Blake wiped the tears from my cheeks, “I do.” His smile was calm, comforting. He was ahead of me as usual.
I stared at Blake, then up at the painting and back to him again. “Was this the secret you were going to show me?”
He nodded, and pushed a lock of hair behind my back.
There was a shift in the silence, as if the painting sensed that we were all together again.
“This is how you knew me, how you recognized me when we first met.”
“It is,” he said. “You read it?”
“You know the history in the painting?” I asked.
“Carolena has read it for me many times over the years.”
“Oh.” I took a deep breath, and launched into the story I’d seen in the painting. And though we’d talked about it before, the history of my lifelong dreams with Jack and the painting. I cried when I had to describe Jack’s murder, as if I were still there, reliving every moment.
A glass of scotch in each of our hands, we stared at the portrait that watched over us from its residence above the mantel, the same portrait that had watched Blake’s death in another life. She appeared peaceful, elegant, regal. Jack’s murder was still raw in my mind, but his death had a far less triumphant ring now that I could feel the beat of Blake’s heart beneath my left cheek. It was powerful to know we could give the portrait new and better impressions of us to absorb.
“How long have you had it? Where did you find it?” I couldn’t take my eyes off of my former self. The presence of it gave such validity to the remembering that had called to me for a lifetime.
“I found it at a Paris flea market when I was about thirteen, I guess.” His eyes narrowed slightly as if he were there again. “It was a real gift after a tough time.” Blake sipped from the glass and winced as he swallowed. “Carolena was pretty unhappy back then. And we had a few close calls with Otto. Finding the portrait was, to me, anyway, a sign that you were out there somewhere. It gave me hope.” Blake met my lips for a lengthy kiss, and I curled back into the nook he made for me.
“This isn’t exactly a standard purchase for a thirteen-year-old boy,” I said.
“It is standard for a future art dealer.”
“Good point. So, if you were thirteen, that means I would have been…twelve. And that’s exactly when the dreams started.”
“The dreams with Jack,” Blake said thoughtfully.
“The dreams with you.” I caressed his face, and scratched my nails along the fresh, dark stubble that surrounded that gorgeous smile. “I would wake in the morning, all dreamy-eyed, lovesick and unable to eat, and I’d tell my mother and Grace about my dreams of Jack and they would say I was remembering my future. That a love as profound as ours didn’t stay in the past. It drove what was yet to be.”
“Nothing could have kept me away. Not even death,” he said triumphantly.
“Not even death,” I repeated. Saying it strengthened me, fortified me. And a healing sensation reached dark places within.
Chapter 21
My eyes opened into the cool stillness of Blake’s bedroom, and I knew without turning my head that he wasn’t next to me. Not because I couldn’t touch him, but because I couldn’t sense him. His presence had become as obvious as daylight to me.
Clothed in one of Blake’s T-shirts, I headed toward the scent of hot coffee and warm bread, then I unexpectedly detoured at the open door to Blake’s study and found my portrait again. The room in the portrait, the one that served as the backdrop for my sitting back then, showed the bookshelves that were slightly blurred in the distance. It also revealed the edge of the mantle and hearth.
Though it wasn’t the same angle, this was the same room where I’d seen Jack shot twice and where he had lay dying on the floor just a few feet away. I decided this must have been Jack’s home, as he was noticeably in charge of it. Too, in my dreams, this was the room where I had seen the portrait hanging over the mantel. If only the artist’s eye would turn, I was sure I could see Jack again.
It was an unreasonable urge to help, I knew that. My fingers caught the tangles when I ran them through my hair. Something tickled at the back of my brain about what I’d seen earlier this morning. Something I’d missed. So I unsnarled my hand from the fine knots and delved into my past.
My heart skips a beat when I land in the library where Jack was killed. Coffee in hand, and wrapped in a navy satin robe, I spin my sapphire ring around my finger and admire it. I watch Jack—still alive and pacing back and forth with a candlestick phone in hand. His hair blond and cut short, fading up to a longer top, it is styled with a light tonic. Not at all the greased, flattened appearance that Gary’s hair is.
“All right then,” Jack says loud and distinct. I surmise the connection is not clear. “Draw up the papers and I’ll be by to sign them. Time is of the essence, Knox. I’ll be by at noon. Very good. Good-bye.”
He straightens out the long, thick tail of a wire, and places the phone on the desk in the corner. “My sweet Sassy,” he says. One finger lowers the paper I’m reading and he leans down for a kiss. My eyes stay closed for a moment beyond our parting while I swim in the love his touch makes me feel.
“Anything interesting in there?”
“Maybe a little something,” I say with caution, and point to a black-and-white photo of Gary. “It doesn’t look like he’s going to be convicted.”
Jack frowns at the paper and shakes his head. “Judge Cross. He’s as crooked as Gary.”
Gary’s face hits me like a curse, which jolts me back to Blake’s study in the current day. I stepped back from the painting and clamped my fingers over my mouth.
“Everything okay?” Blake stood in the doorway and sipped espresso from a glass cup.
I worked hard to cross completely from yesterday’s world into the now. “He—He’s Otto. Gary, from this life, is Otto.”
“Are you sure?” he asked. His espresso cup hung in mid-air.
“I’m sure. It’s him.” I walked a wide circle in Blake’s study. “Well, now yours and Otto’s possessiveness makes more sense to me. As well as my feelings that Otto will always win, because he has before.”
“Not this time,” Blake said. “He doesn’t win this time.”
“No, he won’t,” I said with the strength of new perspective. “Once was enough.”
My thumb reached to spin my ring as I had on the day I’d just seen. My ring wasn’t there.
“Oh my gosh.” I looked at my hands, then back to the portrait.
“The ring, it’s on my left hand in the portrait. We were engaged when this was painted.”
Blake’s eyes narrowed in focus at my painted ring.
“That’s probably why he killed you. I belonged to him in some way and you and I must have been planning our future. Our escape.” The realization of what I’d said kicked me in the gut. “Oh, God, it’s all repeating.”
“No. It’s not. What’s next is ours. Plus you don’t belong to him. Come on,” Blake led me out of the study. “You need coffee.”
The kitchen counter was laid out with a basket of croissants, fresh berries, and sliced meats and cheeses.
“How did we get all of this?” I asked.
Blake took a green shake from the fridge and peeled the saran wrap from the top of the glass. He offered me half, but I refused.
Nothing green before coffee.
“Anya,” he said. “She made one of the agents bring it in early this morning.”
For the first time since Anya and I had met, I thought of her without green slime coating the insides of my veins.
“That was nice,” I said.
Blake pushed the button to make the espressos. The machine rumbled and the water steamed. And though he wouldn’t admit to it, I felt the pulse of fear course through his system. He was as rattled by this new information as I was. And we probably both wondered why Carolena hadn’t told him this sooner.
“We have to be careful how we plan our next steps,” I said while we took our breakfast to th
e solarium on Blake’s rooftop. “Past life events create imprints and tendencies. If we’re not careful, that could lead us into a trap.”
I scanned the skyline and, as usual, tried to sense the location of my father and grandfather, and found nothing. Otto knew where they were, and he could probably bring them back—if, he said, I would help him with the Gardner art.
Of course there was the chance that Otto was lying and my father and grandfather had long since died. And that my dreams about them were just the result of how much I wished they were still here. I could’ve asked Otto for proof of their existence, but that was risky. I might get one of my father’s fingers in the mail.
I cleared my throat.
“We could do the French countryside again.” Blake layered multiple pieces of cold meats and cheeses inside of a fresh baguette.
“Have you talked with William?” I asked.
“We spoke this morning, He’s current.”
“And what are his expectations on your help in finding the Gardner art?” I knew it was a loaded question.
“No matter where we are, he wants me working and following leads.”
“Meaning he doesn’t want you to leave.”
“He doesn’t want me to leave,” Blake admitted. He put the makeshift sandwich down and met me square in the eye. “I will anyway.”
I chewed the inside of my bottom lip. “If we run, we’ll be running for what—ten, twenty years? What if we let William know that I have a new connection with Otto, and that he’s willing to take me right to the art in exchange for my help? We could set up a sting.”
Blake shot his espresso, then put the porcelain cup into the saucer. “I said roughly the same thing to Carolena several years ago.”
I picked at the bread on my plate. “This is where you tell me that didn’t quite work out the way you planned. Though I guess the results weren’t all bad.”
Blake stiffened, his crystal blues became sharp and clear.
“Maybe this is different. He needs me, needs my gifts. He may have wanted you around, but he didn’t need you. We would be going to a specific destination, a place here in New York where he has the art hidden. I could wear a tracking device or a wire. And William’s team could be close by.”
“It’s a bad idea to position yourself as bait for Otto,” Blake said.
“I think it would be better to face him directly than spend the next ten or fifteen years running from him.”
“And in exchange for helping him, you think Otto will just tell you where to find John and Campbell? ”
“No, obviously not. I do think that if I can put my hands on something he owns, I could get the answers for myself.”
“And what if he doesn’t give you that chance? What if you read the art and he sends you the way of John and Campbell, anyway? Or worse, Frank?” Blake’s eyes turned cold and serious.
“He probably wants to use my gifts too much to kill me. At least not right away.”
Blake threw his hand up in the air then slapped the table with a loud smack.
“This could work—and help my family at the same time,” I said.
“At what cost?” Blake asked.
“Our freedom is already requiring a really steep price. I could lower that.”
“I know what it’s like to need to help a parent. But you don’t know what he’s capable of. I can’t let you do this.”
“Otto kidnapped, and maybe killed, two members of my family. I think I know what he’s capable of. And this isn’t up to you, Blake. I have to make my own call on this.”
Blake’s chair screeched across the floor and he stormed to the wall of the solarium that overlooked the city. The space between us stagnated, thick and heavy. A plane rumbled overhead in seemingly slow motion. Everything was off kilter. Like an irregular heartbeat, the timing of my universe would continue to limp along until Blake and I were in sync again.
When he finally faced me, he was quiet, steeled. My teeth were set against one another, my decision firm, and yet I wanted to wrap myself in his arms.
“When I found your portrait, I had only a few immediate impressions. One, that we had a passionate history. Two, that we would meet again. Three, that I’d lost you because I failed to protect you,” Blake said. “I won’t…make that mistake again.”
“I have to make my own decisions,” I said after a minute.
Blake strolled halfway to the table, hands in pockets. “I want you to have your father and grandfather home, and I believe you when you say Otto had something to do with their leaving. I don’t think you’re being honest with yourself about why you’re willing to risk your life and everything we have together.”
“This is where you tell me I’m being foolish because I don’t trust that this could work out.” I pushed away from the table.
Blake watched my face as though he read me, then he backed off.
“I’m sure that my fear of losing you is a past life hangover. I have no doubt that it’s an imprint from another time and I unconsciously fall into its grooves, and follow what once was as if it still is. In this case, I just need to do the right and best thing for my family. This is my first chance in almost a quarter of a century to help them.
Blake strolled around the room. “There’s usually a pattern to Otto’s possessiveness.”
“What do you mean?”
“He did it with Carolena. First he destroyed her career by implicating her in art thefts that he orchestrated. Then he isolated her, kept her from having access to the outside world. Lastly, he threatened her.”
“He threatened to kill her?”
“He told her she’d never see me again if she didn’t help him with the black market purchases.”
I glanced sideways at Blake.
“Do you have a career?” he asked.
I didn’t answer.
“Are you isolated?” he asked.
I bit my lip.
“And you’ve been threatened,” he said. “Otto’s an old dog with old tricks. Unfortunately they’re still pretty effective.”
The text alarm on my phone dinged and I glanced at the screen without moving my head:
Would be best if you came home for a few days. We need to talk. I’ll make sure you’re safe while you’re here.
“It’s from Grace.” I breathed deeply and my resistance fell away. She had been my guide for as long as I could remember. “She wants me to come home for a little while.”
The text alarm on my phone dinged again. And though I should have expected it, seeing Otto’s backlit name made me choke on the spot.
How are you feeling? I’m sure seeing your father and grandfather again would help. I know they’d love to see you, too.
It’s too bad you had to leave in such a hurry. I thought we had an agreement. If you’re not back by the end of the week to work with me, then I’m afraid you’ll never see your father and grandfather again.
My heart caromed in my chest.
Blake peered across the table and read the screen.
“He’s putting his plan into motion,” he said, his hands on his hips.
“I see that,” I said. This was just as he had done with Carolena. “Why didn’t he just kidnap me when he had the chance at my townhome?”
“Because he wants you to choose him over being with me. It was one of the last threats he made to me before he was arrested. Obviously a past life imprint. He’s dangling the carrot of your father and grandfather to encourage you.”
I stared at Otto’s message on the screen and wished the plague of a man had never been born. “I do want to help them if they’re still alive. And I think they are.”
Blake’s contempt for Otto was visible on his face. “You can’t help them by working with Otto.”
“I don’t want to work with Otto, I hate him every bit as much as you do, but I have no choice if I want to help my family. I don’t have access to them otherwise, and I can’t abandon them if they need me!”
Blake studied me for a
moment, then nodded.
“I’m going to take a bath,” I said.
“Then we’ll go see Grace and Isabella. We’ll talk with them and work it out there,” Blake said and followed me from the solarium to the master bath. He started the bathwater, poured in bath salts, then left and came back with a glass of Prosecco for me.
“Everything okay?” he asked. He turned the water off and studied my expression.
Otto-inspired anxiety had crept into my inner world, and though I opened my mouth, there were no words. No words and no clear answers. If I went with Otto, there was no guarantee I’d get my father and grandfather back. The FBI might fail us and I could lose Blake forever, and who knew what Otto would do to me once he had me?
If we ran, I would miss out on what was probably the only chance to find out what happened to my father and grandfather, and, to help them. And Otto would be in pursuit of me for the rest of his life, to own me again. He wouldn’t stop until he killed Blake and had me forever under his thumb. Neither option was a good one.
Never lacking for strength or insight into what I needed most, Blake guided me back to his bed. He lifted his shirt from my body, slipped out of his clothes, and held me close under the cool sheets.
“Let’s just not worry about it for a minute.” Blake closed his arms around me.
“It’s like I’m walking a tightrope, and no matter how many careful steps I take, the journey never gets any easier. I try to get to the other side where you and I, as well as my family, can be together, and safe, but I can’t figure out how to make it work.”
Blake hugged me closer, his protectiveness gently assuaged my fears.
“We’ll work this out.” He kissed my forehead and cheeks. His kisses were comforting and sure, his lips soft and loving.
I welcomed every ounce of the relief they offered, and wrapped my leg around his waist. “I need you, Blake.”
He traced the bottom edge of my lip with his thumb. “I’m here, love.”
“I want you to move that man out of my thoughts.”
Somewhere in Time Page 10
