CHAPTER TWO
“I’VE CAUGHT YOU off guard.”
The deep voice grated across Charleen’s nerves, the smile on his face everything but reassuring. He’d done more than catch her off guard.
This wasn’t happening.
Not in the airport. Not now. Whatever this was.
He stowed his backpack, his movements unhurried and sure. As if he’d done it before and had all the time in the world.
A bleat of panic rushed through Charleen’s veins. Run. Hide. Stay in one place. It was all the same. She could tell in the way he didn’t bother to keep his eyes glued to her.
She didn’t know him. She wasn’t helping him. And her actions weren’t inconsequential.
Were they?
A laugh escaped from between his lips. It sent a chill rushing down her spine. No one glanced in their direction. The patrons shuffled through the airport as if nothing strange were happening.
This phenomenon wasn’t new.
Only this time she wasn’t just moving from one moment to the next. Wasn’t passing through with the knowledge that very little would change due to her presence.
Something big was happening, here. It hummed and crackled in the air. “Don’t get comfortable.”
He moved toward her.
Five minutes ago this guy had been inside the store. She hadn’t seen him come out. She backed up a step, even as her brain told her to hold her ground. Two hands found her from behind, pale fingers locking tight over her upper arms. The contact sent a trail of anxiety riddled bugs crawling across her skin.
Another, lower sardonic laugh hit her ears. Something sinister slipped down her spine. “We’re comfortable wherever we go. There’s no reason to feel otherwise, sweet thing.”
Across the way, Beth hadn’t moved from the child, his distress more poignant than Charleen’s.
That was Beth’s draw. And maybe their entire problem. Charleen hadn’t been a kid for far too many years. Hadn’t needed Beth the way a kid in the system needs someone—anyone.
Maybe Charleen should’ve taken a little more care with her outfit, seeing as Dexter would likely find her in it bloody and beaten.
If he found her at all.
The thought echoed in the silence around them. No, he wouldn’t find her. Nobody would, her memory a distant vision tinged with regret. Or nothing at all.
Another laugh rumbled across her skin.
She sent her elbow backward in a jerk sure to displace his sternum.
The guy at her back evaded it as if he’d expected that outcome. “Told you we’d find her here, Jo.”
“Predictable.” Jo smiled, the lines on his face crinkling with the motion. “You always were a sucker for the Chaplain.”
“What universe are you living in?” She and Dexter had exactly two encounters to draw from. Neither had been in any way romantic. She hadn’t even had his number programed into her phone until last week.
Jo moved in closer, his height towering well above hers. “You’ve been making waves.”
Not by choice. “That a problem?” She jerked away from the man behind her. He yanked her backward. Lifted her from her feet and pinned her against the wall in one fluid motion. A whoosh of air left her lungs and had her clenching her eyes shut a second. Rough brick bit into her skin. The tips of her shoes negated to find contact against the smooth flooring.
His features were identical to Jo’s. Dark hair. Green eyes. She’d seen them. Somewhere.
But she wasn’t helping them. Not now. Not ever. Not to her knowledge. “You’ve got the wrong woman, buddy.”
The pressure at her shoulders increased as Look-Alike’s bony fingers held her in place. She bit back a groan.
“Oh, Vi.” Jo moved into her space with grim determination. “Where’s Elliot?” Calloused palms found her throat and applied pressure as his cohort moved out of the way. She gripped the space above his elbows. Jerked downward. Nothing happened. She kicked out. Missed the guy’s crotch. Took aim again.
He let up. Her shoes hit the floor before he slammed her body back against the brick. Her head hit the surface. A sharp pain cracked through her skull. The force of it jarred her teeth together. A wave of nausea washed through her as his body flattened against hers, a forearm across her throat.
Pain radiated up her spine. Her throat burned.
And still nobody moved, because they didn’t see anything out of the ordinary and this moment was all on her.
It was always on her.
“You agreed to do a job.” His eyes glittered. Not with rage. With something else. It slithered from his body like a dark swirl of suffocating smoke. “Even trade.”
“The only people I work for…are on…CMPD payroll just like me.”
“I see you’ve got a little bit of traveler’s amnesia.” His breath hit her face. “Too many consecutive absorptions?”
No. There’d been only two in six months.
He flipped something from his back pocket. A flash of light caught the edge of his knife as he flicked it open. The cold metal trailed along her cheek. Had her heart rate spiking. His eyes followed the path, then snapped to hers. “Or maybe you think I’m stupid.” The pressure of his arm increased. “I could end you.”
If she reached for her gun, she’d aim to kill. That part of her life was automatic. More rudimentary then her push for honesty. And if she shot this man there would be questions. Maybe. It all depended on an outcome she couldn’t see. Hadn’t seen yet. Maybe she wasn’t meant to.
Would you do it again, Detective?
She tried to suck in a stilted breath. Didn’t get more than a few molecules. The vibration of her heart seemed like one prolonged beat.
Shaking hands struggled to gain a hold on one of his fingers. To twist. Pull. Anything. They were clenched into a fist.
“Do it then.” The words were a hoarse whisper. Came from that broken place everyone assumed was there. The one she fought with more desperation than she had left.
If the chasm widened, that would be the end.
Of everything.
He shook his head. “Too easy. I need you around.”
Just not making waves. “That’s sweet.” The sentence was barely recognizable, the sarcasm she’d tried to insert nonexistent. It sent a flare of rage through her. If she let it lie, it would disappear.
Everything would fade. She wouldn’t have to answer questions best left alone or figure out how to befriend a woman who reminded her of what they’d both lost. Or think about how to change the mind of a chaplain who wanted little to nothing to do with her for reasons that would ensure his safety.
Jo smiled as if he knew every detail of her life. Every thought. Even the utter desperation gaining hold in her veins. The pressure increased. Her vision narrowed to his face. She had to get out of this. Had to get her fingers into his eyes and push until both sockets popped.
Her arms didn’t move. Why wouldn’t they move?
“We had a deal. A life for a life. Bring me Elliot and this all goes away.”
Elliot? The question didn’t make it past her lips.
“Whoa.” Beth was at her side. She tried to pry his body away from Charleen, but it didn’t work. “I leave you for two minutes and you end up in trouble.”
The wall at Charleen’s back started to fade, brick by brick. Her lungs burned. This was what happened when she stepped out of the shadows. And maybe that was best.
The blood was on her hands.
“You can’t think like that, Vi.” Beth moved between them, started pushing on the man’s chest. “I’m trying to help, but you’ve got to join in. That’s how this works.”
So they could absorb to God knew where? Start all over? For what? A bunch of people who never remembered. Didn’t know how to trust the unknown and didn’t bother to try? So a psychiatrist could prescribe medications she didn’t need, a chaplain could condemn her, and her boss could fire her. And her friends—the people she’d deny needing with every last breath—would disappear. Maybe the next go-around would solve the problem. Maybe it wouldn’t.
If she were gone the blood would just be. She wouldn’t have to justify her stance. Wouldn’t have to wonder where she’d end up and what pieces of life she’d have to dig out of a book or ferret from her memory bit by bit.
Or not at all.
Her lungs screamed for air. Any air. But if she didn’t fight…
“Vi!” Beth’s voice mingled with another deeper one. It was filled with I’d-understand-the-intentions-of-mud undertones she’d register even in death. Dexter’s tall form was in her field of view, blurry and distorted, his face an angry shade she’d never seen before. His fist connected with Look-Alike’s jaw. He went down fast. Dexter repeated the motion on Jo. The force made him stagger to the side. His grip loosened on Charleen’s throat and disappeared as he caught himself and turned toward Dexter, knife out.
Bile rose into her burning throat. She tried to suck in a bit of air. Couldn’t seem to drag it past her mouth. Her heart pounded in a rhythm the rest of her body didn’t understand. Beth’s hands were on Charleen’s neck, soothing. A bare touch she didn’t know if she could actually feel.
“Just breathe, honey.”
“If it’s so simple, you do it.” Her voice held a chain smoker’s deep rasp. “And don’t call me honey.”
“All right.” Beth moved back. “You wanna use some of that cantankerous attitude to get your butt up off the floor?”
The cold tile registered on Charleen’s rear end. Her feet were no longer under her, but in front of her body. When had she fallen?
“Maybe give Dexter a hand?” Beth stood.
Dexter. Intense blue eyes—almost violet—were focused on Jo, his tall form braced for whatever the other man planned to deliver as if he were guarding the most precious thing in his life.
What was he doing here?
“Look what we have here. Right on time.” Jo took a swipe at him, the edge of his knife blinging in the overhead lights. Dexter sidestepped the gut blow. Jo stalked forward, his weapon slicing across Dexter’s upper arm.
As if he felt no pain, he grabbed the other man’s wrist and twisted. The knife clanged to the floor. Dexter kicked it toward Charleen. Jo followed it down as agony tore across his face.
She wiped her mouth. A shaky hand fumbled for the bloody weapon, then clenched it tight. The metal was warm in her grip. Her gaze connected with Dexter. The building around them shifted. Disappeared even quicker. Person by person.
He shouldn’t be here. People didn’t see her under normal circumstances and they certainly wouldn’t mid time absorption.
Charleen struggled to stand with muscles that protested every bit of the motion.
A drop of blood oozed from his arm and fell to the floor. It faded to nothing. To her left, Look-Alike rose from the ground. Withdrew a Glock. Then he moved toward Dexter, the gun in his hand stark against his pale skin.
No. Her heart lodged into her throat. Charleen rushed forward. Beth stepped into Look-Alike’s path.
“What the…” He halted as if he could see the woman who’d been her Godsend and curse from day one.
Charleen kicked the back of his knee. Sent the knife in between two of his ribs. A cry erupted from him. She grabbed his armed hand as he went down and sent a blow into his elbow. Aimed the gun toward the ceiling a millisecond before it went off. Bits of plaster rained downward as she twisted the weapon from his grasp.
And then both men were gone, leaving her and Dexter standing in that eerie in-between stage of travel. Not quite back. Not quite forward. Mid-absorption. The place where she usually could reflect. Remember. Brace for change.
Something sticky squished between her fingers. Splotches of red covered her left hand all the way to the tattoo on her wrist. The gun was still in the grip of her right hand. She flipped the safety.
Oh God. Her heart vibrated too fast. An invisible chain squeezed her stomach. Air. She needed air. She dropped to her knees. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go.
She was supposed to save lives.
“Now would be a fantastic time for you to say something, Charleen.” Beth squatted next to her.
Dexter heaved in a breath. Copied Beth’s stance on the opposite side of Charleen. His warm fingers found her chin, his touch gentle as he positioned her head so she was staring right into those blue-violet eyes. Calming. Captivating. Her stomach settled. She took a breath. Fought the urge to crawl into his arms.
You always were a sucker for the Chaplain.
What did that even mean?
“Better?” His voice was a low timbre of its normal quality as if he’d been more than shaken by the events.
“Y-yes.” It shouldn’t be. She should push him away. Make him stop touching her. “What are you doing here?”
He grabbed a brown messenger bag from the floor. Dug a white material from it. He removed both weapons from her and stowed them inside his bag, then rubbed the soft cotton across her hand, his fingers feather-light as he worked the moisture from the creases. The edge of his thumb traced the tattoo on her wrist. “Whatever you’re thinking about doing, don’t. Promise me.”
“What?” Her gaze flew to his. She expected questions. This…
He faded to nothing. And then, as if there’d been an earthquake, she landed hard against the concrete of the airport. Beth stood next her.
Charleen spun around. Watched the same patrons linger in the area. The teens. The woman with the screaming kid. “How far back did we go?”
Beth didn’t move. “We didn’t.”
“That’s not possible, Beth. It’s always back, if even seconds.”
“Neither is jumping to any time you want. And you did that.”
Once, involuntarily. Charleen had no idea how to repeat the experience. The pain had been crippling, an equivalent of the universe tearing her limb from limb. There was none of that here. “What just happened? It was like that guy could see you. Like Dexter knew what was happening.”
“I don’t know.”
“That absorption wasn’t me.” Traveling through time involuntarily was always a shock, but she knew when it happened. The feeling was an unmistakable and simultaneous push and pull of the tiny molecules inside her skin until she ended up wherever she was headed. The sensation hadn’t been present, either. “And if it wasn’t me and it wasn’t those guys that means…”
Beth’s cool gaze lit on her. “He’s the reason you’re here, right? To pick him up and cart him to wherever with as little contact as possible?”
Charleen tucked the corner of her inner cheek between her teeth. If it were that cut and dried, he’d still be standing here. “What is Dexter talking about?” And why had he been so…caring. As if she mattered to him. And his immediate and flawless rescue? No. Something was wrong. “Beth?”
The other woman remained silent.
A long time ago, this never would have happened. There had been some sort of unspoken rule between them. Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell—military style—but Charleen’s safety was always a factor. And ever since she’d found herself T-boned in her Toyota six months ago with little memory of any of the prior events, things hadn’t been the same.
Which begged the question. Had she done something horrible—something she couldn’t undo—and in such a way that she had no memory of it?