense at his gentle jibe. “As a matter of fact, there is a defunct one. That’s what gave me the idea. There’s an orchard only two miles from here, so it’s completely logical for a fruit stand to be in this area.”
“I was sure you had a reason, but that’s good to know.” Dimitri had more patience with Oliver than the rest of us. Probably because he considered himself the father of our cell.
Biologically speaking, Dimitri was my father, but I’d only known him since my Change just over seven months ago. I’d come to terms with my uncertain beginning, and while I still considered the man who raised me to be my real father, Dimitri and I were closer in many ways.
Shadrach shifted nervously, his eyes going to the door. “So what now?”
Ritter’s eyes narrowed at the healer. “Now we try not to get killed.”
Chapter 1
“HELLO, MY NAME is Finley.”
Her name was all she’d been asked to share, and why she didn’t stop there, she couldn’t say for sure. Maybe it was the fact that she’d been forced into coming here today. Or possibly because somewhere in the uncharted regions of her soul, she knew she needed this. Whatever the reason, uninvited words continued to march across her lips.
“Well, most people just call me Finnie, except I hate that. I was named after my granny Opaline Finley-Taylor. I loved her very much.” A tear pricked the corner of Finley’s eye, her gaze sweeping the circle of questioning looks. “God rest her soul.”
The woman sitting across from Finley—Burlie-Jean, the paper tag adhered to her lapel read—lifted one palm to the air, the hand of the other pressing to the center of her generous bosom. “Lord bless her poor, wretched soul,” she echoed, eyes closed, face turned toward heaven.
Finley mustered a half smile in response. “So, Finley . . . My name is Finley.”
“Hello, Finley!” chorused the group of three women and one man in return.
The echo of their greeting bounced from the rafters of the tired YMCA basketball court, falling in rivulets to shake Finley’s tattered nerves. “Lord a’mighty,” she said, pressing both palms against her chest to still the vibrations, “y’all give quite the welcome.”
Careen, their group leader, shook back the curtain of strawberry-blonde hair that draped around her heart-shaped face, then settled her pebble-eyed gaze on Finley. “Now, just tell us why you’re here?”
Dragging her fingertips nervously through the first traces of gray arching up from her widow’s peak, Finley stalled, “Oh right,” as she struggled against the memory, attempting to keep all the details, the sordid ones at least, corralled to the far corners of her mind. “Well, like I said before, I’m Finley,” she repeated, knowing the blush reddening her cheeks would not go unnoticed. With raven hair, light blue eyes, and rosy cheeks and lips, it had never been a stretch for her to dress as Snow White on Halloween, and in situations such as this, next to impossible to hide even the smallest trace of embarrassment. “I’m forty. Just turned last week. Labor Day, as a matter of fact.” She smiled as if sharing her birthday with a national holiday this year had been an exciting twist of events. It hadn’t been. “They say forty is the new thirty, but with both my babies off to college and my home so quiet all of a sudden, it doesn’t feel like . . .” If only she could define how she felt. “Well, someone should tell my mirror. Because somehow my reflection didn’t get the memo,” she said a little too brightly. “If you know what I mean,” she added and then snorted. Snorted!
A subtle throat clearing, and then Careen leaned forward. “Yes, I think we all know what you mean, so why don’t we get back to you telling us why you’re here.”
Finley crushed the folly from her voice. “Of course, I’m so sorry.” She shared a brief apologetic smile with each of her fellow therapy victims—um, members. “I’ve forgotten my manners. My momma would hate that,” she added on the trail of a sigh. “Momma. She’s the real reason I’m here. Because she decided I needed help. That I wasn’t handling my,” she pursed her lips, searching for the right words, “my situation properly.” In other words, the way she thought Finley should. “So here I am, in group therapy.”
Careen’s tiny bowed mouth pulled into a thin, condescending line. “That’s right, Finley, and in group therapy we work as a group to help each other process and take steps to improve our lives. And, in group therapy, the very first step is for each member to admit, out loud, to the rest of the group, why he or she is here,” she explained, carefully measuring each word. “So why don’t you take a deep breath, start again, and tell us exactly why you’re here today.” She gave Finley a pointed look. “Okay?”
Finley gulped back on her chagrin. “All right.” Threading her fingers through the thick layers of her hair, she re-deposited the bulk of it over her shoulders. Her hesitation had everyone leaning slightly forward, though she couldn’t imagine why. They were all here for the same reason. “I’m divorced.”
A quiet hush of relief that she’d finally said the d-word advanced around the small circle. The group members settled back in their seats.
Then Careen made a rolling motion with her miniature hand. “How long?” she prompted.
“Two weeks.” Finley held up coinciding fingers. “It’s been two weeks since I signed the papers, ending my twenty-one-year marriage.” There, she’d said it—aloud. She was divorced. A divorcée. Single. Completely on her own. Alone.
Finley’s heart rolled into a ball and beat against her throat.
For the first time since she’d signed the papers, the divorce felt real.
Final.
“Very good, Finley,” Careen said, forcing the sort of smile that told Finley the worst was yet to come. “And here at ‘Divorce Is Not an End But a New Beginning’ we work to move forward by taking steps that will move us beyond the hurt where we can begin the healing.” She flourished her delicate hands out to the group in an earnest plea. “Now, would you like to share with everyone why it is your momma insisted you come here today?”
Finley feigned thought for a moment. “It was nothing, really.” She waved her hand, clearing the air of any notion to the contrary. “Just a minor altercation at last week’s garden club luncheon.”
“Small?” Careen pursed her lips, disbelieving. “Altercation?”
Finley rolled a shoulder in a nonchalant fashion. “Yes well, there may have been some name calling, a few deep, dark secrets revealed, and,” she glanced around to see that everyone was leaning closer again, “a slap or two. But really, no one was hurt. Not seriously, at least.”
“Hm-hmm,” Burlie-Jean hummed with a sway of her head, her gaze sending a critical stare at Finley—a stare eerily similar to the one Macy Wallace had lobbed at Finley not five days ago. More specifically, the proverbial falling shoe that had sent Finley over the edge she hadn’t even realized she’d been teetering on.
“It’s okay, Finley,” Careen said in a soothing voice. “Like I stated earlier, this is a safe zone.” She made a sweeping motion with her hands, indicating the corner of the gymnasium they’d laid claim to. “Nothing said within this group is ever repeated or judged. We’re all here to support one another.”
Finley had known before coming here, she’d likely be asked to recount the incident. But as the particulars of that day crowded their way to the forefront of her mind, she suddenly had the sensation she was falling, disappearing into an oblivion, only to reemerge and find herself, dreamlike, in a different time and place she’d wanted never to visit again . . .
The sunroom where her garden club held their meetings had been stuffed to capacity that day with tables full of warm-breathed women. Even with the wicker-paddled fans moving at high speed, and the air conditioning blowing incessantly, the room had felt stuffy. The ice in Finley’s sweet tea had begun to melt, fanning a wet ring out onto the ivory tablecloth beneath. Conjectural whispers accosted her from all directions, circling her body like a python, squeezing until she could hardly draw a breath.
“When you’re ready, Finley,” Careen encouraged. “Just take your time.”
Closing her eyes, Finley sunk deeper into her latest nightmare. “It was my garden club’s monthly luncheon, and from the podium, Macy Wallace was talking about decorations for the autumn festival at Cheekwood gardens,” she began, her voice vacant as if playing from a recording in her head. “Then, Macy glanced over at me with her trademark sympathetic look. You know, the kind that seems sincere though it’s anything but, and said, ‘Finnie, I’m so sorry you’ve been too preoccupied to be of much help this year, but we understand. Divorce proceedings can sometimes be such an emotional drain. And though we all know, and believe, that our Lord and Savior does not look kindly on the dissolution of any marriage, we want you to know that not one of your garden club sisters is judging you. Our hearts go out to you Finnie. And to your poor, broken-homed children . . .”
“She said that?” the woman next to Finley scoffed. “She said, ‘your poor, broken-homed children’?”
Finley’s eyes fluttered, the here-and-now abruptly dropping around her like the changing backdrop of a play. “Well, those may not have been her exact words, but as I looked around at everyone, and the faked sympathy on their faces, I don’t know—that was how it sounded to me,” she admitted, then pressed her parched lips together. Taking a quick look around, she searched for a refreshment table, but saw none. Didn’t these types of meetings generally include coffee and doughnuts? Ice water?
“And then?” Careen gently prompted, reminding Finley that she was nowhere near the end of her story.
Finley turned her attention back to the circle and all the eyes fixated on her with a weary interest. She hated herself for even considering the fact, but—how could she put this without sounding catty?—she and her fellow group members didn’t exactly run in the same social circles. Normally, she wasn’t one to air her laundry, especially that of the soiled variety, but it wasn’t like she’d ever see any of these people outside of this smelly gym. So what could it hurt to simply go ahead and spill the rest?
Pulling in a breath tainted with the hint of sweaty socks, she pressed on. “Before I knew what was happening, my napkin was flying from my lap as I stood and hollered, ‘Oh cut the crap, Macy, or should I say Kittlylou? You’re one to talk! We all know about your past life and that pimp of a first husband who ran a gentleman’s club outta that doublewide you crawled out from under. Or doesn’t God consider a common-law marriage sinful to abandon?’”
Finley’s fellow group members shared a hushed gasp, but she hastened on, desperate all of a sudden, to let it all out. “Then Macy smoothed a hand over that tacky yellow dye-job of hers and said, ‘Why, Finnie, what on earth has gotten into you?’ Momma was yanking on my skirt, telling me to sit down and shut my ‘feral trap,’ but I ignored her. ‘Oh, I see how this is gonna go,’ I said to Macy. ‘And since we’re not talkin’ ’bout past transgressions, I guess we’re just gonna pretend like I didn’t catch you doing the white-trash two-step with my husband on my brand new Bernhardt sofa?’
“Macy’s mouth fell open, and she covered the hole with her tawdry pink nails, and Suzanna, her minion-in-chief, got to her feet and said, ‘Finnie Harrison, this is not the time or place for such talk!’ She should have stayed out of it. ‘Don’t you ‘Finnie Harrison’ me, Suzanna! We all know the UPS man is delivering more than packages to your house every day. I mean, honestly, not even Molly does that much online shopping . . . Molly spends more hours watching the shopping channel than her husband does on that porn site he’s addicted to, and an attic brimming over with the hidden evidence to prove it. But then who can blame her when her husband spends every free moment on that Internet porn site—Fifty Shades of Laid?”
Muffled snickers shook the shoulders of the woman sitting next to Finley, but she hardly noticed as she finished the rest.
“And then like Julia Roberts in the movie, Something to Talk About, more secrets came spilling from my mouth, and consequently the mouths of others. And by the time Momma and Cathyanne had drug me out, the skeletons of nearly every woman in that room had been exposed . . .” Finley let her words and the rest fade with what was left of her denial.
Though more than seventy-five women had witnessed her little hissy fit that day, up until this moment, Finley had worked hard to convince herself the incident had been nothing more than a bad dream—the kind you wake from, pinching yourself, thankful it wasn’t real. Only now did she truly realize there would be no waking from this dream. It had been real—all too real—and she wasn’t proud of her behavior or the lives turned on end by her outburst. But she hoped, in the very least, that releasing those women’s secrets had somehow made them free. If what we kept hidden didn’t fade from reality just because we refused to speak of it, why did Finley, like everybody else, try so hard to hide from who she really was?
Maybe if she didn’t work so hard trying to be someone she wasn’t, finding her true self wouldn’t feel so impossible . . .
“Finley?” Careen was saying. “Are you all right?”
The group leader’s question severed Finley from her musing. “Yes, fine,” she whispered before reclaiming her voice. “Suffice it to say, I may have ruined a few marriages, not to mention friendships, that day.”
“So this ‘altercation,’ as you called it, was about confronting the woman your husband was having an affair with?” Careen restated.
Finley shrugged. Truthfully, she’d been more concerned by Macy’s insinuation that she’d ruined her life, shamed her family, and was headed straight for hell, than with provoking the woman she’d caught her husband with. “Yeah, I guess,” she agreed, because doing so was easier than delving any further into the true cause behind her outburst. “But he and Macy were just a one-time fling. There were other affairs.”
“Let’s start with this business regarding Macy,” Careen said. “How did it make you feel, walking in on your husband with another woman?”
Finley knew what Careen expected her to say. And sure, over the years she had struggled with the why-wasn’t-I-good-enough question more times than she could count. Then one day, like a squeaky hinge or a picture frame that refused to hang straight, the vexation had grown insignificant with time and frequency until the “why” simply didn’t matter anymore.
As for Careen’s specific question, Finley thought back to the end of May. It was the day she’d dropped her daughter, Royanne (named for Finley’s husband and best friend—and yes, her daughter hated her name too), off at the Vanderbilt University dorms to attend a summer program, preparatory to her fall semester’s classes. She’d planned to help Royanne settle in and then buy her a quick farewell lunch, but her daughter had circled Finley in a half-hearted hug and said: “Thanks, Momma. Love you. I can take it from here.”
Finley had been dismissed. Rendered unnecessary.
Sniffing back a mounting wave of loss, she’d serpentined her way through parents and students, back the way she’d come, all while trying, unsuccessfully, to ignore a surging need for comfort in the form of red velvet cake balls. When her cravings only grew stronger, the closer she came to home, she’d dropped in at the market to pick up a few missing ingredients and headed for her big, empty kitchen.
Her mouth watering with anticipation of a little guilty pleasure, the very last thing she’d expected to see upon entering her family room was Roy’s bare backside arching into view over the sofa, followed by a high-pitched squeak that was uncannily female. As Finley’s grocery bag had floated in slow motion to the floor, she vaguely remembered a fleeting pinch of humiliation. But now that she was thinking back, she realized what had bothered her the most was not the sight of her husband tangled up with another woman, but how they were defiling her beloved new sofa.
“I felt . . . relieved,” slipped from Finley’s lips before she could come up with a more appropriate answer. Until that day, she’d obediently carried the burden of undeclared consent, drowning under the weight of an unfulfilling marriage. But this time, Roy’s act of betrayal had been too blatant for even the most devout Christian to ignore, a clean slice through the tether that had bound her tongue, her first gasp of sweet breath upon breaching the water’s surface.
Burlie-Jean pointed a curled acrylic nail in Finley’s direction. “Girl, you done lost you’re ever-lovin’ mind,” she called out with a tremor in her incredulous voice. “If I’d caught my Henry with his two-bit hussy, I-like-ta wrung both their necks right then and there. My man was just too darn sneaky is all.”
The woman next to Burlie-Jean, the one who’d been chewing her nails the entire session, pulled her pinky finger out of her mouth long enough to say, “He abuse you?” then resumed her assault, but on her thumbnail this time. Painfully thin with stringy hair and big brown eyes that shifted anxiously around the room, the name on her tag read Sue.
Philandering behavior aside, and unless you counted never standing up to his mother whenever that spiteful woman spoke all manner of ill against Finley, Roy was a good man. “No,” she answered, deciding that verbal abuse by proxy probably didn’t count.
Sue tucked her now bleeding thumbnail into her palm and curled her fingers into a fist. “He a gambler?” she asked. “Lost all y’all’s money?”
“No,” Finley said. Money had always been Roy’s number-one focus. He would never do anything to jeopardize his precious millions, or the social status his wealth had bought him. “He worked a lot though. He owns a car dealership down in Nashville. Three, actually.”
The woman next to Finley piped up with, “A drinker then?” Finley had felt this woman’s stare burning into her throughout the meeting, but hadn’t yet addressed her directly. She turned to her now. If she looked past her surly expression, spiky jet-black hair, and pierced lip, she was actually quite pretty. From what was left of the nametag the young woman was painstakingly shredding, one impossibly thin strip at a time, her name was Nora. “He addicted to drugs?”
Roy was obsessed with having the biggest and the best of everything, but could his thirst to one-up the world be considered an addiction? “No.” Finley shook her head and turned away.
Careen said, “Finley, then can you explain why it was you felt relief at catching your husband in the act of being unfaithful?”
Finley glanced around at the glum expressions of the women looking back at her and felt a twinge of guilt. These ladies had obviously fallen victim to heartache and possibly some terrible atrocities at the hands of their estranged husbands, and all she could come up with was that her husband had worked too much—which in all honesty, he hadn’t. Not really. But does a woman have to have been a victim of the unthinkable to want out of her marriage?
“People always talk like it’s such a tragedy when a twenty-year marriage falls apart, like if it had lasted that long then, surely, it should have lasted forever,” said Finley. “Personally, I’m more surprised when couples who have only been married a little while split up.”
“Statistics show the majority of marriages that end in demise do so within the first three years,” Careen threw out. “So what makes you believe the opposite?”
Finley rolled her shoulders back and down, giving herself a moment to think, to look back to when she and Roy were barely more than teenagers. “Things were great—blissful even—between Roy and me at first, but then as we grew older and the years wore on, it became evident we had separate goals . . . always had, I suppose. Then, one day, I realized I couldn’t remember what it was I’d ever loved about him,” she said, though she knew full well what had driven her to marry at age nineteen. Her mother had deemed Roy a dangerous “loser” from the wrong side of town, and thus had forbidden her daughter to associate with him.
“Then as the anniversaries and birthdays came and went, he would repeatedly come home with milk chocolates when I prefer dark. Roses when daisies have always been my favorite . . . when I was mad, frustrated, sad, he never acted like he had a clue why. He ignored my tears. Finally, I realized that after all these years he didn’t even know me.” Finley swallowed back an uprising of acrid emotion. “I hear divorced couples say that they simply grew apart. But we never grew together in the first place.”
Nora sucked in a spurt of air in detest. “You divorced your husband because he brought you the wrong flowers?”
Finley felt the sting of her teeth digging into her bottom lip. She’d entertained these thoughts in her head a thousand times before, but never had she felt her true feelings actually sliding over her tongue. The taste was bitter, the resonance petty, offensive even. No wonder she’d needed to use Roy’s affair as an excuse for their divorce.
“Nora . . .” Careen warned in a stern voice. Then she softened her gaze and shifted it back to Finley. “So what are your plans for the future?” she asked. “What are you going to do now that you’re single again?”
Finley rubbed a nonexistent chill from her shoulders. “I’m not entirely sure, but recently, I joined a gym with my friend, Cathyanne. I work out with a trainer twice a week.” Her cheeks began to redden with a fresh blush at the mere mention of the hunky man who, bi-weekly, twisted her into more kinky positions under the guise of exercise than Roy had in two decades of marital relations. “His name is Josh,” she added, like his name could possibly matter to the group.
“Is that a fact?” Burlie-Jean said, sending her gaze for an obvious once-over of Finley’s fitted yoga pants. “Sounds like that tight little butt of yours ain’t all he’s had his hands on.”
Fire leapt from Finley’s cheeks, burning a trail down her neck. “Oh, no, it’s not like that,” she said, though there was no denying she’d indulged in a fantasy or two—nightly.
Nora cocked a skeptical brow. “What’s it like then?”
Suddenly, Finley couldn’t breathe. “I . . . Well, he’s . . .” Or speak.
“He’s?” Nora persisted.
“He’s at least ten years my junior,” Finley choked out. “We’re not . . .”
“Not what?” Burlie-Jean jumped in with a purse of her dark, fully lined lips.
Finley gave her head a good shake. “Not anything,” she said, taking a firm mental hold on reality. “Josh is young and athletic. And I’m forty!—and the mother of two grown children. Good heavens. I’m not that kind of woman. I would never—”
“Date a man you’re obviously attracted to?” Nora sneered. “I bet your husband wouldn’t think twice ’bout screwin’ a woman half his age.”
Sue let out a soft yelp, her eyes seesawing between Nora and Finley.
Silence stretched thin between them, affording the only man in the group the opportunity to speak for the first time. “But then again, an eye for an eye”—Finley shifted her attention across the circle to the man with close-cropped hair and the steel-eyed look of a cop. Ford was his name—“a tooth for a tooth eventually just leaves folks blind and unable to chew properly,” he said in a slow unaffected drawl.
Finley stared back at him. What was he saying? That just because it was acceptable for a man to date someone younger didn’t mean that a woman had the right to do so as well? Or did he mean that we could never truly get back what had been taken from us? “I’m not like my ex, and I never want to be,” she said. “And besides, Josh is not the least bit interested in the likes of me.”
“How do you know unless you tell him how you feel?” Nora countered.
“Look, y’all, if I was going to date anyone it would be Quinton,” Finley said before she had time to realize she’d wanted to say it.
“Who’s Quinton?” Nora asked.
Finley waved the idea away. “No one,” she said with a gulp. “He’s just my neighbor. We’re friends. I don’t even know why I said that.” Quinton was a country singer who had been living next door to Finley for a little over eight years now. He was sweet and sexy, and habitually single, but there had never been the slightest hint of romantic feelings between them.
“Maybe because you want to be more than just Quinton’s friend,” Ford suggested.
Did she? Finley didn’t know for sure. She’d never thought of Quinton that way. Well, not seriously, and she’d certainly never say as much out loud. “Um, I don’t . . . know.” Finley looked to Careen for help, and thankfully the group leader came to her rescue.
“All right, I think we’ve given Finley enough food for thought on her first day.” Careen waved her arms in a settle-down motion. “As I explained earlier, each week we focus on one step, and then at the following meeting report on the progress we’ve made toward completing that step,” she explained. “So for the benefit of our newest member, how ’bout we recite the ‘Five Steps to a New Beginning’ before moving on.” She pointed to a rolling chalkboard. “All together now.”
“Number one: Subjugate fear,” she started, and the rest of the group joined in. “Take chances. Learn from and consent to the unexpected.”
“Number two: Defy the rules, embrace the guidelines. Rules emphasize the result. Guidelines focus on the journey.
“Number three: Smash the box. Look outside your comfort zone for the best answers and the greatest opportunity for growth.
“Number four: Brimful heart. If one’s heart is hollow, one’s actions are hollow.
Number five: Letitgo. Leave the past, live the future.”
Following along with the words scrawled onto the powder-smeared chalkboard, Finley felt a cool sweat breaking out on her forehead. Only five goals, but each one felt like one gaping pit of quicksand after another.
Take chances and defy rules? Smash the box? Letitgo? What did any of that even mean? Brimful heart. Finley pressed the heel of her palm to the center of her chest and felt nothing, nothing but an empty hole where her heart should be. Just because she hadn’t been particularly sad to see Roy pack his things and go, didn’t mean his absence hadn’t left a gap in her life. His leaving had been like pulling a random peg from a Jenga tower, only to find that it was the last piece still holding the structure together.
Careen said, “I know these goals can seem overwhelming at first, but taking the first step is the hardest part.”
“Amen to that,” Burlie-Jean agreed.
“Though some of us are further along than others, we’re all on the same path,” Careen went on. “Everyone progresses at his or her own pace. One step at a time, one week at a time until we find our new normal,” she said, then zeroed in on Finley. “So start with number one, only number one . . .”
Finley watched Careen’s lips spill words of hope and encouragement. If only she could bathe in the completeness each syllable offered until the possibility adhered to her skin, remolding her, body and soul, into the kind of woman who knew what it meant to be happy, one who refused to settle for anything less—
“Finley?” Careen said, causing Finley to start. “This coming week, your first task is to identify a fear and then make an attempt to overcome that fear. Do you think you can do that?”
Having already put too much of herself on display for these strangers’ entertainment, what Finley really wanted to do was leave and never set foot inside this circle again. “I’ll surely give it a try,” she promised, though, obviously, she had no intention of doing any such thing.
“Good.” Careen appeared cautiously optimistic. “Okay, who wants to share next?”
Prologue
Bavaria—1849
Erich du Woernig came awake with a start. He sat upright in bed, sweat beading over his face. The dream that had awakened him was familiar—eerily familiar. He could hear glass breaking, and at the same time, a loud boom, as if a gun were fired, and the force of the shot threw him against a wall.
Erich groaned and pressed his face into the pillow. Surely the repetition of this dream was simply a hangover from the fears he’d just recently come to terms with. Those who had wanted him dead were no longer a threat. Surely it was nothing.
When Erich couldn’t go back to sleep, he rose at dawn and went riding. The fresh air of late summer cleared his senses and gave him the peace he was looking for. He kept busy through the remainder of the morning, attempting to get everything in order for the busy week ahead.
Erich hurried into the dining room late to find the entire family already seated for lunch. He tossed his gloves aside and took his usual place, glancing around the table at those he loved. Maggie, his sister. Han, her husband and his closest friend. Their children, Hannah, Gerhard, and of course, Stefan. Stefan was seven years old and one of the most important people in Erich’s life. The boy was going to be great one day. Erich just felt it. Then there was Georg, Han’s father and an integral part of all their lives. He was the man who kept this place running, and everyone knew it. Sonia, his youngest sister, and her family were also here. They lived elsewhere, but they’d come for the wedding. And then there were Erich’s parents.
“Is everything all right?” Abbi du Woernig asked. His mother always had a sixth sense about his emotions, but today there were no hidden concerns. Even his nightmares seemed petty and insignificant.
“Oh yes,” he assured her. Then he laughed. “Everything is perfect. I’m getting married in four days, remember?”
“Oh, so that’s why you’ve always got that silly grin plastered on your face,” Cameron du Woernig said. Erich grinned at his father as if to demonstrate.
“I’d say he’s earned the right to smile,” Abbi said. “After what he’s been through to get to the altar, let him smile.”
Cameron chuckled and focused his attention on his wife. “You think I don’t know what it’s like to have to fight to marry the woman I love?”
Erich saw his parents’ eyes meet across the table, and something tangible seemed to pass through the air between them. He knew their own history was filled with struggle and heartache. They were the Duke and Duchess of Horstberg. Their lives were tangled into the responsibilities of ruling a nation. But the joy they shared was evident, and the legacy of love they’d given him was priceless. There had been a time when he’d envied what they shared but not anymore. Now, he understood it. Kathe Lokberg was everything he’d ever wanted, and in four more days, she would be his wife—at last.
The wedding had been postponed due to a political uprising that had put the entire family in danger—most specifically him, being the heir to Horstberg. But that was over now. The danger was past. He was free to make Kathe his wife without the fear of making her a widow. For months he’d had feelings that had nearly convinced him his life would be cut short. He’d come to believe that their time together would be brief, and they had learned to make the most of the present. Of course, having his life regularly threatened had certainly contributed to his fears. He’d felt prepared to die, in spite of his heartache at the thought of not having a lifetime to share with Kathe. But now he was prepared to live, knowing his life was in order and all was well.
The meal proceeded with talk of the wedding and plans for the afternoon. Cameron was the first to push back his chair and stand. “Come along, Han,” he said. “We’ve got work to do. Georg?”
“I’ve got to get that report from the captain, then I’ll be in.”
Han stood and kissed Maggie, as he always did. The love they shared was also evident. “Are you coming, Stefan?” Han asked his oldest son. Erich smiled at the boy. Unlike the other children, he preferred to sit in the office with the men, as if the ducal business actually meant something to him.
“I’m going riding with Erich,” Stefan said. “He promised.”
“That’s right,” Erich said. “But not until I get the dungeon cleaned out. You go ahead and I’ll find you in the office when I’m finished.” Stefan smiled and hurried after his father.
While Han and Stefan hovered in the doorway, Cameron walked the length of the table and bent to kiss his wife. Erich couldn’t help watching them, his thoughts with Kathe. It wasn’t unusual for his parents to kiss, but everyone in the room was a little surprised at the way this particular kiss went on and on.
“What was that for?” Abbi asked with a soft laugh. She glanced briefly down the table and blushed slightly at the evidence that they were being watched.
“It was for thirty-two years of life with you, Abbi girl. I just wanted you to know that I love you, and I’m grateful for every minute we’ve had together.”
Abbi’s embarrassment turned to emotion as she looked into her husband’s eyes. It was difficult to tell if she was simply touched by his sentiment or somehow concerned as she rose to her feet and embraced him. They held to each other a long moment, and then he kissed her again and hurried to where Han and Stefan were waiting. He paused and glanced back at Abbi, who was still watching him, and they exchanged a warm smile before the men left the room. Maggie rose from the table and took the other two children, leaving Erich alone with his mother. Abbi sat back down as if she’d suddenly come out of a trance, and she passed him a warm smile, not unlike the one she’d just given his father. But there was a sadness in her eyes that chilled him.
“What is it, Mother?” She looked suddenly guilty, as if he’d caught her at mischief.
“Nothing,” she insisted with a smile. Erich forced any negative feelings away, concentrating instead on all that was good in his life. Following his father’s example, he rose from the table and approached his mother. Taking her hands, he urged her back to her feet, holding her tightly in his arms.
“I love you, Mother.” He kissed her with a loud smooch that made her laugh. “That’s for thirty-one years of life. The best life a man could ever want.”
Abbi looked into his eyes and touched his hair. “I love you too, Erich. You’ve given me such joy.” He eased away, and she added, “You be careful, now.”
Abbi left the room through a different door, and he knew she would likely spend the afternoon painting. Later he would find her and pretend to know what he was talking about when he told her that her latest painting was the best so far.
Spurred on by his desire to see Kathe this evening, Erich hurried toward the dungeon to complete a necessary task. His hobby of chemistry had accompanied him all the way through his youth. It had always fascinated him, and he’d spent many long days in the dungeon playing with his chemicals. But through the recent threats against his life, the dungeon had become a trap. The last time he’d gone there, he knew someone had been in the room, tampering with the chemicals. He’d decided to clean everything out and start over, and his father had insisted it be done before the wedding. Georg had suggested they get someone else to do it, but Erich had assured them he preferred to do it himself. He knew what he was doing, and he would be careful. He didn’t have to fear that there was someone lurking in the shadows down there, waiting to do away with him, as there had been in the past.
Erich was nearly to the door that led to the dungeon when he passed Georg, on his way to find the captain.
“Hey, Georg,” he teased, “why don’t you come down with me? We could concoct a potion to enhance your looks.”
“It would be just my luck,” he said lightly, “if it blew up in my face.”
“It could still enhance your looks,” Erich joked.
Georg laughed heartily, a rare thing to see since his wife’s death seven years earlier.
“You insolent pup,” Georg said with mock anger. “Just get out of here.”
“I am not an insolent pup.” Erich feigned indignation. “And when I take over this country, I’m going to remember you said that.”
“Perhaps you should also remember that I bounced you on my knee before you could even walk. When you take over this country, you’re going to need me to tell you how to do it.”
Erich smiled and approached the door. “Yes, Georg, you’re right, I know. You usually are.” Erich turned to the two officers waiting at the door that led from the hallway down to his dungeon. “Hello, gentlemen. I assume my father sent you to keep an eye on me.”
“In a roundabout way, sir,” one of them said. “We’re just here to help, and we all want you to stay safe.”
“Of course.” Erich tired not to take the implications too seriously. He also tried not to feel the habitual concern that he was in danger, and he forced away the memory of that recurring dream.
Erich took the key out of his pocket and unlocked the door. “Just wait here with the door open,” he said to the officers. “I’ll keep the door open down there, as well. And I’ll yell if I need you.”
“Very good, sir,” the other officer said.
Erich thanked them and hurried down the winding stairs and into his chemistry room. He stood for a minute in the center of the room, wondering where to start. Then with purpose, he reached up to take some little bottles of chemical down from a crowded shelf. As he took hold of the first one, all the others moved slightly, and he realized that a tiny bottle sitting precariously at the edge of the shelf was going to fall. And there was nothing he could do to stop it. He watched it plummet toward the floor, as if time were moving more slowly. Just before it hit, the memory of his dream plunged into his mind. Glass breaking. A loud boom. And then the world ended.
Feeling unusually tired, Kathe Lokberg took down her dark hair and stretched out on the bed. The warmth of the afternoon sun sprayed through the corner window of her bedroom, adding to her contentment. As always, her mind wandered to thoughts of Erich.
Erich. His name alone sent shivers of delight through every part of her. She marveled at how he’d changed her life, and more so at the intensity of their love. It was difficult to comprehend everything that had happened since they’d first met. But she felt peace in knowing they would be married soon. The thought intensified her contentment, and she nearly laughed aloud as she settled more comfortably against her pillow.
At first the rumbling seemed a part of Kathe’s dream. Certain it had to be thunder, she reluctantly opened her eyes, wondering if it might rain. Her heart quickened as she absorbed the sunlight, and her surroundings briefly trembled, as if the earth itself had opened up.
“What in the world?” she gasped, hurrying to the window. Fear gripped Kathe’s heart as something died inside her. She cried out in horror to see black smoke billowing up behind Castle Horstberg. It only took a moment for her feelings to take hold. She could never explain it, but she knew something horrible had happened to Erich.
Oblivious to her surroundings, Kathe fled to the stable and mounted bareback, riding across town as fast as the mare would go. Her thoughts flitted through the difficulties Horstberg had just emerged from. They had endured revolution and come through triumphant. Being engaged to the next Duke of Horstberg, she had almost become accustomed to Erich’s life being in danger. But the war had ended almost as soon as it began. The royal family had all survived, and Erich’s father had assured them all was well. They had finally been able to set a date for the wedding, and Kathe truly felt like a part of the family.
Coming into the castle courtyard, Kathe immediately sensed the havoc. Her fears settled a little deeper, gathering in the pit of her stomach until they threatened to devour her. Reminding herself that she was practically family, she entered without knocking and ran down the long main hall. Her fear knotted into tangible pain as a charred smell struck her senses and the air became hazy with smoke.
Turning the corner near her destination, Kathe stopped cold. Her eyes quickly surveyed these people she had come to know and care for. Erich’s mother, Abbi, was sitting on the floor sobbing. The dignity Kathe had always seen her bear was completely absent. Georg, the duke’s highest advisor and a close family friend, knelt with his arms around Abbi, shock and horror carved into his expression. And Georg’s son, Han, sat on the floor nearby, leaning against the opposite wall. He appeared dazed and in shock while a doctor knelt beside him, administering to blatant burns over his left shoulder and arm.
Erich’s young nephew, Stefan, stood looking on, his eyes wide with fear. Kathe’s heart went out to him as he stared toward the body on the floor that was just now being covered by an officer of the Guard—the body of Cameron du Woernig. With the finality of the gesture, Abbi cried out her husband’s name in anguish.
Kathe wanted to ask what had happened, but the words wouldn’t come. She wanted to ask where Erich was, but in her heart she knew. As if her ignorance would keep her from the pain, she instinctively pushed her questions aside and moved to Stefan. The moment she put her arms around him, the pride of the young prince dissipated, and he clung to her and cried.
Sounds emitted from the stairwell nearby where hazy smoke still rose. Han suddenly became alert as Abbi’s eyes shot toward the door.
“Get her out of here!” he demanded, struggling to his feet. Georg reacted immediately and attempted to move Abbi down the hall.
“No!” she screamed, reaching toward her husband’s body. Georg pulled her into his arms and carried her up the stairs.
Han’s head swung toward Kathe as he became aware of her presence. For a moment she could almost read his thoughts. He was Erich’s closest friend, and she had come to love him as Erich did. But something in Han’s eyes had changed. He had seen something unspeakably horrible.
“Get them out of here!” Han ordered an officer standing nearby. She’d never seen him behave so brashly.
Two men in uniform gently urged Kathe and Stefan down the hall. Kathe stopped them briefly and turned toward Han, her eyes full of question. She needed to hear it.
“He’s gone, Kathe.” Han’s voice trembled and tears brimmed in his eyes. “You can’t see him. Please trust me. You wouldn’t know him.”
The pain of reality deepened as Kathe let the officers move her away. She was aware from a quick glance over her shoulder of a body, already covered, being brought from the stairwell and laid with the other.
For Stefan’s sake, Kathe fought to remain calm. Everything inside of her screamed in silent anguish. But she was grateful for Stefan’s need for comfort as she took him to his room and helped him to bed, staying with him until his mother came. Then Kathe quietly returned home to mourn in private.
The funeral was torturous for Kathe. On the day she should have been married, the sky hung gray while Horstberg mourned its loss. The duke and his heir were both dead. The funeral procession moved through the beautiful village like a shrouded black serpent. Kathe managed to maintain her dignity, while inwardly she cursed fate for its cruelty in taking Erich from her this way—the same fate she had so recently blessed for sending him into her life.
Though Kathe’s pain ran deep, she felt hesitant to lean on these people she had come to love. Their wounds were as fresh as hers. No one intended to push Kathe away. She chose to remain in the background. Without Erich, she simply didn’t belong anymore. If they had married, it might have been different, but that would never come about now. Her life was over.
Kathe’s brother, Theodor, took her home after the funeral and put her to bed where she mourned herself sick over the next several days. Her father was always close by, but there was nothing anyone could do. She finally convinced herself that she had to go on living. On market day she went into town, just as she’d done hundreds of times in her life. But nothing was the same. The black she wore didn’t begin to express the hole in her heart. It hadn’t been so long since she had been here with Erich. All eyes had watched them, marveling that the prince had finally fallen in love. Now Kathe felt those same eyes on her as she quietly went about her business. Everyone knew she had almost become a du Woernig. And the pity in their expressions made her tangibly ill.
Kathe hurried home and went back to bed, staying there for days. Eventually instinct told her that something more was making her ill. A deep mixture of emotions accompanied the realization that she was going to have a baby. Erich’s baby. They had never intended to allow such a thing to happen outside of marriage, but his life was being threatened and the wedding had been postponed. Desperation had driven them into each other’s arms. She wondered how many illegitimate children had been conceived in times of war throughout the history of the world. But knowing it had happened to others didn’t make it any easier.
Once Kathe adjusted to the idea, she felt grateful to have this part of Erich with her. It gave what was left of her life some purpose. What she had shared with Erich was too powerful to regret, and she believed in her heart that he would be pleased to know that a child remained in his stead.
Kathe nearly went to tell Abbi, but an unexplainable fear stopped her. She knew the du Woernig family didn’t need the burden of this to add to their grief. It would not be joyous for them. It would only be a stigma, a painful reminder of Erich’s absence.
When Kathe told Theodor and her father, they were not as shocked as she’d expected them to be. Of course, they had been well aware of the duress she and Erich had been under. But her father brought another problem to light. Erich’s life had been precarious. The country had just emerged from revolution. The heir to the throne was dead. Were there still revolutionaries out there who would not want Erich du Woernig’s child to exist? Legitimate or otherwise? Unlikely perhaps, but possible enough to make Kathe’s decision clear.
Kathe’s father said nothing when she told him she was leaving Horstberg. Somehow she knew he understood her need to go, even though it broke his heart. But he promised to visit often, and she knew he would always be there for her, in spite of the miles that would now exist between their homes.
Theodor, however, protested her leaving strongly. He begged, pleaded, and ordered her not to go. But her mind was made up. And reluctantly he swore to never tell a soul what he knew.
One last time, Kathe wandered through town on market day. Still wearing black, she was almost becoming accustomed to the pitiful stares of those she passed. But she couldn’t bear the thought of how they might look at her if they realized she was pregnant with Erich du Woernig’s child.
The morning Kathe was scheduled to leave, she walked with purpose to the cathedral where she and Erich should have been married. The huge edifice served as the north boundary to the cemetery. She walked a familiar path through the gate, toward the section in the center surrounded by a high wrought-iron fence, where members of the royal family were buried. The trees that shaded the graves were nearly bare; their leaves crunched beneath her feet as she walked. The huge marble stones that marked the graves of Erich and his father had a new, polished appearance that made them stand out among the others.
With hesitancy, Kathe reached out to touch the words carved in stone. Erich Cameron Georg Gerhard du Woernig. 1818 – 1849. And etched below the name and date were the words to a song that Erich’s father had written for him before he was born. Kathe touched each word, one by one, clearly hearing in her memory the way Erich had taught them to her. She managed to hold back her emotion until her fingers traced over the final lines. I know my love is here with me. A fire burns in my heart.
The full extent of Kathe’s pain rushed out of the numbness that held it bound, burning through her chest before it came into the open with an anguished howl. She sunk to her knees and pressed her face to the cold stone that bore Erich’s name.
“How can I go on?” she cried as if he could hear her. “How can I bear this child alone? I can’t!” she sobbed and pressed herself closer to the marble slab. “I can’t!”
Kathe felt warm hands on her shoulders, but she paid no attention. It wasn’t the first time her father had found her here and forced her to come home. She expected his grip to tighten and urge her to her feet. But instead his arms came around her, holding her tightly. And with his embrace, a tangible warmth filtered through her entire being. The intensity of the feeling made her gasp and lift her head, glancing briefly over her shoulder. Then she caught her breath and held it. She was alone. But she wasn’t. She forced the air out of her lungs when they began to burn, and her breath carried his name into the open air. “Erich.”
The undeniable sensation of his embrace only deepened. Her tears turned to laughter. “Erich,” she said again, closing her eyes to savor the feeling, knowing she couldn’t expect it to last any more than a long moment.
Kathe expected to feel emptiness and despair in the absence of what she’d experienced. But she rose to her feet with hope and determination. In her heart she knew that he was with her, as much as he possibly could be. She felt the fire in her heart. And she knew that one day they would be together again. But not until she carried out her mission in this world, to raise his child with the legacy of love that he had given to her. And she would!
Kathe Lokberg’s absence went generally unnoticed, even by many who knew her well, until their mourning had subsided enough for them to think clearly. By then she was nowhere to be found.
The people of Horstberg would likely never forget the explosion of 1849. It inevitably affected their lives. But much like other stories of interest in the history of their small country, it was put to the back of their minds. And life continued. Time naturally made the loss feel less significant, and what had once seemed unbearable to face was eventually taken for granted.
Kathe Lokberg’s own death some eighteen years later left her daughter with no choice but to return to Horstberg, with little more than her mother’s dying promise that it was beautiful enough to be heaven on earth. And much like Kathe’s departure, Ericha’s return went generally unnoticed.
THE IN BETWEEN WAS NEITHER warm nor cold, and I didn’t experience the confusion or discomfort shifters had reported in past centuries. If anything, I felt hyperaware and secure. I was supposedly nowhere, but I had to be somewhere. Or perhaps I ceased to exist in the nanosecond it took me to shift from one place to the next.
There was no color in the in between, but numbers spun through my head, logical and safe. Numbers didn’t lie. They didn’t pretend to love you and then give you up to be murdered.
Finishing the shift, I appeared in the conference room located on the main floor of our San Diego Fortress. Those already in the conference room looked in my direction as I appeared, and I knew it was because of the soft pop and slight suction of air that accompanied my shifts. Ava O’Hare, the leader of our Renegade cell, was seated in her usual place at the head of the conference table. Dimitri Sidorov, our healer and second-in-command, was also present and seated on Ava’s right. My fifth great-aunt Stella sat next to him. No one else had yet arrived.
Stella smiled and glanced my way, her neural headset blinking like an electric crown as she continued to work. She was half Japanese and half Irish, the most beautiful woman I’d ever met, even if that was partly because of the nanites she, as a technopath, controlled in her body.
Despite her smile, I saw the worry in her eyes, and something inside me stirred. When Stella looked at me that way, excitement lurked in my immediate future. And excitement in our line of business always meant trouble.
My gaze returned to Ava O’Hare. Since yesterday, she’d been holed up in this conference room with some of the others, namely Dimitri and Stella, and also Ritter, who was our ops leader. Now it appeared that whatever plans they’d been hatching involved me. I was more than ready. The past months of doing nothing here in this mansion-turned-Fortress while the world clamored for our blood had me on edge.
I started toward my customary seat beside Stella, but Ava indicated the chair to her left. I glanced at Stella again, for the first time experiencing a bit of unease. Perhaps we weren’t waiting for the rest of our cell. Maybe I was the only one invited.
“Thank you for coming, Mari,” Ava began, almost formally.
I could read nothing in her gray eyes, unyielding as steel. She looked as calm as ever, from her smooth blond hair to the crisp black suit. “Did something happen to the president?” I asked. “Or his son?”
Two months had passed since the president had announced the existence of the Unbounded to the world, a declaration forced upon him by our near-fatal prevention of an Emporium plan to embroil the world in nuclear warfare. Since then, we Unbounded Renegades had waited to see which way public opinion would swing and if the president would be able to enact laws to safeguard humanity. Not from Renegades, sworn to protect all humans, but from the Emporium Unbounded, our enemy, who believed they should rule over mortals as they would cattle.
“A situation is threatening our future,” Ava said, “and we’re hoping you can help.”
“Hunters?” I plastered on a smile to hide the helpless rage that came with my question. Hunters were a group of people originally descended from Emporium Unbounded, and their sole purpose was to eliminate all Unbounded, regardless of their loyalties. But I had a better reason to hate them.
“Yes and no,” Ava said.
As she spoke, Keene McIntyre and Cort Bagley came into the room, their gait hurried. Relief waved through me that I wasn’t the only one on today’s agenda. The half brothers were an integral part of our Renegade cell and apparently part of this upcoming op—whatever it was. Keene sat next to me, and I purposely didn’t meet his eyes. He’d been different since the fire in Venezuela when we’d been sent to gather intel, and I didn’t know him well enough to pinpoint why. We’d survived, and he joked around with me like before, but it wasn’t the same between us. Maybe because as one of the few mortal Renegades he’d been in real danger there, no matter how good he was in combat. I knew too well that facing death could change you. But he’d been fighting this battle for years, so what was different about Venezuela?
Cort nodded at me as he passed my chair and settled next to Keene. He would have been nerdy if he hadn’t been Unbounded; instead, he was arresting in a scientific sort of way, with startling blue eyes that radiated intelligence. He’d lived half a millennium, but his physical age was closer to forty. I was too old for crushes, but if I hadn’t been, he would be a good choice.
“I’m sure it can’t help our situation that Hunters are spreading rumors about Unbounded having abilities,” I said. “Makes it harder for everyone to accept us.”
“Rumors?” Keene’s eyes riveted on my face as he settled further into his high-backed leather chair, their disquieting green capturing mine against my will. His brown hair had grown several inches and added carelessness to his narrow face, currently shadowed by several days’ beard growth. His long-sleeved T-shirt did nothing to hide his leanness or the corded muscles running along his arms. “Mortals are going to find out the truth about the abilities eventually.” He spat the word mortal as if mocking the rest of us.
“Great. Then they’ll be at our throats just like the Hunters.” I matched his mocking tone.
Cort peered around his brother to address me. “Maybe things have to get worse before they get better, but we’ll need to tell the mortals everything if we’re going to work with them and plan a future together.”
“I agree.” Keene shifted his gaze to include Ava and the others. “We need everyone working together to beat the Emporium—and all those greedy politicians lining up to court them. It’s time humanity contributed to their own protection.”
He was right, of course, but I also wanted the Hunters to pay. To pay for what they’d done to our Renegade Unbounded, for how they were influencing the other mortals.
For what Trevor had done to me.
Swallowing hard, I pushed the thoughts away, especially the memories of Trevor staring up with vacant, unseeing eyes. My hand went instinctively to the knife strapped to my inner forearm under my sleeve. I wore a matching one on the other side, the knives an extension of me now. The Hunters would never see me coming.
Keene grinned, his eyes tracking my movements knowingly, and I couldn’t help but grin back. The moment made me feel close to him like in Venezuela when we’d hidden from the Emporium. If those agents hadn’t started the fire, maybe things would be different between us now. But the fire had happened, had raged quickly, almost unnaturally, out of control. I could have shifted out, of course, but I hadn’t wanted to leave Keene. Together we’d managed to hide and finally escape.
I’d wanted to talk to Keene about what happened that day, but whenever he’d been here at the Fortress during the past two months, we were either with others or he’d shut himself inside Cort’s office. I had no idea what the brothers were working on.
“We’ll have time to deal with rumors later,” Dimitri said, speaking for the first time. His words slid over me like a balm to my nerves. That was Dimitri, the calmest, most reasonable, and wisest member of our cell, perhaps because he’d lived a thousand years. The healer was also able to kill or heal with a touch. The short, broad man had once saved my life, and I loved him like the father I’d never known.
As Dimitri said, time was on our side. Unbounded aged two years for every hundred they lived. Most of us underwent the Change around thirty or thirty-one, but a few Changed at twenty-eight, like Stella, and others as late as thirty-five. As Unbounded, our life span was about two thousand years—if the Emporium or the Hunters didn’t kill us first. Even with that happy little cloud hanging over me, I was amazed that I, Mari Jorgenson, former boring accountant, was now a semi-immortal Unbounded shifter. No way would I ever choose to go back.
Not to remove the target from my back.
Not even for Trevor.
“The Emporium is our real enemy. Don’t ever forget that,” Ava said almost absently. “Now, as you may have surmised, we have a mission for you, and it’s of the utmost importance. President Mann has had his hands full dealing with the announcement he was forced to make regarding our existence. It’s been rather ugly, helped along, as Mari mentioned, by our old friends the Hunters.” She nodded at Stella, and a holographic image appeared over the table, the increased blinking on Stella’s headset the only sign that she was controlling it. As a technopath, Stella could use her headset to connect with multiple computers at once, internalizing and processing more information in a few minutes than a roomful of pencil pushers on a computer network.
I stared, fascinated at the scene that appeared more realistic than looking out a window. Stella had recently installed the new technology, and this was my first real look at it. This holo presented a public rally featuring Hunters, who were once again preaching their gospel of hate and racism. Sound came through the conference room speakers as a man yelled, spittle flying from his mouth with his zeal. He claimed Unbounded were evil and had to be stopped before their progeny contaminated the entire world. The crowd cheered. When he proceeded to detail how to dismember Unbounded so they would remain dead, the roar of approval grew to a wild crescendo.
Abruptly, the sound died, disappearing with the image. “Hunters publicizing how to permanently kill Unbounded complicates things on many levels,” Ava said, “especially where the president’s Unbounded son is concerned.” She nodded again at Stella, and a new hologram appeared.
More shouting and confusion resounded through the speakers embedded in the walls. Women, young and old, clogged the sidewalks and streets for miles outside the White House chanting, “Give us babies! We want Unbounded babies!” They carried signs that read I Will Carry Your Unbounded Baby and My Ancestors Were Unbounded, My Child Might Be Too—Choose Me. And, Willing to Sleep with Any Unbounded. The variations went on, each more bizarre than the last.
“Wait,” I said. “Are they out there for Patrick Mann?” Patrick was the president’s grown son. Or, more aptly, the president’s adopted son, who the Emporium had planted as a baby and tried to turn against the president. Patrick’s refusal to succumb, even after a year in a squalid prison, ranked him way up there on my list of people to admire.
Ava gestured for Stella to kill the sound. “That’s right. They’re all volunteering to bear his child.”
Keene laughed. “Who would have guessed that would be a problem when he became the face of the Unbounded.”
“It’s every man’s dream, isn’t it?” I said, laughing with Keene. “A horde of adoring women. But I bet Patrick’s not happy about it. My impression of him was that he’s rather conservative.”
A smile teased Ava’s face. “Whatever his feelings on the matter, it’s making his security rather difficult. There have been two serious attempts on his life. The first was a shot from a crowd outside the White House that killed a Secret Service agent. A man with Hunter affiliation was arrested. The attempt last week was by an eighteen-year-old woman, and it resulted in her death.” Before Ava finished speaking, a picture of a young blonde took the place of the chanting women.
“Her name was Annabella Fredricks,” Ava continued, “Somehow she got into the White House where she was found naked in Patrick’s bed. He wasn’t home, but Secret Service found her while doing their regular rounds, and she jumped off a balcony trying to get away. They’ve kept it from the media so far, but she had a knife on her.”
I decided not to ask where she’d kept it.
“Someone on the staff had to let her in,” Stella said, making the image disappear, “but they really don’t know who.”
Ava nodded. “Patrick has moved to a different location in DC with a smaller, handpicked staff, but there are no guarantees that it won’t happen again. Or something like it.”
Cort cleared his throat, a habit he often used before saying something unpleasant. “He can’t go back into hiding in Europe. We need him out there talking to people. He’s the only way we’ll get the support of the people and restore sanity to the government. We need him to show that we’re normal.” Catching Keene’s stare, he added, “I mean, normal in every way that counts.”
Keene usually took the bait on something like that, especially from his brother, but this time he didn’t respond. When I cocked a teasing brow at him, he only gave me a wistful smile. My stomach did an odd little flop, and for no reason at all, I recalled that closet in Venezuela when we’d been crammed in so tightly that his heart had beat out a pattern with mine.
It was a relief when Ava began speaking again. “We do need Patrick, and that’s where this op comes in. Patrick needs a fiancée.”
I couldn’t help laughing at that. “You mean to get rid of all those women?” I motioned to where the holographs had been.
“I thought we’d advised him not to reconnect with the woman he was dating before he was abducted,” Cort said. “I distinctly remember someone explaining the danger he’d be to her.”
Ava shrugged. “Since when do the young ever listen?”
A chuckle ran through the conference room, all except for Keene and me, who were, of course, babies compared to the other three. He caught my gaze again and winked. I knew he was thinking that Unbounded sometimes took themselves far too seriously. I thought that all the time, and I was Unbounded.
“Well, the world is changing,” Ava said. “We hope that soon we’ll no longer have to abandon our families for their own safety. But, yes, Patrick did hook back up with his girlfriend, and things are going well enough between them that if he had his way, he’d be announcing his real engagement.” Her gravestone eyes rested on me. “However, his girlfriend isn’t going to work for us, and that’s where you come in, Mari. We want you to pose as Patrick’s fiancée until the threat is over.”
“Why me if he practically has a fiancée already? We could just go in as bodyguards.”
“First, the girlfriend won’t agree to her engagement, at least not publicly.” Stella adjusted her neural headset with one hand, giving me a brief glimpse of the tiny metal wires that nestled against her scalp and provided the connection between her brain and her computer network. “Lucinda Ririe puts a whole new spin on the word shy. Truthfully, it might have been every bit as much for her as for himself that Patrick gave up politics when he Changed. Being a technopath just gave him a way to leave successfully. But Lucinda—Luce for short—isn’t ready for that kind of attention. At least not yet.”
I understood only too well. In my old life any kind of attention that didn’t involve numbers made me blush and shy away from people. But I wasn’t like that anymore, and those days mostly seemed foggy and unreal. Now I felt strong and alive. Awake. Changed.
“Besides,” Keene drawled, “I bet she doesn’t have your fascination with knives.”
“Exactly,” Ava said. “Lucinda can’t defend him the way you can. At any rate, the Secret Service wouldn’t be pleased to have us send in bodyguards—that’s the job they’re supposed to be doing. As Patrick’s fiancée, you can accompany him everywhere and keep an eye out for any threat, especially internal ones. Your unique ability gives you the advantage in just about every encounter Stella has simulated.”
She had a point there. Short of a special, electrically-generated containment field, nothing could keep me from shifting.
“Since we know you’re in the Hunter database as an Unbounded descendent,” Ava continued, “and we can’t be sure we’ve eliminated or altered every photograph there might be of you online, you’ll have to go in disguise and use a fake name. Stella has already created your new identity and begun posting photographs of you in various places where Patrick has been. The media will soon find them. You’ll become an overnight sensation.”
I grinned. “New identity, cameras flashing, cute guy to romance. Sounds great! When do I start? But can I drive a Jaguar? Gotta keep up appearances if I’m dating the president’s son, don’t I?”
“Oh, really?” Keene rolled his eyes. “Is that all it takes? A new identity and a car? What about a Ferrari? Would you go out with a guy just because he had a Ferrari?”
I leaned over and elbowed him. “Only if he’s really hot. Otherwise, I’ll save up and buy my own.” We received good pay for our ops, aside from our regular stipend allotted us at our Change, so I wasn’t just talking.
Ava’s next words wiped the smile from my face. “I want you to understand that your life will be in danger every minute. We know the Emporium has plans to take over the country despite everything we are doing to stop them, and Patrick may be a part of their long term goals. If we don’t learn what they’re up to, this war to save humanity may be lost before it’s truly begun.”
Chapter One
RELATED BY BLOOD
Bavaria—1849
Erich du Woernig glanced in his bedroom mirror and haphazardly raked his fingers through his damp, dark red hair. He was glad for the way the loose curls always seemed to just fall into place, which disguised his need for a trim as much as his aversion to fussing over his own appearance. He glanced at the clock, grabbed his jacket, and hurried out of the room, down the stairs, across a corridor, and up a different set of stairs before he pushed open a door and entered the castle nursery, announcing himself with an exuberance that had become expected of him. More than half a dozen children came running, throwing themselves toward him all at once while he pretended to fall over from the onslaught. He tickled them while they tried to tickle him, and even though he wasn’t ticklish, he pretended to be in some form of hysterical agony that made the children laugh and laugh.
Erich’s sister, Maggie, who was mother to three of the children, shouted to be heard over the ruckus. “Enough! Get back to your breakfast!”
The children hesitated, not wanting to stop the fun, but Erich nudged them along, reminding them quietly to mind the rules.
“You know,” Maggie said to him, “every time you decide to grace the nursery with your presence, it takes twenty minutes to settle them down.” She feigned a glare of disgust, but Erich could see the humor sparkling in her eyes.
“They love it,” he said. “And so do you.”
She let out a childish squeal of laughter as he lifted her briefly off the floor and swung her around gently, taking care to remember that she was expecting a baby, even though the pregnancy was barely beginning. The children all turned to watch while Maggie playfully slapped his arm in some attempt to scold him, but she couldn’t hold back more laughter, and the children laughed, too. Erich noticed the nanny watching them discreetly while she overtly fought to suppress laughter of her own. He winked at her and her laughter jumped out. Since she was twice his age, she knew he wasn’t flirting with her.
“Now you’ve disrupted everyone,” Maggie scolded and slapped his arm again.
“You’re a vicious woman, MagdaLena,” he said and walked past her to sit with the children on a chair that was far too small for him. They quieted down as he asked his niece, Hannah, about her music lessons; she always loved to talk about music. He then asked Hannah’s brothers, Stefan and Gerhard, about their studies and hobbies. He made a point to remain abreast of each of the children’s interests and progress in school. He felt a special closeness to Stefan, even though he was careful not to let on in a way that might spur any kind of difficult feelings between the children. He’d been drawn to Stefan since the day he was born, and as soon as the boy had been able to talk, it had become evident that he had much in common with Erich and they understood each other well.
After Erich had spoken to his niece and nephews, he spoke for a minute to each of the other children, all of whom had a parent working among the higher-ranking servants at the castle. Royalty and servants had always played and learned together at Castle Horstberg, and there was a long history of goodness that had come out of the bonds of friendship developed in this very room. There were nurseries elsewhere for younger children—the infants and toddlers—all equipped with competent and loving nannies who were carefully chosen, even though the parents were all involved with the children’s care as much as possible. The children, presently enraptured by Erich’s attention, would soon be having their school lessons with a tutor who would be arriving within the hour, and the day would be a mixture of playtime and education. He knew the routine well from his own childhood.
When he’d completed his visit and said elaborate farewells that made the children giggle, he paused near the door to have a more serious moment with his sister. “You look lovely, as always,” he said. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine, thank you,” she said.
“And how is that husband treating you?” he asked with mock concern. Since Han Heinrich was Erich’s dearest friend and also worked as his highest advisor in all political matters, Erich felt sure he had the right to continually make fun of him if he chose to. “Do you need me to give him a bloody nose to keep him in line?”
Maggie laughed softly. “You know very well he treats me like a queen.”
“As he should.” Erich winked before he pressed a kiss to her cheek.
“If I’m late for breakfast—or miss it altogether—tell Mother and Father I’ve gone to see Dulsie and not to worry.”
“Is she all right?” Maggie asked.
Erich sighed and looked down, knowing Dulsie would prefer that he avoid repeating any details of the challenges in her life that she had shared with him in confidence. And yet the royal family knew her far too well to not have some awareness and legitimate concern. He sought for an appropriate answer and looked back up at his sister. “She’s had a bit of a setback, but I’m certain she’ll be fine. I just want to check in on her, and make certain she knows I care.”
“She could never doubt that,” Maggie said with a sincere smile. “You’ve always been a good friend to her.”
“As she has been to me.” He gave Maggie another quick kiss. “I must go. Busy day and all that.”
“It always is,” Maggie said.
Erich hurried from the room. Even walking briskly and breaking into a run here and there, it still took him several minutes to get to the main door of the castle where he stepped out into the courtyard and breathed in the fresh air of a lovely morning. He crossed the courtyard with an unhurried run and slowed down as he came to the long, well-kept corridor between two rows of fine apartments where higher-ranking military officers and upper-class servants lived with their families. Erich had many friends and acquaintances among the residents of these apartments but none more dear to him than Dulsie Dukerk. She was the oldest child of the Captain of the Guard, and she had been a continual part of his life for as long as he could remember. Lance and Nadine Dukerk were like an uncle and aunt to Erich and his siblings. They had always been around, and it was impossible to imagine life without any member of the family. Dulsie had three younger brothers, although Erich only knew Jacob, the eldest of them, well enough to call him a friend. Still, he was more drawn to Dulsie. They had always been able to talk to each other about anything and everything, and he felt most comfortable with her. Given that he was the heir to Horstberg, and he couldn’t go anywhere without everyone knowing who he was, his true friends were few and well chosen. And Dulsie was a choice young woman in every regard.
Erich knocked at the door and waited only a moment before a maid answered and gave him a familiar smile. She was quite accustomed to his frequent visits, and he was glad to see that she seemed to be getting over the typical awe that most people displayed toward him when they didn’t know him well.
“How are you this morning, Didi?” he asked.
“I am well. And you?”
“Very well, thank you.” He was glad to hear that she’d stopped calling him Your Highness every time she spoke to him.
“Miss Dulsie is in her sitting room,” she reported. “You know the way.”
“Yes, I do. Thank you.” He headed up the stairs and down the hall, meeting Dulsie’s mother as she came out of the door just as he was approaching it. She closed the door as if to let him know she didn’t want Dulsie to overhear whatever she had to say.
“You heard me coming,” he said to Nadine, trying to keep the mood light.
“I did,” she replied with a smile. “The sound of your stride is unmistakable.”
“Perhaps I shall have to disguise it to make your life more interesting.” She let out a gentle laugh, but it didn’t hide the severity in her eyes and he asked more quietly, “Is she all right?”
Nadine looked up at him with blatant concern in her countenance.
“Has the doctor seen her again?” he asked when she seemed hesitant to answer the first question.
“He has. It’s always the same. There is nothing physical that ails her, even though her depression seems to bring with it physical ailments. He said the fatigue and aching in her muscles are real, and we should respect that, but . . .” She sighed deeply. “It’s just so difficult to . . . understand.” She met his eyes, her concern deepening. “Erich,” she whispered, “you have always been so good to her; you know her better than anyone besides her father and me. You know the real reasons for her greatest struggles, even if she prefers not to talk about them. Still . . . maybe she needs to talk about them, but she . . . doesn’t want to. Perhaps you can get her to admit to how deeply this has hurt her . . . and why. You promised her—and me—that you would never tell anyone the whole truth, but now I wonder if we were wrong to try and keep the matter so quiet. It seems everyone in the entire country knows the truth—except certain members of the royal family. How is that possible?”
“Because people say things behind our backs that they would never dare say to our faces,” he said, trying not to sound as perturbed as he felt over the idea.
“That’s right,” Nadine said, “and Dulsie is finding that she is a victim of that very problem, and yet she is not a part of the royal family—and so the quandary keeps coming up and causing her grief.”
Erich sighed. He understood the implications between her words, but he didn’t know that he was any better equipped to help Dulsie than her parents. “I will do my best,” he said. “You know I will.”
“I know.” She squeezed his hand. “You’ve always been so good to her. Without you, I fear . . .” She cleared her throat gently and Erich was glad she didn’t finish the sentence. They both knew to what she referred; there was no need to say it.
Erich kissed Nadine on the brow and said, “I will make her smile if it kills me.”
Nadine laughed softly and hurried to wipe a hand over each cheek where tears had fallen. “Thank you. You know where to find me if you need me.”
“Yes,” he said and opened the sitting room door while Nadine moved on toward the stairs.
Erich entered the room to find Dulsie sitting in a spacious chair near the window, her feet tucked up beneath her skirts. She was undoubtedly beautiful, with dark hair and pale skin—the latter mostly a result of her hardly ever going out into sunlight. But she’d always kept her beauty well hidden by always dressing in dark colors and unfashionable styles, as if she were living her life in some kind of mourning. And her striking eyes were most often turned down, avoiding the possibility that anyone might look into them and see the truth about who she really was. Her parents had raised her well, had taught her to rise above the truth that didn’t have to define her. Yet somehow childhood taunts had merged into outward cruelty from others during her youth, and now she considered herself a spinster beyond all hope of finding any kind of real happiness in this life.
“Good morning,” he said and closed the door, leaning against it. She glanced toward him and showed a hint of a smile, but she said nothing before looking back toward the window. “Let’s run off and join a circus or something,” he added, and her smile widened, appearing to do so against her will. “I’ll be a clown, and you can train tigers, perhaps.”
“I think I’d rather ride an elephant. And I could be its caretaker.”
“You would need my help.” Erich plopped himself down into a chair that was familiar to him. “An elephant would eat a great deal, and that means a great deal of cleaning up, too—if you know what I mean.”
She smiled again. “Yes, I know what you mean.”
“So, you would need my help,” he said again.
Dulsie looked right at him and said, as if he didn’t know, “You can’t run away and be a clown or clean up after an elephant. You’re the next Duke of Horstberg. You have to stay here forever.”
“But you don’t,” he said more seriously, knowing they needed to acknowledge the heart of the problem. He’d decided long ago he would not avoid the things that troubled her, nor pretend they didn’t exist. Even though she rarely commented or shared her own feelings, he refused to ignore the problem. He believed that was one of the biggest reasons they’d remained so close over the years. “Maybe you should leave here; go somewhere else . . . where no one knows. And you wouldn’t have to join a circus.”
“You say that as if you’ve never brought it up before.”
“Perhaps it wasn’t right before now; perhaps this is the time.”
“The people I love are here,” she said. “Where would I go?”
“I don’t know, Dulsie. I just want to understand.”
“You do understand. There’s nothing to say that hasn’t been said between us many times before.”
“All right, then,” he said with an exaggerated sigh, “you must marry me.”
She actually laughed, but he suddenly didn’t want to be anything but completely serious.
“Dulsie,” he leaned forward and took her hand, “why not?”
“Erich,” she said in a tone that implied he’d lost his mind, “you’ve asked me a hundred times at least, and you can ask me a hundred more; the answer will still be the same.”
“But . . . this time I really mean it.”
“You’ve meant it before, or so you said.”
“I did mean it,” he insisted, then smiled. “Well, at least once or twice.” He tightened his hold on her hand, drawing her attention more fully to him. “But this time I really mean it. Marry me, Dulsie. We can make each other happy. You know we could. We are perfectly matched, and we’re in a perfect position to solve each other’s problems.”
Dulsie withdrew her hand and looked away. “Is that reason enough to marry anyone? To solve each other’s problems?”
“It could be,” he said firmly. “We love each other.”
“We do,” she said with sincerity. “But not like that. It’s never been that way between us, and we both know it.”
“But maybe what we have is enough.”
“And what?” She sounded mildly angry. “Allow the stigma and shame of my existence to taint your family and position? I would never do that to you!”
“I do not consider you to be any kind of stigma or shame,” Erich said, angry himself. “I don’t care what people think; nor should you.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” she snapped. “You cannot possibly know what it’s like, when people practically fall to their knees in worship at your very appearance. I can assure you it is quite the opposite with me. You’ve always been more than kind and gracious with me, Erich. But all of your public appearances with me on your arm have not changed the truth, nor the way people see me. I cannot be the Duchess of Horstberg—even if I wanted to, which I do not!”
“Should I be insulted?”
“No. And you shouldn’t act surprised. It’s not as if you didn’t know that. I would bring a curse upon you if I were to hold that position.”
“That’s ridiculous and you know it!” Erich insisted. “And don’t start the argument again about the blood in your veins, because you will never convince me that the worth of a person isn’t determined more by the goodness in her heart than by anything else.”
Dulsie looked out the window. “And once again we come to the same impasse.”
Erich sighed loudly and leaned back in his chair. “What can I do for you, Dulsie? Tell me how I can help and I’ll do it. Anything!”
She turned to look at him, her expression softening. “You’re very good to me, Erich. If I knew the answer to that question, I would tell you. Because I believe you; I believe you would do anything for me. I also believe you need to have the good sense to remember who you are and what your obligations entail.”
“I know that very well,” he insisted. “I assure you my obligations are not being neglected, nor will they be tainted by our association.”
“So you keep telling me.”
“Dulsie . . . please.”
“Forgive me,” she said. “You know I take it out on you because you are kind enough to let me. I know you’ll love me no matter what I say or how I say it.”
“Yes, that’s true. I just want you to be happy.”
“And I just need some time.”
“Time to what?” he demanded. “Another year or two spent in this room? Looking out the window while the world changes all around you?”
“I did what everyone has been urging me to do for years. I took a risk, I opened my heart, I engaged myself in new social habits and made new friends. And look where it got me.” She glared at him as if it might be his fault. And maybe it was. He had certainly encouraged her to do those very things, and she had certainly ended up with a broken heart. “This room is safe,” she added, and he sighed again.
After grueling minutes of silence, she said, “Enough about me. Tell me what you’ve been doing. Distract me.”
Erich told her about the children and their antics, but there wasn’t anything else to tell her that she didn’t already know—since he’d been there to visit the previous afternoon. He finally declared that he needed to go; he knew there was business to be completed before meetings that would take place this afternoon. He hoped to get away in between to share lunch with Han at the pub. He kissed her brow and squeezed her hand, then hurried from the room, wishing that its stifling effect didn’t always cling to him. He felt fresh compassion for her family members who tried so hard to help Dulsie with no success. He saw Nadine at the foot of the stairs and wished he had something positive to say that would ease the concern in her eyes.
“I asked her to marry me,” he said with false brightness, “but again she has refused.”
Nadine did smile, but it faded quickly. “I dare say you would marry her if she’d even consider it.”
“Yes, I would, and I told her so.”
“But I fear you would only have a depressed wife, and everything would only be worse.”
“Perhaps. That doesn’t mean my offer isn’t sincere.”
“I know.” She gave him a motherly hug. “Thank you for your visits. I’m very grateful.”
He offered a wan smile. “If you think of anything I can do . . .”
“Of course. I know where to find you.”
He left with a heaviness in his heart that he knew was small compared to that in Dulsie’s. Then he considered the time and ran across the courtyard, into the castle, and to the dining room where his family was just finishing breakfast.
“Ah,” Cameron du Woernig said wryly, “how nice to actually see my son at breakfast.”
Erich sat at his usual place. “You work with me far too many hours of the day. I’m certain my being late for breakfast will not cause you too much grief.”
“You were visiting Dulsie,” Abbi du Woernig said. His mother had obviously been told that he was, since she was commenting rather than asking. And he knew what was coming next. “How is she?”
“The same,” was all Erich offered, and he was glad when Han changed the subject and lightened the mood. His best friend turned brother-in-law was gifted at keeping the struggles of life in perspective with his optimism and humor, and Erich was especially grateful for it now. He also felt grateful for the family that surrounded him. He was glad to permanently be residing with his parents, as well as with Maggie and Han and their growing family. Han’s father, Georg, also lived in the castle and shared meals with the family since he’d lost his wife some years earlier. Georg had always been like part of the family, so having him around all the time felt completely natural. And because he was the duke’s highest advisor, Erich worked with him as well, and he had a deep respect for Georg’s wisdom and intellect, as well as his unending kindness.
Erich was glad for trivial conversation at the breakfast table, and the others hovered there even though they had finished eating. He liked mornings when there were no urgent meetings to get to, even though there was always plenty of work to be done. But the pleasant atmosphere in the room fragmented when Maggie said, “I’ve been especially worried about Dulsie since Klara told me the most astonishing thing about her. If the servants are saying such things—and believing them—it’s no wonder she doesn’t want to come out of her room.”
Erich tried to ignore the sudden tension in the room and cleared his throat. “Be careful, little sister,” he said. “Don’t give too much credence to gossip from your lady’s maid.”
“Klara has been with me since I was a child,” Maggie said, “and she is not one to pay attention to idle gossip. She would not have told me if she didn’t believe it had some validity.”
Erich wondered why Maggie hadn’t brought this up when they’d crossed paths earlier in the nursery, but with the children in the room, it likely wouldn’t have been a good idea. He preferred that she not bring it up at all, but it was evident she intended to. He strongly suspected what she was going to say, and wished that she wouldn’t. But perhaps, as Nadine had said, it would be better if the royal family knew and talked about all of the things that were said about them behind their backs.
“Although,” Maggie said, “I can hardly believe it’s true. How can we have grown up with her and not have known such a thing?”
Erich noticed the way his parents and Georg became solemnly alert, as if they all knew exactly what Maggie was talking about. Did they? he wondered, feeling as incredulous as Maggie. Could they all have known all this time, and it has never been discussed?
“I don’t consider anything said among us here to be gossip,” Maggie continued, “because we’re not like that; we’re family. But I have to say it. I have to know if it’s true.”
“So say it,” Han said, encouraging his wife, even though he clearly had no idea what she was talking about.
“Well,” Maggie seemed hesitant, and almost looked as if she might cry, “Klara said that Dulsie is not Captain Dukerk’s daughter by blood, that he married Nadine when Dulsie was a child, and she is one of Nikolaus du Woernig’s many illegitimate children.”
Han gasped and his eyes went wide. No one else spoke or moved. Maggie looked around at the lack of response from everyone but her husband and declared the obvious. “You knew! You all knew!”
“I didn’t know!” Han looked at his father. “Is that true?”
“I’m afraid it is,” Georg said. “I’m genuinely surprised you didn’t know,” he added, looking at Han, then at Maggie.
Her quick glance at Erich made it clear that he’d already known, and Maggie jumped on verbalizing the reasons for that. “You knew, as well,” she said directly to Erich. “You’ve been her friend all these years, and you knew.”
“Yes, I knew,” Erich said. “And you can’t be surprised that I would keep such information in confidence.”
“No, of course not,” Maggie said. “I would never want or expect you to repeat such a thing, but . . . if the servants are talking about it, then . . .”
“The whole country knows,” Abbi stated. “That’s the nature of being royalty, isn’t it? We’re always the last to know that everyone knows everything. So we just have to assume that they do.”
“I can’t believe it,” Maggie said and she did start to cry. She looked at her father. “She’s our cousin, then.”
“Yes,” Cameron said, but he had an expression that was typical whenever the abhorrent behavior of his deceased brother came up.
“Every bit as much as Nik Koenig,” Maggie added, and the hatred she felt for Nikolaus du Woernig’s son was evident in her tone. But they all felt that way; he had caused a great deal of grief for all of them. Of course, Nik was a legitimate child to the late Nikolaus du Woernig, even if no one had known of his existence until he’d reached adulthood. But he had proven to be a deplorable person with selfish and destructive motives, much as his father had been. And no one sitting in the room wanted to even acknowledge his existence. But Maggie had stated a fact that had to be addressed, and the temperature in the room had suddenly become colder.
“Yes,” Cameron said again, his voice husky with barely suppressed anger.
Erich cleared his throat and drew together the strength to say what he knew needed to be said. Now that the subject had been opened, he preferred to offer some clarity to the situation as opposed to allowing his sister and her husband remain blind to the whole picture. “You must understand,” he began quietly, “that Dulsie has a sensitive personality. And people have known the truth since she was a child.” He repeated what he’d said earlier to Nadine. “The reality is that people say things behind our backs that they would never dare say to our faces, which means we often don’t know what’s being said. So, while we might be oblivious to the impact of her paternity, she has suffered greatly for it. Even though I believe she is much stronger than she thinks she is, I can’t blame her a bit for not wanting to go out into the world and subject herself to that.”
“Nor can I!” Maggie said vehemently and wiped her tears. “I just . . . wish I had known. Perhaps I could have . . . I don’t know . . . helped, somehow.”
“And perhaps there is simply nothing anyone can do,” Abbi said. “We’ve always loved her as part of the family, and—”
“And she is literally a part of the family,” Han pointed out.
“Yes,” Cameron said again, exchanging a glance with Abbi that seemed to hold some hidden meaning. But Erich felt certain he didn’t want to know whatever else he might not know.
“Is that the reason?” Maggie asked Erich, looking directly at him.
“The reason for what?”
“Is that the reason this recent courtship ended so abruptly for Dulsie? Does it have something to do with this?”
Erich heaved a ragged sigh. “Yes,” he said and looked down. “It was all going very well with this young man, until his parents got wind of the gossip. When they learned it was not gossip but actually true, they did not want their son to see Dulsie any further. Even though he protested, she did not want to be associated with a family who could not set the issue aside and accept her on her own merits. And I don’t blame her. Who would want to always have that hanging over them? How could she marry into a family with such an attitude in place?”
“I agree,” Abbi said. “As difficult as it is to see her alone, at least she is loved without condition among family and friends. I hope she can find someone who can see past all this nonsense that has nothing to do with her, but we simply have no control over the matter.” Abbi then looked directly at Maggie and said, “You must be careful not to behave differently toward Dulsie now that you know. She is sharp and she will sense it. Just be kind and gracious to her as you have always been.”
“I can assure you that she doesn’t want to talk about it,” Erich added. “And she doesn’t want attention drawn to the matter. Let’s just . . . leave it that.”
Maggie nodded and wiped more tears. She was always more prone to crying when she was pregnant, but it was obvious that her compassion for Dulsie went deep. “I can’t believe you all knew,” she said again, glancing toward her parents.
“Of course we knew,” Cameron said, looking mostly at her. “Nadine had believed—like many other women—that she was married to Nikolaus. He sent her away when she got pregnant, and quickly stopped sending her any financial support. He’d abandoned her long before he died. She finally came here in desperation with her young daughter, and we did our best to help her. Lance fell in love with Nadine—and with Dulsie. He’s the only real father she’s ever known, and the only one that matters. And that is all that any of us needs to know. Enough said.”
Cameron rose abruptly to his feet as if to declare an end to the conversation. The other men did the same, and Erich joined them, not feeling much appetite. A few minutes later they were settled in the office, focusing on the business at hand, but his own thoughts were drawn frequently toward his concern for Dulsie. Would she truly remain a spinster and find nothing in her life beyond what she had now? And he wondered if he too would forever remain single, unable to find a woman who could fill his heart and take on all that was required to stand at his side. A part of him believed that he and Dulsie were truly well matched. But he also couldn’t deny her reasons for being opposed to the union. He longed to find the kind of love he knew his parents shared. But he’d been feeling that way for years, and he wondered if it would ever be.
Kathe Lokberg vehemently kneaded the bread dough against the surface of the table, occasionally glancing out the window for any sign of her brother’s arrival. Theodor worked on the other side of the valley, and occasionally he took his son, Karl, to stay with him there for a few days at a time. Little Karl lived here in the family home with Kathe and her father—who was also named Karl—since Theodor’s wife had died while bringing Little Karl into the world. Kathe knew it was good for the child to be with his father as much as possible, but she missed him when he was gone, and she knew they should have arrived by now.
Her thoughts wandered through sporadic memories while she got the bread into the oven and worked to clean up the mess. She was taking out the freshly baked bread when she saw her brother’s horse coming up the long drive, and a minute later Karl burst through the side door of the house, his father right behind him.
“We’re back!” Karl shouted and ran toward her.
Kathe wiped her hands on her apron and bent down to hug Karl tightly. “Did you have a good time?” she asked.
He beamed and nodded, announcing, “I’m going to go tell Grandpapa what we did.”
After Little Karl had gone back outside in search of his grandfather, Kathe frowned toward her brother. “He’ll be spoiled rotten if you keep taking him up there so often.”
“The princess’s children are well disciplined, I can assure you,” Theodor said. “With the way you talk about them, you’d think I was exposing him to leprosy or something.”
She scowled and turned back to her work.
“What are you making?” he asked, lifting the lid off a pot to take a deep whiff.
“Stuffed cabbage,” she announced. “Get out of there. If I find any evidence that you’ve been sneaking food before lunch is ready, I’ll have you scrubbing floors.”
Theodor laughed. “Ooh, you get sassier every day.”
“I’m competent. Isn’t that what you always tell me? And be glad I am, or you would be in a fix.”
“I’m grateful for all that you do for Karl,” Theodor said, putting a gentle hand on his sister’s arm. “I know I don’t say it often, but your sacrifices haven’t gone unnoticed.”
Kathe smiled. “I love Little Karl. It’s no sacrifice.”
“I know you do, Kathe. But you have your own life to live. You need to get out more. Do you have any friends?”
She turned away from him defensively. “None worth mentioning. I enjoy what I’m doing with my life.”
“Cooking? Cleaning?”
“I spend a lot of my time in the garden.”
“Yes, and it’s lovely. But there is more to life than that.”
Kathe ignored him and moved the pot off the stove, well aware that he knew she wouldn’t send him away hungry. “I assume you have to hurry and eat so that you can get back.”
“Actually . . . there is nothing important going on for His Highness today; at least not anything that requires a change of clothes. Therefore, I have the rest of the day off.”
“How delightful!” Kathe said, and together they set the table for lunch before Theodor went out to their father’s workshop behind the house to get him and Little Karl. Kathe enjoyed having Theodor there throughout the remainder of the day, and she was relieved that he didn’t bring up anything more about her lack of social exposure. She genuinely didn’t care about that at this point in her life, but she wasn’t certain how to convince her brother.
The following day, Kathe walked the short distance into town, hoping to get to the butcher’s before his best cuts were gone. She would then enjoy looking over the produce and other items set out by the many vendors. Since it was market day, there was always the best quality and variety available.
She left Little Karl in the care of his grandfather and put a basket over her arm in which she would carry her purchases. While she walked at a leisurely pace and enjoyed the pleasant weather, her mind wandered to Theodor’s reasons for concern on her behalf. She’d been unable to push it out of her mind as she had in the past, and she wondered if she did need a change in her life. At times she nearly felt as if she were Little Karl’s mother. But now that he was getting older, he depended on her less and less, and admittedly she felt lonely when he wasn’t there. Was that the reason she resented the time he spent at Castle Horstberg? Or did she fear he might actually grow so accustomed to being in the company of royal snobbery that he wouldn’t want anything to do with her?
Kathe had never felt any interest in having a social life. She had plenty of years ahead to be concerned about such things. Right now, she was happy to just stay at home and do the things she was comfortable doing. Her father had suggested once that she was afraid to get out in the world, perhaps because of the losses she’d experienced in her life. Maybe that was true. But Kathe didn’t care whether or not it was. She was happy and content, and she wanted to be there for Little Karl as long as he needed her.
Kathe wandered idly through the congested market square, lost in her thoughts. She heard some commotion behind her and turned to see two well-dressed men riding slowly through the crowd on horseback. By the way people eased back in awe, she felt certain they had to be members of the royal family, though she couldn’t be certain since she wouldn’t have known any of them on sight. She could see no resemblance between the two men. They were both equally tall, but their coloring and appearance had no similarities. Kathe paused curiously, trying to comprehend her brother working for these people. She was surprised at the way they interacted amiably with the commoners when she had expected them to just ride through with their noses in the air. She noted that one of the men had curly red hair, unlike anything she’d ever seen before. She recalled that Theodor had told her the du Woernigs had all inherited red hair from the duchess. This surely had to be Erich du Woernig, the heir to the Duke of Horstberg. The duke and duchess only had one son.
Though she remained at a distance, Kathe observed him more closely, trying to imagine her brother being his personal assistant each and every day. Then she recalled that she had seen Prince Erich briefly around the time of Leisl’s death, though she’d been far too caught up in her own grief to give the encounter much thought.
Theodor always spoke of Erich as if he’d somehow descended from heaven or something, but he looked awfully ordinary to Kathe; perhaps far more ordinary than she’d ever imagined. Though she’d never admit it to Theodor, she couldn’t deny her intrigue for the prince as she heard him laugh over something an elderly woman said to him. She watched as he bent low in the saddle and pressed the woman’s hand briefly to his lips. He smiled, and Kathe became unexpectedly seized by a rush of butterflies. He was adorable. The curly hair and dimpled cheeks nearly made him look like an overgrown little boy. Yet as he straightened in his saddle and eased his mount slowly forward, she was struck with his stature, his majesty, his regal demeanor.
Unnerved by her reaction and the way it contradicted everything she’d believed about this man, Kathe forced her attention away. Her eye was drawn to a young child riding his own horse between the prince and his companion. From his size, Kathe guessed him to be near Little Karl’s age, yet his stance and manner constituted someone much older. It was almost incongruous the way he rode the massive stallion with perfect ease. While Prince Erich seemed like a child in a man’s body, this boy seemed the opposite. The dignity and presence about him was that of a grown man. His wavy rust-colored hair made it evident he had du Woernig blood. Surely he had to be the young prince born the same year as Little Karl. Seeing him like this, it was difficult for Kathe to imagine the boys playing together at the castle. Kathe felt certain now that the other man riding with them was this child’s father, who held some important position worthy of being married to the Princess MagdaLena.
In the few minutes Kathe observed them as they rode past, apparently to some important destination, she couldn’t deny feeling something change inside her. Through the course of completing her errands, and all the way home, she wondered about the family her brother worked for, when she’d hardly given them a second thought before. Perhaps it was just seeing them that made them feel real. That night as Kathe prepared for bed, she felt unnerved to find her thoughts still preoccupied with Prince Erich and his young nephew. She gazed out the corner window of her bedroom toward where Castle Horstberg sat at the far side of the valley, and tried to comprehend these people eating and sleeping just like everybody else. Recalling a vivid picture of Erich du Woernig smiling at the old woman, a fresh rush of butterflies seized her. Had she gone mad?
For several days, Kathe found herself fantasizing about Prince Erich of Horstberg. While her mind wandered, she began to question whether or not she was truly content—or if this fear her father had suggested was more real than she wanted to admit. Figuring there was little to be done about it either way, she indulged in her fantasies, certain that every young woman in Horstberg must have had similar thoughts concerning the prince. Knowing she would likely never cross his path, she considered thoughts of him a harmless pastime. But eventually her fantasies became tedious, and she convinced herself that even if a prince ever took a second glance at her, he was likely too arrogant and stuffy to make any woman happy.
Erich continued to visit Dulsie every morning before starting his typically busy day. He grew increasingly concerned by her darkening mood, until he felt compelled to request some time with both of her parents to privately discuss the matter. Captain Dukerk could be an imposing man, and Erich had certainly seen him in his role as the Captain of the Guard over the years. But just like Erich’s own father, Lance Dukerk could set aside his position and be a man, a friend, a husband, and a father. And Erich had witnessed that transformation as well throughout the course of his life. When he sat down with Lance and Nadine in one of the castle parlors, they felt as they often had, more like an aunt and uncle to him, and he knew he could have this conversation with them.
As he had learned to do by working with good and powerful men for many years, he got straight to the point. “I’m growing increasingly concerned about Dulsie, and I’m certain you both must be feeling the same.”
“We certainly are,” Lance took hold of his wife’s hand. “But we feel helpless.”
“As we know you do,” Nadine said.
“No one knows her struggles more than the three of us sitting here,” Lance added, “but we know she opens up to you more than she does to her parents.”
“Perhaps,” Erich said, not wanting to discredit what very good parents they were to Dulsie. “I keep having a feeling in regard to her that I’ve tried to push away, but I can’t do it any longer. No one knows but us how close we came to losing her when . . .” Erich hesitated to bring up the horrible time when Dulsie had tried to take her own life. His usual visit had saved her—quite literally, when he had found her bleeding profusely. With the help of her parents and a trusted servant, they had been able to stop the bleeding and see her cared for without anyone else knowing. And Erich had to admit now, “I look back and realize that I had felt uneasy for a long time before that terrible day. I can’t ignore my feelings now.” He noted how Lance and Nadine eased closer together and tightened their grip on each other’s hands. “Forgive me if this sounds abrupt, but I really believe she needs to leave Horstberg. It nags at me and I feel conflicted; that’s why I haven’t brought it up. Her family and closest friends are here, I know. And I know how difficult it would be for you to have her live elsewhere, but . . .”
“But we want her to live,” Lance said.
“And not just remain alive,” Nadine said with the arrival of tears, “but to have joy in her life.”
Lance sighed. “I believe we’ve both felt the same but haven’t wanted to admit it.” He and his wife shared a long gaze before looking back to Erich. “Perhaps we needed you to help us make that decision.”
Erich felt encouraged by the validation of his ongoing feelings over the matter and went on. “I would miss her dreadfully, as I know you would. But we all want to see her do much better than she is now. I just feel in my gut that she will never be free of what haunts her as long as she remains in Horstberg. For her, the taint exists in this country. Elsewhere, it wouldn’t matter.” He took a deep breath and continued. “I understand Didi has family less than an hour’s drive from here that she visits somewhat regularly.”
“That’s right,” Lance’s eyes widened slightly.
“Didi is close to Dulsie; she knows everything but cares for her with sincere affection.”
“Yes,” Nadine said, a mild lilt of hope in her voice as she was apparently picking up on where his idea might be going.
“I suggest that you could possibly arrange for Dulsie and Didi to go live there. I know you have ample resources to get them a home of their own. Let Didi care for her as she does now, as a lady’s maid and companion. They can live close to Didi’s family but not with them, thus not causing a burden, but they would have support. Didi has mentioned that she herself has more than one male admirer there, and I’ve seen how her eyes light up when she speaks of such things. She came here looking for work, but I sense she would rather live there. It’s not so far that you couldn’t see Dulsie regularly, and letters can certainly be sent back and forth often. Perhaps it’s the answer. Whether Dulsie remains single or finds someone to settle down with, she can do so in a country where she is not forever tainted with the curse of du Woernig blood.”
Erich noticed Lance flinching slightly and feared that his comment had sounded insensitive to Dulsie’s plight, but that was the truth of it. And for all that Erich was a legitimate heir and his challenges were entirely different from Dulsie’s, he still felt sometimes that it was more a curse than a blessing to be a du Woernig. He loved his family, but he often wished they could be farmers or shopkeepers. It would certainly make life a whole lot less complicated.
There was silence while Erich’s words seemed to settle. Nadine finally spoke, “I think it’s a brilliant idea, Erich. I’m ashamed that I never thought of it myself. Perhaps I’m too close to the problem to see what now seems obvious.” She turned to her husband and asked, “What do you think?”
“I think it’s perfect,” he said, but with a crack in his voice to indicate that he would sorely miss his daughter. Erich’s heart warmed with poignancy and admiration to see how literally Lance had taken on the role of Dulsie’s father, and how much he loved her. He thought of the irony of Nik Koenig technically being his cousin, and how much he loathed the man. While Erich respected the sharing of blood, he couldn’t deny that family was so much more than that. He could never consider Nik Koenig as family, but he felt that being family well described these good people who had so much love in their hearts.
Lance cleared his throat and composed himself before looking Erich in the eye and saying, “Thank you, son.” Erich loved it when Lance referred to him that way; Georg often did the same, and he was honored that these great men would consider him to be like their own son. They had both said as much many times, and for him, the feeling of family was mutual. “I think we should speak with Didi and Dulsie about it right away and not hesitate. I can take a day or two off work and see to arrangements.”
“I completely agree,” Nadine said, even though her tears made it evident this was a quandary with no ideal solution and she would miss her daughter terribly. She summed it up when she added, “I just need to know that she is happy and that she feels safe.”
She sniffled. “I know what it’s like to not feel safe, and I don’t want that for her. Perhaps we have been selfish in trying to keep her close to us.”
“You can’t look at it that way,” Erich said. “We’ve all believed that keeping her close would keep her safe. But perhaps it’s time for a new season in her life.”
“I’m certain you’re right,” Lance said. “Thank you . . . for all you’ve done for her.”
Erich assured them that his friendship with Dulsie had never been any sacrifice for him, and that he would certainly keep in touch with her whether or not she decided to leave the country. He prayed that she would go. In his heart he knew this was best.
He visited with Dulsie’s parents for another hour as they talked through many facets of what they felt was best, and they all hoped that Dulsie would be in agreement. They felt that it was best for her parents to propose the plan to her, although they would be honest about having spoken with Erich about it. They promised to let him know if he could do anything.
Erich felt some relief in having shared his feelings with Lance and Nadine. He visited with Dulsie the next morning and found her torn over whether or not to leave, but leaning toward making the change, believing it was a good idea. Didi was all in favor of it. She loved working for the Dukerk family and was especially fond of Dulsie, but she admitted to missing her own family. The idea of being closer to them was thrilling for her.
The following day Erich found Dulsie packing her things and in good spirits. Lance and Nadine had gone with Didi to her home country to see to some arrangements, and they had returned with news that a small home had been purchased, two servants hired to watch after the women, and all other arrangements had been made.
Two days later, Erich was in the courtyard when the last of Dulsie’s things were loaded onto the waiting carriage. He’d shared a long talk with Dulsie the previous evening, so they’d already given the bulk of their goodbyes. But he needed to be here to see her off. They’d already promised to write letters regularly, and to visit when possible. Although they both knew that her returning to Horstberg would always be difficult, and his life was so busy and complicated that getting away to see her wouldn’t happen very often.
When Erich saw Dulsie approaching with Didi and her parents, he was overcome by an unexpected surge of emotion, and he had to consciously will himself to hold back a hot rush of tears. He knew in his heart that this was best, but they had shared a long and meaningful friendship since they were children, and he knew that nothing would ever be the same between them. He had an urge to beg her to stay and marry him, and to promise that he would imprison anyone who spoke ill against her, but he knew in his deepest self that it wasn’t right for either of them, as much as he might want it in that moment.
“I thought we’d already said goodbye,” Dulsie took the hand he reached out toward her. The others discreetly kept their distance to allow Erich and Dulsie some privacy.
“You know I couldn’t let you leave without being here to see you off,” he said, proud of himself for the steadiness in his own voice.
He saw the glimmer of tears in her eyes and a hint in her expression that she almost wished he hadn’t been here now, if only so they could avoid this moment laden with emotions that felt unbearable.
She surprised him when she threw her arms around him in a tight hug. “You know how I love you, Erich. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. But it’s time for both of us to move on.”
“I know,” he said, his voice now trembling. “And you know the feeling is mutual.”
Dulsie drew back with courage in her eyes and a forced smile. “So, let’s just say goodbye and get it over with. I will write to you as soon as I’m settled, and I’ll expect a letter back right away. Promise me.”
“Of course.” He felt stray tears escape his eyes as she kissed his cheek. He kissed hers in return and found it wet.
Erich turned to help her into the waiting carriage, squeezing her hand tightly. He hurried to wipe his tears away before he nodded toward Didi and said, “Take good care of her.”
“I will, Your Highness,” she said with a nod in return. “I promise.”
Erich stood in the courtyard and watched the carriage roll away. Considering how difficult Dulsie’s life had been, Erich could only believe that this was a good thing. He drew in a long sigh and forced himself to hurry to his father’s office and begin his work for the day, all the while carrying a prayer for Dulsie in his heart.
Within just a few weeks, Dulsie’s letters began to get brighter. She was settling in, loving her home, her neighbors, her new surroundings. Didi’s family was colorful and kind and welcoming, and all was well. Erich loved the details she shared with him, and he wrote back with nothing new to tell her, but with support and encouragement for the new life she was beginning. He only wished his heart would stop aching over the lack of change in his own life. And he wondered if he would ever find the happiness that he wanted to believe was out there somewhere for him.
Kathe noticed over a number of weeks that Theodor had begun bringing gentlemen friends home with him for Sunday dinner. After it happened the third time, Kathe began to realize he was deeming himself personally responsible for putting some romance into her life. They fought over it more than once, but when her father sat down and had a long talk with her, she agreed to give a particular gentleman a chance. It quickly came to nothing, as did her next several attempts to be gracious and interested in a man.
When Theodor came to visit the day after she had ended yet another potential relationship, she was shocked to hear him say, “Perhaps you should marry the prince. I think the two of you are well suited.”
Certain he was teasing, she countered, “If you’re trying to say that we’re both arrogant and impertinent, I would have to say that is one of the most unkind things you’ve ever said to me.”
Kathe was even more shocked by his genuine surprise. “The prince is neither arrogant nor impertinent.”
“But I am?”
“You said it, not me,” Theodor insisted, and Kathe made a huffing sound and turned her back to him. He chuckled and she felt certain his suggestion about matching her up with the prince was entirely in jest. It had to be! He’d teased her about the possibility in the past, when she’d been far too young to be considering marriage. Even though it hadn’t come up for years, he surely had to be joking.
Kathe felt increasingly irritated when Theodor persisted with his new game of teasing her about marrying the prince. She almost wondered at first if he had read her mind even though she’d tried very hard not to think about Erich du Woernig. But Theodor seemed to believe her when she insisted that she wanted nothing to do with royalty and if he brought any of them anywhere near her, she promised to embarrass him.
Every time Kathe saw her brother, he told her that if she didn’t stop being so sassy, she would end up an old maid. Kathe told him she didn’t care, but in her heart she could no longer deny the truth. She was lonely. And while she was convinced that the most eligible bachelor in Horstberg was not the man for her, she began to wonder where exactly she might encounter the right man.
Chapter 1
For three weeks, while her husband was at work, Charlene had been secretly emailing her friend Judy, hoping he wouldn’t find out. Opening Judy’s return emails to discover what her friend had to say had been the highlight of her day. As long as Brad didn’t learn she was doing it, she figured there was no harm in having an innocent friendship. It kept her connected to something besides drooling babies, loaded diapers, and burned dinners. But recently, Charlene hadn’t felt as excited about pressing the open button. Maybe because Judy had started to pry, asking questions people weren’t supposed to ask, like about her husband’s temper. Charlene knew she had a good husband and didn’t see any reason for her new friend to cast doubt.
Granted, Brad did get touchy about silly things, like when he saw Charlene eating anything with sugar in it. “Now, Charlene,” he’d say, “You know I have your best welfare in mind by stopping you. You’d be miserable if you got fat. Chocolate really isn’t worth it, is it?”
Charlene wanted to scream, “Yes! It is!” but after ten years of marriage, she knew better. She kept her protests to herself and hid the chocolates she wanted to eat. Every person had a few weaknesses, didn’t they? Brad often searched the house for her hidden stash, and if he found it, there would be hell to pay. But sometimes, when the rich taste melted in her mouth, sending comfort and pure joy through her, Charlene thought it was worth the price of hell.
Another subject that tested Brad’s patience was when she bought things without his permission. He insisted they stay on a budget—his budget. She agreed with him, of course. She didn’t want to be like the many couples who ended up spending themselves into a huge pit of debt. After all, they had children to raise. A responsible, involved husband was a gift. Charlene did wonder if it was reasonable to get livid over buying a package of gum at the store, especially when the groceries got loaded into his new sports car. Not everything made sense, but she was sure his temper was no worse than any other man’s.
It bothered Charlene that her husband’s qualifications were being called into question. She decided to focus on the parts of her friend’s emails that she liked—the walks along the beach and how idyllic Seattle sounded. Charlene dreamed about flying up to Washington to visit Judy. She wanted to enjoy the white clouds hovering over the wild ocean, and she longed to take those strolls and let the tension of motherhood ease away as the sand squished between her toes and the sun warmed her skin. That might just be the perfect escape from her humdrum existence.
Making a trip like that was impossible. Brad would never allow it. So instead of thinking about escaping her monotonous life, she worried about Brad discovering her email account. Yes, he was a great husband. He just wouldn’t like it if he knew she was on the computer instead of paying attention to the children. He believed being a full-time mother meant that was all the woman should do. He was right, of course. Guilt filled Charlene about writing Judy, but she’d go crazy without any outside contact. Maybe someday she would be the person she needed to be; the person Brad wanted.
For now, she gave in to her weakness and secretly wrote Judy, despite the negativity toward her husband. She didn’t know how Brad would react if he found out. He’d probably break into the computer and read the emails—all of them. He used to search the whole house until he found her journal. The mental images of pillows, clothes, and dishes flying and breaking while he looked had not left her—or his anger after he read it.
“How dare you misrepresent me!” he’d shouted. “You’re nothing but a liar. And you’re so negative. You’re never grateful for all the good things I do for you. How come you can’t see things the way they really are?” Charlene never wrote it right no matter how she tried. Eventually, it wasn’t worth the fuss and she stopped writing altogether. Some things were just easier not to do. Besides, she hated to fight. Their conflicts had gotten ugly before, and she definitely didn’t want to go there again. Every marriage had its problems. She needed to learn how to compromise and what to avoid doing. Unfortunately, sometimes her learning came at the price of experience.
But this time Charlene hoped he wouldn’t find out about her emails. It had been years since the journal incidents, and her husband didn’t even know she had a new friend who had recently moved to Seattle. She had told him about Judy and their trips together to the craft fairs, but he didn’t know how close they’d gotten or how much they liked to chat. Brad was busier with work and surer of their marriage these days. Charlene hoped that by now he trusted her more and wouldn’t mind her having a friend.
She had emailed Judy on the subject: If he does find out, it’s on my head. Please don’t stop writing me. Sometimes I feel like I’m silently crying out to you. I need someone to listen. I look forward to your news, and it’s nice to have someone who cares. Brad knows very little about you, not even your last name. I won’t mention that in the emails. He won’t be able to trace you, only your email address.
Charlene hoped Brad wouldn’t trace other things she had done, like getting her own checking account to pay for the email subscription. She had waited until Brad was caught up with a deadline at work that monopolized his attention. Then, she stopped at the bank. Unsure how to open an account, and worried her kids would unknowingly betray her to Brad, she used the drinking fountain in the front entry as a way to get a moment alone. “Sandra, can you get everyone a drink?” she asked her oldest, who was eleven and liked to be in charge. The kids scurried away, except for Nathan, who was two and too young to be out of her sight. He wouldn’t talk.
She was quickly directed to the right spot. An older, silver-haired gentleman smiled at her. “What can I do for you?”
Paige, her six-year-old, ran up to her. “Mom, Sandra spit water on me.”
Charlene looked at her daughter’s tear-filled eyes and sighed.
“Tell Sandra to stop that or she’s going to get extra chores.”
“But my shirt’s wet,” Paige insisted.
Clenching her hands tighter, Charlene said, “Go on and tell her.” She heard her voice had gone up an octave.
Paige left, and Charlene turned back to the man. “I’d like to open a new account.” She felt hot. Her heart raced as though she was doing something wrong. She looked over at her kids, made a quick mental count to make sure they were all still there, and then turned her attention back to the old man, who was getting forms.
“How much would you like to deposit?”
Charlene pulled out a check she’d received for wall hangings she’d made and sold at a local craft fair. She had created the arrangements when Brad was out of town and had carried the check around for over a month wondering what to do with it. If she kept it much longer, she risked Brad going through her purse and finding it. She didn’t know what excuse she could come up with then. Brad had been okay with her going to the fair, but he wouldn’t like her having a hobby when she should be taking care of the kids. He would also be enraged that she didn’t immediately turn over the money to him.
“With this,” she said, smoothing the crease in the paper. The check was made out for two hundred and thirty-two dollars and sixteen cents. It wasn’t much, but it was more than she’d had in years.
“Fine,” the man said, giving it a cursory glance. “Please fill out these forms.” He slid some sheets over to her. The kids had joined her by now and were tugging on her pants. She tried to ignore them as she filled out each form.
Charlene stopped at the slot for her address. “What do you mail out to us with this account?” She knew this would seem like a strange question and hoped it wouldn’t make him suspect she was up to something.
“An information letter and monthly statements.”
Charlene had grown increasingly hot as she pondered what to do. Should she get this account? Should she go behind her husband’s back? He would kill her if he ever found out. It had taken her quite a while to decide to do this. Should she back out?
No. She’d get it. She knew it was risky, but she felt confident she could get the mail every day before Brad did. She’d have to make a point of it.
She looked up, watching her kids climb over everything. They were talking loud and laughing, obviously bothering many of the other bank customers. “Kids, come here.” They obeyed their mother and came running.
“You definitely have your hands full, don’t you?” the banker asked.
Charlene gave a half nod. What the banker said was true.
“If you tell me your names and ages, I’ll give you all a sucker. Is that okay, Mom?”
Charlene nodded fully this time, relieved.
“Sandra,” her eldest announced. “I’m eleven.” Her short, brown curls shook as she spoke. “I want the green one.”
The banker laughed and gave her the green sucker.
“Cameron,” her second oldest said, head tipped down, and stuck out his hand.
“How old are you, little man?”
“Ten,” Sandra answered for him. She put her arms around her little sister and pushed her forward. “This is Paige, who’s eight.” Then she pointed to next younger sister. “And that’s Lorine. She’s five, and the baby is Nathan, and he’s only two. He doesn’t talk much.”
The banker laughed. “Well then, I guess that’s everyone.”
* * *
Charlene kept her new bank account a secret for several months. Then one day she came home from grocery shopping to find Brad’s car parked in the driveway. What was he doing home so early? Charlene worried as she unbuckled Nathan from his car seat.
She hurried inside, taking a bag of groceries with her. She set it on the kitchen counter with a thump and walked quickly toward Brad’s office. There he was, sorting through the mail.
A terrified lump rose in her throat. Please don’t let there be a bank statement, she prayed, smiling at Brad. “Hello, what are you doing home?”
“I have to go back tonight for a big meeting, so I thought I’d spend a couple of hours at home before then.”
“Oh,” Charlene said. She glanced at the stack of mail. She’d have to look at it before he went through it—how? “Brad, will you help me bring the groceries in?”
“Yeah,” he said, going back to sorting the envelopes.
She had to think fast. Throwing her arms around him, she gave him a long kiss. Then she grabbed his arms and coaxed them around her waist. “I’ve got some milk and other cold stuff out there. If you bring it in now, I’ll cook your favorite meal.” She batted her eyes to be silly.
He laughed. “Okay.”
She walked with him to the doorway and waited until he went outside for the bags before she ran back. She sorted through the mail and, sure enough, spotted a bank statement. She grabbed it, folded it, and shoved it in her pocket before rushing to the kitchen. She waited until his second trip to the car to stash the envelope in her office.
* * *
Charlene knew she had to tell Judy about the risk she was taking, in case Brad made Judy pay for their friendship. Last year, Charlene had hung out with Kelly, a friend she’d made when taking the kids to the park. Whenever they met, Brad would greet her and then wait until she left to laugh about how “psycho,” as he put it, she was.
“Anyone who believes the end of the world is just around the corner is cuckoo.” Other times he would say, “I can’t believe you’re hanging out with that nutcase. She’s not even in the real world. She’s always quoting Revelations. That’s not normal. She’s going to end up in one of those cults, probably dead by a government raid, shot in the head.”
Then he took to laughing at Kelly openly every time he saw her. “Had any more prophesies?” he’d ask, or, “How’s Revelations? Any more six-headed monsters coming to swallow us all up?”
“Actually you don’t understand Revelations at all. You’re mistaken on thinking that a six-headed monster . . .” Kelly tried to explain at first, until she realized Brad was only mocking her. She became so angry and flustered she stopped coming over.
Another time she’d been on the phone talking to Nicol, a woman she’d grown friendly with while babysitting at Sunday school. Brad had called out, loud enough so Nicol could hear, “Is that your skinny, bean-pole friend?” He made a habit of complaining to Charlene while she was chatting with her friend. “Why are you always on the phone? Why don’t you ever make time for me?”
It was embarrassing, and her friends understandably didn’t want to hang out long. For that reason, Charlene stopped inviting people over. This kept her more isolated, and sometimes the days of playing hide-and-seek and cleaning up spills became so tedious she wanted to scream. During those more boring hours, she’d remember with fondness when other mothers had visited when her kids were younger and Brad was away more. They’d sit in the backyard and talk under the shade tree, watching as the kids played and fought.
Charlene hoped her words of warning wouldn’t scare Judy out of writing to her. Although Judy and Charlene hadn’t known each other that well before Judy moved, Charlene didn’t know what she would do if Judy thought their correspondence was too risky. Her life was already so lonely, and Judy seemed like her last lifeline.
* * *
Fortunately for Charlene, Judy didn’t let the risk of getting caught by Brad stop her from emailing. She said she was willing to stand up to anyone for her. Charlene thought that was a little over dramatic but had a smile in her heart the whole day after she read the reassurance.
She immediately wrote and told Judy thank you. She also explained that she couldn’t come to Washington with all her kids, even though Judy had offered to pay. The offer overwhelmed Charlene with its generosity. She thought about how wonderful it would be to sit on the beach, meditating away the afternoon. It sounded divine, but to have her friend pay for it? She couldn’t do that. She and Brad had money. Why would Judy make such an offer? It was confusing, but Charlene decided not to make an issue out of it. Besides, Brad would never let her go anyway, no matter who paid for it.
As Charlene floated through her days, helping her children with their homework, cleaning house, and cooking, she thought often about the beach. Around noon, three days after Judy’s offer, another email dinged in. The contents took all of Charlene’s focus.
ON THE DAY I SET foot on the path to immortality, I was with Justine in her car driving down 95th on our way to pick out her new sofa. Ordinary. That’s what the day was. The plain kind of ordinary that obscures the secrets lurking in the shadows—or behind the faces of those you love.
Justine was the sister I’d never had, and our relationship was close to official since her brother had asked me twice to marry him. Tom was sexy, persuasive, and best of all, dependable. The next time he asked, I was considering saying yes.
A van came from nowhere, slamming into Justine’s side of the car.
Just like that. No warning.
Justine jerked toward me but was ultimately held in her seat by the safety belt. My head bounced hard off the right side window. A low screeching grated in my ears, followed by several long seconds of utter silence.
An explosion shattered the world.
When the smoke began to clear, I saw Justine’s head swing in my direction, though not of her own volition. Her blue eyes were open but vacant, her face still. Fire licked up the front of her shirt. Her blond hair melted and her skin blackened.
“No!” The word ripped from my throat.
I tried to reach out to Justine, but my arms wouldn’t move. Heat. All around me. Terror.
Pain. The stench of burning flesh.
Fire and smoke obscured my vision, but not before I saw something drip from the mess that had been Justine’s face. We were dying. This was it. The point of no return. I thought of my parents, my grandmother, my brothers, and how they would mourn me. I couldn’t even think about Tom.
A premonition of things to come?
I lost consciousness, and when I came to I was lying flat on my back. A sheet covered my face. I was suffocating.
“Witnesses say . . . in flames almost on impact,” a man’s voice was saying. “A fluke . . . not for the fire . . . might have survived.”
I turned my face, struggling to move my mouth from the sheet. Searching for air. Agony rippled up my neck and all over my head and down my body, the pain so decimating that it sapped all strength from me. I couldn’t move again, but that little bit had been enough.
“What the freak!” the voice said. I could barely hear the words, but they gave me something to focus on through the pain. I clung to them. “Gunnar . . . the oxygen . . . thought you said she was dead.”
The sheet lifted and air rushed into my tortured lungs. I could sense people all around me, though I couldn’t see anything except a hazy light. My throat was tight and burning, reminding me of the time I’d had both strep throat and tonsillitis as a child. Only far worse. Blinding pain so intense that I couldn’t even moan.
More snatches of conversation filtered to my brain. “Black as a crisp . . . try an IV . . . have to be amputated . . . University of Kansas . . . Burn Center.”
Motion. The blare of a siren. Then blessed nothing.
When I awoke the next time, my throat still hurt, and so did every single inch of my body, though not with the all-consuming pain that made me wish I were dead. Probably they’d given me drugs. Or maybe too many nerves were damaged. I could feel an oxygen tube in my nose and cold seeping into a vein in my right shoulder. How could that be? I’d had IVs before and I’d never felt the liquid. It was so good, so necessary, that for a moment I concentrated all my attention on that small, steady flow. Life seeping into my body. But far too slowly. I wanted more.
Abruptly the sensation was gone. The pain cranked up a notch.
I tried to open my eyes, but only the right one was uncovered. From what I could tell, I seemed to be completely swathed in bandages and unable to move. My single eye rested on Tom, who was standing near the window, staring out with the unfocused expression of a man who saw nothing.
Tom shifted his weight, his muscles flexing under his T-shirt and jeans. In the past months I’d learned his body almost as well as my own, and even now I felt a sense of wonder at the miracle of our relationship. He didn’t push me for commitment, didn’t question why I was so hesitant to take the next step, and I loved him for that perhaps more than anything. It was also why I didn’t know if things would work out between us.
A tiny rush of air escaped the hole they’d left in the bandages near my mouth. He turned toward me, his face stricken, looking older than his thirty-five years. “Erin? Are you awake?”
I tried to nod, but found I couldn’t. I lay mute and helpless. Finally, I thought to close and open my single eye.
He was at my side instantly. “Oh, honey. Thank God! I thought I’d lost—” He broke off, struggling for control. “Erin, can you understand me?”
I blinked again.
“Okay, good. That’s really good. Do you remember what happened?” He took a shaky breath and hesitated before adding, “Blink once for yes, twice for no.”
I remembered the accident. I remembered the fire and how Justine had burned, but I wanted the rest explained. I wanted to hear if Justine was in a bed like I was. I wanted to hear if we’d be okay.
I blinked twice.
He leaned closer, not touching me, his eyes rimmed in red. His eyes had a tendency to change color with what he wore, and today they were the inviting shade of a lake on a hot summer day. My favorite color.
“This morning you and Justine were in a car accident. There was a fire. You were burned.”
Over seventy percent of my body. The thought came from nowhere, and I wondered if I’d unconsciously heard someone talking about my condition. If that was true, my chances weren’t good. I’d heard of a formula at the insurance company where I worked: take your age, add the percentage of your body burned, and the sum was your chance of fatality. I’d be over a hundred percent.
I’m still alive. I’m the exception.
“Your parents just stepped out for a while. Your grandmother was here, too, almost all day, but they finally convinced her to go home. Chris is on his way.”
Had that much time passed? My older brother, Chris, had left that morning to pilot a charter flight from Kansas City to Tulsa. I’d been planning to go over tonight when he returned so I could spend time with him and Lorrie and their kids.
“They called Jace. He’ll be here soon.”
Jace was on his way from Texas? My younger brother had barely arrived at his new unit, and the army would never allow him to come home.
I knew then what Tom wasn’t saying: I was dying. Was that why there wasn’t as much pain? Or had my limbs been amputated? I tried to move my legs, but they felt heavy, and I wondered if that was the sensation the nerves sent to the brain after amputation. I concentrated on moving my arms, and though they were sheathed in bandages, I managed to move my right one slightly.
Tom’s eyes followed the movement, swallowing so hard I could see the lump in his throat go up and down. He wet his lips, started to speak, stopped, and then tried again. “It’s going to be okay, Erin. You’ll see.” The lie was so bad I felt sorry for him. I knew it was killing him not to do something useful for me, to somehow alleviate my suffering, but there was nothing he could do now, nothing either of us could do. This was one of those moments you endured and survived. Or you didn’t.
A nurse entered, and Tom eased away from the bed. “She’s awake,” he said. A pleading kind of hope had come into his face, and it was painful to see. More painful than the lie. “She understands what I’m saying.”
The nurse leaned in front of my good eye, doubt etched on her round face. Two bright spots of red stood out on her plump cheeks like awkwardly applied blush. “Well, that’s a good sign,” she said, but hesitantly, as though I was somehow breaking the rules by regaining consciousness.
Her eyes lifted toward something behind me. “What happened to the IV? It shouldn’t need changing already. That’s the third time we’ve run out in the last hour.” She shook her head. “Must be something wrong with the valve. I’ll check it and get another bag.”
After she left, Tom said more encouraging words, which only made me feel worse because I’d seen the truth in the nurse’s face. Talk about something real, I wanted to scream. Talk about the things we didn’t do. Talk about Justine. Tell me she’s okay.
He didn’t, and I guessed what that meant. A tear slipped from my eye into the bandage. She was gone. Justine was gone.
Meeting the siblings at the Red Night Club six months earlier had been a changing point in my life. Tom hadn’t been able to tear his eyes away from me that night, or since, and over the past months Justine had loved and bullied me into thinking seriously about my future, something I’d lacked the confidence to do since leaving law school in disgrace. So what if I was thirty-one and living in the basement apartment at my parents’ house in Kansas City? Or that I worked a boring job as an insurance claims clerk when I’d always longed to do something more adventurous? I could change all that. I bought new clothes, took up biking, and began looking for a new apartment.
Tom couldn’t see my tear, but it really didn’t matter. I was dying. I’d lost my best friend, my almost sister. I’d lost any future I might have had with Tom. I couldn’t wrap my understanding around either loss.
The nurse returned, and shortly I felt cool liquid seeping into my veins again. Purely imaginary but sweet all the same. I closed my right eye and concentrated on that lifeline, as though I could suck it into me and repair the damage to my body from the inside out.
“Don’t worry.” Tom’s voice came from far away. “I’m here for you. We’re going to make you well again. No matter how long it takes.” I couldn’t hear the lie in his voice anymore. Maybe it made him feel better to believe.
I wished I could.
The next time I woke, it was dark except for a dim light over the sink that stood against the wall. I sensed someone in the room but couldn’t move my head to see who it was. Tom? My brother Chris? More likely my mother or father.
The door opened and light sliced into the room. In walked a short, broad man with longish dark brown hair, intense brown eyes, and a trim mustache. Not good-looking, exactly, but so sure of himself that he exuded an animal attractiveness. A stethoscope hung from his neck and down his white lab coat. If anyone could accomplish a miracle, this man could; his presence was almost palpable.
Behind him came a similarly dressed blonde, and my single eye riveted on her in surprise. She carried her head and lean body with the same regal confidence of the man, but her face was familiar, though I had no idea where I might have seen her before. The fierce, possessive way her eyes fixed on my unmoving body gave me the unnerving feeling that she’d been looking for something for a long time.
And had found it.
The woman turned on the light, and I shut my eye momentarily at the brightness. “We need to take her for a few tests,” she said to the person at my bedside.
“More tests?” The voice was my mother’s, exhausted but not quite devoid of hope. I opened my eye, straining to see her, but she was out of my line of sight. “She woke up earlier. Isn’t that a good sign? Could the doctors be wrong?”
The woman shook her head. “I don’t believe so, but I promise we’ll do everything we can for your daughter.” Her smooth, clear skin was wrinkle-free, and I pinpointed her age near mine, or perhaps a few years older. Could she be a doctor? A specialist maybe? Her attitude suggested absolute authority. Even if I could have moved my head, I doubted I’d be able to look away from her for long.
“Thank you.” My mother sounded unhappy. Things weren’t perfect between us, but I would give anything to be able to console her, anything not to be trapped in this ruined shell of a body.
“Dimitri,” the woman said. “The IV.” The man nodded and moved around the bed, but not before I caught a glimpse of another IV bag in his hands, though it seemed different. Larger, maybe.
“The bags keep running out before they should,” my mother said. “I’m worried it’s not helping her condition. Where’s all the liquid going?”
Was that a flash of excitement in the woman’s eyes? It was hard to tell with my monovision. “We’re monitoring it carefully,” she assured my mother.
Within seconds I could feel the drip of the liquid again—different this time. Sweeter, thicker, and coming faster. I closed my eye and drew the liquid into my body, though I knew the effect had to be entirely in my mind.
“Don’t I know you?” my mother asked the woman. “You seem familiar.”
“I must have one of those faces.”
“No, I’ve seen you before. I know I have. Aren’t you my mother’s neighbor? The one who teaches karate?”
“I have a sister who teaches taekwondo. People often confuse us.”
A lie. I couldn’t hear it in her voice, but I felt it all the same. An unease, a hint of uncertainty that marred her perfect confidence. What was she trying to hide? Or maybe my imagination was kicking in again.
“That must be it,” my mother said.
“Probably. If you’ll excuse us? We should be back within the hour.”
“I’ll be here.” My mother’s hand briefly touched my shoulder as I was rolled from the room. I wished I could see her face.
The hallway was quiet, nearly deserted, though the lights overhead blazed brightly. We passed several tired-looking nurses and an orderly mopping a section of floor.
“Ava,” the man said from the head of my bed. “The bag’s half gone.”
“Then we were right.” The woman walking beside me fell silent a moment before adding, “It’s about time.”
“Too bad it had to happen like this. She’s suffered a lot.”
“At least we’re sure. And there won’t be anything to explain to her family. They’re already prepared for the worst.”
“She might not cooperate. It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“She must cooperate. There’s too much at stake.”
I didn’t like her clipped tone, or any of their words. They were talking about me, but I couldn’t understand the context. None of it made sense. Maybe the drugs had scrambled my brain.
When they began discussing transfer papers with another man, icy suspicion crawled through my mind. Where were they taking me? Maybe they weren’t with the hospital at all. As they loaded me into an ambulance, panic ramped up my breathing, but no one noticed my distress. My mouth refused to utter a sound.
The woman sat near my head out of sight while the man stayed at my side. I didn’t see who was driving. “This bag’s gone,” the man said. “I’ll get a new one. I’ll start another IV, too. The idiots already amputated half her left arm. She’ll need the extra.”
My left arm was gone? Bile threatened to choke me. No! This was too much. I couldn’t survive another minute.
Yet when the man put the second IV in my upper chest, I felt another rush of cool liquid, and my body gulped it down as though it were life itself. My fear numbed at this relief, and I dozed as the ambulance cruised through the streets, rousing a little each time we stopped at the traffic lights. I heard honking, a snatch of music, the throb of the engine, and my own breathing, which seemed loud and fast in the small confines of the ambulance.
Something was very wrong. They’d told my mother I’d be back within an hour, but we’d been driving too long for that now. Not to mention that removing me from the burn center would lower what minimal chance I had of survival. Yet whoever these people were, they didn’t seem to want me dead—for now.
I tried to move, but the only limb I could get to obey me was my right arm. I lifted it halfway in the air before the man grabbed it. “It’s okay, Erin. I really am a doctor. Best one in the world, I daresay. I’m Dimitri, and my friend is Ava. We’re here to help you.” To the woman, he added, “She’s a fighter.”
“So it seems.” Satisfaction laced Ava’s voice, and I felt a sudden and distinct hatred for her. What did she want from me? Was she an organ harvester? It was the only rational explanation—though utterly terrifying.
Dimitri laid something on my chest. Another IV bag. “Hold onto this.” He placed my right hand over the bag. Immediately, a delicious coolness entered my fingertips even through the plastic bag and the bandages. I blessed him silently and gave myself up to this drug-induced hallucination.
The next thing I knew, I was being rolled into a cavernous room. I had the impression of large crates and of a woman sitting in front of several computers which she seemed to be using all at once. One of the computers was connected by a thin black cord to a woven metal headpiece the woman wore on her head like a crown. Her chair turned toward us, one hand twisting up a circular section of the headpiece that obscured one eye. “Good, you’re back.” A smile spread over her face.
I stared. I’d been wrong thinking Ava and Dimitri were the most assured, compelling people I’d ever seen. This new woman had the same confident bearing as the other two, but it was coupled with straight dark hair, a heart-shaped face, slanted Asian eyes, and flawless golden skin. Her revealing green tank showed an ample bosom and a torso that fell to an impossibly thin waist, flaring again for perfect hips. Her delicacy and utter perfection was the kind that inspired poets and started wars between nations—and made me feel completely inadequate.
I knew that feeling well. I felt it often in the presence of my mother.
“Cort’s got the room ready,” the woman said. She was younger than the others, perhaps in her late twenties, though her dark eyes were far too knowing for true innocence. A chill shuddered in my chest.
“Thanks, Stella.”
I knew Stella meant star in some other language, and the name fit her perfectly.
We were moving away, and Stella vanished from my line of sight. My thoughts of her cut off abruptly as I was wheeled into a smaller room, bare except for what looked like a coffin on a long table.
A coffin!
My heart slammed into my chest, its beating furious and erratic.
Ava withdrew scissors from the pocket of her lab coat and started cutting the bandages from my feet and legs. Dimitri began at my head. I caught a glimpse of blackened tissue, the bloody stub of my left arm. Tears leaked from my right eye, but I couldn’t see anything through my left and I doubted I still had tear ducts there. Now I knew why Tom had felt the need to lie. No one could be this badly burned and survive.
If by some cruel twist of fate I did live, I would be a monster.
I tried to struggle against them, but any tiny movement sent shards of pain in every direction until it seemed pain was all I had ever known. Neither would my mouth open to scream, though hoarse sounds of distress issued from my throat, sounding grotesque and panicked. My chest convulsed wildly with the effort. Before too long, my throat became too raw for sound, and even that haunting noise ceased.
“It’s okay,” Dimitri said, his voice gentle. “It’ll be over soon.” Somehow I didn’t feel comforted.
When I was nothing more than a mass of burned and bleeding raw flesh, Ava and Dimitri lifted me into the coffin. Exquisite torture. My vision blurred and darkened. Nausea gouged at my insides.
A gelatinous substance oozed around me and the pain slightly eased. Dimitri pushed it up against my chin and smoothed a layer over my entire face. They’re drowning me in Jell-O, I thought, but Dimitri made sure I had ample space beneath my nose to breathe. The syrupy sweetness I’d felt with the IV bags was increased a hundredfold, as though each of my damaged nerve cells had become a conduit for an IV.
Dimitri’s face leaned close to mine. “I’ve added something to one of these IV bags to put you out. It’d be impossible for you to sleep in this stuff otherwise. But you’ll heal better if you aren’t awake.” Already I struggled to keep my good eye open.
Ava stood by the coffin looking in. “Don’t fight it, Erin. You’ll have your answers soon. Sleep, Granddaughter. Sleep.”
Granddaughter? I must not have heard her correctly.
Well, I suppose there could be worse ways to die than cradled in a coffin full of sweet gelatin. I gave up fighting and let my right eye close.
I PEERED AROUND THE TREE at the couple who sat on the park bench, their faces set, their bodies taut and anxious. The woman, Mari Jorgenson, had no idea what she was—what she had become. She spoke earnestly, but the man only pretended to listen. His eyes roamed the trees that dotted the area, stopping briefly on a grouping of three evergreens crowded by thick bushes.
What was he searching for?
I pushed my awareness out as far as I could, but nothing unusual registered on my senses. This area of the park appeared deserted, which was natural since November had slammed down on Portland like an iceberg from the Bering Sea, bringing a brutal cold spell the city hadn’t seen in decades. Still, it was a nice change from the constant rain or the wet snowflakes that seemed to saturate every inch of every piece of clothing I wore. My hometown of Kansas City wasn’t exactly warm in the winter, but the cold and wet had never been as penetrating. A twinge of nostalgia pinged in my chest when I thought about Kansas because I could never, ever go back to what I’d been. I was fortunate to have escaped mostly in one piece; others hadn’t been so lucky.
Peering around the tree again, my eyes found Mari’s small form on the bench. Even at this distance, I could see the Change that had taken place gradually over the two months I’d been watching her. I’d already sensed that she was Unbounded, though in the beginning it was hard to tell, even for someone like me. Complete confirmation had come last week after we’d gone skiing in Utah, and she’d banged up her knee so badly the doctors had told her she wouldn’t regain full use of it.
A day later she was walking. With that single event, both her life expectancy and the likelihood of violent death increased by nearly twenty-four hundred percent.
I felt for my Sig tucked inside its holster at the back of my jeans, easing it out so my long jacket couldn’t get in the way. It was racked, a bullet in the chamber. I’d double-checked before I followed them from work.
Crouching, I eased forward behind the bare bushes to the right of the tree, my muscles singing in relief at the movement. I’d trained vigorously for hours with the other Renegades before I went jogging in the park with Mari this morning, but I’d had all day for any strained muscles to heal. I felt as fresh as when I’d awakened.
My mind ran over what I would soon have to do. Mari and I had become friends, and I knew how betrayed she’d feel at the depth of my deceit. She’d figure it out quickly once it was all in the open. Her brain was already running at high speed because of the changes inside her. At the accounting firm where I worked with her under an assumed name, she’d begun to accurately calculate entire columns of numbers without the aid of a machine. Her Unbounded father had been skilled at engineering, and her great-aunt Stella was a technopath, so this ability didn’t surprise any of us. It was only a matter of time until her co-workers noticed. There was no telling what else she might be able to do, and her very existence made her a potential danger. To us, to our enemies, to the entire world.
Mari jumped to her feet, hands in her coat pockets, her breath forming white clouds in the air, more visible now that the sun had set and twilight was deepening. Night came early on these winter nights, though it wasn’t quite six o’clock, and some distance away, I could still hear the faint sounds of rush hour traffic on the main road. I couldn’t make out what Mari was saying, but I knew her well enough to guess that she was giving Trevor an ultimatum. She wanted to see a marriage counselor and for them to work toward having a child. I wondered if he noticed the new sureness in her movements, how the blemishes in her skin had disappeared, and how thick her long, silky hair had become. Her heart-shaped face showed only a hint of her Japanese heritage, which was less than an eighth, but since her Change, I thought she was looking more and more like the small-boned Stella, whose mother had been full-blooded Japanese.
Trevor also came to his feet but didn’t yell back at her, which made the fine hair on my body rise in alert. I’d been forced to get to know him somewhat over the past two months since we’d come for Mari, and this calm wasn’t like him. He was a loud, opinionated man who liked his dinner on the table by six-thirty and his wife submissive at all times. He never planned dates, remembered her birthday, or sent flowers on their anniversary. She’d admitted to me once in tears that he only touched her with affection when he wanted her in bed—which happened less and less these days.
Trevor was another reason we had to act sooner than later. Unbounded had a high rate of fertility and most birth control methods failed. If she slept with him now, we might end up with more complications than we bargained for. Better that Mari first understood the consequences.
Trevor eased away from Mari, his hands in his jacket pocket. He darted a nervous glance in the direction of the trees behind her. Something was very wrong. If I were closer, or if I touched him, I might be able to sense what he was hiding, but the only thing I felt from him now was a tight nervousness. I almost hoped he’d turn violent. If he did, it would save us oceans of headache in the long run, though I wasn’t about to let him have the satisfaction of hurting Mari.
A faint movement in the trees behind Mari caught my attention. Easing around the bushes, I paused at the edge of the sparse covering offered by an evergreen. To check out the movement physically, I’d have to expose myself by running across open space. Mari, Trevor, and whoever might be there would see me coming, and I couldn’t have that. Being careless might cost more lives than just my own. The Renegades depended on me.
A breeze hit my face, soothing my fears. Only the wind.
The cell phone in my pocket vibrated, and I checked the caller ID before answering. It was Ava, the fearless leader of our little band of Renegades, and also my fourth great-grandmother. I wondered if she was calling about Cort, who was supposed to have taken over watching Mari after we left the accounting firm. Unfortunately, Mari had quit work early when her husband showed up without warning. Cort should be following the signal from my GPS chip now, and catch up to me at any moment, but he’d been known to become distracted with whatever scientific experiment he was working on in his lab. It was kind of getting to be a problem. As one of the newest Unbounded in our group, I was at the bottom of the useful list and tattling wouldn’t earn any brownie points, but I’d endured the torture of the office all day and it was only fair that he and the others took their turns. Mari’s Change affected all of us.
“What’s up?” I asked, keeping my voice low.
“We have a problem.” The tension in Ava’s voice dissolved my concerns about Cort. She didn’t stress over anything small.
“What is it?”
“You need to get back here as fast as you can. I’ll explain later.”
I glanced again at the bushes behind Mari. No more movement. Had it really been the wind? Regardless, I couldn’t leave Mari alone with Trevor. “Is Cort on his way?” Okay, so I would rat on him. A guy who’d lived almost five hundred years should know better.
“He’s on a plane to Mexico—as of nine o’clock this morning. Dimitri went with him. I would have notified you sooner, but we’ve been a bit busy.”
I gritted my teeth. We had only two main interests in Mexico, and problems with either would mean more deaths. Worse, her tone told me Mexico was only the beginning of what had gone wrong.
“I want you to bring in Mari,” Ava continued. “We need you here. We should have brought her in last week when we were sure.” There was no censure in her voice, though I’d sided with Stella in waiting. I knew how hard it was to have my life change from one minute to the next.
I was tempted to ask for backup, but I could imagine the fun my brothers and the rest of the Renegades would have if the movement in the trees turned out to be nothing more than the wind or a stray dog. I needed to be sure. I hesitated several heartbeats before saying with a slightly forced confidence, “I’ll be there within the hour. Sooner if I can.”
“Good.” The line went dead.
How soon I’d actually make it depended on what I decided to do with Trevor and how good a fighter he turned out to be. Though I trained hard every day, my Unbounded ability had nothing to do with combat. I’d been weeks ahead of my brother Jace, and he’d surpassed me during his first lesson, his quickness immediately identifying his area of skill. Even so, they claimed I was progressing faster than most new Unbounded, and every now and then I felt I could almost see what my opponent would do next the way Jace could.
And Ritter Langton.
My stomach clenched. With the events in Mexico, would Ava call Ritter back from wherever he’d been the past two months? My pride hadn’t let me ask, but she probably had some way to contact him.
I shoved away the unneeded distraction, though the tightness in my belly remained. Trevor was the main problem here. If it came to it, I could deal with him, but I didn’t think knocking out her husband would go far toward lulling Mari’s suspicions so I could more easily kidnap her.
First I needed to be sure about those trees. Pushing out my thoughts, I began searching, straining. A dull throbbing began at the base of my skull, my mind not at all appreciating the effort. Yet there in the trees where I’d seen the movement earlier, I now felt two faint life forces. They didn’t glow as brightly as the average mortal, though they weren’t as dark as someone who was experienced at blocking sensing Unbounded. So something in between, which could mean a lot of different things. From this distance, I couldn’t pick up any thoughts or emotions. I fumbled in my pocket and came up with a tiny pair of binoculars that Stella had assured me were vital to my assignment. In the past two months, I’d used them exactly twenty-three times on mornings when Mari couldn’t jog with me, when she’d run errands at lunch, or eaten out with Trevor. I was lucky not to have been arrested as a stalker.
I studied the trees, regretting the fading light. Someone was definitely crouching behind one of the evergreens, but I could see little more than a patch of green jacket. Wait. Between the branches of the bush next to the evergreen, where a few tenacious leaves clung to an otherwise bare limb, I spied what might be the black barrel of a rifle. I shifted to another position that was slightly more exposed and looked again. Another figure hunched farther to the left, the insignia of a hunter with a rifle standing out on his dark jacket. A jolt of emotion arrowed through me.
Hunters.
There are few things Unbounded fear, and Hunters are one of them. For over fifty years the society of Hunters has dedicated their lives to eradica