by T. K. Toppin
Her natural curiosity also showed him her honest nature—she left herself wide open to it. That was something she couldn’t hide and he found it bewitchingly amusing to watch. But her unswerving allegiance to Wellesley angered him, showing she wasn’t at all frivolous in nature. Nor was she stupid. She was loyal and honest, and she held a secret. She didn’t seem to have it in her to lie; instead, she masked it by skirting around the issues. But was she dangerous? John wondered, knowing well enough that, given the right motivation, anyone could become dangerous.
John wanted to know her secret. It incensed him how she refused to tell him. He knew it had to do with the fact he’d never been refused anything he’d asked for. It was unheard of. Squashing the prideful emotion, he gathered his thoughts. Something about her was just not right. And he couldn’t put his finger on it.
Over the last two days, he’d revised his opinions of her and convinced himself she was a spy or terrorist. Maybe a terrorist from fifty years ago; he had to hear confirmation from her. He’d lost enough sleep and energy over it. Lora’s funeral this morning had only added fuel to that thought. Why wouldn’t she just tell the truth? Why protect Wellesley? Thankfully, Wellesley had been strongly advised to return to Britain; he’d been making a nuisance of himself harassing the guards, insisting he see her again. A sly stab of jealousy crept up inside John; he squashed that too—immediately.
John recalled a humiliating scene yesterday with Simon. Simon accused him of fussing over his pet, his “interactive toy.” John had burned with embarrassment. He realized he’d been blubbering on about her a bit. Simon taunted him to no end after that, laughing and snorting with amusement. Even when John insisted he was just being thorough, Simon saw right through him. Yes, all right. He had to admit, Josie was distracting and…alluring. But she was still a prisoner. A “guest of the World President,” as the official file stated.
Refocusing, John brought his attention to the present. She sat before him, her thin frame held poised for flight, staring at his paperweight. He wondered what thoughts skittered through her mind.
“Josie, you’re just making things very difficult for yourself by refusing to answer simple questions.” In a small way, her welfare concerned him. And he couldn’t understand why, which bothered him. He plowed on. “Please, just answer the question. If it’s protection you need, I can give it to you. If it’s to do with—”
“I don’t need your fucking protection!” She stood in frustration. Livid.
John stood too, rounding on her, near enough that she stepped back in reflex. A moment of horror gripped him; he was being a brute again. At a loss for what to say next, he let out a snarl, turned away and stalked to the refreshments counter. He needed a drink but was unable to decide what. Instead, he seethed out a growl. Damn this woman!
John closed his eyes, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. He’d had Simon run a thorough check on her again, and also for any recent stasis pods discovered. Only one came to their attention: a pod found on Prince Edward Island, which was discreetly removed from the site by Quintyne Aguilar. Here was another connection to Wellesley. Aguilar was the person who had rehabilitated Wellesley’s mother. And now both Aguilars were missing. Could she be the one they’d found on Prince Edward Island? Most likely, yes.
“When were you born?” Remaining hunched over the drinks counter, he hoped he sounded conversational. “Surely it was during Grandfather’s time—early on, on account of the amount of swearing you do.”
She made a derisive noise with an even more offensive utterance of “whatever.” It sounded as if she’d ambled across to the hologram projection. “Ha! I know this,” she declared with pride.
Collecting his thoughts, John turned and cautiously joined her. She wore a perplexed look, her brows knitted. He glanced at the holo-projection of the building, back at Josie, and matched her expression. Changing the subject again, he thought. Something in her face caught his attention; the way she scrunched up her nose and made her mouth part. She looked extremely young. He couldn’t stop staring.
The projection was of the new amphitheatre, with three spires surrounding the outer edges. Resembling the old Roman structures, but sleeker, with modern enhancements and architecture, it was the long-awaited and long-anticipated arts and cultural center in what had once been a park and playground in Hampstead, Britain. A ghost of a smile pulled John lips. He was pleased with the building progress.
“The Three Sisters,” he said. “Of course. Wellesley’s engineering this.” He couldn’t mask the distaste in his voice when he mentioned Wellesley’s name.
“He’s doing the…” Josie pointed at the three spires, her index finger extended and waving up and down then, freezing mid-way. The crease formed between her brows again. “What did you call it?” Her head jerked up to look at him.
“Three Sisters,” he replied slowly. Something in her expression sent alarm bells clanging loud in his head. She seemed disturbed, concerned. “Why?”
Josie stared back at the projection, appearing lost in thought. Her mouth parted from the effort of it, moving silently as if doing some mental calculations in her head. John took her arm, gave it a small tug, and asked again, but she didn’t seem to hear.
“Why is it called Three Sisters?” she asked, a little breathless. A vein on her thin neck pulsed.
“Why—” He blinked hard. A jolt of pain hit him. Memories flooded. John reformed his thoughts, and explained hoarsely. “Ah… My…my father’s sisters, he had three. They died…together on August twentieth, twenty-three-oh-five. Nearly thirty years ago. I was there. I was eight. There was an explosion. Planned…a terrorist attack. My parents were meant to be there as well, but at the last minute they couldn’t come, but they sent me anyway. The youngest aunt, she was only fifteen…”
Swallowing hard, he turned away. It still disturbed him to speak of that day. “It used to be a park, that place. A safe place.” He turned back and saw Josie staring at him, her eyes huge, focused on him. He was uncomfortable speaking of it but found he couldn’t shut up.
“It was the summer holidays. Every year, we’d go and spend the day at the park. It was near our summer home in Hampstead. My older brother was still in hospital, and my sister had just enrolled into a new Advanced Sciences academy. It was just me. My aunts decided to take their children and me to the park. I don’t know exactly how it happened, but one minute I was with my two cousins playing catch, and the next minute…some man pushes us to the ground, yelling, and suddenly there was this explosion. My aunts were sitting under a tree, and they just…disappeared. The man that saved me—us—he died, too.” John smiled. “He was the pod-survivor I mentioned before. I don’t know how he knew, or what tipped him off about the bomb. I was never told. But whatever it was, I’m grateful that he did. I looked into his background, after he’d been awakened. Ansari Singh worked as a groundskeeper in the park. Before he went to sleep, he was schoolteacher. That was all I knew about him.”
Josie looked dumbstruck, and muttered what he assumed were sympathetic words, but he couldn’t hear anymore. The sound of the explosion still rang in his ears; it was a sound that had haunted his dreams for many years, the reason he wanted to hunt down all the fanatics of the world and make them pay. The reason he was who he was now. He felt exposed. Josie’s curious gaze scorched him, and a prickly spray of nervous sweat peppered the back of his neck.
Damn! Will she not stop looking at me?
John scrubbed a hand over his forehead, flicked a glance at Josie and tried in vain to compose his voice. “Why… Why did you want to know about it?”
“Umm.” She turned away with a jerk. “No reason. Just that Lorcan and his colleagues were talking about it. The opening night stuff, you know. Technical stuff like line of sight and three for three, I don’t know. I just heard it in passing. He’s been extremely busy with it, that’s all. Cursing and fretting about you, too. Non-stop.” A small smirk tweaked across her face, and she glanced at him to see what his reaction would be.
<
br /> He nodded without really hearing her last remark. The alarm bells were sounding off again—deafening.
“Wait here.” John strode out the room, only to be stopped by Josie calling out to him.
“Hey.” She stood with her hands in her pockets.
He looked back, distracted.
“Two days ago,” she said.
Was she smirking?
“That’s when I was born.”
* * *
The alarm bells kept ringing in John’s head long after he sought out Simon. Together, they formulated a quiet investigation into the structural integrity of the new amphitheatre. With Wellesley involved, they had to assume something suspicious was going on. It angered John that he’d not thought of it earlier. But the coincidence was too great, if not a stroke of luck. What were the chances of stumbling across this? Of stumbling across Josie?
John had to speak with Josie again; she held information in that stubborn head, and he wanted it. He could drug her into telling the truth. No! Those were tactics his grandfather had used, and he would not succumb to those measures. No matter the temptation. And what a temptation it was. He pushed aside a sudden thought of what it would be like to touch her face.
He found her in the conservatory and, for a moment, watched as she wandered about, inspecting plants, sniffing flowers, and running fingers through the water fountain. John approached as cautious as he could, unable to shake the need to tread carefully when around her. Josie turned abruptly and marched up to him. His stomach clenched.
“What’s going on?” A deep line slashed between her brows. Her voice shook with emotion.
“You tell me.”
“Tell you what? You storm out of here after telling me about that building, then, then…” Josie flapped her arms and cursed. “You have me waiting for fucking hours, thinking all sorts of things. Are you suggesting Lorcan is going to sabotage the building?”
“Now that you mention it, yes.” He watched her reaction. “Don’t you find it a little coincidental he should be working on this project and at the same time employing a known terrorist?”
Eyes wide, she swallowed. “He wouldn’t do that. I know he hates you, but…what would he gain by doing that? You think he’s going to blow up that building, like how your aunts were blown up?”
He flinched and looked away, anger spiking through him. “Wellesley’s been suspected of anti-government disruptions for years.”
“Suspected, you say.”
“Three people, the cultural minister, the international affairs minister, and myself, are scheduled to speak at the opening night. The spires are intended to project an entertainment show directly onto the stage. Thousands will be present. I do not wish it to be a massacre.” He circled Josie like a predator would its prey. “I will not take chances, and I can assure you, every aspect of that building will be inspected and investigated microscopically.”
“You don’t really think that, do you? That he’ll do something so horrific? He’s not like that at all!” Her voice rose, a stain of panic marked her face.
“How do you know? Do you really know him that well?” A wry smirk tugged at his lips. “He is military trained, special ops—we trained him. He knows how to kill. He’s associated with known anti-government groups and individuals, and you tell me yourself he hates me. And you wonder how he could not do something like that? Don’t be naïve.”
She appeared to be struggling to compose her emotions. Her chest heaved, and her lips trembled. Turning away, Josie clutched a spray of leaves on a jasmine bush.
“I just don’t know. He…he just can’t. I don’t care what you say. I don’t believe you.”
“What else do you know?” John snapped, making her jump and spin around to face him. “Tell me.”
“I don’t know anything! Why do you think I’d be involved in something—anything? For fuck’s sake, I’ve only been here for—” She stopped abruptly and flung a hand to her neck, clutching the pendant.
“For how long?” he sneered, pleased to catch her make a slip.
Anger flashed over her face. “Ten months, okay? Are you satisfied?” Josie stormed about the garden, back and forth, raking a hand through her hair. “I can’t believe this! What possible motive would he have to do anything you’ve suggested? I mean—and me, you think I would—fuck! I don’t even know how to use a fucking telephone!”
John’s reply grated to a halt as he stared at her. This woman, this irritating and stubborn woman! He wanted to growl in fury. Who was she? Where in the world—Wait!
“Where are the Aguilars?” He did some mental calculations. The time frame was about right.
“What?” Josie jumped; her arms curled close to her body. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Don’t lie to me!” He bared his teeth and saw her eyes widen. “You’re not good at it.”
“Fine.” Temper flashed through her. She pushed her face closer to his, icy anger coating her next words. “I meant to say: I don’t fucking know.”
John glared at her, but was mesmerized by the blazing fury in her eyes. “The Aguilars are the most respected and renowned pod-hunters and rehabilitation experts. They are now missing, and have been for quite some time—ever since Quin Aguilar was reported to have removed a stasis pod from my defense post on Prince Edward Island.”
Josie backed up a step and bumped into the jasmine bush, where she froze. Her emotions were jackknifing all over the place. Her bottom lip trembled. “If you already knew about me, then why are you bothering with all these questions about who I am?”
Grabbing her arm, John squeezed it hard. Her jaw clenched as she felt the pain. “Because you’re not telling me everything I need to know. There are too many questions, and you hold the answers.”
“I promised never to tell.” Josie jerked her arm free. “And I won’t.”
“Then tell me who Wellesley’s been talking to. My sources say he’s been working from his home for the last few weeks. You must have seen something.”
Silence followed, but something in her eyes shifted inward, as though she were remembering something.
John narrowed his eyes, waiting, but she remained silent. By the set of her lips, he knew even a jackhammer couldn’t pry them open. He clicked his tongue in frustration, turned away and stormed into his office, heading straight for the bar. Pouring himself a neat whiskey, he swallowed it down in one, slamming the glass back down for effect. He stood there a moment, trying to calm his raging head, trying to restrain himself from beating that infuriating woman to a pulp. Maybe his grandfather’s methods were more effective. Grandfather would’ve had her talking, practically singing, within minutes of her arrest. Tempting. So very tempt—
He heard her steps, a light shuffle, like a timid puppy stopping many times to sniff the air, tailed tucked between its legs. From the sound of it, she’d stopped by the table scattered with books. She made a noise, an intake of breath as if about to speak, but instead, she sat down with a weary huff.
Hearing her defeat, John turned, his anger simmering. Josie looked utterly done in, leaning over her knees, head in hands. A frail and pitiful sight if ever.
Remorse bit him hard. Why? He didn’t know, and found himself walking over, sitting across from her in another chair.
“How did you become this stubborn?” John hoped he sounded conversational. “Does everyone born in your time behave this way? Opinionated and so…outspoken?”
She snorted, lifted her head, and regarded him awhile. “Only those who wake up and find themselves in a strange new future. You think I like it here?” She paused to watch his reaction. He frowned with curiosity. “You think I wanted this? I find it very hard to like it here—especially now. I miss my past…who I was, what I was. And I can’t ever go back to that. Ever. Do you understand what I’m saying? How would you feel? And then, having people badger you into telling them the truth, when the truth itself is so unbelievably huge and so…so ridiculous. You’d do everything you c
ould to keep quiet about it because people would think you were mad. Insane. Or that you were telling lies and making things up. If I knew this was how it was going to be, I’d never have done it. But I was more or less tricked into it,” she finished quietly. Her eyes lost focus, as if seeing something far and distant in her mind. She let out another sorrowful breath.
“Tricked?” A pang of concern shot through John. “You were forced to enter the pod, then?” Who would do such a thing?
“No. Not forced. It’s a long story.” She lifted one shoulder with effort. “A really long story.”
“Will you ever tell me?” John noted her mood had shifted, and wondered for a moment who the bastard was who had tricked her into entering a pod. “About what happened? Who you are?”
Her whole body slumped; it was a slow, tired movement. Her face slack from exhaustion, the dark circles under her eyes pronounced. “Dunno. Maybe, one day.” She grimaced, as if she hadn’t meant to say that.
“Maybe is good enough.” John inclined his head. She seemed distant and drawn, and he had a mad desire to reach out and touch her. He realized the pain and grief she now felt was most definitely caused by him. It made him feel evil and dirty.
“What were you? Before, that is,” he asked conversationally.
“An artist.”
He pushed both his eyebrows up, having not imagined her to choose such a profession. He’d thought something more along the lines of marketing, seeing as how she could talk so much without actually giving details. How intriguing. “What sort of artist?”
“Portraits. Surreal portraits.”
John frowned, but remained silent. Josie glanced at him, sensing his lack of understanding.
“I paint people in surreal settings, doing things they only dream of doing, or how they’d come across if they were in a surreal world.”
He nodded, not fully convinced he understood. Then a thought struck him. “How would you paint me?”
A crooked smile twisted her mouth. “Funny. I was just thinking about that a few hours ago.”
